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“Thanks, Doc,” I say, my voice tight.
“Don’t thank me. Thank yourself. I know this took longer than originally planned, but you’ve worked really hard to get back to where you were before. You should be proud, Prescott.”
Dad looks up from his phone. “Are we done here?”
I turn to my father, but not even his asshole behavior will be able to dull my excitement. I’ve just gotten the best news possible, the news I’ve been waiting on for months, and nobody will destroy this for me. Especially not him.
Doc nods. “Just let me write you a clearance letter, and you’re all good to go.”
* * *
Dad didn’t even bother waiting for the doctor to finish before getting up and leaving, which was completely fine by me. After I’m done at the hospital, I get in my car and go straight to campus. The weight that’s been sitting on my shoulders since I entered the hospital last November is finally lifted, and I’m not about to spend another damn minute sitting on my ass and twirling my fingers when I have work to do if I want to make this season count.
There is noif, I remind myself.You have to make it count. You promised.
The parking lot is almost full when I pull my mustang into a parking spot in front of the football facilities. It’s early afternoon, and since we have a few more days before classes start, Coach is pushing the team to work harder than ever. My fingers itch to put on my jersey and join my team out on the field.
Nine months.
It’s been nine long months since I’ve been able to play.
Grabbing the doctor’s note, I get out of the car and pull out my duffle bag from the trunk where it’s been all this time. At this point, after all the years of playing, keeping my bag around has become second nature. I throw the duffle bag over my shoulder and head into the building, the AC hitting me straight in the face as I make my way toward the field.
The first things I hear are the noises—the grunting and panting, whistle blowing, Coach yelling. The corner of my mouth tips upward as I slowly step onto the field and let myself take it all in—the smell of the grass, and the feel of the sun burning my skin, making the sweat drip down my face. I tilt my head back, looking up at the stands. Stands that can hold thousands of people on a game night. Watching, chanting…
“Sullivan! What the fuck did I say?” Coach bellows, snapping me out of my thoughts.
The sophomore clenches his fingers by his sides, his face beet red. “Right.”
“Exactly,right. Then why the fuck did you go left? Who the fuck is supposed to catch the ball? Your opponents? Let’s do this again, and this time try to remember your right from your left.”
“Okay, Coach.”
“Again!”
As my teammates line up, I make my way to the sidelines where the coaching staff is standing and clear my throat, “Coach.”
The older man slowly turns toward me, his dark eyes meeting mine. “Wentworth, fancy seeing you here.”
“Well, I guess that’s good since you’ll be seeing more of me starting now.”
I hand him the doctor’s note, turning my attention to the field. I watch as Nixon calls the play; players start moving as Nixon pulls back into the pocket. My brain is processing the whole thing almost as if it’s in slow motion. Nixon’s hand pulls back as he gets ready to throw. That Sullivan guy barely makes his way through the defensive line but is not fast enough to be at the right place at the right time. The defense intercepts the ball and runs it into the end zone.
Coach mutters something under his breath, his hand running over his face and through his hair in frustration.
“Go suit up, Wentworth.” I blink, unsure if I heard him correctly. He turns toward me and glares. “What are you waiting for? A special invitation?”
“No, Coach.”
“Then why the fuck are you still standing here? Go, you have two minutes, or I’m making everybody run drills.”
I glance toward the field, a smile slowly making its way to my lips. “Based on what I’ve seen, Coach, maybe more drills aren’t such a bad thing.”
Before I can react, his hand slaps me over the head. “If I wanted to hear your opinion, I would have asked for it. Two minutes.”
“Yes, Coach.”
I hoist my bag higher and turn on the balls of my feet when Coach calls my name.
