Page 84 of Play the Last Track

There’s a knock at the door, and a doctor pokes his head in. He must be from the hospital because the team doctor follows him in, along with Coach, and then they shut the door.

“Reed, you okay?” Coach says, nodding at me.

“Just a little banged up. Nothing a recovery in the off-season can’t fix.”

“It’s a little more serious than that,” Danny, the team doctor, says. He looks at Katie. “Will you give us the—”

“No,” I tell them, keeping a firm grip on her hand. “She stays.”

Danny smiles a little at me and throws up his hands. “You got it, Reed.”

The doctor then pulls something out of a large envelope and places it on the back-lit wall behind them. Both Danny and the doctor move to either side. Coach stands by the door.

Doc tells me gently, but he doesn’t sugarcoat it.

“You have a severe traumatic brain injury.” He switches on the backlights, and images of my brain light up. The rest of the conversation blurs. I don’t ask questions, but Coach does. Katie cares about what I need to do to get better. But all I hear is: Concussion. Career-ending. No contact sports. Ever.

It’s over.

It’s all over.

When they leave, the doctor tells us they will let our friends in the waiting room know that I’m awake, but I just stare at the ceiling. The afterparty has likely started, and the boys are probably knee deep in beers and celebrations.

We did it.

We got the ring. I got a ring. I scored the game-winning touchdown at the fucking Super Bowl, and now…

It’s over. My career is over.

Football and me? We’re done. But I made the catch, and I’d do it again. Even now, knowing the outcome, knowing what it would cost me in the end. I look over at Katie’s face. She’s staring right back at me, searching for any sign of how I’m feeling about it all. I don’t know if she expects me to cry, to rage. I bet she won’t expect me to smile.

And that’s exactly what I do.

“We won,” I say, my face breaking into the widest smile.

“You’re insane.” She sniffs, her eyes shining. She sits on the edge of my bed, keeping my hand in hers. “They just told you that your career is over and you’re smiling?”

“I won a Super Bowl, baby. I think I’m allowed to be happy.”

“What about football?”

“Everyone’s time eventually comes. The clock runs out on us all at some point, even the legends. We don’t always get to choose how we leave, but I’m glad I went for it to get the win.”

“It was a hell of a catch.”

“Thank you, Rockstar.”

“You’re a Super Bowl-winning football player. That’s pretty damn cool.” She sniffs again. “My brother lost his mind when the confetti rained down.”

“I’m glad everyone could come.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she whispers. “You were carried off the field unconscious.”

“I promise you, I’m okay. A little sore, but it’ll heal. They’re bones, they heal.”

“And the football stuff?”

“I will find something else to do with my time.” I squeeze her hand. “Maybe I’ll come work for you.” I gently lift our hands and tug her forward. She rolls her eyes, but shuffles toward me. “I can be your bar bitch.”