Because she had hurt me. Not intentionally. She did her job. She followed every rule as she told me she always would. Maybeit was selfish of me, but I wanted her to pick me first. Pick me over the job and tell me. But she didn’t.
I kept wondering if I looked weak to her. If my body failing meant she saw me differently. I’d spent months proving I was strong enough to survive what came before. And now I had a chart that said I might not even be safe to run the ball ten yards without my heart going too fast. It was too uncertain. When was it going to go rogue enough that I might not make it back?
She didn’t know what that did to me.
I thought about Rachel. About our email exchange. She said I looked calm, focused. Like myself again. She was proud. She didn’t know that the moment she sent it, I was sitting in diagnostics, trying not to pass out.
I had waited so long for her to come back. And now I didn’t even know how to answer. I swallowed hard, wishing this wasn’t me doing this. “I don’t know what to do, Sloane. You probably think I’m pathetic.”
“No. I won’t let you do this. Not as your girlfriend and especially because of what my role on this team is. You are strong, brave, resilient, and still allowed to be confused. Now, we’re gonna pro and con the shit out of this.”
Sloane reached for a napkin. She placed it between us on the table, then pulled a pen from her bag. She wrote a single line:
Option One – Ablation
I didn’t stop her.
She listed the recovery: six to eight weeks, monitoring, reconditioning, no contact until cleared. She passed me the pen.
I wrote: miss the rest of the season. Might not be ready for playoffs. Might lose my starting spot.
I stared at the napkin. My chest tightened. I couldn’t tell if it was the condition or the grief.
She took it back and turned it over.
Option Two – Medication
She wrote: play limited reps, constant HR tracking, clearance before each game
I added: risk of mid-game spikes, fatigue, no guarantee, potential for multiple medication and dosage changes
We sat in silence again. The napkin sat between us, a list of everything I didn’t want to admit out loud.
She reached across the table and touched the inside of my wrist. Her thumb brushed over my pulse point. My hand twitched, but I didn’t pull away.
“You don’t have to decide tonight,” she said, her voice soft and comforting. “You have until Monday, and like any big decision, you shouldn’t make it right after hearing the news. Let it settle, think about what you want.”
“I know what I want.” I took her hand in mind, staring at the two moles near her palm. I loved her hands, how smooth her skin was. I didn’t meet her eyes when I traced my pointer finger over her palm, making circles.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“I’m finishing this season.” I glanced up and stared at her. “I want to start with medication. If we can control it with that, then I can still play like normal and not need to take time off. If for some reason it doesn’t work, I’ll look into the procedure in the offseason. Butonlyif the medication doesn’t help. I can’t… the thought of walking away makes me want to throw up.”
“Knowing you have to sit out Sunday’s game and possibly more?”
“Yeah.” I let go of her hand and gripped my neck, the tension of the unknown working its way down my body. She stared at me, lips parted and her brown eyes wide with worry. A rock formed in my gut as I second-guessed myself. I never second-guessed myself. “You don’t like that choice?”
She exhaled and rubbed her lips together before wincing. “Oliver, I’m…I’m not sure what I think matters right now. This is your choice.”
“Your face is loud though.”
“Yeah, you have this way to remove my walls. No one in my life would say my face is loud. Just you.”
My lips twitched. “Well, I like hearing you say that.”
Her gaze softened as she stared at the napkins, picking up the pros of waiting. “As a doctor, I’d say finishing the season would probably be okay. Especially if we can start you on a medication to help control your heart rate. You’ve been battling this your whole life, and you’re healthy and aware of your limitations. High altitude or sudden changes would mean you sit, but you’d still play most of the games if you pass clearance.”
“I sense a but coming.”
