“She and Camden aren’t going to make it,” Paisley signs. “They’re not endgame.”
Am I supposed to believe that means there is an opening for me?
Because that’s what my gullible heart assumes.
My stomach twists, and I focus on the talking heads on-screen now that Valerie’s face is gone. They pull up video of certain plays, dissecting each one, but I don’t care. My brain rewinds every moment with Camden since the first one.
Dissecting them like a talking head. Wondering how they might be different. If I said something different. Or he did.
I’ve never been much into science, but the butterfly effect makes it seem like Camden and I would be different people right now, if not for one single change in our history.
Would I be sitting here next to his sister?
Or would their parents?
Would I still be teaching?
Or would I be in that box, cheering him on right now?
I will never know.
The second half starts with renewed energy from both teams, and it’s a battle. Camden lines up wide, and I find myself leaning forward without realizing it. When Erik snaps the ball, Camden runs a perfect cross route, cutting sharply toward the middle of the field. The pass is on target, and he catches it in stride.
But as he turns upfield, a linebacker comes in low. Camden’s legs get tangled up in the tackle, and he goes down hard. I wince, reflexively reaching my hand out to Paisley’s arm, squeezing, and she lifts her attention from her phone to the television.
When Camden stays down, Paisley signs, “What happened? Is he okay?”
I don’t know, so I don’t answer, watching as he remains lifeless on the field.
I hold my breath, and everything seems to move in slow motion as the medical team runs onto the field. Erik is there too, kneeling beside his best friend, his hand on Camden’s shoulder pad.
There is movement. They’re talking, and I exhale harshly, relieved that he’s conscious.
The camera zooms in on his face, and even through the face mask, I can see he’s grimacing in pain.
Paisley tugs her arm back, and I realize I’m clenching too hard on her and force myself to release my hold, folding myarms around my bent knees instead. Still, my knuckles are white from my fingernails digging into my palms.
This is what I was afraid of. Not just caring about him, but caringthismuch. The kind of caring that makes my chest tight and the world feel like it’s tilting off its axis.
The medics do a couple of tests, ones that I know mean they’re checking for a concussion, and from the way Camden shakes his head when they sit him up, I guess he’s trying to tell them he doesn’t have one, but the league has started to take the protocol seriously.
I’m glad of it.
Especially when they help Camden stand, and he favors his right side. I don’t know if it’s an ankle sprain, his knee, or even his ribs, but when Paisley signs nervously to me, I attempt to reassure her that they have the best doctors. He’ll be fine, whatever it is.
Though he might not be back for this game. Maybe not the next one either.
As they reach the sideline, Camden has his helmet off and looks up toward the stands. For a moment, I imagine he’s looking for me.
Of course he’s not. He’s searching for Valerie, who’s probably already making her way down to the field.
The game continues without him, yet I can’t focus on anything else. Especially when the talking heads explain how Camden was taken to the locker room for more tests.
My stomach twists, deciding it doesn’t really like what we had for dinner anymore.
This is why I can’t do this. Can’t let myself fall for him completely.
Because I’m already too far gone to pretend that watching him get hurt doesn’t feel like I’m hurting too.
