Page 64 of Too Far

Locke introduced me as his girlfriend. It would have been cute if Dr. Kline hadn’t shaken my hand enthusiastically and acted like we’d never met before. Although I can’t really blame him for not remembering the girl who worked all of three shifts before disappearing.

Now I’m sitting by Nicky’s side in the wide lounge chair, tracing the ink on his knuckles as he lies beside me with his eyes closed.

“Is the treatment the same every time?” I ask, eyeing the bags hanging on the drip above him.

Eyes still closed, he clasps my hand. He’s been doing that more lately—wrapping my hand up with his instead of interlacing our fingers.

He’s been in near-constant pain for these last few weeks, and it only escalated after the altercation. I feel so helpless, not being able to soothe the aches.

“I’ve got a whole laundry list of treatments on rotation. Today’s cocktail is specifically designed to help with the swelling in my joints. The hope is that it’ll help me feel better faster in the mornings. We’ll see.” He sighs, as if he’s already prepared to be disappointed by the results.

“Is it always this bad during the season?”

He opens his eyes and focuses on me for a long moment. Finally, he clears his throat and squeezes my hand. “No. It’s never been like this before.”

As gently as I can, I wrap one arm around his midsection, desperate to comfort him. He doesn’t flinch or readjust, so once I’m sure I’m not hurting him, I nestle into the crook of his arm.

“That sucks,” I acknowledge. No amount of saying I’m sorry or encouraging him to look on the bright side will change the physical pain and the reality of his situation.

He pulls in a deep breath, his chest rising and falling beneath my arm before he swallows audibly and speaks again. “Can I tell you something?”

“Anything.”

He sighs, readjusting his arm under my head. “I keep thinking it might be time to call it quits. I’ve always justified the pain that comes along with football. Relished it, even. But lately, I can’t help but question if it’s all worth it.”

Holding my breath, I listen without judgment.

“Cap and Kendrick will enter the draft. They’re destined for the pros. For a long time, I’ve known that football isn’t my future. Lately, I’ve been caught up in wondering if powering through the way I have been will do more harm to my body long term. To what end? Just to say I finished out the season?”

“What do you want after college?” I ask, tracing my fingertips along the veins of his forearm.

Head lolling to the side, he bites his lip and gives me a thorough once-over.

“What else?” I laugh, because he’s made that particularwantclear.

“A life with you. With the guys. A home we can all share. A job I don’t hate.”

It’s such a simple list. Unremarkable to some, but more than enough for my Emo Boy.

“Anything else?” I push.

He closes his eyes and smiles.

“I want to have good days. I know they won’t all be pain free, but I want them to be easier than this.” He sighs, peering up at the IV drip. “I want to play on the floor with my kids. To coach their sports teams. Rake leaf piles for them to jump in. Take them swimming.”

“You want kids?” I squeak out, my heart lodged in my throat. He’s already made it clear his vision for the future involves me. And yet I still have to ask. “With me?”

“I mean… you’re my first choice,” he teases. He rests his arm over mine along his torso and hits me with a serious expression. “Of course I want kids with you.”

Surely, any second now, my brain will go haywire. How could it not?

I’m twenty-one. I haven’t even finished my first semester of college. We’ve only been dating for a few months, and our relationship is less than conventional.

Instead of being hit with the urge to bolt from this man’s arms at that declaration, I’m flooded with visions of mini Nickys. Babies with warm hazel eyes, or maybe blue eyes, like mine. They’d have dark hair and sweet smiles, toothy grins that light up their little faces, and sweet, tinkling laughs.

“Nicky,” I sniff, my bottom lip quivering.

“Too much?” he guesses, squeezing my arm.