“Amelia, that’s Carson’s choice to—”
“It’s ours,” she insisted. “Yours and mine. Until Carson can afford to pay his own way, what we say goes, and for my part, I say he’s done. Carson gave his verbal agreement this morning and I electronically signed the papers for him. They were witnessed and notarized, and are being filed as we speak.”
“That’s why your lawyer was here,” Mr. Cress whispered.
“Yes.”
“You had no right to—”
“I had every right, he’s my son.”
“He’s my son too!” Henry Cress yelled.
“And we’ve done what you wanted since he was nine years old,” she told him. “All the choices for football were yours. Well, now that’s over. I won’t have my son lose his arm for a game.”
“It’s not a game, Amelia. It has never been just a game.”
“Which I understand to some degree,” she allowed. “But football has ceased to be a priority, has ceased to be a part of Carson’s life. I will not have him work hard simply to go back and play again and become irreparably damaged. Not to mention that simply the rehabilitation itself would mean that he would have to redshirt for all of next year and not graduate, simply for the chance to play again.”
“Amelia. Listen to—”
“No.” She shook her head, voice rising, cracking just a little with the volume and how adamant she was. “He’ll graduate with his degree in construction management next year and then go from there. Football is done, Henry. You need to come to terms with no longer being famous in his reflected glory.”
“Now wait a minute,” he nearly snarled, pointing a finger at her. “If you’re insinuating that I’m not worried about my––”
“I’m not insinuating anything,” she reproached him, “I’m saying it flat out. You love being in the spotlight, and that’s over now. You have to find something else to be other than his manager, and if you want to forge any kind of relationship with that amazing young man right there, you better get off the football train and figure out how to be a real father.”
I was really glad that Carson had nodded off but I felt sorry for him when the room erupted in sound, and he ended up being jolted awake.
I had no idea what to do and felt out of place standing there listening to people—his grandparents as well—shout at each other. All I could do was soothe Carson by gently squeezing his hand.
When he gave me a trace of a smile, I turned to his mother, emboldened by how much the man holding my hand seemed to need me. “I don’t think all the noise is good for Carson.”
Everyone went instantly silent.
“I agree,” she said with a sigh.
“Who are you?” Mr. Cress barked at me, his face getting splotchy and red with anger.
It had to be hard. He’d gone from having all the control to having none in less than a full day. His life as he knew it, just like Carson’s, was changed forever in an instant.
“Let’s step out,” Mrs. Cress ordered in a tone that brooked no protest. “Carson needs to rest.”
As I watched everyone go, I understood something very clearly—tensions like that did not erupt overnight. This was years of Mrs. Cress remaining silent, years of Mr. Cress driving his own ambition through his son, and now, in this moment, the clashing of the two. And while I appreciated the idea that Mr. Cress had so much faith in Carson, in his superhuman abilities and willpower, it was Mrs. Cress, like a lioness protecting her cub, who had my heart. I was in her corner a hundred percent.
Before I could say anything to Carson, like tell him how sorry it was that his family was fighting, another doctor, this one accompanied by several others, stopped first to say something in passing to his family and then walked into the room and over to Carson’s bed.
“Hello.” The one who everyone else was looking at, deferring to, smiled as he greeted me, offering his hand. “I’m Dr. Behari, Carson’s surgeon and I’ve been working with Dr. Kline, who was here talking with the family earlier. I’m from the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota, and I was flown out to care for Mr. Cress after he sustained his traumatic injury.”
“Thank you so much for coming,” I replied lamely, not sure what I was supposed to say.
He nodded. “And you are?”
“I’m his—”
“Boyfriend,” Carson offered quietly, and when I turned to him, I saw that his eyes were open. They were red and raw, and you could see the pain, but they were clear. “He’s with me. You can tell him everything.”
“Well, as I said to your family, I will talk to them in a moment, but for now I want to speak to you alone.”
“I need him to stay. Please.”
After a moment, Dr. Behari nodded. “As you wish.”