Beg You to Trust Me (Lindon U #2)(57)
Lifting my good shoulder and ignoring the tightness in it, I murmur, “Still don’t see why he has to join us.”
“He’s got to study too,” the running back points out, walking in and dropping into the desk chair by the door. “Did you schedule an appointment with the physical therapist?”
His eyes are trained on the shoulder I’m trying not to move. “It’s not that bad, Ma. I just tweaked it a little.”
“DJ, come on.”
I pick up one of my notebooks. “Coach already handed me my ass about getting seen. But you and I both know there’s not much that can be done at this point. The tendonitis has set in and made things complicated. You don’t need to add to it by nagging.”
“Pearce knows what he’s talking about. If you get some therapy on it—”
I sigh, scrubbing my face tiredly. “Bro, I’m fine. You know we all took a beating out there. I’m just sore from that. I saw you dragging yourself off the field. Hell, even Griff was looking extra ragged.”
He blows out a long breath, giving me a solemn nod. “Pearce definitely hasn’t been easy on us. But I know you’ve been hurting more than usual lately. The Motrin in the cabinet is almost gone and you and I are the only ones that use this bathroom. The others may not see you pushing past it, but I do. Is it getting worse?”
Pressing my lips together, I stare at my nearly illegible ink across the page.
The biggest reason I’d never make it to the NFL like Griffith or Wallace isn’t just because there are others better than me to choose from. It’s because my body wouldn’t be able to handle the extensive training much less the hits I’d take if I was drafted by some miracle.
I wouldn’t make it through a season.
I know it.
Coach knows it.
Caleb knows it.
Doesn’t make it fucking suck any less.
So, I keep acting like it doesn’t bother me because there’s nothing else I can do about it. Some people are built for the stress professional sports puts on their bodies. I’m not. I come from a family of ill health. I had a great grandpa who had an extensive case of inflammatory arthritis and a great grandmother who had osteoporosis. The beatings I take on the field will only make it ten times worse for me down the road if I keep doing this to myself.
Coach Pearce once called me a quitter when I told him I wouldn’t push myself to go further than college football.
I told him I was a realist.
Thankfully, Aiden transferred to Lindon shortly after that and took Coach’s impatience with me and channeled it toward our tight end instead. To him, I was a lost cause, but I was okay with that because I didn’t measure my worth based on how many touchdowns I assist or yards I run.
“The pain is about the same,” I finally admit with a heavy sigh, shoving my notebook off my lap knowing studying is pointless tonight. “But the mobility is getting worse. I don’t know, man. I was hoping to end my last season with a bang. Kick ass and celebrate with my buddies while doing it. I know Coach gets pissed with me when I fuck up a play, but he doesn’t want to understand that I’m starting to physically struggle out there.”
Swiping a hand through my mussed hair, I shake my head and let it fall however it wants to. “He thinks we’re all here to make a name for ourselves, so that’s what he wants to focus on. I’ve yet to hear him give Brady a hard time for working toward med school instead of the league like they planned since he got starting position sophomore year.”
Stretching back until the chair creaks, Caleb rubs his jaw. “I don’t know about that, dude. I’ve heard some of the shit Pearce says to Justin on the sidelines. Brady just doesn’t give a shit because he knows what he wants. I think he’s kind of glad he got hurt because Coach wrote him off and found other people to bitch at.”
My nose twitches. “Pearce makes it hard to like him sometimes.”
Caleb grunts from his seat.
From somewhere in my mess, my cell dings. Considering it’s about the time Grandma Meadow would be doing her nightly gossip reads online using the tablet I bought her for her birthday, I expect to see something about a Kardashian on my screen.
So, when I see BLONDIE(x2) on it instead, I perk up, nearly forgetting the bite of pain traveling across my shoulder blades.
Blondie: I was thinking about something you said…
Blondie: You told me you’d help me replace the memories from the party with new ones. I think I’d like that.
I’m staring at the phone with a huge smile on my face as I reread the messages when the other person in the room snorts. “Man, that’s weird to see. First Aiden, now you. That who I think it is?”
“Skylar,” I confirm, not bothering to look over at him as my eyes scan each word she wrote me carefully.
Before I can reply to her, she sends another message.
Blondie: Oh. And hi
Snickering, I shake my head. “She’s awkward as hell sometimes, but it’s kind of endearing.” I drop my phone for a second to glance at him. “But I’d hardly compare our situation to the tight end and his girl downstairs. Not from what I’ve personally witnessed.”
Caleb grins. “Not yet anyway.”
I wave it off. “She’s got her reservations and I can’t blame her.”