I sit on a stool at my kitchen counter and spin a bottle cap. Is she disappointed in me? Does she want me to go out more? I rub my fingers against the stubble on my jaw. Hell, I haven’t gone anywhere in weeks, not wanting to see people. The last time I ventured out for a checkup, the sheer number of pity pats, get well soons, and you were the best we’d ever had—one incident accompanied by a grown man literally crying on my shoulder, God help me—was an absolute nightmare. I’d broken out into a sweat and almost threw-up before Anna had reached the house.
She hadn’t said much then, just that people were fucking weird. When we were safe at home, she’d taken me to bed and kept me occupied for the night. It isn’t right, the way I’m leaning on her. It’s yet another thing I can’t seem to stop.
A knock on the door jerks me out of my funk. I literally flinch, my back tightening and my heart beating too hard. With a snarl of irritation at myself, I push back from the counter and get the door.
Coach stands on the threshold, his weathered face shadowed by a baseball cap. He’s going casual, which, for him, means slacks and a polo shirt. It also makes me suspicious. Coach is probably not aware, but he has tells. A suit means he’s going to kick your ass in a hurry. Casual means he’ll come at you as a friend, hoping to sneak past your resistance before you realize you’ve been played.
“Hey, Coach.” I step back to let him in.
“Drew.” He heads for the kitchen. He’s been here enough to know where it is. Coach helped me pick the place. Helped me pick my ass off the floor when my parents died. And I don’t want him here. The smell of his expensive cologne makes my throat close up.
He turns and looks me over. “How you doing?”
“Good.” I limp to the counter. A half empty beer bottle rests on it. I want to drink it down, and at the same time, shove it away, hide it from Coach.
I settle for resting my hands on the cold marble. “You want a beer or something?” God, I just want him out of my house. His presence is choking me.
He gives me a level look. “You drink often?”
I can’t help but snort. “I’d like to think I’m not so prosaic as to become a drunk. Or a druggie,” I add because I know his next question will be about my painkillers.
Annoyingly, he smiles in that way of his, like I’ve made him proud. Which makes me want to smash things. But the smile falls. “You’ve missed another PT session.”
What can I say? Nothing. The weight on my chest grows.
I feel him watching me.
“Want to tell me why you missed? And practice too? You might not be able to play, but you are still a member of this team. It reflects poorly on you and the team when you don’t show.”
Never have I heard such subdued disappointment from my coach. I clear my throat. I can’t tell him the truth. How can I tell this man that I don’t want to return?
The giant clock my mom salvaged from a downtown building in Chicago ticks away in the dining room. And then Coach takes a step toward me.
“If you could see yourself the way I do.” He shakes his head. “I just don’t want all that potential to go to waste, Drew.”
“Yeah, well neither do I.” Unfortunately some things aren’t under my control. I shift my weight further onto my good leg, and say what I need to say to get him out of here. “Look, I won’t miss another PT.”
The choking sensation is growing, clogging my throat, filling my lungs.
“The break is clean,” he says. “You’re young and strong. You’ll heal and be back to top form in no time.”
I make the mistake of meeting his eyes. And shit, that was stupid because our gazes lock, and I know he sees everything. That he gets what’s going on in my head, that I’m spooked. That the instant I heard my leg snap, something within me did as well, and I’d realized everything I’d ever relied on was as solid as smoke.
Maybe he too is thinking of my dad, whose pro career was snatched away by a college injury. My dad wasn’t a bitter man, but the loss haunted him. I’d seen it in his eyes, in the way he’d grow distant sometimes when we walked about me going to the NFL. My dad was the best man I’d ever known. But I don’t want to become him, not that way.
Coach had to understand this. He’d been friendly with my dad. The silence between us stretches tight, and I want so badly to look away that I grind my teeth.