When I wasn’t messaging Jay or working, I was practicing yoga and meditating. After Isabelle’s class, we went to several more, and when I left for deployment, I kept it up. It’s like my body has been begging me for this change. I’ve found ways to destress and separate my work life from my real self. Or, the newrealme I’m discovering. Like this quiet, peaceful part of me has been dormant until now.
Jay stands up and begins to pull his jersey over his t-shirt. Well,myt-shirt. He’s not even hiding it from me anymore.
“You’re going to wear my t-shirt under your jersey?” I ask, giving him a knowing look.
“I think it’s officially mine. Plus it’s my good luck charm. With you playing, we’re gonna need all the luck we can get today.”
Leaning back, I let out a laugh. “It’s your good luck charm? Why’s that?”
“This sounds crazy, but I swear animals are attracted to it. I feel like Snow White, I swear. Also, I met Cora in this, and I’m manifesting another coincidental run-in with her.”
I stand up, taking the jersey from him and swap out my shirt for it. “Whatever you say, dude.”
We group up with the rest of his team and he introduces me. All the guys are joking around, but I feel like an outsider. Jay tries to include me by explaining some of the inside jokes as they’re thrown around, and I’m thankful. He’s always like this—making sure I feel included and part of his life.
There are no spare players on our team, so I take the field with everyone else. I understand more than the basics of soccer, but I can’t help the adrenaline from pushing through my body in anticipation.
Jay looks over at me from his position and gives me a smile. “Don’t fuck it up, okay?” I roll my eyes and give him a middle finger as the whistle is blown.
As the game progresses, I get more comfortable in the cadence of play. I do my best to keep near Jay, and true to his word, he does make me look good. Passing me the ball easily, always being nearby to receive mine, and making up the distance when a pass falls short or goes too far.
He’s an agile athlete. He always has been. With long strides on the basketball court and here on the field, he reminds me of an antelope or maybe a lion. Smooth, yet powerful.
Somewhere in the second half of the game, we manage to score on the opposing team, tying us one to one, our team growing more confident and determined.
“Coming up on your right,” Jay calls from behind, running past me and catching my pass in between strides. He’s breathing hard, but that smile is still plastered to his face. He’s about to look up at the rapidly impeding goal when another player from the other team swoops in to steal it from him, catching him off guard. All at once, Jay runs into the player, as another tries to crowd in, but misses a step and falls forward. Jay falls over that player and hits the ground so hard I can hear the thud and a snapping sound.
I’m already running in his direction when he cries out, his body crumpling after the fall. “Shit!”
Kneeling in front of him a moment later, panic buzzes through me like I’ve touched a live wire. He lays on his back and throws an arm over his eyes, trying to hold back another scream. His smile is gone, replaced by pain.
“What hurts?” I rush out, unable to control the volume or intensity of my voice.
“It’s my shoulder—no, my chest,” he cries on broken breath. Then he removes his arm from his face, revealing his eyes closed tightly, tears falling down the sides.
Two other people come running up, but they’re too close for comfort. I lay my hands on his stomach and look up at the two players. “Don’t fucking touch him!” I bark.
They stop short and put up their hands. “We won’t. Just checking on him. Jay, do you need a medical trainer? Oh shit. Is that blood?”
I quickly look back at him and notice blood starting to seep through the top of his jersey close to the collar.Jay’s trying to collect his words, but I snap again. “Yes, get the fucking trainer!”
The two guys turn and wave over the trainer who’s already running toward us with their kit. I focus back on Jay and gently tighten my hands around his waist. “It’s okay, buddy. You’re going to be okay. Just stay still.”
“I can’t move. Fuck, it hurts.”
The trainer reaches us and kneels across from me, slipping on some latex gloves. “What's going on? Can you sit up?”
“No. I think it’s my collarbone. I can’t move,” Jay musters out, his eyes red-rimmed and watery.
“Okay. Can you try and take your jersey off?”
“He can’t even sit up! No, he can’t take off his shirt,” I snap again.
She peers in her bag and pulls out a pair of scissors. “Okay. Then I’ll have to cut it off.”
“No!” Jay yells at her. “You can’t cut it off.”
“Sir, if your collarbone is broken, I can’t help you if you keep your shirt on.”
