Page 165 of The Backup Plan

“Martin—”

“Martin?”

“Dr. Hanson cleaned your shoulder up arthroscopically as best he could,” she continues gently, slipping into that calm, steady voice she uses when she’s trying not to break. “Removed the damaged tissue. Trimmed and sutured the tear in the labrum. Cleaned up old scar tissue.”

I watch her mouth move, even as dread settles deep in my bones.

“Mm,” I say.

“This won’t be the last time you’ll need surgery on it. But we now know what’s under there and know it can be managed. Cleaned up in stages as needed.” She gives me a small smile that doesn’t quite hold. “Pain will improve. Function too. You’ll heal.”

Just not for football. Those are the words she’s not saying but that her eyes are relaying.

I nod once.

That simple acknowledgment takes everything I have.

She doesn’t have to say the words.

I already know. Have known.

This surgery was never about saving my career.

It was about confirming its end. About managing my future.

My eyes burn, but I don’t let the tears fall. I don’t have the strength for them anyway.

“I’m done,” I whisper. Or maybe I don’t. Maybe I just think it.

She squeezes my hand, and that’s when it hits—the finality of it. The weight. The grief rushing in like a wave I can’t outrun.

I close my eyes.

I don’t want to be awake for this part.

I’d rather fall back into the dark. Back into the memories where my arm was strong and the future was endless and nothing hurt like this.

The last thing I feel before the anesthesia pulls me under again is her hand tightening around mine.

And the quiet, crushing devastation of knowing that when I wake up next time, everything will be different.

Forever.

Emery

Lucas is asleep in my bed.

Not the restless, pain-fractured sleep he’s had the last few nights, but the heavy kind. Deep sleep that only comes when the body finally gives in after fighting too long.

His breathing is slow and even. His lashes rest against his still too-pale cheeks.

I stand in the doorway of my bedroom and just watch him.

The last few days feel like they’ve been held together with Scotch tape and Elmer’s glue. Temporary fixes. Desperate solutions. Things meant to last just long enough to get through the next moment without everything collapsing.

I don’t know what that makes or says about me.

Tired doesn’t begin to cover it. Exhaustion has seeped into my bones and doubt has become a second skin. Every decision I’ve made replays in my head like a movie on repeat.