It’s nice to see him. My head is pounding, but it’s a relief that Troy is here.
My brain catches up. “Wait. You came all the way from Philly?”
He rubs his beard. “You’re my client. It’s my job.”
I squint, trying to think.
I’m injured. Andshit. I remember everything now.
“I can’t play,” I tell Troy, hoping he’ll have some response that magically makes this better, but he just gives me a sympathetic nod.
“It’s temporary,” he says. “And you shouldn’t be worrying about that now.” There’s a cup with a straw next to the bed, and he offers it to me. I go to reach, but my body reacts in pain, and I realize my right arm is in a sling.
“Here,” Troy says, placing the cup in my other hand. “Drink.”
His hand stays on top of mine, guiding me gently, and it feels better than any of the drugs they have me on.
I realize how thirsty I am and finish the water. Troy refills it, and I look around the white hospital room, dimly lit, I guess because of my concussion.
When he returns, I take a couple more sips. “How long do I have to stay here?”
“Two more nights, maybe more. We’ll set up your care before you’re released. I can… The agency will help.” He crosses his arms over his chest, still standing above me. “But like I said, don’t worry about that now. Now you need to rest.”
I smile at him. Troy came all the way here to look out for me. Everything is wobbly and confusing, but that simple fact matters.
“You’re a good guy,” I tell him.
He snorts. “You’re doped up.”
I take his hand, and Troy sucks in a surprised breath, but after a quick glance over his shoulder, he doesn’t pull away. He closes his hand around mine and stays right there.
It’s like his touch lets my brain process what’s happening. Emotions flow through me, fear and confusion and disappointment all together, but I keep Troy’s hand and breathe until it passes. When I’ve steadied myself, I finally let go.
“Did we win?”
Troy looks away. “You need to stop worrying about stuff and just close your eyes,” he says.
Even in the state I’m in, I know that means it was a loss. Guilt lashes through me.
Another missed chance to make CONCACAF. I should have been there. We could have won.
“Hey,” Troy says sharply, reading the emotions on my face. “It was a good game. You set the terms for the first half of play. And accidents like this happen.” He crosses his arms over his chest again. “Do you think you can eat?”
“Yeah, I’m hungry.”
“Good,” he says. He stands to leave and get me food, and I pass out again before he’s back.
* * *
TROY
For two days, I take my meetings from the rental car parked in the hospital garage.
Thankfully, no crisis comes along to demand my return. It’s been radio silence with Marshall and Patel, and Mel and I agreed to wait them out.
I said my piece; now it’s up to them to come around to what’s right.
This is where I need to be right now, by Orlando’s side. With his concussion, he’s mainly sleeping, so he doesn’t realize how often I’m checking in on him.
