Page 125 of Against the Clock

“No, not that. I don’t care about the takeout containers.” She pauses, and her stern persona slips.

There’s fear underneath it. Real fear.

It makes me pause. Guilt ripples through me, viscous and sour.

“I care about you,” she presses on. “I care about the way you’re standing right now, like if you lift your arm and get out a dish, you might fall over.”

I blink. I hadn’t realized I was holding myself like that. I fill my lungs with air and try to relax, and her expression darkens further.

“You’re hurt. You’ve been hurt for a few weeks, and every time I asked you said you were fine and I believed you. I wanted to believe you.” She picks at the hem of her ratty sweatshirt, the one that says Midland Bulldogs in faded blacks and purples. “You haven’t been telling me the truth.”

“I am fine,” I insist. “Do you want noodles, stir fry, or the banh mi?”

I grab a banh mi and put the rest on the kitchen table, gingerly pulling chopsticks out and setting them down for her.

“Your mouth is saying one thing and your face is saying something totally different.” Kelsey doesn’t budge from her spot in the kitchen.

“Am I in pain? Yes. Do I have an old injury that’s irritated right now? Yes. Am I fine?” I pause because the answer to that, the real answer, is no.

“Yes.” I push the syllable out.

“You’re going to hurt yourself even worse,” she says, her voice a whisper. “You’re going to make it worse by playing tomorrow.”

I sigh, unwrapping the foil from the crusty French bread, and a jalapeño falls out on the floor. “That’s a risk I take every time I put my cleats on, Kelsey Cole.”

Her foot stamps against the floor, and then she plops down in the chair opposite me.

Tears brim in her eyes, and real worry turns the corners of her mouth down. “Daniel, if you were really hurt, if you were really messed up, would you tell me?”

“Of course.” I take a big bite of my sandwich. “This isn’t serious. It’s aches and pains. No big deal.”

“Then answer me this: if you were really hurt, would you tell your coaches? Would you take care of yourself?”

I force myself to meet her pretty brown eyes, tears threatening, glassy and full against her eyelashes.

“No.” I admit it on a whoosh of air, an exhalation so huge it takes me by surprise. “No, because that’s the job. I’ll play for Coach Morelle until I can’t anymore. That’s how it works, Kelsey.” I jab a finger onto the surface of the table. “This is the dream, no matter how much it hurts. This has always been my dream. The pain is part of it.”

A tear slips down her cheek. “And you wouldn’t tell me, either. Not really.”

That catches me off-guard. “I just told you I would, Kelsey.”

She shakes her head and clutches a foil-wrapped banh mi to her chest. “I don’t think you would. I don’t think you’re telling me right now because you don’t think it’s a big deal. You really think this is normal.” Another tear follows, and another, and she doesn’t move to brush them away, just stares at me.

My chest hurts, and my shoulder hurts, and everything fucking hurts, and it makes me so fucking tired.

“This is what I signed up for, Kelsey. This is football.” I’m not mad. I’m not anything but resigned. I understand how she feels. She’s wrong, but I understand it.

“And what happens when you can’t play anymore? What happens after football, Daniel?” Her voice is so soft I strain to catch the questions. The answers slip through my fingers, and I blink at her.

“What happens when the guy you’re willing to ruin your body for decides you’re done? What happens to you after that?”

“You happen after that,” I say. The words bubble out of me, natural. True. “A family. A life. Whatever gig my agent has lined up for me. You’re a part of all of it, all my plans.”

“And what if you’re hurt so bad that you can’t enjoy any of it? What if this hurts me so bad I’m not with you anymore?”

“This is about your dad, Kelsey. This isn’t about me and my fucked up shoulder. I’m not your dad, I don’t have a head injury.”

“Of course it’s about my dad. Of course it is. But if you think what happened to him has nothing to do with you, with me, with us, then…” She shakes her head and a sob hiccups out of her.

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