Page 53 of Released from the Sin Bin

“If you need anything, text us!”

One by one, they sadly wave goodbye.

“Have fun,” I call out as the door slams shut behind them.

They won’t say it, but I know they’re glad I’m not going. Besides my injury keeping me from normal activities, my mood hasn’t been up for a good time either.

TV on, water bottle on the side table, my leg propped up on three pillows, and I’m ready to scream and cry at the game. The local Drexton Hall channel has horrible commentary, but with the sound off I can make my own.

The puck drops, and… knock knock.

“Ugh!” I let out a loud groan. I just got comfortable and now I have to get up to answer the front door.

Who the hell would be coming over tonight?

“No one’s home,” I shout and hope they leave.

Knock… knock. This time it’s much slower.

I get up and hobble on one leg, not bothering with the crutches. I still can’t put pressure on it for a couple of days at least. Not until I start physical therapy, and they give the ok to walk on it with a boot.

“What the…?” I look out the window to see Carter standing on our porch. “Hi?” I question him as I open the door.

He holds up a big brown bag in front of him. “Tacos.”

“From that place we went to?” I grab it excitedly and open the bag with a big whiff. “Oh, it smells so good.”

“Did you eat dinner yet?” He follows me into the house and closes the door behind him.

“Technically, yes. But there is room for these babies.” It’s crack. I’m addicted to these tacos and I’m convinced there are drugs in them. There’s no way a taco can taste this good.

Carter takes my pillows and sets them up on the ottoman in front of me. He pulls a side table over and sits down with his Gatorade bottle.

“Did you get any for yourself?” I tease, seeing at least five wrapped tacos in the bag.

He takes the bag from me and splits them up. “There’s seven. First to finish gets the last one.”

“You’re on.” I accept his challenge and moan as I take the first bite. “Mmm. So good.”

“You have problems.” He shakes his head at me before pointing to the game with his mouth full. “Why are you torturing yourself with this crap?”

“I’m still on the team. I can’t be there, but I’d like to cheer them on.”

“Are they holding your spot?”

“No clue.” I swallow down the last of my first taco. Carter’s already halfway through his second, but slowing down. “I doubt it.”

“What has Coach said?” He eyes me, already knowing the answer.

“Absolutely nothing.”

“That fucking dick.” He throws the second half of his taco down, giving me time to catch up. “Savor it, I lost my appetite.”

“Oh, come on,” I groan, with pieces of taco flying out of my mouth. “Don’t quit! I have nothing else to live for. I need a victory over something. It won’t be a win if you quit.”

He laughs with a shake of his head and devours the second half in one big bite. Fuck.

Carter won, but he let me have half of the seventh taco anyway, since he wasn’t that hungry anymore.

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