Page 3 of Crossing the Lines for Love

Ignoring my defeatist attitude, my father asked, “Are you ready for physical therapy?”

“As ready as I’ll be. Don’t worry, I’ll get there on time.”

“I’m not worried, but your mother is, and not just about you getting to physical therapy on time. She doesn’t like the funk you’re in.”

“Well, neither do I, but I can’t control how I feel.”

“You can, but you’re choosing not to. I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but there is more to life than playing lacrosse.”

“Daddy, how could you say something like that?”

“Because it’s true. Listen, I know you love the game and expected to play at the next level. If that were the case, we’d be right by your side, as we’ve always been, supporting you. However, that’s not the plan God had for you. It’s time for you to pivot and decide what’s next.”

“It’s only been a few months. Can I have some time to process? Lacrosse is all I know.”

“I understand, and that’s why we’re not rushing you.”

“Well, I’m feeling a little rushed.”

“Randi, you know your mother and I have your back, no matter what, but we don’t like what we’re seeing. You have your whole life ahead of you. It’ll be different than what you planned,but it can still be just as amazing. I’m headed to work. I’ll see you this evening. Love you.”

“Love you too, Daddy.”

He left, and I released a frustrated breath. Right before he entered my room, my mother hadn’t too long left and had given me the same speech. I wish they’d communicated and come at the same time. The last thing I wanted was to hear that shit from both of them first thing in the morning.

My father owned a construction company, and my mother did all the administrative work for his company. She always left before my father to help prepare for the day.

I wallowed a bit longer before getting up and ready for my appointment. Thirty minutes later, I was headed to complete what had become the least exciting part of my Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays.

Two hours later, I was headed to get something to eat. At the last minute, I decided to go inside instead of through the drive-thru. After ordering and receiving my food, I found a booth in the back corner to enjoy it.

A few minutes after I sat down, I heard my name. I looked up, and it was Montrell, a guy I went to high school with.

“Hey, Trell. It’s been a minute.”

“It’s been more than a minute. I haven’t seen you since high school graduation.”

I shrugged as he took the liberty of sitting across from me. “I guess it has been a while. How you been?”

“Pretty good, actually. You?”

“I’m okay.”

He cocked his head to the side and looked at me suspiciously. “That wasn’t very convincing. You wanna talk about it?”

I unintentionally chuckled. “We were cool in high school, but we weren’t friends. You expect me to believe you’re concerned about me?”

“That was four years ago. Besides, you weren’t necessarily open to conversing with a nigga. Your only concern was lacrosse.”

The mention of lacrosse was like a gut punch. I looked down at my food because I couldn’t look him in the eyes.

“My bad. Did I say something wrong?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Then why the sad face? Mentioning lacrosse used to make you smile from ear to ear. The last I heard?—”

“Well, you must not have heard about my career-ending injury. I don’t play anymore.”

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