I open my eyes, and it’s not the pain or the embarrassment, but Jack’s sudden seriousness that makes me crack.
“You’re going to get through this. Do you hear me?” he says, returning his hand to my chest. He’s solid and strong, and, not surprisingly, the only person I want to see right now. The only person that I know truly gets it. That the pain I’m feeling isn’t physical but the result of the possible loss of my future plans and goals, all taken away within the course of a single pitch. “Physical therapy. Practices. Whatever we have to do. You will play again, O. You’re gonna make it to the Majors, and I will be with you every step of the way.”
I know he means every word in earnest. He wants to be here for me like I tried to support him, but we both know he has a life, with a wife and a newborn daughter now. He doesn’t have the time to keep the promises he’s making, and I’d never ask him to sacrifice a minute of the life he fought so hard for just to watchme convalesce and pray desperately to still have a career after the dust settles.
Closing my eyes against the range of emotions hitting me, I settle back into the bed. Jack’s chair shifts, and I hear him take steps towards the door.
“Jacky?” I whisper, feeling like I did when we were little boys and I’d wake Jack up in the middle of the night whenever I had a bad dream.
I don’t want to be alone.
“I’m not going anywhere, buddy.” Jack pauses at the door, and without me having to ask and not an ounce of jeering, he adds. “I’m just going to get your Brookey.”
He quietly hums “Can You Feel the Love Tonight” as he leaves, and I let myself relax back into the mattress, only now realizing there’s an army green, toy Bronco that looks a whole lot like my actual Bronco on the bedside table—evidence that my best friend was truly here—as I drift back to sleep.
Tots, Collaborate & Listen is packed tonight. The whole place smells of beer and tater tot combos. The crowd is electric as they sing along with Dinah, her sister, Emory, and their friend, Chloe, to “I’ve Got Friends in Low Places.” Drinks in one hand and arms around shoulders, the whole place is swaying like they’re at the tail end of a Garth Brooks concert but aren’t ready to go home yet.
Months ago, Nate and Maloy, the owners who are brothers and my life-long friends, insisted they’d host a party for the team and our supporters as a way to open up the Badgers’ season. At the time, I thought it was a great idea. I could tell Brooke’s relationship withWolverinewas coming to an end. My sixpound, nine ounce, perfect-angel niece had just been born. And, the Atlanta Hammers’ management had just reached out to my coach with interest in scouting a game. Everything in my life was going pretty well. A night of karaoke with my teammates and family sounded like icing on a perfectly baked cake.
But tonight, four days post-surgery, and two before I miss my first game thanks to this injury, I’d rather be anywhere else. I know no one expected me to come tonight, but I didn’t want to let the team down more than I already have.
The Hammers have officially moved on, letting my coaches know they wished me all the best but couldn’t risk further investment. No need to waste time on a player who may not even have a career by next spring.
“Hey.” Brooke slides onto the stool next to mine at the bar, letting her hand rest on my back. “Do you feel okay, or are you ready to go?”
Nope. Just wallowing away in self-pity.
“And miss you singing “Strawberry Wine?” Not a chance.” I take a sip of my drink, doing my best to smile over the rim of the glass, though the pain is really starting to intensify. I want Brooke and my team to have fun tonight. Even if I’m miserable.
“You could sing, too, ya know?” She orders a ginger beer, then scoots her stool closer to me so we can talk over Titan’s surprisingly good rendition of “Unchained Melody.” Looping her arm through mine, Brooke leans in. Despite the noise and the scent of beer and cheese permeating the room, the smell of her hair fills my senses. She’s wearing it down tonight, curled in a messy but cute way that I know took her little time to perfect but makes her look breathtaking.
She smells like the shampoo she’s used for years. Almond and shea butter. It’s sweet and savory and makes me want to bury my face in the spot along her neck where her dusky, black hair lies in waves against soft, pale skin. Ya know, like friends do.
“I bet everyone would be just delighted to hear you sing a good love song, O. Maybe something Disney inspired.”
I groan and take another sip. “You’re never gonna let me live that down are you? I was not in my right mind, Brooke. Drugged. Loopy. I can’t be held accountable.”
She laughs, shaking her head, and begins to sing, “You’re holding back, you’re hiding…”
“You’re a pest,” I joke, though I can’t say that I mind it a bit. She’s light and silly tonight, brightening this little corner of the bar, the night, and my world… like she always does.
“Yeah, but you love me—”
We both freeze. The truth of her words—and my confession while under the influence post-surgery—stuttering between us. The way her eyes can’t meet mine as she runs her finger over the rim of her glass tells me she wasn’t expecting her teasing to lead to an actual discussion about what I said at the hospital. Something that, despite our proximity over the last four days, she’s expertly evaded.
I’ve got little going for me now that my entire professional life and goals are essentially on a twelve to fifteen month—possibly indefinite—hold. Something about knowing my life has taken a dramatic turn has me wanting to throw caution to the wind and press pause on my promise to Brooke. To acknowledge that everything I said when I was at my most vulnerable was, and has always been, the truth.
She clears her throat and starts to push back from her seat. “We should probably get you home, right? You’re due for meds.”
“Brooke—”
A burst of giggles suddenly surrounds us as Dinah, Emory, and Chloe make their way to the bar. Dinah’s beaming from ear to ear, holding Emory’s hand and lightly dancing to the music. “Oh hello, brooooo,” she sings, then smacks a kiss to my cheek. “Have I told you how much I love you?”
I raise an eyebrow at her sister who shrugs and shakes her head. “It’s her first night out since the baby was born. A half a glass of white wine and she’s declared her love for everyone in the room.”
“But you’re special, Owen. I promise.” Dinah wraps her arms around my neck, squeezing gently. “I just love your little face.”
“Thanks, sis.” I pat her arm but wince when I try to remove myself from her grasp. “Glad you’re having a good time. I love you, too.”
