“Will you please call Laney and fix whatever is going on with you?” Clark asks as we get on the bus home from the Colorado weekend.
“You think that’s the reason I’m ornery?” I ask, gritting my teeth as I slide into a bench opposite him.
He shrugs. “I don’t really know, man. I’ve never seen you like this, and I don’t know how to snap you out of it.”
“I didn’t play this weekend, Clark.” I open my mouth to say more, but there isn’t much I can say.
With a nod, he says, “Yeah, because you need to let your leg heal.”
I shake my head. “I should’ve stayed home.”
Rolling his eyes, Clark says, “Then maybe next time you should if you’re going to have that attitude.”
I don’t think I’ve ever heard such anger from Clark, but while the weekend wasn’t a total bust, it didn’t go without a big fight.
The bus ride home is long, at least eight hours, and I’ve thought of texting Laney a few times, but how do I tell her everything that’s going on in my life without digging deep into the why and the hurt.
Of course I would find someone who was willing to support me in the sport I love, then push them away.
Why? Why couldn’t I just be grateful for the time we had and not worry about the future?
Because most women need stability. But is Laney in that group?
I put my headphones in and try to sleep. It’s never easy sleeping in a bus seat, so I go in and out, feeling almost worse by the time we make it to Salt Lake.
The five of us roommates had all driven to the field together before the weekend, so we’re all in one vehicle on the way back to the house.
Finny and Stack are chatting about different plays from the games, and Jackson fell asleep again, his face smashed against the window. There’s a tiny dribble of drool just outside the corner of his mouth.
“Sorry about earlier,” Clark says, staring out the windshield.
“Thanks,” I say.
“How’s your leg feeling?”
With a small shrug, I say, “It feels better, until I run on it.”
He looks at me for an extra few seconds while we wait for a stoplight to turn green. “Are you all right?”
The way he says it tears through me. I came to the Lancers a year before he did, but ever since he’s been here, he’s like the lost brother I never had.
I think over my answer carefully, not wanting to lie. “Not really. I think with time, I will be. Right now, the doubts are destroying the positive thoughts.”
It’s vulnerable and not something I’d admit to most people.
“What doubts?”
“Should I keep playing? If something as small as a pulled hamstring can keep me out of games for an extended amount of time, am I too old to be a Lancer?”
Clark doesn’t jump in with a quick answer, and part of me wonders if that’s confirmation of my doubts.
“Look, Burton, we all have moments of uncertainty. For a long time, I doubted that I’d even be able to make a commercial.” We both laugh at that. “It’sokay to lean on people in life. You don’t have to do everything yourself.”
“But how do you get out of that habit when it’s like a trauma response? I didn’t have family that backed me up every step of the way. Half the time I had to call and get a ride with teammates growing up, just so I wouldn’t miss a game.”
“You’re never going to be perfect, Burton, but you have to make an effort to change how you respond. Lean on people. Let them in. Not everyone will be worthy of your trust, and you’ll figure those out quickly. But others, others will surprise you. They’ll pull you in, and you’ll do everything you can to be a better person. Laney is one of those.”
Shaking my head, I say, “I can’t put her through what I’m going through.”
