Page 116 of The Backup Plan

“I love that. Biggest fear?”

Lucas leans his head back, eyes drifting to the ceiling. The playful edge fades as something that clearly weighs on his mind turns into words. “Not being able to play football again.”

I don’t answer right away, because the truth is, I expected that answer. I expected it especially from a man who has had a devastating shoulder injury and continues to fight like hell through it so he can keep playing. So many others would have walked away by now.

“Hard truth? That’s going to happen someday.” I rock my foot back and forth, so his hand moves and jogs him to meet my eyes. “One day you’re going to have to walk away from this game that you love and that has given you so much.”

His jaw tightens. Not angry. Just more wanting to deny it but doesn’t.

“And when it does, you’ll find out that there is so much more to you than this game.”

He looks at me then. Really looks. “You always talk like that,” he finally says.

“Like what?”

“Like you see something I don’t.”

I shrug. “I guess it’s an occupational hazard.”

He snorts, then studies me for a beat. “So why sports medicine?”

I set my noodles aside and shrug. “I like broken things.”

“People or bodies?”

“Yes.” He chuckles but waits, so I keep going. “I like fixing what everyone else assumes is done. I like proving there’s still value where people stop looking.”

His gaze doesn’t leave my face. “I guess I should feel lucky that you’re still looking at me, huh?”

Our eyes meet and hold. There’s both sadness and appreciation in his tone. And I get a sense that he’s going to fight the end of his career with a vengeance rather than acknowledge and accept it.

And that makes me sad.

Does he not see his worth outside of the grid? That he’s kindhearted and intelligent and funny? That he has more life left to live than he’s already lived?

Sure, it’s my job to fix his broken things from the game, but who will fix his broken things when he’s off the field?

The irony and unspoken fact, though, is that I hold some of those cards for him. My decisions on the status of his shoulder will not only affect him but affect whatever this is between us.

Not an easy truth to accept.

“What comes next for you, Lucas? What else do you want out of life? A family? What?”

“This seems to be the topic of conversation lately.” I can tell he’s not comfortable with the topic, but I push anyway.

“You have a reputation. Likable. Knowledgeable. Have you ever thought of becoming an analyst or a scout or . . . I don’t know.”

“Those jobs are few and far between—”

“But you’re not just any player . . .”

He shrugs and focuses on his food rather than meeting my eyes. “This isn’t how I want to go out.”

“No one said you are going out.”

“You clearly haven’t been reading the papers,” he jokes and laughs. “I always told myself that I’d go out on top. This—being a second-string QB with an injured shoulder—is not that. So maybe I’m holding on too long. Maybe my dream isn’t realistic. But then again, neither was wishing for the career I have and that happened so . . .”

“Point taken. I didn’t mean to push. I was just curious.”