Page 45 of It's Always Us

Her call yesterday shook me. Whatever was going on at that moment, she needed me. It reminded me that she might need me just as much as I need her.

I pull my helmet on and jog out onto the field as the fans roar with excitement and expectation. The adrenaline and anticipation never get old. It’s exhilarating and addicting, and there was a time when I survived on it. Like an addict waiting for his next hit, I longed for the next game, the next win.

I want to win this game and take my team to the Super Bowl, but these past few months, that high hasn’t been as effective. It’s not the only thing I long for anymore.

I want this surgery to be effective, and I want to be able to get back out on the field next season, but Lex isn’t just a season. She’s the rest of my life.

I hit the thirty-yard line, ready to call plays and do the job I was born to do despite where I started. But it’s time I figure out how to be a husband. I don’t know shit about how to do that, but I know it involves sacrifice. It also requires being together, and that’s exactly what I plan to do.

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“It took you a while to get up after the sack in the third quarter, and then strategy moved to short, quick passes before you left the game. Your shoulder has been a recurring issue. Did it contribute to the outcome of today’s game?”

With my arm in a sling and feeling like it’s no longer attached, I look around the room, wondering how much longer I have to endure this. Most times, I don’t mind the barrage of questions, but today, after losing this game, I want to get out of here.

There was a moment in the third quarter when everything went silent, and my world almost went black. It was the moment I’d feared for the past two seasons—the moment when my shoulder finally had enough.

The pain that tore through my arm was like no other, and I knew I was done. I’d given it my all this season, but now it’s over, and the pain is just as unbearable as the disappointment. I can’t help but think this was my last shot at making it to the end, and that thought has a knife piercing straight through my chest.

“There were a lot of things that went into the outcome. Our receivers weren’t able to make their routes. We gave away yards that we couldn’t get back. My shoulder issues are only one of the many challenges we faced.”

“You’re a free agent going into the next season, and we understand you’ll be considering all opportunities. With the Kingsnakes losing their veteran quarterback, the rumor is they might be interested in picking you up. Are you looking to move or hoping to stay with the Liberties?”

“I’ll be weighing all opportunities, and we’ll see what next season brings.”

“Are you concerned about the impact your shoulder will have on negotiations with other organizations or if you’ll return next season?”

I have so many concerns at the moment I don’t even know where to begin. My usual confidence has taken a nosedive this afternoon, and having to answer this question isn’t helping.

I force my lips upward, feeling like it’s tearing up my face. “I’m taking one thing at a time and looking forward to stepping out on the field next season.”

The reporters laugh at my dodge, and I take that as an opportunity to step away from the mic, allowing the next person their chance to relive our loss.

I join my teammates in the waiting area with their families and friends. Stepping into the area with a smile on my face has never been a problem. Today, it’s more apparent than ever that the one person I want to see isn’t here.

I find an isolated spot in the corner, trying to block out the excruciating pain radiating from my shoulder through my back and down my arm. The pain has been bad, but after taking the hit, any amount of movement brings a wave of dizziness followed by feeling like I’m going to pass out.

As my teammates hug their wives and girlfriends, I try to remove my phone from my pocket, needing to talk to the only one who can remind me I still have something to fight for.

I tap her name, putting the phone to my ear.

“Hi.”

I close my eyes, her voice is a balm to my sorrow-filled soul. “Hey.” I hear laughter and yelling in the background. “Where are you?”

“I’m at Slade’s. The guys are here. We watched the game.”

She’s at Slade’s, her best friend when she should be here where I can hug and kiss her and have her tell me it’s all going to be ok.

I suddenly want to chuck my phone across the room, but I can’t because my freaking arm is shot.

“I’m sorry about the game. Are you ok? That hit was . . . ” Her voice is soft and quiet, like she’s hiding in a corner.

“I’m pretty sure my arm is packed with ice and being airlifted to the surgery center.”

“Where are you?”

“Waiting for my team to get done hugging and kissing their families so I can go home.” I didn’t mean to spit that out at her, but I did, and I’m met with silence. “Shit, Lex, I’m sorry.”

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