60. Chapter 60

Chapter 60

Tripp

It's been three days since Willow left. The first day, I did nothing besides stare at the ceiling, frozen with the severity of the decision I needed to make. I convinced my mom I was alright, even if it wasn't true, but I wanted some time by myself. I'm surprised she didn't come over here; sometimes she finds it hard to listen to my requests.

The second day, I started it off with a mediocre panic attack. Felt like even my subconscious is too exhausted to go all in on a panic response.

I went to an appointment for my shoulder. I wore a look that said, "don't fucking ask me about anything you've read or heard" and it worked. I knew I was being borderline insufferable and irritable, but it's all I had.

The shoulder isn't as bad as originally thought. Per the doctors, I could rehab it without surgery, or do surgery in the off season. Seems like I could even play at the end of this season if we make the playoffs.

Another fucking decision to make. I want someone to tell me what to do.

Today, my mom's coming over. She gave me all the space she could muster but that's run out. I had lunch delivered and am trying to get everything set up. Doing things with one working arm is more difficult than I thought it'd be.

I know the headlines haven't quit. It's been made worse because I refuse to give a statement until I know what I want to do.

What do I want ?

I want things to go back to how they were before the game. I want how Willow and I were before.

She hasn't tried to get a hold of me. I haven't reached out either. At this point, I don't have anything to say.

Is this how relationships end? You have a soul-crushing fight and then you're trying to remember the last time you kissed? Or the last time you heard their laugh in your bed? How can all of these things turn into a list of "last times?"

My mom knocks before coming in. She takes one look at me before her smile falls and is replaced with concern.

"Tripp, what's wrong?"

"A lot." I give her an honest answer.

"Have you been sleeping? Eating?"

"A little."

She stands in front of me and puts her hands, cold from the winter, on the sides of my face.

"Tell me everything," she says while she leads me to the couch.

I do. It feels like reaching into my chest and pulling out pieces of me for everyone to see. I tell her about Willow, the call with coach, my terror in making this decision, and then some.

"First things first, you can't do this. Hold on to all these things. You don't need to tell me everything, but you need to tell someone." She's such a good listener, letting me ramble without a single interruption for who knows how long. "Football isn't an option forever. It's never been."

"I just want someone to tell me what to do. A coach, a doctor, a psychic. I'll take anyone at this point."

"No one can make this decision besides you. I know that's not what you want to hear but it's you that has to live with the results. "

"I know. I feel like I've only ever had this one thing. I've been trying to answer who I am, without it, for years. There's no answer. I'm a shell." My voice trails off at the end as I try to find the words.

"I did the same thing when you moved out and went to college. I didn't have practice clothes or jerseys to wash. Dinners to make. You've always been much more than who you are on the field. I'm sad you don't see it."

"I almost saw it…" My voice fades because I can't bring myself to be this pathetic. I don't have it in me to tell her that I'd thought about trading football for a life with Willow. I don't say it because it's embarrassing and it's also not a possibility.

"I find it hard to believe you told Willow this deeply personal thing and she told someone. Especially after you confronted her."

"I know, but if not her, then who? It doesn't make sense."

"You act like you're not a professional athlete who fights with the press on a regular basis. Who knows?" My mom throws her hands in the air before resting them on her lap.

"Even if she did, isn't this sort of what you wanted? Pressure? You still have a decision to make but this time you'll do it without anyone in your corner."

Fuck. Is she on to something?

"Everything happened so fast. Coach called and she walked in right after. My body hurts from not doing anything. All the frustration and fear built on top of each other." I try to get my words out, but my voice is shaky.

"You've always been impulsive." My mom leans back in her seat, crossing her arms, and letting out a laugh. "All of this is up to you and you know I'll support you forever. If I'm being honest, I'm sad about Willow. Watching you two together, was…" She stops because her voice cracks. "It was really something." She can't hide her tears .

She cries. I cry. We remember there's lunch and move to the kitchen. We don't bring Willow up again, or me playing or not playing. We talk about the things that barely matter.

I thought my mom would give me more direction. The woman seems to have an answer for everything.

But all I have is more questions than answers.