Chapter 43 Griffin
Griffin
Griffin has been at the rehab facility for three days, and it’s wearing on him.
When it comes to the practical elements—the support, the staff, the cleanliness, even the food—everything has been top notch, but he’s looking forward to getting home today.
He wouldn’t have been able to attend the game in person, but watching it on television from his hospital-style bed felt worse than the hit that blew out his knee.
It couldn’t be made clearer how far off the field he’s fallen.
So far that he can’t even make it to the bench.
Griffin’s knee is painful, and now the incisions from surgery throb as soon as the medication wears off.
The surgeon was happy with how the procedure went, but only once he’s healed and rehabbed will Griffin know how well his knee functions.
Perhaps worse is the fact that Griffin has done little aside from use the restroom, attempt a partial shower, and lie in this dang bed.
Physical therapy has been painful, but at least it feels like actually doing something.
His mind is growing irritable and restless.
He clicks around the various sports networks on the television for an hour or so until the tech comes in with a wheelchair.
“I’m here to bust you out!” The tech is bubbly and cheery, and Griffin can’t help but smile back.
“Then you’re just the person I want to see.”
The tech wheels the chair bedside and instructs Griffin on the best way to slide into it. “Your car service is already waiting outside.”
Griffin slides onto the wheelchair, feeling a pinch of optimism at the promise of getting home. “Perfect.”
“Here”—the tech grabs a tote branded with the facility’s name and wiggles it before returning it to the back of the wheelchair—“is all of your paperwork. Copies have been sent to the team doc and staff as requested, so this is for your personal records.”
“And the rest of my personal items?”
A second staff person appears. “I’m here to pack them up.”
Griffin wouldn’t typically be comfortable with so many people doing so much for him. He wasn’t exactly raised as someone who expected to be doted on, but in this scenario he has no choice but to rely on them. “I appreciate it all.”
“We’re happy to assist,” the tech says. “I’m a mega Wardens fan, so it only feels like helping the cause.”
The wheelchair glides smoothly down the tiled floor, and the tech pops open a side door that opens onto a ramp. Griffin shields his eyes as he adjusts to the bright afternoon sun, but he still catches sight of a familiar vehicle.
The driver’s side door pops open, and Elliott climbs out.
“How are you here?” Griffin asks, his face creased into a deep smile at the sight of his friend.
“I got an early ride back from the game. I figured we could recap the game on the drive back.”
“That would be incredible, man. I’ve been going crazy sitting there all alone.”
The tech helps Griffin into the car, and a staff person brings out the rest of his items and loads them in the trunk. Once they’re alone in the car, Griffin pulls in a deep breath as Elliott drives away.
“It feels so good to be out.”
Elliott eyes Griffin’s knee briefly before looking back to the road. “The recovery is always brutal. The guys who go straight home don’t really have it easier.”
Griffin nods. “It’s the mental part really. We know how to get hurt. We know how to stick with it through discomfort.”
Elliott nods. “You going to keep coming to practice?”
Griffin has thought about it, and he can’t decide what’s the best thing to do.
Coach leaves it up to injured players to do what they need to do to recover, and for some players, trekking to and from the facility only to watch is torture.
For others, it keeps them connected to the team and feeling encouraged.
Griffin doesn’t know which bucket he’ll fall into. “I might for a bit. See how it goes.”
“You can’t rot in that condo alone.”
“Agreed.” Griffin lets out a grunt. “Ugh. I feel like I can’t do anything. Like why do I even exist if I can’t play the game? I’m totally lost, man.”
“You’re going to come back,” Elliott says. “I know it’s rough.”
“Maybe. Or maybe not.”
Griffin feels the heat rise in him. He’s usually good at keeping his anger under control. On the field he channels it into play. But what’s he supposed to do with it now?
“Come on, man. You know that attitude will kill you.”
Griffin sighs as the quickening of his pulse aggravates the throb in his knee. “You’re right. It’s just easier said than done.”
“You just need a distraction—a project—for the time being.” Elliott signals and turns onto the road where Griffin’s building sits.
“I’m not sure there’s much I can work on outside of football,” Griffin mumbles.
“What about Aria? Now you actually have time to run around and do stuff together.”
Griffin looks away, out of the window. “I don’t want her to see me like this. I don’t want anyone to see me like this.”
“I think Aria genuinely likes you, so I’m not sure why you feel that way.”
“Just let me have this one thing. I know it’s the right thing.”
Griffin knows it’s a cheap shot, that Elliott’s right that spending time with a friend could actually improve his mood. Especially one who reminds him of the world outside of football and has even pointed to the way he belongs in it.
“Fine.” Elliott pulls into the circular driveway in front, the one used for deliveries and drop-offs. “But then humor me on my next suggestion.”
“I’m all ears.”
“South Shore High asked me if I’d mentor some of the athletes, the ones who are dedicated and show promise. I can only give so much time, and there are tons of players who could use guidance. Someone to believe in them.”
Griffin perks up. He was expecting something much more up Elliott’s alley, like parties with supermodels or attending fashion events, partnering with nightclub managers to host parties featuring the players.
Griffin has always liked kids and enjoyed the times he’s worked with them at the Wardens’ summer camp. Never before has Griffin gotten a chance to dedicate any real time to it, not with the demands of practice and games, and then the off-season training required to keep him in shape.
“Sure thing,” Griffin says.
“Yeah?” Elliott brightens. “It’s not a massive time commitment, but these kids will go nuts over time with a Wardens player.”
Griffin feels the corners of his mouth twitch. “I’m happy to do it. Now let’s just hope they’re okay with getting a gimpy one.” He glances quickly at his wrapped knee, then away.
“You’re not a ‘gimpy’ Wardens player. You’re Griffin Hayes. Don’t ever forget that.”
Griffin accepts the compliment, and Elliott begins the process of helping him up to his place.
Griffin puts himself on crutches for the first time in a while, and the small independence feels good.
He’s always hated having to rely on someone to push him around, and his surgeon didn’t want him using crutches in the first couple of days of recovery.
Elliott grabs Griffin’s belongings, and as they head inside and take the elevator up to the top floor, Griffin can’t help but linger on Elliott’s last comment: “You’re Griffin Hayes.”
Elliott meant that he’s an accomplished football player, but Griffin wonders what else Griffin Hayes could be.
Because now more than ever, the reality of the “football isn’t forever” mantra is knocking on his front door.
It might be now, or it might be years from now, but Griffin desperately needs to find a purpose, a passion, beyond football.
Maybe this volunteering gig will be a decent start.