Page 35 of Game Face

“Surgery went well. She’s resting,” he says.

My legs suddenly feel weak, so I take a step back and land on my heels.

“Good,” Reed breathes out, his hand on his chest.

The doctor gives us a second to sit with our relief, and he’s also waiting for Nolan to rub the sleep from her eyes and stand next to her husband.

“What did you find?” she asks, suddenly alert and ready to advocate for her daughter. Reed and I exchange a quick glance, and I get a feeling he’s also glad his wife is the rested one.

“Well, the scans told the correct story. The fifth vertebra is definitely fractured. The swelling seems to have gone down a bit, which is a good sign. I’m hopeful she’ll be able to feel her right side when she wakes up, or at least most of it.”

I blink at his words and glance off to the side.She couldn’t feel anything?She didn’t tell me that. Nobody told me that.

“We’ll see what our baseline is in a couple days, then go from there. I’d say we could be looking at a spinal fusion surgery within a week, then comes a lot of rehab. She’s going to need to find her balance first before she can move on to anything—walk before we run and all that.”

The three of us hum in response, and the doctor gives a short laugh.

“I take it she’s more of a run first kind of girl?” His right brow lifts above the rim of his surgical glasses.

“She’s more of a fly before anything kind of girl,” Reed responds.

“Ah, well . . . then you all are going to have to remind her to be kind to herself. It’s hard to start back at square one, especially when you’re an elite athlete used to operating at one hundred. She’s going to be doing things she hasn’t done since she was a toddler. Taking first steps. Throwing a ball. Touching her toes. But she’ll get there. This is the best-case scenario that we hoped for. I truly believe that.”

We all smile at his positivity.

“When can we see her?” I ask.

“A nurse will come get you when she’s awake and stable. Not too long.” His eyes rest on me for a beat, and I sense he’s trying to warn me to prepare myself for a new job. Peyton’s number two. Her support. Her ride or die.

“Thank you, Dr. K,” Reed says, moving his arm around Nolan and giving her a squeeze. I’m not sure if the shortened name was the doctor’s idea or Reed’s, but we can all agree we’re tired of hearing Reed absolutely butcher his attempts to say the man’s last name. This letter system is the way to go.

“I’m going run to the ladies’ room, splash some water on my face before she wakes up,” Nolan says, stepping up on her toes to kiss her husband’s cheek.

“Wyatt, shouldn’t you be at film?” She winks at me, having heard her daughter say as much before they wheeled her back.

“I think I saw enough of the game firsthand last night. I’ll be fine,” I respond. But when Nolan disappears into the ladies’ room, leaving Reed and me alone, he questions me a little on thebeing finepart.

“Coach know the full story?” His mouth pulls into a bunched-up, wry smile as he squints.

“I chatted with him for a minute before I left, yeah. I should probably call him or text him with an update. He’s good about family stuff. He understands.” My worries vibrate underneath my words, though, and I think Reed can sense them.

“You know, Bryce might get the start next week. Road game.” Reed’s matter-of-fact statement crashes with my paranoia and I suck in some air before nodding.

“I know. I feel it, that it’s slipping away a little? That it might happen? But . . . I don’t even care,” I say.

“Maybe not now. But you will. At some point. When you have time to take stock of it all.”

I hike my shoulders up in response and maintain eye contact.

“Perhaps. But right now, everything I care about is in that room down the hall. And I wouldn’t be any good to the team if I wasn’t present here for this.”

Reed nods, then lays his palm on my back, resting it there for a beat.

“And what do you think Peyton will think about all that?”

My lip quirks. I don’t have to say it out loud. We both know what she’ll think. I need to get my lazy ass back out there, and I need to fight.

Well, pot, meet kettle, Peyton Johnson. I think you’re going to need to fight a bit, too. We may as well do this together.

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