Tackled by Love (3 page)

“Oh, Landon. I don’t have
this
one though. It’s coming right off the runway! They’re holding it for me. Once you see it, you’ll totally agree that it was worth the money. I promise,” she replies.

“Okay, have fun then.” I take another drink to hide my scowl. She turns on her heel and leaves to go get
the
bag. I’ve heard that just about every time she’s bought one.

Women
, I think as I shake my head and finish my drink. At least I’ll get to watch ESPN in peace now.

Three weeks after Valerie’s shopping spree and it still baffles me how much stuff women think they need. It’s July, which is usually muggy, but today it’s stifling. It’s been one hot and miserable summer this year. I’m just finishing my warm up with my trainer when a few of my teammates come walking in. I haven’t worked out with them much since the injury. My focus right now is solely on getting my knee healed, and I don’t need the distractions from everyone with their antics and dicking around.

“Hey, how ya feelin’, man?” Andrews questions as he slaps me on the back.

“I’m good. Knee is feeling stronger, so I should be back on that field first game of the season.”

“That’s awesome. We’re just not the same without you on the field, you know?” He looks over his shoulder at our backup quarterback, Brandon Smith. We won the game that I got hurt in, but we lost the next one, which pretty much ended the season for us. Brandon threw a huge hissy fit, pointing the finger at everyone for the loss. It didn’t go over well with the team and they haven’t been real receptive of him since.

“I know. Trust me, I can’t wait to get back out there. Sitting on the bench just about killed me that last game.”

“Well, you might want to get comfortable on the bench, Stone. The way I see it, you have some competition now, so don’t assume you’re the starter next season,” Brandon interrupts as he walks over to us.

I clench my fists to keep from strangling this stupid-ass kid. He’s a cocky fucker, that’s for sure. The problem is he doesn’t have shit to back it up. He was a star in college and a first round draft pick. But that doesn’t mean shit here in the big league. You’ve got to prove yourself, and Brandon hasn’t. Hence why he’s the backup and not a starter.

Before I can respond, I see Andrews stand straight up and look down at Brandon as he starts to get in his face. “I know you’re not talking shit to my man here, are you?”

Brandon takes a few steps back with his hands up in surrender. “No, chill dude. I was just kidding around. I know he’ll be good as new soon. Right, Stone?”

“Yeah, right,” I look at him through narrowed eyes. Brandon turns around and stalks off toward the showers.

I look back at Andrews who’s still staring in the direction Brandon walked off in. He shakes his head and says, “That kid has problems. I just don’t trust him.”

“He’s harmless. So what, he talks shit. We both know his ass isn’t moving from that bench unless I’m out.”

“You’re right. You just better get that knee of yours fixed ASAP. We would’ve made it to the playoffs if you were in the game.” That comment makes me feel a little guilty. I know it’s not my fault I got hurt, but I still feel like I let my team down and wasn’t the leader I promised to be. Slapping me on the shoulder, Andrews picks up on my mood, “Hey, it’s alright. No one blames you for missing that game. It wasn’t your fault you got injured.”

I sight, “I know, but it still feels like I let everyone down.”

“Stop with the guilt. Ain’t nobody got time for that. Just look ahead and work your ass off for next season. That’s all you can do.”

“Thanks, man.” We give each other a one-armed man hug.

***

By the time the scrimmage games roll around, I’m given the okay by the doctors to practice. As I’m lacing up my cleats, I’m so fucking anxious and excited, I can’t stand it. I haven’t been on the field with my team in what feels like an eternity. This is a light scrimmage against one of the teams in our conference. It’s not the real deal with no real contact or anything, but I don’t care. I’m finally good enough to play a little so I’ll take it. I slip on my red jersey and jog out to the field.

After talking to the coaches, who briefly warn me to take it easy, I join my team in a huddle to tell them the play. Butterflies are swirling in my stomach and I feel a little rusty, but I’m sure it’ll all fall together naturally once I find my rhythm again.

The first half of the game goes well. I’m smiling from ear-to-ear and feel at peace again. I didn’t realize how unbalanced I’d been feeling until I got out here. I knew I missed playing; hell, it’s my whole life aside from my family, but I just didn’t see how empty I felt before. This is my passion and the one thing I feel like I was destined to do. Without it, I felt lost with no real direction. That fear of wandering through the rest of my life aimlessly was a major motivator in pushing myself to rehabilitate as quickly as possible.

I call off the next play and take the snap from center. I’m looking around for an open receiver when I catch a glimpse of something from the corner of my eye. I turn my head to look right as I’m hit low from the side and tackled to the ground. Instantly, my knee starts hurting and I know I’ve fucked it up again. The pain I’m feeling takes over any anger from the fact that I’m not supposed to get hit during practice today.

“What the fuck was that, Wade?!” Coach screams at the opposing player.

“My bad, Coach. I guess I got carried away. You alright, Stone?”

At this point, the training staff is gathered around me. Tye starts moving my leg and looking at my knee. “This doesn’t look good, Landon,” he tells me.

“No shit. I think it’s my ACL again.” Taking deep breaths, I try to tolerate the pain.

“Let’s get you to the locker room.” He waves another guy over and they hoist me up and help me hop to the cart on the sideline. Once I’m situated on it, I look back at the field and catch Brandon looking at me with a smirk on his face as he slips on his helmet. That motherfucker. He would be gloating right now.

***

The MRI and X-ray results come back, and just like I suspected, it’s my ACL again.

“What does that mean for me, doc?” My voice is monotone because I know what he’s going to tell me and I don’t want to hear it, but it’s inevitable, so I might as well get it over with.

“Landon, I hate to say this to you, but I think you should consider retiring.” He has sympathy written all over his face and I can’t stand it.

And there it is.

Retire.

Seems like such a dirty word to me. It’s the word that is whispered among players and only discussed by seasoned veterans who’ve been playing for over a decade. But that’s not me. I’ve only been in the league for three years and haven’t hit my prime yet. There’s so much more I can achieve for myself and my team, that the thought of retiring makes me feel physically sick.

“What happens if I don’t retire?” My words come out quietly as I pray that I still have some options left. That retiring isn’t the only solution to this problem.

“We’ll have to do another surgery to repair the tear. Luckily, it’s just your ACL this time. Then you’ll do more physical therapy and rehab, but I don’t think it’s wise to play after that. You’re veering into dangerous territory as far as your physical health is concerned. You don’t want to get to a point where surgery isn’t an option and you’ll be handicapped for the rest of your life.”

Handicapped. That word sinks into my mind as I begin to process my options.

Or lack thereof.

I don’t say anything in response to the information Dr. Herpin just provided me. After a few moments, he pats me on the shoulder in a comforting manner, “I’m sorry, Landon. I wish I could give you more optimistic news, but I’m afraid that’s the reality of the situation. It’s not worth crippling yourself over.”

It’s not? This is all I know. With a lot of persuasion from my parents, I finished college and didn’t enter the draft early, but I never really had a backup plan for my life. Once I hit college, I knew I was going to play ball, and invested everything I had to get here. Not playing was
never
an option. Now what am I going to do?

“Okay, doc. Thanks,” I mumble. He gives me a curt nod before leaving. I sit there for minutes, hours, I don’t really know. After a while, the rest of the team comes in.

Wade walks up to me. “I’m real sorry, Stone. It was an accident. Once all 300 pounds of me goes into motion, it’s hard to slow down that momentum,” he rambles, trying to explain why he hit me during a no contact scrimmage.

“Yeah, an accident. No big deal.” Except that it is. It’s the biggest fucking deal, because he just effectively ended my career.

“Tough break. Looks like you’ll be on the bench just a little longer,” Brandon says. He’s taunting me, but nothing would give me more satisfaction than wiping that smug ass grin off of his fucking face. I’m trying to get to my feet, which has Brandon snickering. I guess he’s not intimidated by someone with their knee wrapped up and on crutches. Fortunately, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with Andrews. He walks through the locker room with his eyes trained on Brandon the whole way. He grabs him by the throat and slams him into the locker.

The look of sheer terror on Brandon’s face is priceless and I wish I had my phone on me so I could capture this moment forever. If there’s one thing I can rely on, it’s the loyalty of my teammates. Andrews starts talking close to Brandon’s ear, and the only reason I can hear what he’s saying is because I’m standing right there. “You think this is funny, huh? A member of your team is down and you make jokes? But you know what? You should be worried, because the backbone of this team and the person we all rally around is going to be on the bench. And you can only point the finger and blame all of us for your losses for so long, so you should be real fucking worried about your own job security. And let me hear you talk shit one more time about Stone or anyone else on this team. Trust me, you won’t like the consequences.” Andrews releases his hold on Brandon, who tries to shake it off, but I can tell he was nervous. He leaves the locker room shortly after.

“Punk ass bitch,” Andrews grumbles. And this just makes me laugh. My laughter is cut short when I realize that I need to go home and explain all of this to Valerie. I know she’ll be behind me the whole way, but we’re definitely going to have to make some changes to our lifestyle real soon, and that includes not buying any more designer bags for a while.

With crutches in hand, I walk through the front door and into the foyer where I dump my keys and bag on the entry way table. I hobble over to the kitchen where Valerie is sitting, reading one of her fashion magazines.

Without looking up at me, she says, “Hey, babe. I was just talking to my friend Becka and she said we have to go to Bora Bora during the off season for a vacation. What do you think?”

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” With dread in my voice, she finally looks up at me. Her eyes widen when she takes in my swollen, wrapped knee and crutches.

“Oh my God! What happened now?” She jumps up off the barstool she was sitting on and rushes over to me.

Looking down at the ground, “I fucked up my knee again.” I keep my eyes on the floor, trying to avoid eye contact with her.

“What do you mean you fucked up your knee again? How long will you be out? Are they going to keep you on the team?”

“Let’s go have a seat and I’ll explain everything to you.” Gesturing over to the living room, we make our way over to the couch and have a seat. “Babe, I’m gonna have to retire,” I say, while holding her hand and looking her in the eyes. This is the first time I’ve uttered those words out loud, and they sting just as bad as I thought they would.

“Are you shitting me? If you’re just afraid of getting injured again, you can move past that. I’m sure there’s some kind of mental therapy for that too. Maybe they can…”

Holding up my hand, I cut her off. “You’re not understanding, Val. I’m done. If I get injured again, I could be disabled permanently. There may come a time where surgery won’t fix it and then where will I be? Hobbling around or in a wheelchair? As much as it kills me, if I walk away now, I still have a full life ahead of me.” Each word leaves a bad taste in my mouth and I realize I’m not just pleading with her to understand, I’m pleading with myself as well. It might take a while to actually accept that it is what it is.