One thing’s for sure. You couldn’tpayme to be Coach Wells right now. With the stress he must be under, maybe we should all start a fund to get that man a lifetime supply of antacids.
Later, peeps :)
—P
Chapter Thirty-Three
West
Never thought I’d say this, but Pandora’s right. No one wants to be Coach Wells right now, and I know I’m at least half the reason he’s probably stressed to the max.
Cleaning up my messes has been somewhat of a mission lately, and meeting with Coach is part of that. He answered within a minute of me sending a quick, “Hey, got a minute?” text. But instead of sending back-to-back messages, he extended a dinner invite. Now, here we are, full off Meg’s pot roast, chilling down in Coach’s theater, watching classic Super Bowl highlights.
The sound is muted because Coach prefers his own commentary over the actual hosts.
“Look at him go! That kid couldn’t have been faster with skates on,” he says with a grin. “You know I was there that year?”
“No shit?”
He nods, a proud look in his eyes. “Sure was. I’d just turned seventeen. Pop and my uncle, Jimmy, took me. To this day, that’s one of the best nights of my life. However, if you tell Meg I said that, you’ll have to be dealt with.”
I lift my hands shoulder-high. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
Coach laughs, but then the room goes quiet.
“But you didn’t come here to shoot the shit about old football games. Sounded like there was something on your mind when you reached out this afternoon.”
I nod, searching my brain for the right place to start.
“I… owe you an apology,” I admit. “You’re in a tight spot right now with Reed being out, but I know the problem started with me. I shouldn’t have hidden that my shoulder was acting up. Had I spoken up sooner, something probably could’ve been done about it before the damage got so bad.”
Coach is thoughtful for a moment, and I hold my breath, worried he’s thinking the same thing I am. That I not only screwed things up for myself, but I screwed things up for the entire team.
“I get it,” he says. “As men, people always expect us to be strong, ready to face everything that comes at us head-on, but… sometimes we’re just scared shitless.”
He laughs, and I couldn’t agree more.
Fear played a huge part in putting off my injury. Not going to the doctor meant not hearing bad news. Not hearing bad news meant not wondering if my career was over.
But in the big scheme of things, I only delayed the inevitable.
“I saw the ortho doc a couple days ago and scheduled surgery.”
It’s getting easier to say that out loud. The thought of going under the knife again no longer takes my breath away.
When I focus on Coach again, I’m surprised by the smile on his face. “That’s excellent news. The sooner you get it taken care of, the sooner you can put this all behind you.”
I nod, looking forward to that day.
“I’m proud of you,” he adds, and only now does it sink in that he didn’t even mention having me back in uniform.
His only concern seems to be me, that I get better.
“I started therapy, too,” I share. “Already, she’s helped me realized something about myself.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”
I recall Dr. Lee’s words. “She says I’ve believed a lie my entire life. That I equate my value with football, so I guess that’s why I pushed myself to the point of my body breaking down. I was scared to slow down and deal with it, scared to feel useless.”
