The Last First Game

by Gina Azzi

  Until there’s confirmation.

  Still, I spoke to my dad afterwards and I know that he knows. He could sense it from my voice alone, sense that something is off. He told me to focus on healing and that he would take care of Mamma. He knows, but he doesn’t really know.

  The little bit of sunshine that enters my room each day has been doing wonders for my spirits. Lila. I couldn’t even believe it when she walked into my room hours after the game, her big eyes wide with worry. She kept tugging the hem of her jersey and playing with her bangle bracelet. Her concern was palpable and her care for me made my chest feel funny. Like ice cubes clinking in a short glass.

  Then, when Miers told me how she was in the waiting room for hours and he just happened to overhear her speaking with reception, I was in awe. She really cares.

  About me.

  * * *

  On the third day, I’m going stir crazy. I just want someone to tell me what’s going on. I want out of this bed, out of this hospital. I want the dirt, the grimy grit of the football field, the feel of a pigskin in my hands, the sound of the wind rushing past as I run toward the end zone.

  When my doctor, Dr. Somers, enters my room after lunch, relief fills me even though I know he’s going to give me bad news. But at least it’s news.

  It’s knowing.

  It’s something.

  His face is grave, his eyes serious, and my suspicions are confirmed before he opens his mouth. I take a deep breath, the ice cubes packing together in my chest like a giant snowball. I try to swallow but my throat is suddenly dry.

  “Cade,” he says.

  “Dr. Somers.” I gesture toward the chair next to my bed. “Please, have a seat.”

  He smiles sadly, placing his hands on the bar at the foot of my bed. “We need to talk.”

  “I figured as much.”

  He sighs heavily, walking to the side of my bed and pulling up the chair. He sits and places my file neatly across his lap.

  “Give it to me straight.” Anxiety pulses in my eardrums, growing louder with each passing moment of not knowing.

  But knowing.

  “We have to do a biopsy for confirmation, but we found a tumor in your proximal tibia. The tests are indicating Osteosarcoma.”

  “Cancer.” It’s a whisper.

  “Cancer.” A confirmation.

  “In my leg?”

  “In your tibia. That’s this bone here. The one you fractured in the game.” Dr. Somers’s hand indicates the lower portion of my leg. “It’s responsible for supporting your weight and knee joint, which is why you’ve been experiencing so much soreness in your knee.”

  “How bad?” What does that even mean? My fingers tremble slightly against the stark white bed sheets. I clench my hands into fists.

  “We’ll have to biopsy the tumor to have a better understanding. At this time the prognosis seems positive, and I think you will make a full recovery. The cancer has not spread to any other organs or to your lymph nodes, which is positive. However, the cells are abnormal and can spread quickly, meaning we have to act fast.”

  I nod, following along with Dr. Somers explanation, somewhat grateful that he’s speaking to me slowly, in simple language, allowing me to absorb the weight of this news in terminology I can grasp.

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “First, we will perform a needle biopsy so we can accurately grade the tumor. Depending on the results, we’ll develop a strategy. At this time, we will most likely start with several cycles of chemotherapy to shrink the size of the tumor. Right now, it’s measuring at ten centimeters. If we can shrink the tumor, surgery will be easier. After the chemo, we will schedule surgery to remove the tumor in its entirety. We’ll perform a wide excision and test the outer portions of the mass to make sure it’s clear from cancer cells. I’m confident that we will be able to get the tumor in its entirety in one shot. After surgery, we will follow up with additional cycles of chemotherapy.”

  “Why the chemo afterwards, if you think you can get it all?”

  “To make sure that there are no bits of cancer that aren’t showing up on the imaging tests. Sometimes it happens.” He sighs. “Also, the chemotherapy will help reduce the chances of the cancer recurring after the surgery.”

  “Will you have to take my whole lower leg?” Panic rises in my chest. Never mind playing football again, I’ll be lucky to walk.

  “Not at this stage. I think we will be able to just remove the tumor. But, we need to act immediately since the tumor is already measuring at ten centimeters and is likely to grow quickly.”

  “So I’ll walk again?” A tiny twinge of hope blossoms in my stomach and I push it down, fearful if I let it bloom that I’ll be crushed later, when I can’t stand up on my own.

  “I think you’ll make a full recovery.” He pauses. “In terms of normal, everyday activities like walking, going up and down stairs, eventually, even working out. But you will have to work up to this. Rehabilitation is a long road and even with limb-salvage surgery, it will take close to a year to learn how to walk again. To play football again, this will be more difficult to achieve.”

  “But not impossible.” I press.

  He shakes his head slowly. “Not impossible, no. But not likely either.”

  I sigh a surge of relief so strong, so powerful, I feel the ice cubes clinking together in an almost-celebration of gratitude.

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Dr. Somers reins me back in. “One step at a time. This is going to be a long process.” His eyes hold mine in warning. This is not going to be easy.

  “How soon can we start?”

  “As soon as possible. I would like to schedule your biopsy for tomorrow. This will allow us to properly assess the tumor and better understand the cells we are working with.”

  I whistle softly under my breath. Tomorrow.

  Dr. Somers pats my clenched fist gently. “I know I’ve given you a lot to think about and consider. Take some time. But before I go, do you have any questions?”

  I shake my head.

  “Okay.” He stands up. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning to check on you.”

  I nod that I understand.

  When he gets to the door, he stops and looks at me. “Make sure you talk to someone about this. Anyone. A professional here at the hospital, your family, friends, teammates, coach, girlfriend, whoever. But don’t keep it bottled up. You’re going to need a strong support system going forward.”

  “Okay.” I clear my throat.

  He nods his head briskly in farewell and closes the door softy.

  Once I’m alone again, I clench the sheets as tightly as I can, my hands straining painfully. The pain, the physical feeling of any kind of exertion and strain feels good. I hang my head and let the ice cubes melt, flood my chest and body with all the questions I don’t know how to answer, with grief, with a dash of pity, followed by a twinge of determination. But overriding it all is the gripping sense of fear.

  The unknown.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lila

  Cade has been in the hospital for a week now. I’m really worried about him and I know that something is going on. Something bad. The team is eager to have him back and he has seen the best doctors regarding his knee and the fracture in his tibia. This means that whatever it is, it isn’t just a physical injury.

  I wonder what Cade is thinking. Does he have any idea? I want to warn him. Something is coming. Something dark. But every time I visit him, his face brightens when I walk through the door, and he greets me with an easy grin, a casual chuckle, gray eyes lightening considerably. He holds my hand loosely in his, his thumb stroking my knuckles, while I tell him entertaining stories about my internship, Sam’s constant guy drama, mine and Kristen’s weekend plans. And then, I don’t have the heart to say anything that may darken his eyes, cause hints of worry and doubt and fear to appear. So I say nothing of importance. And Cade keeps smiling his laidback smile, his fingers playing over my hand.
/>   When the weekend rolls around, I’m grateful. This week has been emotionally overwhelming between Cade’s hospital stint, my father’s acknowledgment that Brenda has moved in with him (Brandon called me), and my determination to keep a plastic smile plastered to my face in case anyone suspects that I’m crumbling inside.

  By Friday, I’m drained.

  I’m in the staff locker room at the hospital hanging up my lanyard and flipping through some notebooks, wondering if I will crack them open to study this weekend if I lug them home with me, when Kristen pops by my side.

  “What are you doing now?”

  “Thinking about how awesome it’s going to be to go home, put on oversized sweats, and crawl into bed.”

  “Hmm, tempting.” She smiles, tucking a piece of wayward hair behind her ear.

  I roll my eyes. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Girl’s night! Well, with Sam too, of course.”

  “Naturally.”

  “What do you think?” She bounces slightly forward on her toes, and I can tell she’s excited.

  “Girls’ night.” I say it slowly, as if I’m thinking it over. But really, it’s not a bad idea. We’ve all had a tough week and could use a night out to blow off some steam, be normal college seniors who hit the town, looking for a good time and a strong drink.

  “Please,” Kristen pleads, turning puppy dog eyes on me.

  I huff, feigning annoyance. “Fine. Girls’ night it is.”

  Kristen squeals, clapping her hands together. “It’s going to be so fun!” She throws an arm around my shoulder, squeezing me to her. “We need this.”

  That we do.

  * * *

  Hours later, Kristen, Sam, and I are sitting on bar stools at a dive bar near campus. A live band on stage garners the attention and energy of the audience, and the bar gradually grows louder. Even though smoking is forbidden inside, the bar has a hazy feel to it, as if everyone came here tonight for the same reason: to make bad decisions.

  “Ugh,” Sam groans into his mojito. “I hate seeing Cliff every day. It’s just mean and cruel of the world to throw his delectable body in front of my face every day even when …”

  Kristen sighs. “My ex-boyfriend has a new girlfriend.” Ah, so that’s what’s been eating at her. “She’s blond.” She squints her eyes at me. “Kind of like you.”

  Great, it’s like the Emma situation all over again.

  Sam snorts.

  I huff. “Enough of this mopey attitude. We’re out for girls’ night, which is supposed to be fun and empowering. We’re just sitting around, bitching about guys we’re over.” I fix them both with a pointed stare. “Now cut the crap and let’s have some fun.” I turn toward the bartender and wave him over. “Three shots of Patron please.” I smile sweetly, tossing a fifty-dollar bill on the bar.

  Sam twirls his straw around in his mojito. He pushes his glasses up on his nose and squares his shoulder. “You’re right, Lila. Let’s do this.”

  We look at Kristen. She sighs. “Oh all right. I know this was my idea and now I’m being Debbie Downer. Let’s have some fun.”

  When the shots come over, we all prepare with salt on our wrists and a lime in hand. “To tonight.” Kristen raises her shot glass.

  “To having fun,” I chime in.

  “To new sexy men.” Sam smiles, holding his shot up.

  We all laugh and clink glasses before throwing the shots back.

  The alcohol burns and I suddenly feel alert, excited for a night out with my friends, ready to throw caution to the wind and have a proper girls’ night.

  * * *

  After a few more rounds of shots, we barhop. The next bar on our list, Stella’s, is packed. A makeshift dance floor is pulsing with bodies in front of a low stage where a local band plays popular covers. The floor is slippery from spilled drinks, and I almost fall immediately as Kristen slides, her shriek heard above the music.

  She looks at me and giggles. “Sorry, Li.”

  I nod at her, grinning back, relieved I didn’t wear heels. Instead, I opted for a short, tight, black miniskirt and a hot pink flowy tank top that I expertly tucked in on one side. The look is casual but still a bit dressy for the college bar scene. Paired with simple silver sandals, I feel capable of holding Kristen’s teetering body up without both of us collapsing in a pile on the slick floor.

  Sam comes up behind us, a triangle of tall glasses held between his hands. “Sex on the Beach,” he announces, passing one to me. I look to Kristen to make sure she can stand before I release her hand and accept the colorful beverage.

  “Seriously?” I laugh. “I haven’t had one of these since, like, high school.”

  “This is girls’ night, baby doll. It’s the only time you can respectably drink these, so you may as well enjoy it.”

  I nod, clinking glasses with him and taking a sip. The sugary sweetness coats my throat, bringing me back to the summer before college. The summer before I met Maura, Mia, and Emma. The summer before I discovered the meaning of true friends. I shake my head, clearing the old memories away. Kristen shrieks again, her body sliding as she tries to dance.

  Sam hands the two glasses to me and turns to Kristen, waggling his eyebrows. “Time for dancing, sweetheart.”

  He grabs Kristen’s other hand and twirls her around, whisking her into the midst of the crowded dance floor. The band takes a break and salsa music floods the speakers. I can see Sam shaking it, twirling Kristen in his arms, his body expertly leading hers. Damn, he can move. Kristen’s head is thrown back, her hair brushing the tops of her shoulders as she follows Sam in a series of complicated spins and dips. Her body is flush against his, her cheeks bright with laughter, eyes shining with the merriment of loosing oneself to the music. I shake my head, enjoying their performance and move to one of the tables marking the perimeter of the dance floor.

  I rest the three glasses on top of one of the tables and fumble with my purse, looking for my cell phone.

  “Hey,” a familiar voice says as an arm slings around my shoulders.

  I look up into the smiling and open face of Miers. His blond hair is spiked messily and his eyes are glowing.

  “Hey yourself.” I gesture to the glasses on the table. “Thirsty?” I offer him Kristen’s glass, knowing she doesn’t need the extra liquid courage. She’s already killing it.

  He removes his arm from my shoulder and picks up the glass. When he takes a sip, his face contorts in disgust. “What is that?”

  I laugh at his reaction. “Sex on the Beach.”

  “Oh my God. And here I thought you were a cool girl. Are you serious with this?” He shakes the glass in my face.

  I shrug. “Standard fare for girls’ night.”

  “Oh, is that what this is?” He looks around. “Where are your girls?”

  “Dancing.”

  “And you’re standing here by yourself?”

  “For a moment. Now, I’m talking to you.”

  Miers laughs, pulling his hand down over the back of his neck. “And I guess I’ll have to entertain you until your friends reappear?” Miers asks, shooting daggers at a guy who bumps into me as he passes in the crowded space.

  “It’d be nice.” I smile at him.

  He nods, taking another sip of Sex on the Beach. “If you can’t beat ’em,” he mumbles to himself.

  “Yo, dude, there you are.” A huge guy of steel muscle and dreadlocks slides up to Miers. “Here.” He hands him a beer.

  “Thank the Lord,” Miers says, trading his Sex on the Beach for the bottle of Corona.

  “Hendrix,” he says to the towering, hulking man of steel. “This is Lila. Lila, Hendrix.” He offers introductions.

  “Lila?” Hendrix asks, confused. “Cade’s girl?” Miers gives him a look. “Oh, oh yeah. Hey. Good to meet you.” He offers me his large hand and I place mine in it to shake hands. I expect his grip to crush me, but his squeeze is reassuring and gentle, his eyes smiling at me sincerely.

  “So,” Miers cont
inues, “talk to Cade today?”

  I shake my head. “Just a few text messages.” I nod toward the dance floor. “I got roped into girls’ night.”

  Hendrix smiles, his face lighting up with delight. “I love girls’ night.”

  “Simmer down,” Miers tells him. “You gonna call him?”

  What is this? Twenty Questions. The serious tone of Miers’s question raises my suspicion. “Yeah. Why? Is something wrong? Did something happen?”

  Miers averts his gaze immediately and shrugs. “Nah. I mean, you know. Just make sure you give him a call. I’m sure he’d like to hear from you.”

  Something’s up. I look to Hendrix and he also avoids eye contact, pretending to be fascinated by the horrid upholstery of the nearby chairs. He shoots Miers a warning look, which causes my heartbeat to accelerate.

  I grab Miers’s hand, tugging until he looks at me. “Is he okay?” It’s a whisper.

  “Yeah.” He fakes a smile. “Just give him a call tomorrow, okay?”

  I nod.

  “Lila!” Kristen’s petite frame hurdles into me, and I bump into the table, knocking over the three glasses. “I’m drunk as a skunk!” She hugs me fiercely. “I’m so happy you’re my friend.”

  Uh-oh. Someone definitely had too much to drink.

  Miers and Hendrix laugh. Sam stands off to the side, his eyes ogling Hendrix appreciatively. Oh jeez.

  “Well, guys, it was good to see you. We better grab a cab and get this girl home.” I nod to the hysterically laughing bundle of Kristen in my arms.

  “Yeah. Good luck with that.” Hendrix laughs good-naturedly.

  “See you around, Lila.” Miers nods as he and Hendrix move into the crowd, their heads towering above everyone else.

  Sam pinches my side. “Next time, introduce me!”

  “Next time, scrape your jaw off the floor.”

  He huffs. “Fair point. Okay, I think it’s time for Kristen to sleep this off.”

  “Agreed.”

  We box Kristen in between us as we make our way out into the breezy air of October and hail a cab. Suddenly, I’m grateful to be going home. I can sleep and get an early start on tomorrow for when I visit Cade.