Page 44 of Dear Future Husband

That night I didn’t fall asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow like every other night. I was awake, staring up at the ceiling again, my body energized with a whole new motivation. If I was going to be a part of this world around me—I needed to wake up, I needed to walk.

I stood myself up, leaning heavily against the bed. My limbs trembled from the soreness and excessive use from my earlier physical therapy session, but I hissed in a breath, and I made myself walk.

19 Bruises And Bookshelves

Trey

How is it that five days felt far longer than the last year ever had?

It was driving me crazy that I could only depend on my mom for small updates here and there on how physical therapy was hard for Maybelle but going well. And that she was asleep more than she was awake most days.

I needed to be there with her, not here.

I needed to help her through this, not at college.

I mean, it wasn’t like I was just sitting here. Each of my days were full of work, football and preparing for the upcoming semester. My roommates and I recently helped move another guy into the apartment. I’d been finishing out a summer class I had TA’d for and I’d been spending a lot of time in the gym training and working through the anxiety of not being home.

But as much as I would love to drop everything and bail for home in the middle of the week back to the girl waiting there, I couldn’t just throw the life I worked so hard for away.

The rest of the week, before I left back to school, had been devastating compared to that first day I had spent with her. That first day, Maybelle and I spoke, teased, hadfun, but those last few days—she only had the energy to eat and sleep.

I felt stuck in a cruel limbo in which she was finally awake but wouldn’t stay awake. It was killing me. Keeping me constantly on edge that she would just stop waking up.

All I knew was that I was thankful it was officially the weekend, which meant I could go home. Maybe while I was there, I could get Maybelle out of the house, take her to do something fun—keep her awake.

“Damn it, Bear!” a male voice hollered from the other room.

I was in my apartment, packing my weekend bag as fast as possible in order to get on the road. Past my door, I could hear the raging chaos of noises from the TV my roommates were playing video games on.

“Bear, I swear to god, man, if you let me down again…” The boisterous voice of Chad Larson ricocheted off the walls of our shared apartment.

I opened my bedroom door at the end of the hall, passing the other three bedrooms, and entered the compact living room. On the two-cushion couch, dead center of the room, sat Larson. Next to him, on the six-foot-long, massive bean bag, was Adam Steverson, better known by his friends and the team as Bear.

Larson was gnawing on the inside of his cheek, fingers clicking against the buttons of his remote while Bear sat stone-faced, like he would rather be doing anything else in the world.

Bear was the first to notice me and the bag in my hand. “Where are you headed?”

“Aye, pay attention!” Larson scolded.

Bear rolled his eyes.

I chuckled. “I’m headed home.”

This had both Larson and Bear looking away from their game. “For the weekend?” Larson asked after pausing the game.

I nodded, dropping my bag on the kitchen counter so I could grab a couple of road trip snacks from the pantry. With two pop tart packs in hand, I turned back to face the guys who watched me like I might combust at any moment.

“What? Is there something on my face?” Keeping up with the theatrics, I brought my palm down the rough stubble on my chin, making a show of inspecting my hand for any removed debris.

Bear, in his deep tone, asked, “How’s she doing?”

My whole first season at SDU, I left back home nearly every weekend, never joining the parties or celebrations. Getting home to sit by Maybelle’s side, just in case she finally woke up. After a few months, Larson, being captain of the team, felt it was his responsibility to sit me down with Bear and ask if there was a problem. If there was a reason, I avoided them and the team every weekend.

We hadn’t been roommates, or teammates for long before that, but it led to a friendship I needed more than they probably realized. It was the first time I ever opened up to anyone besides my mom about the beautiful sleeping girl I waited patiently for. The guys always tried after that to ask for updates on Maybelle each time I went home for the weekend.

“She’s doing well. My mom said she’s having a hard time with physical therapy and is still sleeping a lot, but she’s doing good.” I did what I could to sound hopeful, but by the skeptical look Bear gave me, I wasn’t convincing.

“Speaking of your mom,” Larson interrupted before Bear could ask more. “Tell her I miss her and that I’m still waiting for her to call me back.”