The cheering from the crowd resonated through his tired body. It took him a moment to realize they were chanting his name. His strained smile turned genuine and Tristan applauded, thanking the fans and causing another wave of “TRISTAN, TRISTAN, TRISTAN.”
At last, the whistle was blown and the match started.
For a while, everything was fine. His groin didn’t bother him at all, and his headache receded, letting him enjoy the game.
Nothing prepared him for what happened twenty minutes into the game.
Later, everyone would say it was just a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Footballers got their legs kicked at least a couple of times every match; it was nothing unusual or particularly dangerous. But when Tristan rushed forward after his team won a corner and two players tackled him, a debilitating pain like no other shot through his left leg, making him nearly black out as the leg gave out.
He breathed through pain and dizziness and focused his eyes on his leg. Bile rose to his throat when he saw that the bone pierced the skin and his leg was bent unnaturally below the knee in several places. There was blood. Lots and lots of blood. So much blood.
He was only vaguely aware of the other players shouting and the medics rushing to his side. He saw Jared’s grim face, but he didn’t need to look at Jared’s face to know that this was bad. He’d been injured before many times, but never like this.
His eyes wet from pain, Tristan looked at the sky as he was carried off the pitch on a stretcher.
The fans applauded him.
Tristan squeezed his eyes shut. Somewhere deep in his gut, he knew they were applauding him for the last time. He couldn’t even say he was surprised. Good things never lasted. Not for him.
He was almost glad when the pain became too much and he passed out.
When he opened his eyes next time, he was in a pristine hospital room and he had a cast on his left leg. The absence of pain surprised him before he realized that he was probably on painkillers.
“How do you feel?”
Tristan turned his head and found Jared standing there. “Just tell me how bad it is.”
Jared glanced at Gabriel, who was hovering by the door, before looking at Tristan again. “You have a multiple compound fracture of both the tibia and fibula in your left leg. We performed a surgery, but…”
“But I’m never going to recover,” Tristan said.
“You will,” Jared said firmly. “You will get full function of your leg back. Just…”
“My career is over.”
A lengthy silence fell.
Tristan almost laughed. It was kind of hilarious that he’d spent the last few months getting fit for the World Cup only to get a career-ending injury in the first game after his recovery.
“There’s a chance you will be able to play again,” Jared said.
Tristan smiled. “Sure there is. But even if I do, I’ll never be as good as I used to be. Right?”
Jared pursed his lips briefly. “Saying never isn’t a good idea. Every case is different. I’ve known a player who was able to return after a year of intense physical therapy and he didn’t experience any problems. But in your case…it’s difficult to say. Your leg was broken in multiples places, and the injury is extremely unstable because of many bone fragments and large degrees of displacement. There’s a lot of damage to the surrounding muscles, tendons, and ligaments. You’ll be able to walk again soon enough, but it’s difficult to say how well the leg will heal. Playing football professionally after such an injury would always be a risk, no matter how well you recover. ”
“Yeah,” Tristan said. “Even if I recover, I’ll be damaged goods. My contract with Chelsea is ending. Who would want such an injury-prone player? I had three groin injuries in half a year and now I got a career-threatening injury in the first game after my recovery and will be out for at least a year. No top club would take a risk on me. I’d never agree to play for a mid-table club.”
He could see that Jared privately agreed with him, but aloud Jared said, “In any case, it’s not something you have to worry about now. You need to rest. Gabe, let’s go.”
“Give me a minute,” Gabriel said, touching Jared’s wrist.
Jared shot him a stern look. “Don’t upset my patient.”
Gabriel smiled a little. “No promises. Go.”
Closing the door after Jared, Gabriel turned around and looked at Tristan.
“Yeah, you can gloat now,” Tristan said tiredly, closing his eyes. “I’m sure you think it’s nothing I don’t deserve.”
“I wish I could gloat. I’m sure you would if our places were reversed.”
Tristan chuckled. “Are you saying you actually give a shit about me? I’m touched, Gabe.”
“Ugh!” Gabriel let out a frustrated noise. “Why are you always so difficult?”