Page 165 of Let You Love Me

My brain quickly computes, the doctor’s words echoing in my mind and clanging through my head, while I try to wrestle them into submission.

I broke my fucking back?

Shit, that sucks.

But I’m fine. Or at least, I will be. No surgery. Just a back brace and limited activity.

Nothing life altering.

Except . . .

My brow creases. “So, football. You said I’m out the rest of the season, but what about . . .?”

The doctor’s expression answers my question before I even finish. “I’m sorry, but I highly recommend you get another hobby. Any time you break a bone or have a fracture, that spot will be vulnerable, more susceptible to future breaks.”

Get another hobby. Like it’s that easy.

I exhale a rough breath, feeling a little like the walls are crumbling around me.

Across from me, Coach is eerily silent.

The doctor places a gentle hand on my shoulder, meeting my eyes as he says, “You’re lucky to be walking away from this hospital. Next time, you might not be so lucky.”

I’m still reeling from the news when the door to my room closes.

The doctor is gone with the promise to discharge me in the morning just as a precaution, leaving me alone with Coach.

Football has been such a big part of my life for so long, I’m not sure how my life looks without it. I’d always known college was endgame for me, but now the thought of it ending so soon fucking hurts.

I swallow, staring straight ahead at the ugly painting on the wall across from me as my thoughts drift to Lane.

My chest instantly throbs, and I have half a mind to call the doctor back, to ask him to check my heart, too.

A throat clears, and my head jerks toward the sound.

Coach draws closer, hands shoved in the pockets of his joggers. It almost hurts to look at him, and when his gaze meets mine, the raw emotion in his eyes is enough to have me glancing away again.

“Hey, Coach,” I mumble.

“Teagan.” He clears his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing and the realization that he’s no longer my coach, not after today, hits me square in the chest.

I won’t ever step foot on a football field again, at least not in a uniform.

A burst of pain explodes inside of me, a round of fireworks hitting in succession, each one bleeding into the next.

I lost a lot today.

Lane.

Sophie.

Football.

It feels like every-fucking-thing.

Knowing it could’ve been worse, that I might not have walked out of here, does little to ease the sting.

Coach removes his ballcap and glances down at his hands where he wrings it like an old rag. “I’m sorry, son.” He clears his throat. “I can’t help but feel like part of this is my fault.”

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