Page 75 of A Play For The Heart
Jack stops pacing to face me. Realization dawns on Jack's face, and it softens. I hate the way sympathy fills his features so quickly like he suddenly understands me.
“Henry,” he says, quietly. “That's so far from the truth.”
Jack sits down on the couch next to me, his gaze heavy on the side of my face. I shake my head, unwilling to believe what he’s saying.
“He’s right, man. Your worth has nothing to do with how you perform on a football field,” Deon adds from the other side of me.
What the two of them say breaks something inside me, and every emotion and regret and fear I’ve bottled up inside for years breaks loose. The comments have a different weight than what my mom told me. Not any less important but hearing the same words from my friends opens a chasm in my chest, cracking me open. A tear streams down my face as I look Jack in the eyes and say out loud the one thing I’ve never voiced. The one fear I’ve held onto so tightly it suffocates me.
“I’m so lost.”
There it is.
The truth.
I have no idea who I am without football. Sure, I have a college degree in advertising, but I have no idea what to do with that. I was required to pick something, but I never saw myself using it. I have no idea who I want to be. What I want. I’ve spent so long focusing on what my dad wants or what people expect of me. Play Division One college football. Get drafted to the NFL. Lead a successful career. I’ve never stopped to ask myself what I want. I love football, but I’ve treated it as if it’s the only thing about me that’s important. Worse, I’ve allowed my father to tell me that, too. Let him reinforce the idea that I’m worthless without football.
I wait for Jack or Deon to respond to my confession. Tell me I’m overreacting. That I should be grateful I play in the NFL. Respond in the way my father would. The way most people would.
“Being able to admit that is brave,” Deon says. “Something not many would share.” He looks over at Jack, a silent conversation occurring between them.
“Look,” Jack starts, “No one can tell you those things or answer those questions, except for you. It sucks that you’re injured, I won’t sugar coat it, but see this as an opportunity.”
Did he actually just tell me to find a silver lining for my injury and broken heart?
“Find out what you want since you can’t play football. For now.” He continues, “You’re going to heal fine, so take the moment to discover who you are without it.”
I say nothing to his suggestion, but the idea settles. I need to discover my goals and desires. Outside of football. If I don’t, I’ll never see myself as enough for Sawyer.
The three of us sit on the couch in silence for a while until the doorbell rings. It shocks us out of the silence, and Deon rises to answer the door. Turning back towards the living room, Deon carries the Chinese food I was originally expecting.
“I want to get home,” Deon says, placing the food on the coffee table in front of me. “But think about what we said and stop hiding from us. We’re your friends, we want to be here for you.”
Jack rises off the couch following behind Deon. Almost to the door, Jack turns around, facing me.
“You deserve her just as much as she deserves you.”
They both walk out the door, leaving me alone in my apartment.
The coaching staff left me alone for an entire week before I was summoned back to the facility. I may not be able to play, but according to them, I can help motivate and be with my team while they practice. I was hoping to avoid football entirely so it wouldn’t impact my thoughts or decisions. In retrospect, I can see how delusional that sounds. Especially with the fact we're in the middle of playoffs.
Walking into the practice facility, I had expected to feel like shit. For jealousy to get the better of me, but the morning went surprisingly well. Guys on the team were encouraging, sharing stories of when they were injured, and kept wishing me a quick recovery. I had a meeting with the athletic training staff and Coach Barrett, both assuring me I should recover quickly. What shocked me most was the meeting I had with Coach Barrett one-on-one. He said in no uncertain terms that the coaching staff was behind me and that they would be there to support me, whether or not I recovered. The reassurance that no matter what, I had support loosened the constricting feeling in my chest.
The routine of practice has sucked me in, occupying my brain for the morning. But now that practice is over and I have nothing to do but go home and sit on my ass, my mind is centered on Sawyer and the ultimatum she delivered. I’ve replayed it in my head a thousand times.
Leaving the practice field, I hobble through the building towards the parking lot at a snail’s pace. Since I haven’t left my apartment, I haven’t gotten used to the crutches. They hurt my armpits, so I prefer to just hop around and hold onto the wall for support. Any elderly person on a scooter could outrun me at this point.
“Wait up,” a voice calls from behind me, the sounds of footsteps echoing on the linoleum floor. I drop my head, praying to any higher power willing to listen to save me from this conversation. I’ve managed to avoid him as much as possible in the last few months. We’ve had a conversation here and there about football. Now that I can’t play, there’s no reason he should be talking to me.
I swivel around on my crutches and come face to face with the person who called for my attention.
Declan.
“Have a minute?” he asks, stopping in front of me. I take a good look at him, and he almost looks…different. Nervous. His right hand is pulling at the back of his neck, and there’s a slight tint of red on the top of his cheeks.
I don’t particularly want to talk to him, but the curiosity about what he’s going to say wins out. I nod my head towards the bench and wobble over to it. He sits down next to me, and his knee immediately starts to move up and down.
Heisnervous.
