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Was I slightly distracted during the game? Was my mind elsewhere? Perhaps. But when you find out twenty minutes before running out onto the field that the cancer is back, you tend to lose track of your defenders.
So here I lie, on my side, holding that knee with both hands, knowing it's all over. The dream, the goal, the endorsements.Everything.
I don't even feel the pain where I should. Even though it's excruciating, it's my soul that's torn in two.
As soon as they carted me off that field and checked me over, I did anything and everything to take my pain away. Fists in lockers, benches knocked over, equipment everywhere, until I collapsed onto the floor of the space I grew to love. My second home when things got too painful in the real world.
I could control this world. I could ensure I did what I needed to do to succeed, because it was all in my hands. I worked overtime, focusing on my speed and agility while maintaining awareness and improving my blocking ability. I studied plays all night in my bed while the others slept, and got to practice an hour before we started warm-ups to warm up for the warm-up. I controlled this world. It was home that I couldn't. And now, I've lost control of it all.
Nothing mattered anymore.
When I woke up in the hospital bed after surgery to see my extended room filled with gifts, flowers, and balloons from adoring fans who would most likely forget about me in a couple of games, an overwhelming pain not even close to physical had torn its way through me. A pain that was still there, eating me alive.
I've failed her.
The season was over for me, and potentially my career along with it.
Yes, I had an extended contract with the Chicago Bears, but holding a player with such a debilitating injury was useless for an organization that needed me to win games. I only hope to get back out there as fast as I can before I become part of some shitty trade deal, sending me across the country, away from the only home I've ever known.
“How you feeling, baby?”
I look up at her from beneath my scowl. “How do you think I feel?”
She sighs, slowly approaching me from the door. I sit here in the hospital bed, feeling entirely useless as I watch her take longer than ever to reach me, wishing she’d never come.
“Are you in pain?” she asks, gently laying her hand on my injured leg.
“Yeah,” I answer honestly, pointing my fingers at my chest and doing a double tap.
Her face drops and her eyes squint, feeling the pain I'm referring to. She brushes some dark brown locks off my forehead, gently combing them back before kissing the space there. The mussed look is not helping my whole star athlete persona. I look as broken down as I feel inside.
“You really shouldn't be here,” I start. “You should be—”
“I'm gonna stop you right there, kiddo,” she snaps, interrupting me. “This was my home long before it became yours. I'm practically renting out this room to you right now.”
The joke was meant to land, but fell flat. She grins, raising her eyebrows and gaining my attention to make me smile, but it's useless. I grind my back teeth, shaking my head back and forth, my nostrils flaring at the reminder.
“Where's Dale?” I ask, changing the subject immediately.
“He's waiting just outside. Wanted to give us a minute,” she says with a serene smile. “But I better save him before those reporters get to him. Some Lindsey Lou was all over him, asking him questions he didn't even understand. Something about yardage gains or rushing leads…”
“Lindsey Lane,” I correct her, groaning internally.
Never sleep with sports reporters. They'll think they have an immediate opening to your entire life. It's a shame it's so easy. On her knees before I can blink, then back up asking questions before I can enjoy the aftermath of the bust.
“Yeah, she can suck it,” I reply. “Literally and figuratively.”
“Lake Liam Decker, you watch that mouth, young man,” my mother scolds.
Chuckling, I reply, “Well, I'm happy to see the recent treatments haven't taken away from your ability to scold your only child.”
Her brows lower, and she shakes her head. She's withholding something from me. I can feel it in her unsure gaze.
I tip my head, eyes hard on her. “What's that look?”
She sighs. “I'm just figuring out what path works best for me this time.”
I glare at her. “No. What? Figuring out what path? Ma…”
