Tackled by Love (2 page)

“How bad is it?” My eyes are slammed shut waiting for the bad news.

“I won’t know for certain without X-rays and an MRI. It could be a simple strain or hyperextension, but I’m thinking it’s a tear in your ACL.” He pauses for a moment and takes off his glasses before continuing, “And that could be bad.”

The way he says it, almost with hesitation, worries me and makes me wonder if he’s hinting at something worse. Something that could be life changing for me.

“Yeah, but athletes recover from this all the time, right? With a little rehab and hard work, I’ll be back out on the field in no time.” My tone is laced with determination to get back out there and do what I was meant for. Play football.

“Yes, a lot of players do recover,” he says in a calm, clinical voice, “but it all depends on the extent of the damage. I’m still not positive that’s what it is, but you know as well as I do, that the chances of recovering from something like this twice is not in your favor.”

My freshman year of college I tore the ACL in my left knee. Someone on the line missed a block and I got laid the fuck out by a huge defensive player. I never even saw the hit coming. It was probably the worst moment of my life. I knew my knee was fucked up and had it confirmed shortly thereafter. I was so afraid the school was going to cut me, since I’d be out most of the year. If I got cut, I’d lose my scholarships and probably have to drop out of school with no real way of paying for it. Luckily, my coach saw potential in me and kept me on the roster. I sat out the rest of the season, but came back strong and ready the following year. Maybe I’m an idiot, but I just didn’t think something like this would happen to me again. Lightning never strikes twice, right? Pfft, how fucking stupid could I be?

A sigh leaves my lips as I let the doctor’s words sink in. With the doc not sounding optimistic like I’d hoped, I’m almost desperate for him to tell me everything will be alright and I’ll recover quickly. That my dreams aren’t slipping away when I got so fucking close to achieving them. About that time, Valerie comes rushing through the doors. The sight of her helps calm my nerves and puts a smile on my face. She’s my rock, my support system, and I know I can get through this with her by my side.

Her hands cup my cheeks and her eyes search my face. “Oh my God! How are you? What happened? Are you going to be okay?” She starts firing off question after question. I gently grab her wrists and pull them down, away from my face.

“It’s okay, Val. I’m fine. My knee is just a little sore, no big deal.” I turn her hand over and kiss her palm.

“They kept playing the hit over and over on the jumbotron. It was horrible. I got down here as fast as I could.” She pulls one of her hands free from my grip and runs it through my light brown hair that’s damp with sweat.

“I’m okay, sweetheart, I promise. I don’t know for sure what’s wrong. I won’t know until we get some X-rays done.” I don’t mention the MRI. That’ll just freak her out more. She’ll think that the more testing I need, the worse the injury is.

Her eyes go wide before she shrieks, “X-rays?! I thought you said it was just a little sore. Why do you need X-rays?”

I pull her to sit on the side of the table that I’m laying on. “Listen, I don’t want you to worry if it’s nothing, okay? So let’s get the X-rays done and go from there.”

She stares at me for a few moments before nodding, “Okay.”

Dr. Herpin steps up and tells Valerie she can wait here while I get X-rays done. I give her a kiss and hold my breath as I’m wheeled down the hall and into another room. I’m trying to stay optimistic. I bounced back from an injury like this once, I can do it again. But for some reason, my gut tells me this time is different.

***

Val’s sitting next to me, holding my hand while I’m lying on the table in the locker room. I’m watching the game on the television that’s mounted to one of the walls, counting the seconds as they tick by. Finally, the clock hits zero and the game is over. We won and I hear the crowd go crazy. Turns out, Andrews caught that last pass I threw, so at least all this wasn’t for nothing.

The doctor walks in and his eyebrows are pinched together as he stares at the X-rays and MRI results that he’s holding up to the light. I’m starting to get the feeling that that little eyebrow movement means bad news and it makes me shift uncomfortably as I wait for him to speak.

“So what’s the verdict, doc?” I swallow the huge lump in the back of my throat. God, I’m so fucking nervous right now. My mouth has gone completely dry and I feel like time has stopped before he answers my question.

He sighs, shaking his head, “It’s worse than I thought, Landon. You tore your ACL and MCL. I’m sorry, but it’s not looking good right now.”

I feel the color drain from my face and start to internally panic as the reality of the situation crashes over me like a 30-foot wave that’s pummeling me to the ocean floor, refusing to let me up for air.

Valerie clutches my hand tightly, “What’s the prognosis? Can he make a full recovery from this?” I glance over at her and the worry is etched clearly on her perfect face. Fine lines that aren’t normally there mark the corners of her eyes. Her lips are pursed tightly together, like all the tension in her body is being directly transmitted to that one, small place.

“Like I said, it’s not promising. You had an ACL injury in college that took you a while to recover from.”

Swallowing hard, I finally find my voice, “Yeah, but I made a full recovery. I can go to physical therapy every day and bounce back from this again.” My words come out strained as I try desperately to put some confidence in them. I know I fail, because the doctor gives me a sympathetic look.

“Yes, you did, but you need to be realistic with your recovery. This injury is much worse than the last one. Plus, each time you tear it, your knee is never as strong as it was before. So, just because you recover now, doesn’t mean you’re not more prone to hurting it again later.”

Fuck.

This is worse than I could have ever imagined. As in, there-go-all-my-dreams-and-now-I-have-no-idea-what-I’ll-do-with-my-life, bad. My hands rake roughly over my face before I look back up to the doctor. I need to get my shit together. None of this feeling sorry for myself or panicking bullshit. It’s time to man up.

Sitting up trying to remain confident, I ask, “So what’s next?”

“Next, we schedule you for surgery. We’ll need to repair the tear, but only after the swelling goes down and you get some range of motion back to your knee. It looks okay now, but it’s going to swell a lot more in the next few hours. In a few weeks, we’ll do surgery and then begin your rehabilitation. We’ll see how it goes from there.”

I blow out a breath, “Okay, I guess that’s all we can do at this point.”

I lean my head back against the headrest on the table, feeling utterly helpless. And I hate every damn second of it.

It’s been six months since the surgery, and it went well. The doctor was able to repair both tears in my knee and said it went about as well as it could’ve gone. The weeks following were hard as hell. I’ve never felt pain like that before, even when I got injured back in college. Going to physical therapy sucked ass, and all I really wanted to do was lie in bed and sleep until all of this was over. Unfortunately, sleeping in bed all day wasn’t going to heal my knee. So here I sit, at another therapy session doing knee exercises to rebuild the strength I lost due to the tear and surgery.

“Alright, good. Five more, Stone. Come on, come on!” That’s Tye, my trainer and physical therapist, yelling in my ear. Most days he tells me that I’m a pussy and to suck it up so I can push out these last few reps. If he were anyone else, that’d land him a nice solid one to the jaw, but I know he’s pushing me so I can suit up and get back out on the field.

My knee is throbbing, I’m breathing heavily from all the exertion, and I’m completely soaked from head to toe in sweat. But it feels good. I’m well on my way to recovery and within a matter of weeks I should be given the okay to practice with the team. I pump out the last five reps and almost collapse on the floor.

“Good job, man. Go grab some water and then we’ll stretch,” Tye says to me.

Walking over to the corner, I grab my water bottle from Valerie. She’s been amazing through all of this, never leaving my side. She has always been my rock. Never complaining about the long hours in practice, the traveling to away games, or the endless amount of time spent studying film in preparation for the next game. She understands the demands of my job and what it takes to perform well in the league. It’s one of the things I love most about her. She never makes me feel guilty for being completely committed to the game, like some of the other wives and girlfriends do.

Immediately after the surgery, things weren’t looking so hot. I was in a lot of pain and there was so much swelling that I was convinced this was going to be the end of my career. But Valerie was there lifting me up, whispering words of encouragement to me at night as we laid in bed; telling me that I was stronger than that and that I would play again. That failure was not an option and feeling sorry for myself wasn’t going to get me back on the field. Like I said before, she’s my rock. Her strength was infectious, so I used that and got my ass up and in gear. I really don’t know how I would’ve gotten through all of this without her.

“You did real good today, babe. You’ll be out there playing before you know it,” Val praises me. I lean over and give her a kiss. “Ew, you’re sweaty.” She’s smiling, and there’s a crinkle in her nose as she swats me away.

“Oh shut it. You know you love it when I’m all sweaty.” I lean down to her ear so only she can hear me, “I never hear you complain about it in the bedroom.”

“Landon!” she says in a loud whisper.

“What?” I innocently hold my hands up in surrender as I walk backwards. She just flashes her bright white teeth at me as her sexy lips spread out into a smile.

***

After Tye does some routine stretches with me, Val and I head back to the house. She loves this house. As soon as she saw it she said we had to buy it. It’s a little big for my taste, but I like making her happy. And the look on her face when I surprised her with the keys was completely worth it. It has a long driveway that circles around at the top. In front of the house is a large water fountain surrounded by a meticulously manicured lawn. Val is a little OCD about the outside appearance of the house. Says something about curb appeal and all that stuff. There are archways all over the front of the house; the entrance, windows, everything. A light gray stucco and white trim finish off the outside appearance. The inside is nothing super special. It has seven bedrooms and eight bathrooms, an office, movie room, state-of-the-art kitchen, and a man cave. The part I did splurge on was the backyard. The master bedroom has a balcony off of it with stairs leading down to the pool. Off to the side is a huge grilling area. It’s basically an outdoor kitchen. On each side of the grill are long countertops that make an “L” shape. Below the ones to the right are cabinets, and to the left are a fridge and freezer, the perfect place to store beer and frozen drinks. The grotto hangs off the side of the salt water pool and is amazing at night with the warm lighting and waterfall that spews off the front. This is my favorite thing about the house and has become my oasis. Maybe it’s because I didn’t get a lot of say on the interior decorating-- happy wife, happy life, right?-- but this is almost like my sanctuary.

Growing up in a small town, my folks didn’t have a lot. We weren’t poor and struggling to put food on the table, but we definitely lived paycheck to paycheck all of my life. There wasn’t any extra money to take family vacations or buy the newest gaming console, and anything they were able to save went toward my sports. But none of that mattered because we were happy. My parents never focused on the material stuff, or what we did and did not have. Even though I say the house is nothing special, it’s bigger than anything I ever imagined I’d own. But it’s still just a house and I haven’t let my money go to my head. Because at the end of the day, all this stuff doesn’t mean shit. It can all be gone in the blink of an eye.

I turn off the blender and pour my protein shake into a glass. I hear Valerie come up behind me. Looking over at her, I notice she’s changed clothes and looks like she’s ready to head out.

“You going somewhere?” I take a long drink of my shake, wondering where she could possibly be off to.

“Yeah, I’m going to go pick up that Hermès bag I’ve really been wanting. I was a little bummed out when I didn’t think I could get it. With you being hurt and all I wasn’t sure if they were going to keep you on the team. But now that you’re almost back to normal, I figure, why wait?” she says with a shrug. She’s so casual and upbeat, and clearly has no idea how much her words affect me. I didn’t realize that she was thinking about the fact that I could be without a job, and therefore, without an income. Having your wife worried about whether or not you can provide for her is a definite kick to the balls.

I give her a tight smile, “But don’t you already have a bunch of those bags? You don’t use half the purses that are in your closet. It’s starting to look like a museum in there.”