Page 46 of It's Always Us

“What’s going on?” The background noise is gone.

“Nothing.” But it’s notnothing.

I want you here. I want to know that my shoulder will be fine and that I can play again, but I also need you with me.

“What happens now?” Her tentative question hits me square in the chest.

“I’m going home to pack my stuff, and then I’ll be in Phoenix, prepping for surgery. After that . . . ” I have no choice but to be honest. “I don’t know. It depends on how the surgery goes and my therapy schedule.”

There’s a long beat of silence and it’s full of disappointment and broken promises.

When she speaks next, her voice is different. The tenderness is replaced with a stony intonation I’ve not heard before, and I hate it. “How long will you have to stay?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve rented a house. Shane’s coming to stay a couple of nights to help me get in and out of the surgery center. Then, his family is coming to watch Sean play for the division title.”

“Sounds like you’ve got it all taken care of. I hope it goes well.”

“Dammit, Lex. Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like we’re casual friends catching up and wishing each other well.”

“That’s not what I want us to be, but that seems to be exactly what we are. You’re having surgery and living in a new place, a new house. I don’t even know where that is or when we might actually see each other.” She pauses. “I don’t think this is how it’s supposed to be between husbands and wives. Hell, that’s not how it is with friends.”

“I don’t know how to fix this. I thought . . . ” A teammate calls my name and waves me over. I nod but turn away.

“You thought what?” Her question is clipped.

“I’m not sure I was thinking clearly about the reality of our situation.”

A beat of silence is deafening, and my already throbbing body is one unit of pressure away from bursting.

“What does that mean? Have you changed your mind about—”

“No.” I cut her off. “Lex, no. Never.” I take a breath, knowing if there’s one person I can be vulnerable with, it’s her. It was always her. It’s been a long time since I’ve done that, trusted anyone enough, and I’ve kind of forgotten how.

I turn, facing the brick wall, my chest flowing in and out too quickly as my gut churns with pain and fear.

“Lex.” I push her name out like I’m being strangled with my own damn hand. “I’m . . . scared.”

I let it hang there, trying to gather the balls to give her all of it.

“I don’t know if this is it. If I’m ever going to play again. I don’t know how to do all of this. I don’t know how to be what you need me to be. Who I want to be for you. For us.” I suck in air through my closing windpipe to admit that last of it. “I’m terrified. Not just to go into this surgery, but I’m even more scared that I’m losing you.”

I rest my head against the wall, the rough brick is cool against my hot, sticky forehead. I wait for her to say something. Anything. It takes some really long, quiet seconds, but then I finally hear her voice. The one I’ve held onto, tucked away for years. The one that gives me hope when all is lost.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Always,” I release the long breath I was holding, then bring in oxygen that eviscerates my throat.

“I’m freaking scared out of my mind.” She says it so quietly, like it’s a secret.

A little laugh escapes while I blink that shit away that’s making it hard to see. I need her so much. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. We have a lot to talk about. If I plan ahead, maybe I can sneak away from the garage and come see you?”

“Yes. I can’t stand this. I’ll have appointments and therapy after surgery, but I’ll be recovering. If you can’t, I’ll come as soon as I can. I promise.” Friends and families begin to disperse as we’re ushered to the bus. “I have to go. They’re loading the bus.”

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