Harley
Have you ever beentold news that left you feeling completely numb? Completely betrayed?
Because I have.
Growing up, all I had was my mom, and I liked it that way. She was all I knew. I’d asked her a few times about my dad, but that was mostly because the majority of the people at my school had one. It felt like I was missing out on a tiny piece of me that everybody else has.
Everybody but me.
I would overhear parents talking about my mom, and how brave she was raising a son without his father. How sad it was, because boysneededa man in their lives, and all I had was a mom who worked too much to raise me.
How else would I learn to change a tire?
How would I learn to fix things that were broken in a home?
Who would take me camping, help me catch my first fish?
My father was right in front of my face my whole life, and yet, my mother was the one who taught me all of those things.
If I was thinking with my head and not my heart, I would go straight to her house, demanding answers.But I’m not thinking rationally at all. I’m thinking about all the things I was robbed of and now I know who was to blame and why.
I didn’t grow up with a father, so I don’t know what it’s like to have one.
But I did grow up playing football.
It was a constant in my life, and when that was taken away from me, I went to a dark place for a long time.
A long fucking time.
I went through months of physical therapy, and that wasn’t just to repair the damage to my shoulder. I had injuries all over my body.
They had broken my right leg just above the knee, which required major surgery.My collarbone was so badly broken that it tore through my skin, needing three different surgeries over a two-week period.
I fractured my left eye socket, leaving my vision temporarily impaired.
And my shoulder.
My fucking shoulder.
My rotator cuff was torn completely, along with a shoulder displaced fracture. Doctors told me surgerycouldhelp, but there was no guarantee I would ever be able to throw a ball again, let alone at a professional level.
It required a lengthy, complex surgery. Even with rehab, the success rates were low.
I tried to remain hopeful.Robbie and Bea kept telling me I’d make a full recovery, and I wanted so badly to believe them. To show everyone what I was capable of.
But I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
No matter how hard I tried, or how long I spent in physical therapy, no team wanted me. I was damaged goods, forced to figure out a new life, a new normal, and it took me a long fucking time.
The person responsible was a person I once considered a brother.
My fucking brother.
I think a part of me had a gut feeling that it was him. It was too much of a coincidence that I’d seen him the night of the accident. The thought briefly crossed my mind, but I shook it off instantly, and hated myself for eventhinkinghe could be capable. There was no way someone I valued so highly, no matter what, would do something like that.
Especially without reason.
