Page 106 of The Brickwall and the Bombshell

“The entire city is rooting for you,” I tell him.

“We appreciate the support and we can feel it.”

“Good luck tomorrow night.”

“Thank you,” Bo says with a polite dip to his head.

What a class-act. For being one of the younger players on the team, he’s so composed and gracious. Knowing he’s married totheLola Carradine makes his down-to-earth nature even more endearing. It would be easy for him to play the celebrity card and walk around like he’s above everyone else, but he doesn’t. He’s a team player and always puts in his time on and off the field.

“Thanks, Bo,” I tell him again once the camera isn’t recording.

“No problem, Greer. You make postgame interviews tolerable,” he says with a chuckle.

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

When Brian and I are finished, I give him the okay to leave as I wait on Mack. He’s one of the last players out of the training rooms and he’s walking a little slow. My step falters when I notice his limp and then I walk quickly to him.

“Are you okay?” I ask, scanning his body. “Is it your knee?”

Mack grimaces a little and I feel my heart drop into my stomach. “I’m fine, just sore.”

“I can tell you’re not fine,” I say, sounding a little more worked up than I planned to. “Even when you hurt your knee a couple of weeks ago, you didn’t limp like this.”

“It’s going to be okay. I’m off tomorrow night and I’ll rest. It’ll be good as new by game three. That’s when Ross is pitching. I’ll be good by then.”

He’s trying to convince himself as much as he’s trying to convince me, but I think we’re both uncertain.

I nod. “Okay, let’s get you home.”

Taking his duffle bag, I let him lean on me as we walk down the corridor, past the extra security for big games like tonight, and out to the parking lot, where I take his keys and unlock the doors.

“Get in the passenger’s side. I’m driving.”

I can tell he wants to argue, but he doesn’t have it in him, so he slides into the car and leans back against the seat.

Once I’m in the driver’s seat, the silence of the car is almost deafening. “You’d tell me if it was something worse than what you’ve already been dealing with, right?”

Mack’s eyes stay glued on the roof of the car.

He doesn’t move.

“Mack,” I prompt. “Don’t keep shit bottled up. If you need to talk to someone, talk to me.”

“It’s the same shit,” he finally grits out. “Same shit that’s not going away. But I will be okay. I’ve been this sore before. At the end of last season, I got to the point where I could hardly make it home, but after a day or two of rest, I can usually bounce back. Postseason is always the goal, but the truth of the matter is over the past few seasons, I can barely make it through September.”

“Can you have surgery?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I could, but it wouldn’t make it good as new. I have early on-set osteoarthritis. The cartilage in my knee is gone. I could have a knee replacement, but I wouldn’t be able to come back and play after that. It’s something to consider after I retire. For now, I’ll just get cortisone shots and do a lot of physical therapy… ice, soaking in Epsom baths… change up my stance a little to relieve pressure on this knee. I just need to get through these games.”

“And then what?”

“That’s the million dollar question, literally.” He sighs heavily. “But I think this will be my last season.”

My heart hurts for him. I can tell it’s something he’s battled a lot with and I know how much he loves this game.

“I’m sorry about the loss tonight.”

“It’s okay. We’ll get ’em next time.”

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