“You mentioned seeing a specialist recently,” Lance said, initiating the conversation carefully.
“Dr. Williston is a kinesiologist.” The pain subsided, so he put his leg back where it had been on the ottoman. “It was a recommendation of the surgeon, and my sister decided to stick her nose into it and took me to see Dr. Williston this week.”
“I’ve never heard of a kinesiologist,” Lance remarked, which was surprising considering how many medical personnel work with college football players.
“Yeah—they often work with amputees and others who are severely injured.”
Lance didn’t speak, waiting and hoping he’d keep going.
“When I—got out—I stole a helo and headed towards the nearest US military base. Except the helo was really old, with no working comms system, and definitely not American made. As soon as I flew into US-controlled air space, they mistook me for the enemy and shot down the helo. The bird went down sideways, and my left arm and shoulder, along with my left leg, took the brunt of the impact. The arm and shoulder were not too hard to put back together, but my leg is another story. It was basically crushed. I’m lucky to have it still attached.”
Lance winced sympathetically while remaining focused on the game. The Badgers were now up by 10 points.
“What do you mean crushed?” Lance asked calmly, turning to look at him.
“Three bones in my foot were broken, two in my ankle, my tibia was broken in five places, my kneecap was busted, and my femur was snapped in two.” Reciting the list that he’d memorized right after the crash was oddly comforting. Something tangible he could repeat with an almost clinical detachment now. “Crushed my arm too. Broke my shoulder blade, dislocated the shoulder, and snapped the elbow.”
“Holy fuck!” Lance breathed out, looking stunned. “How did they even fix your leg? Wouldn’t it have been easier to—” hestopped, not saying the words Tanner didn’t need to hear. He shook his head.
“That’s what they wanted to do, but I refused,” he stated calmly, turning to look at Lance challengingly. He’d already told him far more than he’d ever expected to.
Lance, reading him loud and clear, simply nodded. “That’s—” he shook his head like he couldn’t take it all in. “I can’t quite believe you survived that—and the pain? Dude—” he shook his head.
It was odd to see well-spoken Lance at a loss for words. Tanner merely shrugged in response.
“I dislocated my shoulder once when I got tackled and I whined about it for days. I was a total cry baby!” Lance confessed with a snort. He took a healthy swig of his beer while staring blankly at the TV.
“Yeah, but did you almost burst into tears like a little girl at a breakfast diner because you were tired?” Tanner asked, poking fun at himself. Lance barked a quick laugh and shook his head.
“I think saying you were tired is a serious understatement. The thing I don’t understand is how come your leg is healed enough for you to walk on, but you still can’t use your arm?”
Tanner was impressed that Lance was so observant.
“My left leg was so fucked up they had to operate multiple times. Usually, they’d have gone in and done the arm at the same time, but I was in such bad shape that it was too risky. So, they had to spread out the operations. I had one operation every two weeks over a four-month period.” It was odd how the clinical aspects of his recovery were so easy for him to discuss. They were facts. The objective part of this. Everything else was hard to cope with. The subjective part of this kicked his ass. Remembering. Understanding.Feeling.
“Jesus,” Lance said, turning sideways to face Tanner, brushing his knee against Tanner’s upper thigh. Tanner wasn’t quite sure why he noticed the touch, so he just chalked it up to the lack of physical touch by anyone other than doctors and his family for such a long time. He certainly didn’t mind Lance sitting so close. He did his best to wave the thought away.
“Yeah, come to think of it, I’m pretty sure I saw him a couple of times when I was high as fuck on some of the good shit my doctor gave me,” he said with a laugh.
“Yeah? How was he?” Lance asked playfully.
“Hot.”
Which made Lance choke on his beer and just about cough up a lung.
Tanner smiled and leaned back, humming with contentment as the soft leather all but swallowed him up and the beer kicked in.
“You’re such a dick, T,” Lance said accusingly once he got his breath back, even while he was unable to hide his smile.
Tanner had to admit that sometimes maybe he was a dick, but God did he like the new nickname, “T.”
“Don’t be jealous just ‘cause I got a private visit from the lamb of God—or what the fuck ever!” He turned back to the game in time to see Parker catch another great pass, making it look easy. “Damn, is that kid good or what?”
Lance smiled with pride. “He might just go all the way.”
Sure, Parker played well, but truthfully Tanner didn’t think he’d ever be quite as spectacular on the field as Lance Kingsley had been. He kept that to himself.
*****
