55. Chapter 55

Chapter 55

Tripp

"Baby, come here," I say, patting the side of the bed with my good arm. Or shoulder. Who knows at this point?

Willow looks like she's been through it. Her skin, usually bright and full of life, is pale and blotchy from crying.

She walks towards me. Slow. Hesitant.

"I don't want to hurt you." She pauses at the edge.

"You won't," I say, trying to reassure her.

Before she attempts to get in next to me, she stops to take off her boots. Her Cosmo blue boots which make my stomach flip. Seeing her in anything team related drives me wild.

"Those boots," I say.

"I know, I know. They're so impractical and I thought it'd be fun but then we were here and they're loud and I didn't have anything else to wear. Why would I bring a pair of shoes? I didn't think—"

"Lo. Take a breath." She's spiraling. I'm sure I don't look great, but I can't look that bad. Can I?

She tries to take a breath and ends up sobbing into her hands. Still at the edge of the bed, I wish I could go to her. When she finally catches her breath, she gently lays in space next to me, careful not to jostle me.

"I was so scared. You weren't moving," she cries into my chest. I hold one of her hands with the arm closest to her. The good one. Will I now have a good and bad arm moving forward? The thought is fleeting .

"Shhh." I try to calm her down. "I'm okay. You're okay. We're both okay."

"You shouldn't be the one doing this. I should be the one telling you these things," she cries.

"Baby, I don't think there's a manual on injury protocol. You being here is enough. I promise. Let's stay like this for a while." I know she needs time to process this. As do I.

I don't remember it. It was like I made a catch, blinked, and then in a span of five seconds, I was in a hospital bed. According to the doctors, I was knocked out cold, and then was in and out of consciousness from when they took me from the field to the hospital.

When I came to and was there long enough to remember, it was too much to take in. Lights flashing in and out. Jersey being cut off. Equipment being thrown to the floor. Doctors trying to get my attention.

Tripp, can you hear us?

Are you with us, Tripp?

I couldn't answer. It's like I knew I wanted to but then it was black. And then I was somewhere else, different people, and it was too bright.

Tripp, can you squeeze my hand?

What's the date, Tripp?

When I told them my name, birthday, and stat line for the whole year, everyone relaxed a little. I followed up with the score of the game before I got smoked and they even laughed. I knew I had a concussion, but I was with it. At least at the moment.

Everyone relaxed a bit, but I wasn't off the hook. The tests were extensive. Doctors were cautious.

They tell me I've been in and out of consciousness. I look at the clock and it's fucking startling. Like, how did this happen.

The one mistake I made was asking to see the hit. It was like I couldn't believe it happened. The doctor said it might help me understand .

I watched it once. A late hit which left me completely limp and on display for an entire stadium. Now, I can't stop thinking about it. Hearing it. The sound of the hit. The commentator. The gasp of everyone seeing it in real time.

Even though it was hours ago, it feels like the hit plays on replay in my mind. I'm afraid it won't stop. It wasn't just me but the cut to my mom and Willow. Their faces. Pale. Holding hands. Trying to see what they could from the suite.

That hurt in a way I didn't expect.

I can't believe that was me. I looked like I was dead. Per the doctors, I will probably never be able to fill in the blanks. So, it's a piece of my life I'll never see or get back. It doesn't make sense.

Willow squeezes my hand.

"What hurts?" she asks, her voice level.

"I feel weird. My head feels heavy, but I wouldn't say it hurts. I know my shoulder is fucked up, but I can't necessarily feel it yet."

"It's okay to feel weird," she says, putting her hand gently on my chest. I think she's feeling for a heartbeat.

"This is the first time I've ever really been hurt. In the NFL at least."

"Yeah?"

"Would not recommend."

That gets her to laugh, for a short second, before her face gets all serious.

"You know you can be real with me. It's me and you. I'm going to ask again. How do you feel?"

How does she know what I need before I ask for it? She wants me to go past the surface. I'm afraid to say what's hiding there. I take a deep breath, exhaling all the way out, before I try to put it into words.

"I… I feel like… everything is different. This is a turning point." And when my voice cracks, I know there's no use trying to hide. "Today was the scariest day of my life." She takes her fingertips and lightly wipes the tears from my eyes. "I woke up and kept thinking, ‘can I move my toes. Do I feel them? What about my fingers?' I fucking hate that I had to do that." I stop to catch my breath.

"I can't imagine. Even though I saw it, I couldn't imagine being you."

"I've always been ridiculously terrified of who I am without football. What do I do when it's over? And this is the first thing that has scared me more than that." Saying the words is hard but eye opening.

"You're still going to be Tripp Owens." Her hand taps my chest.

"Will you love me even if I'm just a normal Tripp Owens?" Her lips are pressed together like she's trying to put two and two together. "If I'm not the Tripp Owens in the NFL?"

"Of course. You don't even need to ask that."

"I do need to ask it. Because I'm thinking about it."

Her eyes go wide, matching my typical reaction whenever I think about my time being up in the NFL.

"I'm thinking about doing the scariest thing I've ever wondered about… because I think today was worse. Seeing my mom. Seeing you. Seeing the clip."

"I didn't mean to come in here like that. I tried to get myself together but—"

"Don't you apologize for caring about me. I can't say I wouldn't have done the same thing you did. I don't know what I would've done." My thoughts drift to the equivalent of seeing Willow getting hurt at a concert. Very unlikely but my stomach flips at the hypothetical thought. "You asked me how I felt… and I feel like, I'm not sure I can play football anymore. Who knows, this shoulder might be trashed, anyway."

She gives me the space to keep going.

"I need you to keep this secret. This is the first time I've ever said the words out loud. They scare me. Hearing them out loud? Brutal. "

"You don't even need to ask. I'm a vault." She puts her hand on her heart. "You are stuck with me. I don't want to go anywhere unless it's with you. I will support you, no matter what you decide. Whether that's today, tomorrow, next season, or years down the road."

"Years?"

"Years." She kisses my cheek. "I love you, Tripp Owens. I'm not going anywhere."