Page 123 of How to Prevent a Fumble

Isla smiles, bumping my hip. “Well, at some point that may be true, and you’ll be free from my brother’s little web. I hope you’re doing okay for now.”

I don’t think her words were meant to sting so much.

Elara grabs a plate full of chicken nuggets and heads to the seats out front of the suite, settling in. I follow, getting comfortable as the coin toss starts.

We get the ball first.

The first half of the game goes fine. Owen plays perfectly, only dropping a pass one time when he was shoved from behind. Cooper had two touchdowns, one of his best games this season.

In the third quarter, things get dicey as Leo fumbles the ball twice, and within minutes we’re tied.

The other team’s defense seems to have woken up.

The boys line up, and when the ball is snapped, Leo steps back, looking down the field for one of his receivers when his knee waivers, and a second later, he’s on the ground.

The whole stadium goes silent, or maybe it’s just my hearing.

Everything stops.

Laying on his side, Leo grips his leg as the medical team hurries onto the field. They crowd around him, getting him sitting up.

I feel like I can’t breathe, my heart hammering in my chest, sweat gathering at the base of my neck as I watch them attempt to get him standing.

With his coach at his side, Leo hobbles off the field, his eyes squeezed shut.

Playing football is his first love. His only love, really, that I know of. Leo Warner has never been known to love one single thing more than this.

And I know that injury. If you’re around football enough, you know what a torn Achilles looks like.

We just watched the last game Leo will play this season.

37

LEO

My entire life has been football.

Football players sacrifice a lot for the sport that they love. It doesn’t matter at what level you play, there are things you just know are going to happen down the road. There are men whose bodies are so worn down by the game they have to get shots of a nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drug to the ass before games, and there are guys who suffer from the sport long after they’ve stopped playing. The memory loss, the pain… we know what we’re signing up for.

But god, I love this game so fucking much.

Injuries come with the territory, and most players will suffer from one at one point in their careers. Well, if they last long enough. The average NFL career is about three years. There’s plenty of people who play their career out without one. But if you’re one of the lucky ones, it’s expected at some point, especially at the tail end of the season, when you have men lying about injuries just to play a little more.

It would be one thing if it was something I could have helped. Something I knew I did wrong. If someone else did itto me, and I went down on a sack, I think I could have dealt with it. I’d have someone to be mad at, even if they did everything right. Somewhere to channel my anger. Something to rage about.

But all I have is myself. And what’s worse, it’s something that I couldn’t really help.

Achilles injuries come out of nowhere. Step a certain way, and it snaps. Land a certain way, and it’s gone.

For me, it’s the worst injury I could have possibly gotten.

A knock comes at my door, and I roll over on my side. The TV has been on for the last five hours, the pain medicine keeping me from losing my mind.

“What?” I ask a little too abrasively.

Briar peeks her head through the door, barely meeting my eyes.

“Do you need anything? I made burritos for tonight. Something easy to eat.”

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