Get used to being alone. That’s what always happens. That’s what you deserve.
Chapter 7
Chapter
Lennon
* * *
“How are you feeling?” Coach Whittaker asked when he picked me up at Houston’s Hobby Airport eight days after my originally scheduled return date.
“Good. Really good,” I assured him. “Dr. Delancy cleared me to use the hospital’s physical therapy equipment on the third day, as Dr. Haberman suggested. And before you ask, I kept exercise light that first week. I haven’t had a headache or any issue in five days.”
“But you did have another trauma to your brain, and I take that seriously for all my players, Lennon. You’re too young to have a serious mental injury.”
I chuckled as he pulled the car away from the curb and began the arduous task of driving through the city’s traffic. Houston was always congested, no matter the time. But it was heavier than usual during this midday period. “Construction?” I asked.
“When isn’t there something new to build or something old to rip out in this city?”
“Especially highways.”
Coach chuckled. “I need you to talk to me, Lennon. I understand you not wanting to share the attack with your teammates, but I think it’s the wrong call?—”
“They’d worry about me more than you do, and that means they would play to defend me as opposed to how it’s supposed to be: me defending them.” I forced down the frustration that tried to fizz through my chest and past my iron-clad control. When you’re as big a guy as I was, you couldn’t lose control. “And that change in play could well cost us a run for the Cup.”
“Of course they care about you,” Coach said, sounding exasperated. “You’re one of our cornerstone players.”
“I’d like to keep it that way for another three, maybe five years.”
Coach smirked. “Seeing as you’ll be past thirty-five by then, we’ll just have to see.” He sobered. “Roles change, but that doesn’t mean you’re less integral to our success.”
I snorted. “Yes, it actually does. I don’t want to be relegated to the bench.”
“I wasn’t thinking the bench, and Dr. Haberman gets the final call on that one. Not me,” Coach said.
“And he’s seeing me now?”
“Always so impatient, you players. Yes, I’m driving you to the facility to meet with him. Soon we’ll have a better picture of what we’re dealing with and how best to help you.”
“Letting me play my game is what you need to do.”
Coach grunted. “We’ll see.”
I’d had to ask my mother to keep my German shepherd, Belladonna, for an extra week, which meant my dog was probably five pounds heavier and much worse at listening than when I’d left. My mother spoiled the dog more than she did her kids. Not that I blamed her; when Belladonna turned those liquid brown eyes on me, I was a goner.
“Hola, Mama,” I said as I walked through her kitchen door later that evening. Belladonna woofed and danced, licking my hands and rubbing against my joggers as she whined with pleasure.
“My son! How are you feeling? Oh, you look peaky. Sit. I made posole. It’s good for sickness.”
“Good to see you, too, sweetheart,” I said to my dog, giving her ears a scratch. “I’m not sick, Mom. In fact, I just got a clean bill of health?—”
“Posole will help. Good nutrition in your veins to keep your vitality up.”
I couldn’t help but smile. My mother loved her kids deeply and hard. She wanted to do something for me, and cooking was one of the ways she showed love. I enjoyed her dishes, and I wasn’t going to turn down one of my favorites.
At least I hadn’t planned to until my mother shot me a sly look. “So when do I get to meet Vivian?”
My mother had been in the U.S. for over fifty years, but she pronounced Vivian’s name Vee-Vee-Ann. It was rather adorable. I thought Vivi would like that, too.
