Page 7 of Holding On

"I'm not sure." I hand her the phone. "You'll have to check the menu."

My dad goes in the kitchen to make a call while my mom reviews the menu.

"Looks like they have fish and seafood." She scrolls down the page. "And there aren't any stairs leading to the entrance. You should be able to get in."

"Fine. Let's go there."

I just want to get this over with. Going out is the last thing I want to do. My parents don't know this, but other than doctor's appointments, which I had to take a cab to go to, I haven't left this house since I moved in. I don't want the town seeing the former star quarterback in a wheelchair and badgering me about when I'll be playing again.

I'm only agreeing to go out tonight because my dad will be there. If anyone stares at me or asks questions, my dad will deal with it. Unlike me, my dad always knows the right words to use to make people either shut up or buy whatever story he's trying to sell. And in my case, his story will be that I'm recovering well and will playing ball again soon.

My mom sighs. "We'll have to wait for your father to get off the phone. I hope he doesn't take too long. I need to get back to the hotel early tonight. I have some work to do before bed."

So they're taking me to dinner, then dropping me off. They won't even stick around to talk or watch TV with me.

"What about tomorrow? Are we doing anything?"

"Your father and I have to work for a few hours in the morning. We should be over in the afternoon. We'll plan on having dinner again." She looks back at her phone.

This is so stupid. Why did they fly out here if they're just going to spend all their time working?

"Mom."

"What is it, Ethan?" She types out a text.

"Why are you guys here?"

She finishes the text, then looks up. "What do you mean?"

"Why did you come here?" I didn't used to be this honest with her, but after nearly dying in a car crash, sometimes I feel the need to just say what's on my mind and not hold back.

Do it today,I tell myself. Don't wait for tomorrow. Because there may not be a tomorrow.

She lets out a nervous laugh. "What kind of question is that? We're here to see you, of course. And see how your recovery is coming along."

"Why? So Dad can assess if I'll be able to play football again?"

"Ethan, that's not fair. You know your father is only concerned for your future. We both want you to be successful."

Successful.Not happy. Successful. That's always the word they use. Because success equals happiness. The cost to achieve that success doesn't matter. Do whatever it takes. Use whatever means necessary.

However you get there, the goal is always the same. To be the best. Better than anyone else. That's the mantra I've been given since I was a kid, and even though I don't fully agree with it, that didn't stop me from working my ass off the past three years in the hopes of being the best college quarterback in the country.

And what do I have to show for it? A broken leg that may end my football career.

That's the problem when you put all your energy towards a single goal. You've got no options. No backup plan. You're stuck. You can't move forward. You don't even know where to begin.

That's the place I'm at now. Where do I go from here? If I can't play football, what the hell do I do with my life?

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