There’s a pause. Heavy. Deliberate.
“I won’t sign off on him playing until after a full neuro workup,” Doc replies.
The words reverberate in cadence with my throbbing head. As if the hit wasn’t bad enough, my mind spends precious cycles processing this.
Mark swears under his breath. “How many now?”
“Concussions?” Doc questions. “We’re past numbers. We’re talking about long-term risk.”
Something in my chest caves in. I want to speak up—tell them I can hear them, but my mouth won’t formulate the words. The last thing I overhear before the dark rolls back in is Mark murmuring, “It’s a tragedy. He gave up everything for this..”
Unable to be alone with myself, I decide to head into town so I don’t have to face all the memories surging to the surface.
As I approach the cafe where I first spotted Amy, determination rises up in me. I’ll do whatever it takes to find out why she posted that picture and destroyed us in the process.
Then what do you want from her?Unable to answer my own question, I set it aside for now.
It isn’t long after placing my order and finding a table in the back where I won’t be recognized, that the gossip reaches me. Before I can blink, a honey latte is delivered and I can’t help but engage my waitress.
“Is the town always this busy?”
She answers, “Depends.” before scuttling away.
Two old men sitting at the next table start talking and I catch the tail end of it. “...been here long enough to earn some peace after that whole college fiasco, if you ask me,” one of them snaps.
The other tacks on. “Shame she was set up like that.”
The words slam into me as hard as the hit I took to cause my helmet to fly. I force myself to take a quick drink before continuing to listen in. The first man sums up what happened to Amy with a few succinct words.
The second remarks, “I’m glad she fought back.”
With a few succinct words, they’ve summed up the downfall of my and Amy’s relationship due to the photo being uploaded to DormLust. But the town’s firmly held conviction that Amy had nothing to do with it is clear.
The first man states with certainty, “It was a crime. I still believe she should have pressed charges.”
The second man nods. “I agree. Suing wasn’t enough.”
“But look at the good she did with that money.”
“I agree.”
Wait, Amy sued who over what? What money? What the hell am I missing?
“She was wrecked when she first came home,” the first man says, voice deceptively quiet. “Didn’t look like someone lying.”
“She finished school,” The second adds. “Stayed. Built something.”
Pride flares in my chest and dies just as fast. Of course she did. She’d always been stronger emotionally than anyone else I’ve ever met.
I surge to my feet, setting the mug down, hands steady even though my insides feel anything but. Addressing the waitress, I rasp, “I’m sorry. I have to go.”
Once I step outside, the fall air hits my lungs with a rush. I stand there trying to piece together what I learned as I stare down the street toward the high school where Amy’s likely making some complex math solution easy.
I’d told myself leaving was to protect my future but it was so much more than that. Regardless of whether she did it or not, Amy was a part of who I was and she begged for me to listen to her. Despite what those old gentlemen think, I saw the photo.
It existed.
But maybe, just maybe, there was an explanation.
