“It’s monitoring my heart.” His eyes move over to a screen behind his bed, yet another reminder of where we are.
“What did the doctors say?”
“Well, not much yet. They want to get all the facts before they speculate.” From the way he says it, I know he’s repeating their exact words. His frustration is clear.
“They are still prepping me for surgery, though, without the facts.” His anger seeps through his words. “Therefore, minimal pain medicine until they know more.”
“Good thing you’re so tough.” I trace the outline of his defined chest through his T-shirt.
“Yeah.” He gives a small chuckle. “You know what I realized?”
“What?” I continue to run my fingers over the contours of his chest.
“You never really know how much you want something until you lose it. For so long, I hated my dad for pushing me to go to football camps or to try to get a scholarship, but now that it’s over”—he shakes his head—“I realize I really wanted it, not my dad. That was just a good cover for me not to get too attached to the idea, but now that it’s actually over, I want it more than anything. I guess I’ve always loved it. It’s funny, now that it’s too late.” He sighs deeply as he lays his head back on the pillow.
“Stop it. You don’t know that. It’s not too late. You haven’t even heard from the doctor yet. Let him tell you. Until then, you need to stop talking like that.”
His hand traces mine as it rests on his stomach. “You’re wearing it,” he says, running his finger over his class ring.
“Of course,” I say with a smile.
“Did your dad say anything?”
“Well, our secret is out.”
“Yeah, I figured since you’re here. I guess there is one good thing about all of this.” He gives a small laugh. “I’m so glad he drove you up. I don’t think I could do this without you.”
I lift myself up to look into his gorgeous, crystal blue eyes, careful not to bump his leg, but I need to really look at him when I say this.
“I love you, no matter what. You know that, right?”
I see a little of his stress, pain, and anger melt away. “I love you, too. Thank you for coming.”
The door to his room opens, and in walks a distinguished-looking man with salt and pepper hair who is close to my dad’s age. He’s wearing a tie and an open lab coat over his button-down shirt. He walks with an air of importance. This must be Todd’s doctor.
Todd’s parents come in behind him.
I immediately start to get up, but Todd squeezes my hand and pulls my arm back. “Stay,” he whispers to me.
Once they are all in the room, the doctor clears his throat as his eyes land on me in the bed. I can’t tell if he’s angry or amused.
“Well, we have the results.”
“I should probably go.” I try to release my grip from Todd’s, but he certainly hasn’t lost the strength in his hands.
“Yes. That’s a good idea,” Mrs. H. says. Not in a malicious way, but it’s obvious she’s on edge and anxious to hear the results.
“No. She stays,” Todd says firmly, pulling me back toward him.
When the doctor looks at Todd’s parents for their permission since the results are confidential, his dad gives Todd a look, but he knows his son won’t back down.
“It’s fine,” he says as he gives a small head nod.
All of our eyes quickly shift and are now laser-focused on the doctor. He clears his throat again and turns on the mounted lightbox behind him as he places Todd’s x-rays on it.
“It’s a pretty incredible break.” He points to a bone that is clearly broken on the film. “It’s an enclosed, mid-shaft tibia fracture, as we suspected, but it’s almost a perfect break. Clean and straight through, no displacement.”
“Which means?” Todd’s dad jumps in.
“No surgery, no pins or plates, and a much faster recovery time.”
“How about football?” Todd asks. It’s clear that was the question his dad was about to ask by his vigorous head nod.
“I’ve already spoken to the Penn State doctor and emailed him the x-rays. We both agree there will most likely be six to eight weeks in a full leg cast, which will be non-weight bearing.” He gives Todd a stern look. “And then, with intensive physical therapy, you’ll have full mobility and be back to new and ready for late spring, early summer training.”
“So this won’t affect his scholarship offer?” his dad asks, and I feel Todd’s fingers tighten around mine.
“You’ll have to talk to the Penn State coaches for sure, but my recommendation is that he’ll be as good as new, and this won’t affect his game or ability.” His eyes shift to Todd. “You are very lucky. I think it has something to do with being an athlete.” He winks with a smile. “Now, let’s get you in a cast. And even better news, we can give you a little stronger pain medication for this one.” He gives a robust chuckle. “I’m just glad I didn’t have to go into surgery tonight, because I had one too many cocktails at dinner, if you know what I mean,” he says jokingly, I think.
“Thanks, Dr. Warren,” Todd says with a smile.
“Yes. Thank you so much, doctor.” Mr. H. reaches out to shake his hand, and then he wraps his arms around him in a bear hug.
“You’re very welcome. I’m glad it was good news. I’m a Penn State Nittany Lion, and God knows we need a good kicker. I’ll keep an eye out for you next year,” the doctor says with a smile as he leaves the room.
Within seconds, Brian and Ryan come rushing in with Sid behind them.
“What’d he say? Good news?” Brian asks, his eyes shifting between all of us.
“Sorry, we couldn’t wait,” Ryan says to Mr. and Mrs. H.
Brian’s eyes are darting around the room, trying to read everyone’s expressions. “The doctor was smiling, so it must be good news, right?”
I look at Todd whose face is unreadable. Man, he’s good at this. I’m pretty sure I already gave it away with my smile, but I realize he’s messing with Brian, so I start to play along as Todd just looks down, shaking his head.
“So, it’s bad news?” Brian asks, instantly deflated.
More silence. I’m impressed; even Todd’s parents are playing along.
“Someone say something,” Sid says. I forgot she was here.
Immediately, Todd’s face breaks into a smile. I think he forgot, too.
“I knew it!” Brian shouts to all of us, and then to Ryan he says, “I knew it’d be good news.”
“Oh, really?” Ryan says with a laugh. “What did the doctor say?”
“Well, it’s broken.” Todd’s dad steps in and gestures to the film still on the wall.
Ryan, Sid, and Brian all suck in a breath at the same time when they see the actual break.
“But the doctor said it’s nearly a perfect break, so no surgery is needed, and he believes Todd will regain full mobility and be good as new for summer training.”
“So the scholarship offer still stands?” Ryan asks cautiously.
“We still need to hear from the coaches,” Todd answers, clearly trying to manage everyone’s expectations.
“You even break your leg perfectly,” Sid comments out of the blue, and everyone loses it. We are all laughing when Mr. H.’s phone rings.
“It’s the Penn State coach,” he says, instantly silencing the uproar. You could hear a pin drop.
“Hello?” Todd’s dad says calmly, pleasantly. “Right … Yes, we did speak to the doctor … Yes.” He nods his head as he looks at Mrs. H.
When I glance at Todd, I can tell he has momentarily forgotten how much pain he is in.
“I see … Okay.” Todd’s dad holds up a finger to the room. The tension is palpable.
“Yes … Full mobility … Yes. I understand … You’re taking a chance.”
The mood in the room drops, and I squeeze Todd’s hand tighter. He merely looks down and shakes his head.
“Right … Okay … So the offer still stands?”
Everyone’s heads shoot up, all of us looking at each other with anticipation as Todd squeezes my hand back.