Page 163 of The Backup Plan

This can’t be cured with surgery and another nine months of grueling rehab.

This is the end of my career.

I swallow hard, my throat tight, my heart beating too slow and too fast all at once.

“I don’t blame you,” I say, needing her to know. “Not for a second.”

She looks at me then, really looks, and the pain and the self-doubt in her eyes almost undoes me.

All I want is to pull her into me, to feel her heartbeat against mine. To anchor myself to the one thing that still feels real.

But I can’t. Not here. Not like this.

So I stay still.

I let the reality settle.

Football gave me everything.

And now it’s gone.

But the last thing I see before the grief fully takes hold is her standing there, loving me enough to let me fall on my own terms.

And I finally understand what selfless, sacrificial love truly looks like.

Lucas

Light.

Too bright. Too white.

Then dark.

Voices come and go. They’re muffled, distorted, like I’m underwater and everyone else is shouting from shore.

“Lucas, you’re out of surgery and in recovery now. Everything went as planned.”

As planned.

Darkness swallows me whole again.

My shoulder feels dull. Heavy. Like it belongs to someone else.

I drift.

A football spirals through the air. My brother’s small hands and our combined big dreams. Our backyard. The smell of freshly cut grass. Brendan tossing the ball and throwing his arms up. “Touchdown!”

Darkness keeps me under.

Pressure. Tugging. Metal clinking somewhere close to my head.

“You have to start waking up soon, Lucas. I know anesthesia gives you the best nap ever, but you need to start waking up. The surgery is done. It’s all over.”

I don’t like those words.

It’s all over.

Dark smothers me.