56. Chapter 56

Chapter 56

Tripp

Fucking finally.

Back in my own bed. I fall on top of the comforter and even though it's the middle of the day, I'm a different type of exhausted.

The worst part about staying two nights in the hospital is the bed situation. I don't know if I actually feel better or if it's the fact I'm back in my apartment, with my sheets.

Seems like I'm out of the woods with the concussion. I'll have a follow up appointment next week. But if everything goes as it has, there shouldn't be any long-term impacts. Unless I get another one, but that's another thought for another day.

Didn't get so lucky with the shoulder. Based on the tests, doctors are estimating a grade 2 tear. It could need surgery but no one has a strong opinion at this time. I'm on the injury report for this week and will not be doing any sort of physical activity. It's been a decade since I've not been allowed to do anything. It's weird.

"Tripp. Do you need anything before I go?" She says as she stands in the doorway.

Willow has a meeting with her label to start wrapping up the album. She's been by my side for the last two days. Between her and my mom, I was never alone, which kept my slow-moving brain busy.

I sit up. "No. I'm all good. Are you going to come back or stay at your place tonight?" I fish for her plans. I feel like I've asked so much of her the last few days. I hate it. But I need it. Can't imagine doing this without her.

"Coming back," she says while walking towards me and kisses me on the lips. Her hands touch the side of my face.

"There's a key card on the table, take it with you. And you know what, why don't you keep it?" It's hard to keep my tone casual. I could throw up.

"Keep it? Are you sick of your building security calling you for permission to let me up, Tripp Owens?" Her lips pull into a sly grin. The way her eyes catch mine tell me it was the right move.

"No, I want you to have it." It's hard to pretend like you're being nonchalant when you're internally hating yourself for sounding like a fucking sap. "Only if you want it."

"Of course, I want it. I want anything tied to you." She kisses me again. "I'll be back in a few hours. I'll have my phone on if you need me."

"Go finish your next album of the year."

The door locks behind Willow and it's the first time I've been alone in days. Gone is the parade of doctors, sports specialists, nurses, team doctors, teammates, coaching staff, and anyone else to distract me. Nothing but my beaten-up brain and my thoughts.

I sprawl out on my bed and stare at the ceiling fan. It oscillates and is oddly soothing after a while. Consistent. No variation.

What am I going to do? I think about putting my equipment back on. Pads. Jersey. Helmet. A cold sweat breaks out over my forehead and my mouth feels like it's full of sand.

Did I really tell Willow I was thinking about walking away from football? Why did I do that? Is that something I should consider?

I shouldn't have said it out loud. It made it real. It's right there in front of me like something I can grab .

I'm going to have a panic attack. I don't want to run from it. Part of me thinks I need to feel it. The spiral. The pull. Before it even starts, I know this is something I'll keep to myself.

My chest rises and falls too fast. Breaths are hard to find and even more difficult to hold on to. I'd usually put my head between my knees at this point, but I don't. I stare at the fan. The blades cutting through the same air I'm trying to pull in.

I pinch the skin on my arm to prove to my brain that I'm here—this is real. I touch my chest to feel my heart beating. My good hand touches my face, feels the too-fast breath.

Can I go back to the game? Can I step back on a field? What if the answer is no?

I've never been more ill equipped to think about this. My brain is healing and I'm contemplating major life decisions. It feels like it steps through thick mud.

I welcome the panic and weight of something impossible. There are no winners here. And it feels like the air in the room goes from hazy to crystal clear. There it is.

In this moment, I know there's no way I can win.

"Baby, let's get you under the blankets," Willow says. I look at the clock. I must've fallen asleep.

"No. I don't want to." I don't know why I argue.

"You know you'll feel better under the blankets." She pulls the comforter out from underneath me and up to my chest.

I know I should ask about her meeting. I don't have it in me .

"Lo. Don't leave me in here," I say, the edge of the panic attack still in my grasp. I reach for one of her shoulders.

"I'm not leaving. I'm going to put my pajamas on, and I'll be back," she says as she touches the hand I reached with.

My heart races like it doesn't believe her. But I do. I know she'll do what she says because this woman has never let me down.

I force my eyes to stay open until she slides into bed. Immediately, I feel better knowing she's here. With me.

"Do you need anything? It looks like you didn't eat dinner or anything."

"No. Nothing." I turn my head and look at her while she lies on her side. Since my shoulder injury, I've only been able to sleep on my back.

Willow turns the light off on her side of the bed, gets situated under the down comforter, and holds my hand. She draws soft small circles on it until I fall asleep.