I’m falling apart inside. Every time I try to do anything with my right hand, it ends with something either broken or thrown across the room. The one part of my body I need to work most is being the most difficult. I’m reminded every day that my dreams are slipping away. And I just don’t know how I’m going to handle it when the gauntlet drops and my life disintegrates. Five words will seal my fate: You can’t play football anymore.
“Kam?” Laney is standing beside me. How long has she been there? “You okay? You checked out for a second.”
“I’m fine, Lemon. Sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. Just this whole healing thing is a little frustrating sometimes.”
I wonder if she’s buying my bull.
“Frustrating?” she repeats, like she’s testing the word. “I’d call it more maddening based on your earlier outburst.”
Nope, not buying my BS for one second. Laney retrieves the notebook and pen from across the room. Watching her bend over makes me feel a little bit better.
Laney looks down at the pad, and I know I’ve stepped in shit now based on her facial expression. It’s puzzled, and I think a little sad. She looks up at me with soft eyes. I have no idea what to say. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want face the truth if it’s real.
Laney walks across the room, straight for me. I watch every soft step she takes. My blood heats up. It seems the closer she is to me, the warmer my insides become. And it’s not just from arousal, she also excites my heart.
Laney makes no qualms about sitting next to me on the mattress. She positions my text book in front of her and my notebook on her lap. Then she grabs my hand and places the pen between my fingers. I tense as she positions her hand over mine, like how you’d teach a child how to trace. The feel of her skin is euphoric. I can’t even come up with a word for the way she smells. I don’t need one; I’m fine getting high off the scent. It has my cells pumping right along with the rhythm of my pulse. Laney starts to move our connected hands like one.
“When I was a little girl,” she begins, never looking away from the notebook, “I wouldn’t eat anything but spaghetti. And, being the chef that he is, it drove my father crazy. But after a while, making spaghetti became our thing. He would hold my hand like this.” She squeezes my fingers. “And teach me how to stir the sauce. I wasn’t very good at it, at first. It took a lot of practice. I would flick it all over the stove. But the more spaghetti we made, the better I became at stirring the sauce.”
Laney stops writing and I look down at the words we wrote together: Practice Makes Perfect.
Such a simple statement, and maybe before I would have believed it. But now? It seems hopeless.
“I’m not so sure, Lemon.”
Laney glances at me, she’s sitting a little bit in front of me so she has to turn her head slightly. The look in her eyes is sexy as hell.
“I am. You’re Kamdyn Ellis, star quarterback, on and off the field.”
“What if I never recover? What then? Who will I be then?” My throat tightens with emotion from just the mere thought.
She shrugs simply. “You’ll have to figure that out.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“It is and it isn’t. I wondered the same thing when my father told me we were moving to Alabama. I thought my life was over. I was leaving everything I knew. My friends, my school, my boyfriend—”
“Boyfriend?” I interrupt. “You never told me you had a boyfriend.”
“I don’t. Not anymore. We broke up when I left.”
“Sorry, ” I say, although I’m not really sorry at all.
“It’s okay. It didn’t really break my heart. He was nice, but it wasn’t love.”
“So what, now you’re stuck in Alabama totally miserable?”
“See, that’s the thing. I thought I was going to be miserable, but I’m not. It’s different. Don’t get me wrong, I miss New York terribly, but the country is growing on me.”
“I don’t think I’d ever be able to get past not playing football.” I look down at my hand, and squeeze it into a fist.
“You’ll have to accept it just wasn’t meant to be.”
“I’m not a quitter,” I argue, but there isn’t much fight in my voice.
“I’m not saying you are. And I’m not saying you won’t fully recover and go on to become a Heisman Trophy winner. I’m just saying that if that doesn’t happen, there are other options. Don’t box yourself in. You might find happiness in unexpected places.”
“Are you happy, Lemon?”