“Luca!” I screamed out, hoping he’d hear me and look my way.
Time was dragging.
Minutes passed and then Luca was upright, leaning heavily on one of the trainers. Relief flooded my body. Even though he was half carried from the ground, at least he was up and moving. I could deal with anything else.
The look on his face told me everything I needed to know. His eyes squinted. His cheeks were red and his jaw locked. Pain was obviously making Luca her bitch right now. As he got closer to the sideline, the players moved back into position, ready to restart the game. I didn’t give a shit though. My whole focus was on the man being helped from the field.
Walking along the fence, I tried to get closer to the bench to see what I could overhear or if I could snag Luca’s attention, but the security guard wasn’t buying it. I tried to tell her I was Luca’s girlfriend, but she didn’t believe me.
Looking past her, I realised it didn’t matter. I could be sitting on the bench and I still wouldn’t know because they didn’t even stop there. Instead, they headed straight down the race out of sight, leaving me completely clueless as to how bad it really was.
Chapter Thirty-Five – Luca
My knee hurt like a motherfucker.
Blinking back tears, I slid onto the treatment table and draped my arm over my eyes. I didn’t want to look at anyone, let alone the harsh light almost blinding me. When someone attempted to bend my knee, I howled in pain. I’d had injuries before, you didn’t get to my age without your fair share of battle wounds, but this one wasn’t just a scratch. I knew it, the doctor knew it. Coach knew it. The only difference was, no matter what the diagnosis, come tomorrow my football career was over.
“Okay, Luca, you’re going to need scans tomorrow, but for now we’ll just put some ice on it...”
“No,” I replied firmly.
“No?” the doctor questioned.
Dropping my arm, I rolled to my side and looked him straight in the eye. “I need to get back out there.”
“Luca, you can’t run on that leg.”
“Doc. Come on, man. It’s my last game. I need to go back out there. I need to walk off the field. I need the last memory I have of playing to be walking off the field and looking up into the stands. I don’t wanna be that guy who hobbled off halfway through.” I begged shamelessly, hoping to appeal to the traditionalist in him.
“You’re a liability if you go back out there,” he stated firmly.
Doc was a good guy. He’d taped me up and wiped away the blood more times than he should’ve. He knew me. He knew how stubborn and hard headed I could be when I set my mind to it. And there was no way I was backing down. Not today anyway.
“Can he play?” a voice asked from behind me.
Recognising Ray, one of the trainers, striding in, his arms folded across his chest, hope bloomed in my chest. Maybe I could convince him.
“He can’t run on that leg,” Doc reinforced.
“Is him being out on the field going to make it worse?”
Deciding it was best to let them argue it out between them and remain silent, I sat up and started poking at my knee, trying to figure out where exactly I’d hurt it. Right now, it wasn’t too bad, I knew though the moment I tried to put weight on it, it’d be another story all together.
“Depends.”
“On?”
“What you want him to be able to do.”
“Can he walk out on the field and stand there for five minutes?” Ray asked directly.
“No running?”
“No running.”
“No kicking?”
“No kicking.”
