For him to open up, tell me what he’s thinking, what way he’s leaning and just let me in. I know that in the end the decision he makes is his alone, but he’s never had a problem bringing things to me before, so having him be so silent now is a little disconcerting.
Sometimes, I wish I was a mind reader. That I could just place my hands on his forehead like the mutants do in the movies and pull out string after string of thought, so I could know where his mind is.
Surgery isn’t something to take lightly. No one knows that better than me. No one knows how much thought goes into making a decision like that and even if you’re the toughest person in the world, how scary it can be because there’s never any real guarantee that it’s going to work out okay.
It took me three times of making the decision and letting fear win out before I finally felt strong enough to go through with it. Had something motivate me enough to want to take the risk even knowing that in the end it could change nothing.
That’s what Dillon is dealing with now and despite my best attempt at leaving it alone since we settled in like we always do to watch movies, I can’t do it anymore. Even if I can’t get him to admit everything that he’s thinking, I want to at least get an idea of where he’s at and how he’s coping and if there’s anything I can do to help.
All I want to do is help the same way he did with me when I went through this weeks ago.
“Dill?”
Stirring from his spot at the sound of his name, he shifts and turns toward me, leveling me with a smile.
“Yeah baby?”
“Can we talk?”
“Sounds serious.”
“It is, kind of.”
“Considering this movie is so boring that I’m having a hard time staying awake, I’m up for some serious talking. What’s on your mind?”
The movie he’s referring to is Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. It’s one I’ve seen before, mainly because of all the movie nights with my mom before I met him, but one that even now, I can agree with his assessment about. He’s not the only one having a hard time staying awake and it’s got nothing to do with being tired. It’s just boring.
“I’ve been thinking about what the doctor said.”
There’s a moment where I feel him tense, but instead of letting it stop me, I just take note of it and keep going.
“I’m wondering if you’ve made a decision.”
“Well, there’s really only two options, right? I mean I can continue to swallow the pain and keep playing the way I have been, or I can do what he said and go through with the surgery, no matter what the risks are.”
He got the results of his tests back two days prior and wasted no time making sure I knew what the worst case scenario was. What he would be looking at if he did what the doctor suggested.
Dillon has done a lot of damage to the ligaments in his knee. From what the doctor explained to him, it predated the hit he took on the field, but it was that incident that tipped him off to something being wrong. They want him to have surgery because from what I was told, he stands a better chance of being able to play again in the future if he does, where if he waits, he doesn’t.
To me, hearing all of that, it seems like the choice is easy, but as much as I want to be the one to make this call, I can’t be. Giving an opinion, going over all of the information we’re given and making an informed decision one way or the other, we can do that for each other, but not the actual follow through. That’s up to the person that has to go through it.
“Do you want to know what I think?”
“Always, you know that.”
“I know that there’s a risk involved with the surgery and that there might be too much damage to repair fully, but I think you should do it.”
“And if I do that right now, I screw the entire team over.”
“Aren’t you screwing them over more by playing the way you have been? Aren’t you more of a liability?”
I don’t understand how football works. I do understand how important it is to him and how alive he seems when he’s on the field, but anything past that, it’s all a mystery. But I have to believe that playing injured would be worse for the entire team in the long run then pulling himself out and getting himself well.
“I’m handling the pain. I’ve got that covered.”
“How?”
I’ve been staring at his lips the entire time and never once have they shown me anything other than just words, but asking what I did, this time there’s a noticeable difference. They come together and close tightly, meaning the answer to that question is one he’s not looking forward to giving me.
“I just am. I’m swallowing it down, keeping it buried and focusing on getting the job done, just the way Coach wants.”
“What about what you want?”
“I’m doing what I want.”
“So, that’s it then? You’ve made your decision? You’re going to postpone the surgery and just keeping playing through it?”
Something about this doesn’t feel right. Even someone as tough as Dillon needs some kind of way to manage the pain he’s experiencing. I know how he feels about anything even remotely related to taking drugs, so if he’s not going to do that, how else is he supposed to do what he says he wants to?
“There’s a total of four games left this season. If I can make it through those, taking minimal hits to my knee and lessening the damage by wearing a brace or something, then yeah. I can postpone it and do the surgery then.”
“What happens if you can’t make it through those four games? If something happens and you can’t even walk, let alone play? What then?”
He’s definitely tense now and it’s radiating off him, not only with how straight and hard his lips and eyes are, but how rigid his body is to the slightest touch. I can easily tell that he’s fighting the response with the way he keeps shifting his body in order to keep himself grounded and relaxed, but there’s no doubt that this is upsetting him.
This is the only part of Dillon I can’t seem to get past. The part that’s so loyal to his team, his coach and football in general. Sometimes I wonder if I’m in a three way relationship with the hold that this all seems to have on him.
Dillon may put me on a pedestal and a lot of the times I don’t believe I belong there, but he does the same thing with football. Even at his own expense.
“I’ll deal with that if it happens, but Caddy, you know me. I gotta see this through. I can’t just walk away from it.”
“I just don’t want you to get hurt worse then you already are. This, the idea of you playing and things getting worse, it scares me.”
Motioning with his hand for me to come closer, the conversation and the way our bodies are situated pulling us apart, I scoot my body over until his arm is completely around me and my face is angled up enough to be able to see and read his.
With a light brush of his lips against my forehead he lowers his gaze back down to mine and smiles softly.
“Please trust me. If I can’t handle it, I’ll pull myself out. I swear. I know you’re scared, but I’ve got this. It’s all good and in a few more games, I’ll go see the doctor again and we’ll schedule the surgery, okay? Can you do that for me?”
Can I trust him? It’s such a silly question. Of course I trust him. There’s no one in this world, my mom included who I trust more. With everything we’ve shared since he’s come home, the answer to that question should be more than obvious.
“I trust you.”
“Good. Now can we please change the movie? Because unless your mom is suddenly cool with me taking her daughter upstairs and having my way with her, we need to change things up before I really do fall asleep.”
Instead of hearing him the way I should, see the playfulness in his eyes as he mentions taking me upstairs, all I can see is what’s really being said.
Drop this, Cadence. The conversation is over. Subject is no longer open for discussion.
Giving him what he wants, dropping it and
moving on to the more trivial movie topic is easy and I make the change effortlessly, but it’s only on the surface, because this change, it isn’t going all the way through.
Dillon might be able to switch gears and put this out of his mind, but I can’t. I get the feeling that being so agreeable, letting him be the decision maker when it comes to knowing his own body and how much he can take on and off the field is going to come back to cause problems later.
And I have no idea how I’m going to deal with it when it does.
Chapter Eighteen
Dillon
When I finally hit the locker room to suit up for practice, I see two things I need to deal with, but before I can make a move to deal with either, Coach steps out of his office, sticks his big meaty hand in the air and motions with his index finger for me to come over. Once I’m in his office, he walks around until he’s seated behind his desk and grunts out for me to do the same.
This is not going to be good.
The man can definitely be described as a hard ass, but there hasn’t been a day since I got here and ended up on his team where he’s summoned me to him quite like that, and definitely not been so quiet about it.
“What’s up, Coach?”
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
Going with the only thing I can think of that this would be about, I start rambling. “If this is about getting my shit together in class, I’ve been going to see Isaac and according to the tests he gave me a couple days ago, I’m pretty much back where I need to be. All I need to do is keep doing what I’ve been doing and it won’t be a problem anymore. I know I let it get out of control for a while there, acting like I didn’t give a shit, but it won’t be a problem anymore, I swear to you.”
“Are you done?” he asks when I finally stop and come up for air.
“Yeah, I’m done.”
“This isn’t about your classes, though I am glad to hear you’ve got your shit together that way.”
“Then if it’s not about the tutoring, what is it?”
“Your performance on the field. You’re slow, Murphy and I let it slide for a few weeks, but I can’t do it anymore. Something’s going on with you and you’re dragging the team down.”
Yeah, there’s something wrong with me. My knee is fucked up. I’ve been playing so hard since high school that it’s probably been screwed up since senior year, but going to Toronto, busting ass there and then bringing that same drive down here, it’s made it worse. I should just open my damn mouth and tell him all of this, but before I can get a word in edgewise, he starts in on me again.
“When you came in here, you did so with the promise of taking us to the championship, but the last couple of weeks, it’s as if you’re determined to do the opposite.”
“You think I’m trying to sabotage you?”
“No, but you might as well be. Kane and Michaels, they’re busting their ass ten times harder on the field to make you look better, but it doesn’t help. You’re slow, sloppy and if it continues you’re gonna cost us everything.”
Kane. The guy that from what I’ve been hearing, has been living out of a hotel since he got into town and not one of those good ones either. The really seedy pieces of shit on the outskirts of town. As homeless and unwanted as I am.
Well, the way I would have been if Kayden hadn’t stepped up and helped me out. Something that I want to pay back now that the money situation is clear, by giving him and Belle their privacy and giving them their life back.
“You wanna tell me what changed, Murphy? If there’s something else going on, personal or otherwise and you’re bringing it on my field, now’s the time to spit it out so we can handle it and get back to doing what needs to be done.”
I don’t talk about my personal shit, but I’m curious to see what he would make of everything I’ve been dealing with since I got back from the city. Drug addicted mom, incarcerated father who still seems to haunt me even from his cell, and an injury that at any moment could completely destroy me. One that’s being helped along by his very own trainer.
Yeah, I’m sure he’s absolutely love to hear all about that. If he thinks I’m dragging the team down just with the shit I’m doing on the field, laying into him about Mark might blow the entire thing apart.
“Nothing’s going on, Coach. You added more practices so I’ve just been trying to keep up with everything.”
Well, I don’t even know what number lie this is, but it’s another one I can add to the list.
I can handle the increased practice schedule, hell, my high school coach used to do the same thing before a big game and my grades, well with the help of Isaac those are being taken care of too.
How hard is it to just say I hurt myself on the field and have been having a hard time coming back from it?
“Well, I suggest you find a way to manage it. You wanna play with the big boys, you’re gonna be dealing with a lot worse than this. Whatever the hell it is that’s causing your breakdown on the field, it ends now. I want it gone before you leave my office.”
Yeah, good luck with that.
“I’m on it, Coach. I won’t let you down.”
“That’s what I like to hear. Now get out there and get suited up. I want the new and improved Murphy on my field the next time we’re out there. Any other version and I won’t hesitate to cut you.”
Being cut from the team. Well, shit. If he’s gonna go down that road he might as well cut my leg off at the knee at the same time, since without football, I’m not worth shit. I can’t let it get to that point. I’ve gotta do what he said and get my head on straight, change the way I’ve been doing things, before it costs me the one thing that for the last six years has made me matter.
*****
Out of Coach’s office, I’m faced with the same two choices again. Pull Ryder off to the side and talk to him about Mark, or go to Mark and deal with the shit that just happened with Coach. If there’s anyone that can help me right now, it’s him. He knows what’s been going on with me and he knows how much I need to stay on the team.
Yeah, I definitely gotta hit up Mark first.
“Yo, you got a sec?” I call out before jogging over as he heads into the training room.
“What do you want, Murphy? Finally come to tell me that you dealt with the Kane situation?”
“That’s actually my next stop. I wanted to talk to you about something first.”
“If this is about another shot—”
“It’s not.” I interrupt, wanting to make sure he knows that as bad as the pain has been lately, I’m done taking that route, especially now that Cadence knows about it. “It’s something else.”
“Well come in, but close the damn door this time.” he snaps, raising his eyes toward the door until I’ve got it shut and I’m throwing my body down into the seat.
I wasn’t sure about doing this, but after everything that was said about my performance on the field and how important this is to me, I don’t see any other option.
It goes against every damn thing I believe in, but if I want to do what I said I would do when I got here, I’ve gotta see it through, no matter how against it I am.
“I heard him going off on you. I’m pretty damn sure the entire locker room heard it. That must have been brutal.”
Brutal doesn’t even begin to describe the way sitting there and being told how sucky I am felt. I know for a fact that I’m not a hundred percent, so I deserved every word of that tongue lashing, but it doesn’t make it suck any less.
“Understatement. Look,” I start, seeing this as my one chance to back out but knowing I can’t. “I know how screwed I am, I’ve had everyone here and the doctors telling me, but I can’t walk away. Not until I do what I set out to do.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“What do you know about performance enhancers?”
This conversation, now that I’ve laid the question out there is going to go one of two ways. Mark is either going to get offended that I
even asked him at all, or he’s going to do the same damn thing he did with the cortisone and jump right in helping me out. I really hope he can help though, because if I have to deal with him being offended, I’m going to be pretty much out of options and I might have to tuck my tail between my legs, admit defeat and go home.
Something I’m just not prepared to do yet. If ever.
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’m as serious as a heart attack, Mark. Look, I know what I’m starting, even bringing this up, but I trust you.”
“Funny that you use those words. If you get involved with enhancers, that’s exactly what you’re looking at. A heart attack or even worse. Complete shutdown. You sure you wanna mess around with that?”
“I don’t have much choice here. I either get my head back in the game, prove to Coach that I’m an asset or I’m gone.”
“Look, I’m not saying I’m gonna help you, but if you’re really serious about this, I know a guy.”
He can try and keep himself out of this all he wants, pretend that I didn’t hear this from him or that he’s somehow a saint now because he doesn’t want me messing around with enhancers, but admitting that he knows a guy, it means he’s gonna put himself right in the middle. Mark is going to help.
“And how do I get ahold of this guy?”
“You don’t. He doesn’t screw around with the players. He deals with go-betweens.”
“So someone like you?”
“Yeah, Murphy. Someone like me. Shit.” He sighs. “Are you sure you wanna do this because this shit, it’s not candy, man. It can do some serious damage if you don’t know what you’re doing.”
“Yeah, thanks for the advice, I got all that. Yes, I’m sure.”
“I don’t know how you do it.”
“Do what?”
“I’m as loyal to this team as the next guy, but you’re ignoring the very real damage to your knee in order to keep playing and now you’re in here talking to me about taking something to make you play better. I don’t know how you do that.”
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