“After we won our playoff game last January and clinched the AFC title,” I said carefully. “Do you remember when I got hit during our next practice?”
Ryder leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, looking as if he were replaying that practice in his head. “You mean the one where Stephon came at you from the right side after the snap?”
I nodded.
“How badly were you hurt?” Jax asked in a serious voice that I didn’t hear very often. “Because if my memory was correct, you told us you were just a little sore and kept on playing.”
“I lied. I was banged up pretty bad.”
Jax popped off the couch. “I fucking knew it. In fact, I questioned you multiple times. You said you were fine.”
I didn’t have a response to that because he was right. People in the locker room kept asking if I was okay. They knew something was off. That was why Coach had the team doctor give me the shot, because there was no way I would have continued to play without it showing up in my performance.
Jax rounded the corner, holding three beers and handing us each one. “So, you’re telling us you were hurt and still put yourself out there?”
I took a sip of my beer, trying to swallow down some of the guilt. “More like pushed myself out there.”
They both just stared at me, neither one saying a word. They didn’t have to. I knew they were disappointed in me. Fuck, I was disappointed in me.
Jax’s jaw dropped. “How the fuck did you hide it?”
I hung my head. I was hoping this story would never see the light of day.
“They sent me to imaging. The MRI showed it was a grade 2 AC joint sprain. There was no tear or surgery needed, but it wasn’t the type I could push through without some type of pain management.”
Jax shook his head in disbelief. “This is bullshit. You’re our quarterback, Nate. You’re the guy we trust to run the offense every damn play. You thought keeping this from us was a good idea?”
“I know.” I threw my hands up. “But Coach and I talked. We had momentum going into the championship game. You guys needed me. I was your only chance at winning.”
“Wait, hold up.” Jax set his beer down and narrowed his eyes. “Are you saying Coach Mac knew?”
“Yes, he had Connor administer the cortisone shot.”
Ryder mumbled something I couldn’t make out, which was probably for the best.
Jax stared at me, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I don’t know what pisses me off more. That you didn’t trust us, or that Coach falsified an injury report.”
I ran both hands through my hair. The frustration building in my chest was growing by the second. “I didn’t want to let you guys down. We were in the middle of playoff season. The next stop was the Super Bowl.”
Ryder stared at me. “You thought playing injured would help us?”
“I thought staying on the field would.”
“You’re our quarterback,” Jax snapped. “You hit and go down, that’s football. It happens. But staying on the field when you shouldn’t be there, you’re risking your health, your career, and the whole damn team.”
“I’m sorry.” I swallowed hard. He was right. They both were, and their disappointment hit deeper than anything else.
“So, those three interceptions,” Ryder asked gently. “That wasn’t just you having a bad game, was it?”
“No. That hit at the end of the second quarter that took me down, normally it wouldn’t be a big deal, but because I was already injured, it fucked me up.”
“Unbelievable,” Jax muttered. “While I’m pissed that you hid that, you could have gotten seriously hurt or torn something. It could have ended a lot worse for you.”
“You shouldn’t have pushed yourself like that.” Ryder’s jaw tightened. “That’s how careers end. We win as a team. We lose as a team. Got it?”
“There’s more?”
Jax’s blue eyes narrowed on mine. “Something tells me I’m going to need something stronger than this Miller Lite.”
