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She pauses, her eyes expressing nothing but concern for a son whom she's trying to protect. “Another time, dear.”
“No.” I shake my head, dismissing her dismissal. “Is it the insurance again? Are they giving you a hard time? You know you don't need to worry about the money. I told you I'm going to do whatever it takes—”
“Just rest, baby.” She runs her fingers through my hair. “You'll begin healing faster if you get your rest. And all I want is to see my boy out there doing what he does best, inspiring the world around him, just as you inspire me.”
My eyes line with tears. I don't deserve such a kind, compassionate, selfless mother like her. She always sees the best in me, the light at the end of the tunnel, especially when I can't. She pushes me by simply loving me entirely. I've always wanted to make her happy, to take away the pain she's been given by doing whatever I can to make that happen. She doesn't deserve this life she was handed. She gave everything so I could have the world she ultimately deserves.
She plays with my hair like she used to when I was a little boy, humming a sweet tune as I slowly fall into a deep sleep. I'm not sure if it’s from her comforting touch or the pain meds kicking in, but what she said is right. Sleep is what I need, so healing is what I can do.
As soon as I wake, I call her to ensure she and Dale made it home safely, then plop the laptop on my lap, phone against my ear.
“Nine months? That's the fastest we've seen?”
“Yep. Ashton Connely got back on the field nine months post-injury with extensive therapy from a close classmate and friend of his. He busted his ass for it, but he made it out onto that turf,” Coach says through the receiver.
I grumble to myself. “I'll be back in eight.”
He lets a dry chuckle out through his nose. “Take it easy, son. I'll have the office give their office a call.”
“Nah, no time for all that. Get me the name,” I reply immediately. “I need his name.”
“Just remember to slow down and take care of yourself, kid. Re-injuring a knee can happen easily if we don't make sure you're healthy before hitting the field again. We need to be careful and take it one step at a time. You're a tremendous asset to our offense, but you gotta slow down right now.”
“Yeah, yeah. Gimme the name,” I say, holding a pen to paper. “I'll call them myself right now.”
He chuckles. “A persistent little shit like you might be back in eight.”
A knock at the door steals my attention. “Alright Coach, I'll get back at ya once I set it up.”
“Sounds good, son. Keep me posted.”
He hangs up, and I drop my head back against the hospital bed at the sight of the man at the door.
“You look like your career just ended with a torn ACL or something,” he says bluntly, like the dick that he is.
“Fuck off, Candy.”
He laughs, strolling his tall ass closer to the bed. “What's up, man? You alright?”
I glare at him like I did at my mother when she asked the same questions.
“Stupid question, I know. But I feel forced to say it, forced to offer my condolences. It felt like something Joey would say to Chandler, so here we are.”
Yes, he's nicknamed Candy. His real name is Kane, hence why Candy just stuck. He tries to convince the team that the plethora of women who've tasted his chocolate lollipop gave him the name. Sweet as candy, he says as we all groan. And, of course, his favorite show is Friends. He falls asleep to it every night on Netflix. One of a kind, this freak, but he's been with me since we both made waves at Notre Dame, him getting picked up a couple of years before me, and we’ve been quite the duo on and off the field ever since.
“I'm not gonna lie, it was kinda quiet without you today,” he comments, pulling up a chair next to my bed. He places his hand on his chest. “I felt the void. Right here. In my heart, for you.”
“Fuckin’ Christ,” I grumble. “And I can’t even run away from you? This is a setup.”
He laughs. “No, but for real, I hated it. Let's get you back, brother. I can't catch everything. I need my wheels alongside me.”
Kane was a second-round draft pick for the Chicago Bears three years ago, and solidified himself on the team as a crucial asset to the offense. His position as a wide receiver meant he was just as much of an animal as I was on that turf. He is the hands; I was the wheels.
“I'm workin' on it.”
He sighs and smiles with admiration. “Well, while you're working on that, I'ma work on this lil' honey outside the door.” He tips his head towards the door behind him, rubbing his hands together while licking his lips.
“Have her.” I scoff. “Just make sure to report your stats when you're done. She'll ask for them.”
