Page 103 of False Start
We walk out together and part ways before we run into cameras. Our relationship isn’t their business, and I don’t want to explain where we’re at in it right now.
THE DOWNSIDE TO WORKING for a professional football team is missing the game from the fan’s perspective. I spend four quarters watching for and treating injuries. There’s little time to keep up with the game on a play-by-play basis. I love watching football as much as I love being on the sidelines treating the players, so it’s a trade off.
But I do keep an eye on Bryant and how he’s playing during the game as much as I possibly can. And he’s having a fantastic first game as the Voodoo quarterback. The fans are deafening with their screams and cheers, and I swear half of them already have a Hudson jersey on their backs. Their college hero returned home, and they’re ecstatic about it.
Ben also makes his premier as the starting Voodoo tight end. I can’t tell who is happier about being back on the field together, Bryant or Ben. There’s lots of high-fives and celebratory dancing, and the crowd eats it up.
Early in the fourth quarter, we’re up by four touchdowns, and Otto puts in the backup quarterback to give Bryant a break. When he jogs off the field, he heads straight for me as he pulls his helmet off. There’s just something about the man when he’s in a football uniform.
I grow nervous as the cameras follow his every move. I’m not ready for people to put together the fact that we both work for the Voodoo seeing as no one outside the organization has made the connection. Instead of stopping and talking to me by the water cooler, he winks at me and pulls a water bottle from the table, and then he jogs off leaving me smirking like we’re back in college again. And I smile for the rest of the quarter.
With two minutes left in the game, Bryant takes the field again to finish what he started. He passes the ball off to Ben on the first play and we gain twelve yards. The offense lines up at the line of scrimmage and the center snaps the ball on the second play of the drive. Bryant drops back, and looks for a man down field, but the defensive end is able to make it past the left tackle and he heads straight for Bryant.
Bryant realizes he’s in trouble and throws the ball to the nearby cornerback, but he’s not fast enough to stop the sack. The defensive end tackles Bryant to the ground, but he hits him so hard Bryant goes airborne.
Every cell in my body freezes. I wait with bated breath for him to move as the defensive end rolls off him. But he doesn’t move. He doesn’t roll over in pain or jump up ready to play again. We’re signaled to come to his aid, and I’m across the field before anyone else can get there.
I kneel beside him and see his eyes are closed. He’s out cold. I make sure he’s breathing and has a pulse before I move on to assessing other injuries. Usually when a football player goes down and he’s unconscious, he wakes up within a minute, but Bryant isn’t waking up.
The cold realization that he could never open his eyes again punches me in the gut. I don’t remember the last thing I said to him, but I didn’t tell him I loved him. If he doesn’t open his eyes, I may never have that opportunity again. Because I do love him. I can’t live without him anymore, and I don’t want to.
“Bryant,” I say to him, my voice breaking on a sob. “Baby, please wake up and let us know you’re okay.”
Precious seconds turn into minutes as shouts fade into the background. I place my hand on his chest and wait for the rise and fall. If it were a cold night, I’d be able to see his breath, but it’s humid and he’s not breathing deeply, if at all.
“Please,” I quietly sob to him. I want the opportunity to tell him that I forgive him. I want the chance to tell him I still love him. And I need the peace I’ve been looking for since he cheated two years ago. “Please.”
He doesn’t wake and give me a second to tell him anything at all because the paramedic comes and loads him onto the gurney to transport him off the field. I hold his hand the entire way, terrified for him, for me, for us. I talk to him. I have no idea what I say other than I need him to wake up. I’m busy trying to keep up with his injuries and what the medical staff is doing to him.
Zina walks into the facility where we’re checking him out, and puts an arm around my shoulder. “Let them work, sis. You just focus on being there for B.”
I lean down and whisper the three words I should’ve said earlier to him. I’ve never regretted something so much. “I love you. Please come back to me.”
His eyes open and dart around, confused and unclear. I start to cry tears of relief. When he finally focuses on me, I cry harder.
His voice is hoarse. “Shit. That hurt.”
As soon as the medical staff realizes he’s awake, chaos really ensues. But I hold his hand through the entire thing while he answers neurological questions and gives them an update on how he’s feeling.
When a football player goes down like Bryant did, they have to carefully remove the helmet, and make sure there’s no spinal injury before they can allow him to move. But once he’s able, he sits up on the bed with a little help from us.
As he recovers his wits, he begins to laugh and joke and put us all at ease. He likely has a concussion, but he’s not having memory issues which is a huge positive. We monitor him for some time and keep the press updated on his condition.
Late in the evening, once most people have left the stadium, I help Bryant to my car. He’s too sore to drive himself, and I don’t want to risk it with a possible concussion. I pull onto the interstate and head for the Quarter. A light snore comes from the passenger seat. I smile over at him and when I reach a stop light, I take in his beautiful face. His gorgeous green eyes are missing, but still, he’s beautiful inside and out. He made a huge mistake, but good people make bad decisions sometimes.
I pull into my drive and take another moment to watch him rest. I hate to wake him, but he’ll be cramped if he sleeps in here much longer.
“Hey, Quarterback,” I say and touch his face.
His eyes flutter open. “Yeah, Coach?”
“We’re home.”
He looks out the front windshield. “We’re at your place.”
“I’m not letting you out of my sight for the next 24 hours, not with a possible concussion.”
The corners of his mouth twitch with the beginnings of a smile. “I know you’re worried. It’s one concussion. Okay?”
