Chapter Thirty-Seven
Time is going by way too fast — my body can feel it, my soul hates it, and my heart is breaking every damn day.
Weston
The weekend with Kiersten was at the top of my list as best weekends ever. Friday I hadn’t been in the mood to do anything except mope around. We watched movies all day and ate popcorn balls.
Saturday we swam some more and Sunday I helped her put together her schedule for Spring Semester. She was still trying to pick a major. She said she wanted to pick one and have it over with — her idea was that her major should be purposeful, she wanted a purpose in her life. I couldn’t blame her for that, so I just stayed silent and helped her pick the Gen Eds she would need anyways.
By the time Monday rolled around, I knew the clock was not going in my favor. I had started my new meds and hadn’t dealt with that kind of nausea since starting my treatment. Both David and James were worried, especially since I had one more football game before I was officially off the team.
She’d never seen me play.
I’d always played for the team, for the fans, for my dad, for Tye, even for myself. I’d never in my life played for a girl. It was special, and I wanted to do a good job, which meant I had to haul ass to practice when all I really wanted to do was puke and sleep. Food had completely lost its taste. In fact, it had been slowly getting worse ever since last month. Kiersten obviously didn’t know, but it was like every time she ate, I tried to imagine what it tasted like. Tried to remember how turkey tasted, how sugar tasted.
Concentrating on those things just made me feel weak. I mean, how lame was it that a six foot four, two hundred twenty pound guy was upset because he couldn’t taste turkey anymore?
I wiped the sweat from my forehead and did another dead lift. Tony was spotting me as usual, when Coach came up behind us and took his spot.
“You up to it?” he asked as I did another lift.
“Yup.” I clenched my teeth as I threw the weight down. “I’ve got this.”
“M’kay.” Coach looked away and wiped at his eyes. “And if there’s anything I can do—”
“I’m not dead yet, Coach.” I snapped.
“I know.” His eyes watered.
Aw, shit. I put my hands on my hips and sighed, looking away from the man who’d given me my scholarship, who’d watched me play at BHS when I was a senior. We’d been to Hell and back, and I’m sure it felt to him like he was losing family. I knew that only because it felt the same way to me.
My team was my family.
They were my brothers.
I worried about them, I fought with them, I ate with them. We were a team and I hated to think about them going on without me. I despised the fact that I wouldn’t be there to offer my support when they graduated, or went to their first jobs, or possibly got the bowl game we’d been wanting since Oregon stole it from us last year.
“I’m a fighter,” I finally said, my gaze never wavering as I stared Coach down. “And I’m going to win.”
“Hell yes, you are.” Coach stalked toward me and got right in my face. “You sure as hell will beat this thing, and you’ll do me proud, you hear?”
“Loud and clear, sir.” I choked on the tears burning at the back of my throat.
“Okay.” He patted my back. “Good talk. Now hit the showers.”
He wiped his face as he made his way back to his office and slammed the door.
“Is it just me or is Coach a lot more emotional lately?” Tony said from behind me. I wondered how much he’d heard.
“Ah, he’s just nervous about the game.” I slapped Tony on the back. “You heard Coach. Hit the showers!” I yelled at my team, quite possibly for the last time. The game was tomorrow, Tuesday. And it would be my last for a while.