“Is Rivera out there?”
“Yeah, they’re on the field now.”
“This is absolutely the worst thing that could have happened.” I lower my head.
“There are worse things, man. Your shoulder will heal. Been there, done that.”
“It hurts like hell.”
“It will hurt for a while, but that’s not the hard part. The hard part is when it stops hurting and you still can’t play because your bones haven’t healed. That’s when it gets really hard.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be making me feel better because I’m not really feeling this pep talk, Coach.”
He chuckles. “Let’s just wait to see what Doc has to say.”
About fifteen minutes later, the Nighthawks team doctor comes in the room with a solemn face.
“Painkillers kick in yet?”
“No, I think all you gave me were a couple of Flintstones Vitamins.”
The doctor smiles reservedly. “I’ll give you some stronger stuff for later because you need to be home to take it.”
“So what’s the damage?” I ask him. “Just tell it to me straight.”
“The bad news is that it’s a pretty serious clavicle fracture. The good news is that it’s not your throwing arm, so you could come back at the end of the season. It really depends on how you heal.”
Dammit.
“I’m going to put you in a sling for now, but you’re going to need to see a specialist at Mercy West. He may recommend surgery. They’ll probably want to implant some metal rods and screws to help you heal properly.”
“What’s the minimum time you think?”
“At least six weeks.”
I close my eyes in utter disbelief at my horrible luck. I’ve never been seriously injured before, and now I’m going to probably be out most of the season. What the hell am I going to do?
“I’ll be right back with the sling.”
For a moment, I forget Coach T is even in the room until he speaks again.
“This could be a blessing in disguise.”
My eyes flash open.
“How?”
“Use this time to lie low and keep your name out of the press. No trips to any Caribbean islands. No grandiose purchases. No celebrities in your bed. Just stay under the radar.”
For a moment, Coach’s recommendation feels like a parental reprimand, but then I remember who I’m talking to and recognize it for what it is, well-intentioned advice and a little tough love.
“I have little choice now, do I?”
“There’s always a choice, Jett. The question is, will you finally make the right ones to salvage your career?”
“Salvage?” I feel totally offended. “I’ve barely gotten started. I don’t think my career is in a place where it needs to be salvaged.”
Coach T looks around to make sure no one is listening, as if he’s not really supposed to be sharing what he’s about to say to me.
