Page 110 of Your Play to Call
And then I think about Wendy. What do I do about Wendy? I feel empty. The severity of the situation reaches my bones and everything aches.
The flames dance before me, casting flickering shadows on the snow-covered ground. I wish they could show the truth as easily as they light up the patio.
And then it clicks: I was so concerned about trusting Tripp and I didn’t consider if he trusted me.
As the night wears on, I find myself lost in a maze of what-ifs, unable to find a way out. I wrap the blankets around me, tight, trying to block the chill from both the wind and recent events.
Chapter 60
Tripp
It’s been three dayssince Willow left. The first day, I did nothing besides stare at the ceiling, frozen with the severity of the decision I needed to make. I convinced my mom I was alright, even if it wasn’t true, but I wanted some time by myself. I’m surprised she didn’t come over here; sometimes she finds it hard to listen to my requests.
The second day, I started it off with a mediocre panic attack. Felt like even my subconscious is too exhausted to go all in on a panic response.
I went to an appointment for my shoulder. I wore a look that said, “don’t fucking ask me about anything you’ve read or heard” and it worked. I knew I was being borderline insufferable and irritable, but it’s all I had.
The shoulder isn’t as bad as originally thought. Per the doctors, I could rehab it without surgery, or do surgery in the off season. Seems like I could even play at the end of this season if we make the playoffs.
Another fucking decision to make. I want someone to tell me what to do.
Today, my mom’s coming over. She gave me all the space she could muster but that’s run out. I had lunch delivered and am trying to get everything set up. Doing things with one working arm is more difficult than I thought it’d be.
I know the headlines haven’t quit. It’s been made worse because I refuse to give a statement until I know what I want to do.
What do I want?
I want things to go back to how they were before the game. I want how Willow and I were before.
She hasn’t tried to get a hold of me. I haven’t reached out either. At this point, I don’t have anything to say.
Is this how relationships end? You have a soul-crushing fight and then you’re trying to remember the last time you kissed? Or the last time you heard their laugh in your bed? How can all of these things turn into a list of “last times?”
My mom knocks before coming in. She takes one look at me before her smile falls and is replaced with concern.
“Tripp, what’s wrong?”
“A lot.” I give her an honest answer.
“Have you been sleeping? Eating?”
“A little.”
She stands in front of me and puts her hands, cold from the winter, on the sides of my face.
“Tell me everything,” she says while she leads me to the couch.
I do. It feels like reaching into my chest and pulling out pieces of me for everyone to see. I tell her about Willow, the call with coach, my terror in making this decision, and then some.
“First things first, you can’t do this. Hold on to all these things. You don’t need to tell me everything, but you need to tell someone.” She’s such a good listener, letting me ramble without a single interruption for who knows how long. “Football isn’t an option forever. It’s never been.”
“I just want someone to tell me what to do. A coach, a doctor, a psychic. I’ll take anyone at this point.”
“No one can make this decision besides you. I know that’s not what you want to hear but it’s you that has to live with the results.”
“I know. I feel like I’ve only ever had this one thing. I’ve been trying to answer who I am, without it, for years. There’s no answer. I’m a shell.” My voice trails off at the end as I try to find the words.
“I did the same thing when you moved out and went to college. I didn’t have practice clothes or jerseys to wash. Dinners to make. You’ve always been much more than who you are on the field. I’m sad you don’t see it.”
