Perfect by Design

19: Grayson James

Grayson

He's right in my face, and all I can think about is holding on to the ball. I can't even brace myself for the impact. It's too late.

My back collides with the ground, and my head shakes in my helmet. It's a hit. This isn't the first, and it won't be the last.

Except, after the reality of the hit settles in, I notice the sharp, unmistakable pain shooting through my right knee. I see the team doctors running toward the field, confirming what I immediately know.

I don't even have to look down at the knee I'm clinging to. I am entirely fucked. The cart comes out as my teammates surround me, blocking the stadium full of people from watching one of the worst moments of my life.

I count my breaths as I try to distract myself from the pain. With each passing minute, reality becomes heavier. The need to rewind the clock is suffocating. The seconds ticking by are unbearable.

Everything blurs as they roll me off of the field. I don't feel the pain anymore. What was deafening silence is now white noise. I close my eyes and let go because I don't have to wait for a doctor to tell me my season is over.

The hospital is already a zoo of reporters as we pull up. Everybody wants to be the first to know what's going on– everyone except for me.

As they open the ambulance doors, the first face I see is my mom's. How my parents managed to beat me here, I'll never know.

She lets out such a palpable breath of relief when she sees me, and I instantly know that my injury looked as bad as it felt.

"Grayson, sweetie."

I instantly shake my head at her. I can't deal with all of this right now, and unfortunately, that doesn't matter.

They begin rolling me through the back, my parents at my side.

"Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you guys to wait out here." Someone grabs my mom's arm, and I'm instantly sorry for the poor healthcare worker because even if they are just doing their job, they just made an enemy of my dad.

"Like hell." My mom jerks her arm away. "Wherever my son goes, I go." She grabs onto the side of my stretcher.

"And I'd like to see you tell her otherwise." My dad steps beside her.

The poor guy is practically trembling at this point, and I really hope he doesn't push them because this is a fight he can't win. He steps aside, and they roll me back for, I'm sure, all the imaging.

Some woman hands my mom paperwork that she begins to fill out. The doctor reads off a list of tests to run. And I— I disassociate entirely.

"How's he doing?" I hear her voice in my dream because only in my dreams would Indy risk coming to see me at the hospital.

"Oh, sweetie, you didn't have to come." Of course, she and my mom would still be the best of friends even though this is my dream.

"Yes, I did."

I open my eyes, and for a moment, everything is blurry. I see my dad, and he looks worried. He never looks worried. My mom is holding his hand, resting her head on his shoulder. She's been crying.