I've got two days left in Kansas City until I fly back to New York. Travis is at practice right now, and I am playing around on the unused piano in his house. It's a little out of tune, but playable. I get a phone call that says it's from Travis causing me to grin.
"Taylor?"an familiar voice speaks through the phone.
"You're not Travis." My smile falters.
"Uh no, this is Patrick," he says, "You're back in Kansas City, right?"
"Uh... yeah."
"He told me to call you. Taylor, he hurt his knee."
"Is he okay? What happened? It's not his ACL is it?" I start to panic.
"No, no. Nothing like that. He told me to call you and ask you to unlock the basement door. So that he can get in."
"Okay. Yeah. Yeah. I can do that. Is he on his way?"
"Will be in about 10 minutes. I'm waiting to make sure he's alright. It happened right before practice ended."
"Okay. Thank you. It was nice to talk to you again Mr. Mahomes."
He laughs, "yeah. Nice to talk to you too. You should come to a game."
"Yeah, yeah. I planned on it."
I hear Travis mumble something about flirting with his girlfriend.
"Tell him to be nice."
"She says to be nice to me! Bye Taylor."
"Bye."
For the next thirty minutes I run around frantic. Cooking him some food, getting him some medicine ready, and I waited at the door with Rambo and Chauncey. The doorknob twists and I hear the crutches.
I see him and give him a sad smile. He returns the same, but doesn't seem too upset. The dogs run to him, but don't jump like they usually do.
"I'm alright from here gentlemen." He says to what seem to be the athletic trainers who seemed very surprised to see me sitting on the edge of the couch.
"We will be at the stadium tomorrow. I'll text you a list of rehab you get to do."
"So excited." He says very sarcastically, "thanks guys."
"Yep." One says and they both leave.
"I want to hug you but I'm scared I'll hurt you?" I say as sort of a question.
"No, baby, you're okay. Come here."
I wrap my arms around his waist and he kisses my head.
"You're okay?"
"Yeah, baby. I'm alright."
"You're not playing Sunday?"
He shakes his head and I can feel the disappointment radiating off of him.
"I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault, honey."
"I know, but I hate it for you."
"It'll be alright. One less game you have to come to." He tries to joke, but I didn't find it very funny.
"Hey. I want to come to your games."
He lowers his head.
"Come on. Let's get you upstairs."
It took a little while, but eventually he was up the stairs and in the shower. Of course I got in with him. He needed help. The fancy shower had a seat in the back corner, where I made him sit down.
