Beg You to Trust Me (Lindon U #2)(87)

I ignore the glare from the woman I get my looks from as the doc nods. “Most likely. You mentioned that you’d done physical therapy, which can help strengthen the injured area, but if it’s damaged even in the slightest way without a full chance to heal that injury can worsen. Contact sports commonly cause these problems. Eventually, you’re risking the full mobility of your arm.”

“Daniel!” my mother chides. “How many times have we talked about this? You need to be more careful—”

“It’s not about being careful,” I remind her, gesturing toward the specialist sitting across from us. “Like he said, football players get beat up all the time. Until I stop—”

“When you stop,” she corrects firmly.

“—I won’t be in the clear for good.”

We have a stare off before the doctor clears his throat. “Listen, Daniel.”

“It’s DJ,” I grumble, mood souring by the second. I wish Skylar were here.

“DJ,” he says. “It’s inevitably your choice. But you’re not going to be able to play for a while. You need to let your shoulder recover. If you choose surgery, that recovery time will double, but it’ll be a better option to ensure the use of your arm long term. If you’ve been having trouble with the pain and mobility before, it’ll only get worse if you keep avoiding the core reason for it. And if you have the procedure and choose to go back, the chances of you needing another one is highly likely.”

I know he’s right. I know that Ma’s worry is valid. Hell, I know I’d be stupid to say no to surgery. I’d already decided that football wasn’t going to be my end game. But saying goodbye to it now, sooner than I anticipated, sucks.

“I wanted to finish the season,” I tell them both, swiping a hand down my face. “That was all I fucking wanted. To end senior year with a bang doing something I loved.”

If I choose the surgery now, I’ll be done with football for good. If I choose not to get it and let my shoulder heal on its own, I may be able to play one or two more games by the time the season ends.

Ma’s face softens as she squeezes my arm once. “Sweetie, I get it. This isn’t ideal for anyone, but you need to put yourself first. How many times have you told that to me and your grandmother? To your own teammates? Once they hear about this, they’ll tell you the same thing we are.”

I don’t answer her.

After two hours, I’m finally discharged.

I don’t agree to the surgery.

But I don’t tell the doctor no either.

I accept his card, tell him I’ll be in touch when I’ve decided, and follow Ma out of the emergency room.

When we’re in her car, she turns it on, lowers the volume to her favorite classic rock station, and says, “We won’t talk about it right now.”

My chin dips once in acknowledgment.

“Instead,” she hedges, voice lighter and prodding, “we can talk about that beautiful girl who looked worried sick about you that’s waiting for you in the guest room.”

I shake my head. “Don’t go daydreaming about anything, Ma. I already told you where Sky and I stand. Leave it be.”

She hums. “All I’m saying is that I’ve been waiting for the day you brought a girl home to introduce to me.”

I snort, turning to her skeptically. “Since when? You’ve always been worried I’d knock up some poor, helpless girl and come home with news of my impending fatherhood.”

Her lips stretch into a coy smile. “I only said that to scare you away from doing it. But if it ever happened, you know I’d love you and that baby no matter what. Just because your father and I made some rough decisions way too young doesn’t mean you will. You’re responsible. And Skylar? I can see the sadness in her eyes. I don’t know why it’s there and I won’t ask. What I do know is that you’re good for her, no matter what you two are to each other. She seems good for you too. Give it time, Danny Boy.”

The rest of the car ride is quiet.

She hums along to the songs playing.

I stare out the window and think about football. About grad school.

And inevitably about Skylar Allen.





CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE





SKYLAR





I look between the crowded market and my own personal tour guide. “Are you sure your arm is going to be okay? It seems packed in there.”

Danny was told to keep his arm immobilized for a few days to give it time to heal, and I can tell it still hurts when he takes it off to do a few small stretches suggested by the specialist. “You obviously talked to my mother,” he grumbles.

Caroline did talk to me this morning when she found out our plans for the day. When someone knocked on the door to the guest room, I’d expected to see Danny standing there. When his mother greeted me with a warm smile, one very similar to her son’s, I invited her in where she expressed her concerns.

“Your mom loves you,” I say, watching his face soften from the tense irritation. My voice slightly quieter than before, I add, “And I care about you too. I don’t want people to smack into you. Especially if you haven’t made up your mind about the surgery.”

He steps closer to me to let a large group of people pass on the busy walkway. My eyes gaze down at his boots when he replies, “What do you think I should do about that?”