My worst nightmare.
“Nothing is written in stone either way at this moment. We’ll need to continue letting the shoulder heal, continue letting the swelling reduce. Then, we’ll be able to have a clearer scope of the situation.”
Blue takes an audible breath, slow and deep, then nods. “Okay, well, whatever we have to do to make sure he heals, we’ll do it.”
Her eyes flit toward me for one brief second, then shift back toward the doctor.
“And I intend to do everything in my power to make sure that happens. Before I let you go, let’s take a look at you. I’d like to check your mobility, whether it’s improved since your last visit or gotten worse.”
He’s careful as he helps me out of my sling. Then, with one hand on my elbow and the other bracing my shoulder, he lifts my arm and rotates it until I wince, unable to take the pain. He makes a note on my chart but doesn’t say what I already know.
That I’m noticeably less flexible now than I was when I first came to see him, which means I haven’t improved any in the last ten days.
“How long until we follow up?” Blue asks.
“My receptionist will get you scheduled to come back in two weeks. By then, we should be able to see how much the swelling has reduced and decide whether another round of surgery is in our future. We may be looking at a full revision,West. That could mean a more invasive procedure, a longer recovery time, but you have my word. I’m going to do everything I can to avoid that. But if that’s our road to travel, I promise you’re in good hands.”
He offers a tight smile, then leaves us with news I could’ve gone my entire life without hearing. And while he doesn’t know one way or the other whether I’ll be going back under the knife, there’s one thing that’s abundantly clear.
I won’t be going near the football field anytime soon.
***
Blue
It’s like walking a tightrope.
I’m scared to move left or right for fear of slipping, losing control.
That’s what our marriage has become. All tension and anxiety, terrified to make a move because our relationship is almost unrecognizable to me. I never know what to expect from one moment to the next. News from the doctor only made things worse, now we’re lying in bed in total darkness, staring at the ceiling because we’ve somehow forgotten how to talk to one another without things going bad.
And considering the hole in our wall where West drove his fist through it, I think it’s safe to say things arealreadybad.
West’s phone rings for about the tenth time in the last twenty minutes, and he ignores it like all the times before. His team won tonight. Without him. And I can only imagine how it feels for him to be on the outside looking in.
In a perfect world, I’d get to comfort him, listen to him vent, so he doesn’t have to hold everything in. But it feels like every time I open my mouth, my words and intentions are misunderstood. Something I say sets him off, or draws a snarky remark out of him, so I’ve resorted to this.
Complete silence.
His phone rings again, and he puffs a hard sigh. But this time, he reaches toward his nightstand and answers.
“Yeah.”
I can hear a voice on the other end, and it’s either Sterling or Dane. All three triplets sound too much alike to distinguish most days.
“Hey. Get your ass over to Ricky’s. Dane and I are here with the rest of the guys and Ricky’s covering the tab to celebrate,” Sterling says.
Another sigh leaves West, and I can guess he didn’t call to update his brothers after his visit with Dr. Graham. If he had, no way they would’ve called to invite him out, rubbing the win in his face. They give each other shit, but they’re never cruel.
And this feels cruel. Even if unintentional.
“Nah, I’ll pass. I’m already in bed.”
“What the fuck? It’s not even midnight. Are you ninety?”
West laughs a bit, but it’s a heavy sound. A sound filled with grief.
“Shit, it feels like it lately. You guys have a good time, though. Tell the team I’m proud of them. They played a damn good game tonight.”
