25. Worst Day of My Life
25
Worst Day of My Life
“Three or four plane crashes and we’re in the playoffs.”
-John McKay
Dylan
Yesterday’s practice sucked. Today’s somehow sucked more.
First thing, Coach pulled me aside and reminded me what was at stake. I would have preferred yelling to the calm disappointed tone. Marcus made it clear he wanted nothing to do with me and had started to refuse to throw the ball to me. It didn’t matter if it was a simple run drill or just getting the ball to the next guy, if the ball was in his hands, he wasn’t putting it in mine.
I couldn’t blame him. I couldn’t seem to hold onto the ball to save my life. The damn thing was made like a bar of soap. I could catch it, but the moment I tried to hold onto it, it slipped away from me.
“You need to use your body,” one of the trainers, Sara, whispered as I sucked down water after yet another failed drill. “Cradle the ball into your chest. You’re too busy protecting your wrist and not the ball.”
“Of course I’m protecting my wrist,” I snapped at her. “It hurts.”
Luckily, she didn’t take offense to my tone. Sara frowned at me. “Medical. Now.”
She pointed to the building and I didn’t object. The lure of air conditioning beckoned. I didn’t want to be out in the hot sun and fucking it up for everyone to see. I let my coordinator know that I was headed to the medical area to work on my wrist. He didn’t say anything, but marked something down on his notepad.
It was probably a recommendation to trade me. They should. I was a liability at this point.
Sweet cold air blasted my face as Sara led the way to the room near the locker room. Once again, I was glad that we held preseason practices at our practice stadium. It meant that we had all the equipment we could ever want and the familiarity of home.
“Go ahead and drop the pads,” Sara said, washing up her hands. “You’ll need to ice it. Then I’ll wrap it. I want to see you tomorrow so I can wrap it properly for practice.” She walked over to me, holding out her hands for my wrist. I offered it and she turned it with gentle fingers, feeling the stiffness and seeing where I winced. “Yeah, you need a better wrap. This brace is shot. You need more support.”
I stopped paying attention as she mumbled about the different wraps and braces and which one would work better. I let the ice bath fill. I could just ice my entire body and my wrist. Plus, it was an excuse not to return to practice. There wasn’t much left, but I didn’t want to be out on the field making a fool out of myself anymore for the day.
I hid in the medical room until I was sure that everyone had left. I didn’t want to face Marcus. I didn’t want to face Coach. I didn’t want to see a single fan.
I wanted to curl up in a ball and let the ice turn me into a Popsicle. A Popsicle didn’t have worries or concerns. Popsicles didn’t care about DNA tests. Everyone liked Popsicles. Popsicle fans didn’t hate them.
I made sure I didn’t turn the radio on for the drive home. The last thing I needed to hear tonight was how much I sucked at practice today and just how cold Chicago could be in the winter with the lake effect. I didn’t want to think about a possible transfer, or even worse, no transfer. With the way I was playing, there was a very good chance no team would want me. I had absolutely no idea what I would do then.
Probably die.
At least coming home made me smile. Ellie snuggled into me like I was her favorite person and Natalie kissed me like I had just won the Super Bowl.
“How was practice?” she asked, packing up her things. She had to work a full shift tonight, so that meant she had to be out the door by six thirty. I hated days like this. I wanted to have a nice leisurely shower with her and then a delicious meal. I wanted to curl up on the couch with her and watch reruns of old TV shows. I wanted to put Penelope in the bathroom, Ellie in her crib, and make Natalie whimper my name until we were both too exhausted to move.
That would have made my day better.
“It was rough,” I replied, playing with the wrap on my wrist. Sara had been right. The new wrap did help make my wrist feel better, but it felt like it was too little too late. My career was going down the tubes and I didn’t know how to fix it.
Natalie stopped for a second and made sure I knew I had her complete attention, even though I knew she was already running late. “I’m sorry, Dylan. Is there anything I can do?”
“Call in sick?” I asked hopefully, giving her a little kid smile. She smiled sadly at me and shook her head. “Eh, it was worth a shot.”
“I’ll make sure to bring breakfast burritos in the morning,” she promised, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “That way tomorrow will be better.”
I smiled at her. It felt good to have her on my team. It felt good to have someone to rely on, someone that had my back no matter what. Even running late, she made sure to make time for me.
I was falling hard for her, but even more, I wanted her on my team permanently. She made everything feel possible, even when the rest of my life felt impossible.
She kissed me and the baby before leaving the apartment.
Even with the baby gurgling, the goat bleating, and Supernatural on in the background, the house felt too quiet. It felt empty without her in it. I gave serious thought to calling her and telling her to come back. If I called the ER, would they let her come home?
I sighed. I wouldn’t do that to her. She loved her job as much as I loved mine.
“Well, Ellie Girl,” I said to my daughter. “How about some films? You want to help your old man not lose his job?”
Ellie just drooled, but I took that as a solid yes.
I settled into the couch with my phone. I didn’t dare change the channel off Supernatural and risk the wrath of Penelope until bedtime. She liked to watch a few episodes in the evening and then retired to the bathtub, with a strict bedtime of eight P.M. on the dot. Until then, I watched the plays on a tablet. It wasn’t convenient, but I could hold Ellie and watch the screen so it wasn’t too uncomfortable.
“Franklin is looking good,” I told my daughter, watching some of the run plays. “He’s a rookie from Florida, but the kid has skill.” I paused the film, rewound, and watched the way he caught the ball. I realized I wasn’t looking for tips on how to do it. Instead, I was analyzing and figuring out how he could do it better. He was fast off the line, but his running form needed improvement. A few modifications, and he would be faster and able to catch anything Marcus threw at him.
Franklin reminded me of myself only a few years ago. I’d needed a mentor when I started. I was now in the position to be the mentor, which made me feel old, but powerful at the same time. I had knowledge this kid could use. Franklin could be better than me, and for the first time in a long time, that wasn’t intimidating. It was exciting. I could get him there.
I just had to take him under my wing and teach him.
Ellie batted at my phone, accidentally making the picture of Franklin grow larger on the screen. I was going to help him.
“Should I be his daddy too?” I asked her, immediately hating with every fiber of my being how that sounded. I needed to be a mentor, not a father figure to a man only five years my junior. I laughed at the idea. Marcus would absolutely make fun of me, but he’d probably help me out with getting the kid better. I zoomed the screen out to Marcus throwing the ball.
I stared at the video, not watching it but finally truly seeing it. It had been a long time since I’d stopped watching just my film trying to fix my catches. I had been so focused on my own issues the past few months that I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I’d cared about anyone else on my team.
Even Marcus.
“Marcus...” I sighed.
Ellie gurgled a question at me.
“Yeah, I don’t know why he’s so mad at me. He hasn’t said two words to me since the accident, but...” I paused and re-watched the video. Marcus paused before throwing the ball at me every time. I switched videos. He hesitated before throwing it, again and again and again. It looked like he didn’t want to throw it to me, like he would rather throw it anywhere else. I was sure that wasn’t helping my catch rate.
It didn’t used to be that way.
“I should talk to him,” I said to Ellie. I should talk to Coach about it too, but I owed Marcus the chance to explain.
“Thbubs,” Ellie replied.
“You’re right,” I conceded. “I should talk to both of them. I miss having Marcus around. I miss hanging out with him. He and I used to watch this shit together, I mean, this stuff together.”
“Akda,” Ellie agreed. I smiled at her.
“I will talk to Marcus tomorrow. I should have talked to him a long time ago, but...” I sighed again. “I’m going to make sure you are better at communicating than I am.”
Ellie did not say anything. She was staring at the lamp, her eyes getting big as if it were the most interesting thing in the entire universe. I didn’t mind. I laid her down in the pack-n-play next to the couch, her eyes glued on the lamp as I went back to the tablet to keep reviewing the tape.
I woke up a few hours later with a kink in my shoulder the size of Alaska. I was getting old. I could remember sleeping all night on a threadbare futon with pizza stains and waking up feeling like a million bucks. Now, I slept two hours on an expensive leather couch and woke up unable to turn my head.
The “Are you still watching?” screen glowed blue on the TV. Penelope raised her head and glared at me as I stood and rubbed at my neck muscles. It was clear that she did not appreciate that no one had tucked her in or at least hit the “yes” button to continue the show for her. She bleated an annoyed sigh as she hopped down from the recliner and trotted over to me for head pats.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, scratching her forehead. She closed her eyes, enjoying the pets and possibly forgiving me for missing her bedtime rituals. Ellie fussed from the floor, letting me know that she too was awake. I reached down and picked her up, wondering what could have woken all three of us up. She snuggled into my chest, smacking her lips. I figured she was probably getting hungry, so I moved to the kitchen, Penelope trailing behind hoping that I might give her some cabbage in the process.
That’s when the fire alarm went off. Lights flashed and the alarm screeched horribly through the room.
Penelope bolted for the front door and safety, but unfortunately, I was in her way. She crashed into me, taking me out at the knees and sending me flying through the air with a baby in my arms. It was like being hit by the world’s smallest linebacker.
Time slowed. The world spun out of my control as my feet flew into the air.
Without thinking, I cradled Ellie into my chest, using every inch of my hands to keep her pressed safely into me. I protected her with my body, my weak arm, my hands, everything I had. I twisted in the air so that she wouldn’t land first, it would be me who would take the brunt of the hit. I was going to hold onto her and keep her safe if it killed me.
We landed with a thud, my good arm taking the impact, the rest of my body shielding my daughter and protecting her from the fall. It didn’t matter though. Ellie started screaming, her pouty face pressed into my shirt.
My heart sank like a stone. I didn’t see any blood, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t an injury. Every stat I’d ever heard my entire football career about head injuries swirled and mixed in my mind in a terrifying nightmare. The fire alarm stopped. The lights no longer flashed and the alarm didn’t even chirp. A message popped up on my phone that a neighbor had triggered the building’s alarm system but that it was all clear.
The world was fine, even if Ellie wasn’t.
Penelope stood in the kitchen, staring at the fridge like she was waiting for her cabbage, the fear of the alarm gone as quickly as it had come.
But panic filled my bones. My daughter was screaming.
I had to get Ellie to the ER. I had to get her there now.