Page 82 of The Proposal
He chuckles. “You’re welcome.”
“So what did he say?”
“Doc had me participate in this study about white matter in the brain of athletes. I go in every six months or so and have some testing done. It’s supposed to help gather data so they can learn how to identify brain injuries in people with repetitive head impacts—like us.”
My stomach drops to the ground.
“And apparently I show signs of neurological damage.” His words hang in the air. “He can’t say that for sure because this technology isn’t perfect. But he highly suggests that I retire.”
Oh fuck. I sit on the loveseat.
I try to process what he’s telling me without panicking or jumping to conclusions. How long has he known this? Has he told anyone or is he dealing with this on his own? Is there more to the story that he’s not telling me?
Damn you, Brock.
“Are you okay?” I ask. “You’re all right, though, aren’t you?”
“I’m fine. I mean, I feel fine. But now I have to make this decision about whether I want to believe him and walk away from the game, or risk it and play out my contract.”
I gulp. “What does your gut say?”
“My gut says to say screw it and keep playing. I only have two more years until my contract runs out. I can play safe and get out of there before I’m thirty-five. I’ll be fine.”
“Have you talked to your sister about this?”
“No. And you won’t either. Hear me?”
I bury my head in my hand.
My brain reels with this information—and an underlying concern that maybe I’m in the same boat. But either way, Brock is facing this decision, and I know what Blakely would say.It will kill her if she loses her only family member left. She’s had enough suffering. Enough pain.
“Walk away,” I say, my voice dead.
“It’s two more years—”
“But it could cost you fifty.” I stand, adrenaline building in my blood. “You can’t risk it, man. Think about it. Think about your health. Your sister. Ella. Fuck, think aboutme.”
He chuckles. “Of course, you would make this about you.”
“Well, yeah. You’re about the only person in this world I like. You can’t get all fucked up. Think about the bigger picture here.”
“I’m honored.” He sighs. “I’ve been an asshole to everyone—to you, to Blakely. Ella won’t talk to me. I feel like I’m losing everything in my life all at once, and I have a small opening here to try to catch it.”
“Good thing you can catch shit, then, isn’t it?”
“What do I do, Renn? Do I tell everyone this and scare the shit out of them? Do I ignore it? What happens if this is a sign of what’s to come? Would I even want to saddle Ella with that? Do I let her go? Do I walk away from my contract? What do I do with the rest of my life?I don’t fucking know, and I’m stressed out.”
The call goes quiet as we process the last few minutes.
For the first time since we got here, I wish I was home.
“We leave here tomorrow night. If you want to sit down and go over it, I’ll be there—post jet lag. Tell me when.”
“Thanks, Renn.”
“Of course.” I look at the night sky. “You don’t have to tell her, but please call your sister. She knows something is wrong and just needs to hear your voice.”
“Do me a favor. Don’t fuck this up with Blakely,” he says.
