CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Whitney
Seven Years ago
T he tears burn brighter than the pain in my knee, but nothing outburns the ache in my chest.
It’s gone. All of it.
I stand at the foosball table, hands braced on its edge, and watch the tears drip onto the worn playing surface. One after another, making a puddle there.
“What’d the doctor say?” Patrick asks as he walks in.
I don’t look up. Can’t. I know if I did, he’d be standing there with his trademark whistle hanging around his neck, his blue canvas sun visor shading his eyes, and his graying hair sticking up at all different angles from a day spent in the breeze outside.
“Lucky? Talk to me.”
“It’s over.” Those words physically hurt to say. The ache saying them causes is acute. Right in the middle of my chest. It’s so sharp, I know it will never go away.
“Your therapy is over? You’re cleared to play?” His voice rises in excitement. “That’s awesome. That’s—”
His words are cut short when I look up and he sees my tear-soaked cheeks and puffy eyes. “No. It’s over .”
His expression falls and he begins to shake his head in that way he has when he won’t take no for an answer. But this isn’t my “no” to be thwarted.
“No. I won’t believe it. You need to fight like when we won that championship,” he demands, pointing to the carved initials of my entire team on the side of the desk. “We were down four goals, and it was you and you alone who clawed us back to the win. One goal after another. If you can do that, you can do this. I know you can. What’s stopping you? Go after your goal. You deserve it. I believe in you. I—”
“I wish it were up to me but they said the repair has failed. My body rejected the tendon graft.”
“Who is they ?”
“The team doctors.” I can still see their pinched mouths and reticent stares as they glanced between me and the head coach of the college.
“They’re supposed to be the best of the best. Tell them to fix you. Demand them to.” He walks toward the door. “Let’s go right now. I’ll tell them for you.”
His voice breaks, and I think that single sound is something I’ll remember for the rest of my life. This academy might be his pride and joy, but I am too. The daughter he never had. The athlete he put years into coaching. The prized pupil he fought everything for.
“Coach. They can’t force my body to do things it won’t do.”
“Another surgery then. They’ll get it to work this time.”
“It’s not that easy. It’ll take six months to a year for the bone to heal from this one. Then another surgery for another graft. Then another year of rehab after that.”
“You’re a quick healer. It won’t be that long.” He’s saying the same things I said to myself. The difference is I saw their faces. I heard their tones. I saw the writing on the wall.
“Besides, I can’t afford a surgery, Coach.”
“The school will pay for it. You’re their star athlete. The incoming freshman they’ve structured their new team around. Their medical team is part of the deal. They’re ...” I can see it in his expression the minute he realizes what I mean. “They rescinded the scholarship?”
I nod. “Yes.” It’s barely audible.
Not only will I never be able to competitively play the sport I love again.
But now my other dream, to go to college and get a degree was just lost right along with it.
He blows out a breath, and I can see the tears in his eyes this time. They well up, brimming the edges, but never fall. “I’ll take out loans to help you pay for it. I don’t have much, but I’ll do my best—”
I reach out to put my hand on his arm to stop him. I know he’d do anything to help me—case in point—but I also know that the school survives on slim margins and he lives by even thinner ones.
There’s no way I could ever accept his help.
There’s no way I could take even more from the man who’s already given me everything.
And when the tears fall, he pulls me in for a bear hug and just lets me cry for hours.
And despite feeling the most desperately disappointed I’ve ever felt in my life, for once, I don’t feel alone.
I’m not alone.