The Quarterback by Tal Bauer
Chapter Four
He woke slowly,the world coming back like paint being dropped on a canvas. White walls, the blue hospital blanket covering him. An orange couch against the wall.
A man sitting in the chair beside his bed, reading a magazine. The man’s face wouldn’t come into focus, and Colton groaned as he tried to reach toward him, needing to touch him to know he was really there and not a figment of his imagination. The man took Colton’s hand and placed it back on the bed but kept his own palm on top of Colton’s.
“Hey.” The voice came in waves, like a speaker warbling before snapping into place. “How are you feeling?”
Not Wes. The voice was deep, but it wasn’t Wes’s rumbling twang. This was more suburban, polished. He blinked, and slowly, Nick’s face appeared. “What are you doing here?” he blurted out.
“Surgery took a little longer than everyone thought. Wes is at practice and Justin has his hospital shift, but they didn’t want you to be alone when you woke up. I told them I’d come stay with you.”
“You said you were going out of town…” That was yesterday, right? Nick had said he was leaving in the morning. They were supposed to get beers together the night before. Was it only yesterday?
“I canceled my trip. I did what I needed to over the phone.” He squeezed Colton’s hand and let go, scooting his chair closer to the bed. He was right up next to Colton, suddenly.
Colton swallowed. “You didn’t have to do that.” His voice was still slow, the words an effort to push out of his mouth. He felt the shape of them before they left, like he was rolling each one around on his tongue.
“I didn’t want you to be alone. Justin said something about your mom not being able to make it?”
Maybe it was the sedatives. He wasn’t quick enough to cover the twist in his face, the flinch he felt rise up inside him. It wasn’t like his mom came up to see him a whole lot—or ever—so her not coming now wasn’t some kind of aberration. He should be used to this. She loved her job and loved being single, and, Colton suspected, she especially loved not needing to support a kid anymore. She was in charge of her own life again, and he couldn’t really fault her for that. Colton hadn’t been in her life plans twenty-two years ago, but she’d done a decent job with a kid she didn’t really want at first.
And his mom loved him. Of course she did.
But he never felt the all-consuming, unconditional love that he saw other parents bestow upon their kids. Nick treated Justin like he was the sun in Nick’s sky. Colton knew that hadn’t always been the case, but it was true now, and he saw the effect it had on Justin. Wes’s dad, too, had showed up to the national championship game, and they’d had their big father-son moment captured by ESPN: Graham Van de Hoek gripping a crying Wes as he told Wes how damn proud he was of him.
The other players had their families—moms and dads and siblings—at the big after-party in the hotel. Colton had made the circuit of the room, meeting everyone, shaking hands, smiling wide and laughing as loud as he could to try to cover up that he, out of everyone there, had been alone. Instead of being there, his mom texted him after the game, Congratulations and So proud of you and a picture of her on her couch with a glass of wine and piles of work in front of her. Huge case starting tomorrow, she’d texted. Hopefully I do as well as you!
Whatever it was that passed over his face, Nick saw it, and his forehead creased as a mixture of sadness and surprise filled his eyes. Colton turned away, stretching as much as he could to try to shake off the fuzziness from the sedation. “What did they say?” he grunted. “Surgery went long? Is that good or bad?”
“The doctor hasn’t come in yet. I think he was giving you a few hours to wake up first.” Nick’s hand appeared on top of his again. “I know he couldn’t fix everything he needed to arthroscopically.”
Colton stared at the ceiling, looking straight into the fluorescent lights. What is my recovery plan? How soon will I be playing again? Why wouldn’t anyone tell him?
They sat in silence until the door opened and the team doc walked in, still in his scrubs. He gave Colton a tight smile as he stopped at his bedside. “Well, Colton, how are you feeling after surgery?”
“What’s my recovery plan?” His voice was hard.
“We’ll get to that.” The doc rested his hand on Colton’s knee and squeezed briefly, then turned his gaze to Nick. “Are you Colton’s dad?”
“No. I’m a friend.” Nick sat back and crossed his legs.
Surprise lit up the doc’s face, and he looked from Nick to Colton and back again.
Colton felt the distance opening between him and Nick like a canyon, the loss of Nick’s touch like the loss of the sun. He’s not your dad. You don’t have a dad. His molars ground against each other, and he kept his gaze locked on the doctor. “Doc, when will I play again?”
“I need to be up front with you about your injury, Colton,” the doc said carefully. “Your shoulder is in very, very bad shape. You had a serious tear to your labrum and multiple torn ligaments, as well as two breaks to your collarbone. Your shoulder was fully torn away from your chest. Only your muscles held the joint in place, and some of those tore as well. It’s going to take a long time for you to heal.”
It was about to be the off season. He had time. Not a lot, but he had time. He could work on conditioning while he was down, then power through reps and arm strengthening when he got back to the practice field. It was going to be okay. He gripped the blanket next to his thigh, out of view from the doctor. “But it will heal. I’ll be fine. How long until I’m back out there? Six weeks? Eight?”
The doc hesitated. “We’re going to reevaluate your shoulder in eight weeks. You’ll be strapped in this sling for at least the next two weeks, and then you’ll begin a very light physical therapy regimen. Stretching, mostly. You’ll be in a sling for a month at a minimum.”
“But after—”
“After that, if it looks like you’re on a stable path, you can move to moderate physical therapy for another two months. And we’ll reevaluate your progress again after that.”
Four months. That took him all the way to preseason. But he could do it, he could still come back. He knew how to work hard. “And then?”
“In six months, you might be back on the field in light practice if you don’t push too hard. Colton, this isn’t something you can get over by gritting your teeth through the pain. This is a very serious injury, and if you don’t take the time to recover the right way, you risk never being able to play again.”
Colton stared at the doc. His lips pressed hard together, trying to stop the trembling of his chin. Never play again.
Nick took over, asking the questions Colton should be asking. He asked about Colton’s physical therapy and when he would begin, how often he would go, what kinds of things he could do on his own once he started. The doc kept stressing, over and over, that for the first two weeks, Colton was required to stay immobile, keep his arm strapped down in his sling, and not move. Don’t push himself. Let his body recover.
“Do you remember when Jason Witten ruptured his spleen playing for the Cowboys? He was put on bed rest for two weeks to heal. He was flat on his back, in bed. Doing nothing.” The doc sliced one hand through the air, as if he could underline his words. “It’s the same for you. You need to do nothing. The best thing you can do for yourself, Colton, is rest. For the first week, I want you in bed. You’re not allowed on the practice field.”
“But—”
“No. I don’t want you doing anything that could aggravate your recovery. No jogging, no roughhousing, no playing around. I want you in your room. Bed rest is best.”
“But what’s the timetable…” His voice trailed off as the doc shook his head.
“I’m not comfortable setting artificial goals until we have a better idea of how you’re healing. We can’t know now how you’re going to recover, and what that will look like when or if you do. The timetable is wait and see. Rest. Recover. Take this week by week. Trust me: for the next few days, you’re not going to want to do anything anyway. You’re going to feel awful. I’m sorry.”
Colton looked away as the first of his burning tears fell. Frustration boiled inside him until he was shaking, trembling like he was going to fall apart. He tried to swallow and couldn’t. Instead, he squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his face against his left shoulder, trying to wipe away his body’s betrayal. Damn it, damn it. Fuck, why this, why now?
And he already felt awful. He felt gutted, like something integral had been ripped out of him. How could he possibly feel any worse than he did now?
Nick talked to the doctor for him again, more questions that blurred in Colton’s mind. How to take care of his shoulder and the incisions, how to shower, how to sleep. When he was getting out of the hospital and going home. What kind of medications he’d be on and for how long.
Ten minutes later, it was over. The doc breezed out, telling Colton he’d see him in one week and that he was cautiously hopeful Colton would make a full recovery… as long as he rested and followed directions.
When the door shut, Colton’s eyes popped open. He stared at Nick, the world watery and prismatic on the edges. Nick didn’t try to sugarcoat anything, and he didn’t bother with platitudes. He gave Colton a small, sad smile and reached for his hand again, squeezing.
Colton grabbed Nick’s hand and curled sideways, slumping over as his heart, with all his fears inside it, fractured.
