“Oh.” I frowned. “Okay. Can you bring it when you come next time?”
“Sure. I’ll do that.” She smiled, but it seemed forced, as though there was some reason she didn’t want me to have my cell phone. Uneasiness swam in my gut, along with a frustration that right now, stuck in this hospital bed, I was powerless to figure out what the hell was going on and fix any potential issues.
But before I could question her, there was a knock at the door, and I turned my head to see who it was.
Coach Briars stood in the doorway, looking distinctly uncomfortable, as if this was the last place on earth he wanted to be. I was surprised to see that Carl Nance, the team owner, was with him as were the team doctor, and Dr. Tulad, my orthopedist.
The uneasiness I’d been feeling was giving way to a sinking feeling, a pitted dread. There was only one likely reason this particular group of people would be here now, together. My hunch was strengthened when my mother gravitated to my bedside and took my hand.
“Hey.” I pretended ignorance, smiling wide. “C’mon in. I don’t know if we have enough chairs in here for this crowd. It’s good to see you all.”
“It’s all right, Noah. We don’t need chairs.” Coach came to stand near the foot of my bed, his arms folded over his barrel chest. The rest of the contingent filled the room, each man appearing to be less than glad to be here. When everyone was inside, Carl cleared his throat. Apparently, he’d been elected as the spokesperson.
“Noah, we want to begin by saying how relieved and happy everyone in this organization is that you’re making a full recovery. It’s an answer to all of our prayers. We hope you know that no matter what the future holds, you’ll always be a part of this team, this family.”
A buzzing began to sound in my ears. Carl went on speaking, and then the team doctor said something, and then Coach spoke up. But it wasn’t until Dr. Talud took his turn that I really heard anything at all.
“ . . . and we hoped that this second surgery would show us what we wanted to see as far as improvement in your condition. Unfortunately, that was not the case. The ruptured tendons—in conjunction with the ACL and MCL tears—will make it virtually impossible for you to ever return to a full range of motion in that knee. You’re very lucky that you’ll be able to walk again, and with some hard work on your part in PT, we should be able to return you to normal activity without too much pain. Given everything you’ve gone through not only with your injury but with the complications of the surgery, your medical team is pleased with your overall progress and is optimistic that your prognosis is positive—within reason, of course.”
The room was silent. Next to me, my mother was clutching my hand. It seemed that no one wanted to look at me; every set of eyes was focused elsewhere, on the floor, the wall or the ceiling.
“Do you understand, Noah?” It was Coach who asked the question, his voice filled with sympathy. “We’re all devastated by this decision, but it’s the only one that could be made. It’s the best thing we can do not only for the team, but for you.”
“Say it.” I spoke low, my voice fierce. “Say it to me out loud. Don’t beat around the fucking bush.”
“Noah,” my mother began, but I shook off her hand and shot her a look of pure venom.
“Shut up. I don’t want to hear it from you. I want to hear it from them. I want them to say it plain. I don’t want pity or pretty words. Tell me. Stop being fucking pussies and tell me what you came to say.”
They all glanced at each other, varying levels of sadness and reluctance on their faces. In the end, it was Coach who leaned against the end of my bed and leveled his gaze at me.
“Your career is over, Noah. You’re never going to play professional football again.”
