Mr. Sportsball

by K. P. Haigh

  I bite my lip. I really hope she's right.

  I barely notice my name being called until the nurse at the counter practically whisper-shouts across the room. "Ms. Bell? Mr. Richards has been transferred, and he asked to see you."

  I turn to Devon and give her an apologetic smile, which she returns with a smirk. "Go. I get his whiny ass all the time. Go tell him you love him, k?"

  I pop up from my seat and walk over to the nurse. She gives me the room number, and I head through the swinging doors toward his room.

  I have no idea what I'm walking into, but it's the man I love. I'd walk back into a football stadium if that was what it took for me to keep him.

  I walk into the room with my eyes partially closed. I have no idea what I'm going to see, and I'm not entirely sure I'm ready for it.

  Any of it.

  When I open them, Baron's eyes connect with mine. I know what I see. It's the man I love. The man I want to be with. It might have taken an injury to get me here, but I guess I never really stopped believing he's the one for me. It's been etched on my heart like a tiny little white tattoo. You have to squint to see it, and in some light, it disappears from sight completely, but it's always there, whether you see it or not.

  "Monty." It's half moan, half sigh.

  I step up to his hospital bed and take in the gown that's flung around his shoulders like a solid blue tablecloth that's a little too small to fit the long surface it's supposed to cover. They must have cut off his jersey, and his legs are covered with a thin pink blanket. I want to reach out and touch him, but I'm too scared I'll somehow hurt him. I have no idea what his injuries are or how severe they are.

  He's talking though, and that's as much as I could have hoped for.

  "How are you?" I want to know. I want to know all of it. How he's been. What happened today. What he ate for breakfast. How that coffee machine of his is. If it misses me.

  "I'm okay. Better than expected, but kind of shaken up." He reaches out, grabs my hand, and moves his body over a bit, making space at the edge of the bed.

  I take a seat, immediately grateful to feel the familiar warmth of his skin against mine. My mind is racing, but it's still calmer here with him than anywhere else. "What happened out there?"

  "I don't really remember. I was running to catch the ball and then all of a sudden, I was flat on a gurney in an ambulance. One of the assistant coaches was with me, and he told me I got knocked up in the air by one player just as another knocked me to the side. It sent me into a half backflip and I landed on my head. The angle was just right that it knocked me out and herniated a disk in my neck. I couldn't feel my arms or legs when I woke up, which is one of the most terrifying experiences I've ever had. It's pinching a nerve. They treated it, and now I just feel a weird tingle up and down my arms."

  "So, you're gonna be okay?"

  "Yeah, I'm gonna be just fine." He stops for a second and squints at me dramatically. "But I might need some TLC to make sure I make a full recovery."

  "You can have whatever the hell you want, Baron Richards." I want to add, but you can't ever do that to me again, but it feels like too much, too soon. How can I walk back into his life and make a declaration like that? Even if I am just being sarcastic.

  Okay, mostly sarcastic.

  Baron smiles at me and then pulls my hand up to his lips, pressing a sweet kiss against my knuckles. If I wasn't sitting down, I think my knees would buckle under all the swoon.

  "I want you," he says as he pulls his lips away. Part of me never wants his mouth to leave that spot, but part of me wants him to keep talking. "I love you, Montgomery Bell, and I'll keep loving you until the day I die, whether we travel the world together just the two of us or if we settle down on a farm with a brood of kids."

  "Yeah, I'm not signing up for the brood," I joke, but I feel the seriousness under my tone. I close my eyes and continue my train of thought. "You say that now though. What if you can't handle that decision in five years, or ten or twenty?"

  "Monty." Baron grazes his finger along the side of my face, and I lean into the feeling.

  He closes his eyes for a moment, and I can tell he shares my appreciation. He opens his eyes again and continues.

  "Monty, there's no guarantee we could have kids in the first place. Look at Zane and Georgie. They've struggled for years, and they're finally getting to the point where they're starting to accept that it may never happen for them, but that doesn't mean they won't be happy together. They love each other, with or without a family. I would rather be with you and childless than have children with anyone else.”

  I'd never thought about it that way before, but he's right. We're never guaranteed fertility, and love isn't about perfect circumstances.

  That thought hits a nerve, and I finally feel like I'm getting somewhere. It's as if the tunnel caved in on me five weeks ago, and I've been slowly trying to hack my way out with a pickaxe. I just broke through. It’s not enough to crawl out completely, but I can see the light, and damn, it feels good on my skin.

  "I'm sorry I left…that I didn't let you in." I don't know how to apologize for it all, but something is better than nothing.

  Baron blinks slowly. "I didn't know what to do either. I felt you pulling away, and I let it happen. I gave you space, thinking I was being understanding, but I realized after you left, I was letting you go. I've kicked myself a million times since then because that's not what you do. You fight. You push. You let it get uncomfortable, and you figure out how to fix it."

  He stops and shakes his head, as if he's beaten himself up about this for the past few weeks. "I didn't see it. I didn't want to see it. I tried to cram you into a box, and you are worth so much more than that."

  I twist a piece of his hair between my fingers. I missed the feeling of him.

  "And Georgie told me about Rochelle," he continues. "I can't believe what she put you through. If I had known—"

  I cut him off. "But I didn't tell you. I didn't tell you any of it. I don't know why. I guess I just felt so isolated, and instead of reaching out for help, I curled into a tight ball and cradled that feeling like it was my precious."

  I'm throwing that ring into the fire and letting it burn. I'm not alone in this, not anymore.

  I can feel Baron's breath release the last bit of tension in his body. "We have to be honest with each other, starting right now. I'm being honest when I say I want you more than I want a big family. I think we should talk about if there are circumstances that would make you feel less meh about having kids, like getting help or you working and me staying home. Those are things we should talk about, but I want you. Full stop. And I'm not going to let you walk out of this hospital without me if you feel a fraction of the same way."

  "I do feel the same way. No fraction. Just one big, whole, messy piece. I just didn't fit into the football world, and then when I realized you wanted kids…"

  Baron pulls me in even tighter. "Well, my number one long-term goal is to hold on to you, so I think we're getting started off on the right foot there."

  "I like the sound of that." I want to hold on to him too, with everything I have. I lean back against him, lowering my weight slowly down so my chest is curled against his side. I lay my hand over his heart, closing my eyes while I feel every healthy beat. It matches mine, like two drums playing to the same line.

  We sit in the hospital for the next twenty-four hours. By the time they're ready to discharge him, I've seen a whole football team's worth of medical personnel, and survey says Baron is one lucky man.

  He suffered a concussion, but he can still count the number of concussions he's had on one hand. More importantly, he has a herniated disk in his neck that is causing a compression on his spinal cord. The prognosis is good, and he needs to see a specialist to run through his options.

  I'm still going to Nurse Monty the hell out of him, but I keep closing my eyes for a brief moment of gratitude every time I think about how much worse this could have been.

&nb
sp; I need Baron in my life, and whatever differences we have can be figured out. Love is worth figuring it out. There's nothing more important in the world than that.

  I'm ten feet down the hall from Baron's hospital room, on my way to grab some coffee while the nurse is working on filling out the discharge forms with him, when I see them.

  I would recognize those curly spirals of evil anywhere.

  Rochelle.

  She's walking toward me with a gorgeous vase of flowers in her arms. "Well, well, well, if it isn't yesterday's news," Rochelle says with one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows raised about as high as her Botox will let her.

  I take a deep breath. "Hi, Rochelle. Are you here to see Baron, or do you come to the hospital to suck the life out of people for fun?"

  She gives me a tight smile. "I think the better question is, why are you here? Didn't you run out on Bear already? He makes the news and you come crawling back for a little attention."

  "That's your game, not mine." I think she would walk around with a film crew 24/7 if she could.

  She is such an evil—ugh. I can't believe I'm twenty-three years old and am still dealing with people like her. I'm done.

  "If you'll excuse me," she says as she starts to step around me. "I'm going to go pay my respects."

  I shift to the side to block her. "Don't bother. He doesn't need your bullshit any more than I do."

  Her eyes go wide for a second, as if she expected me to back down and run away like a scared little kitten. Then, she puts her game face on. "Baron will always have room in his life for people like me. Football is family, something you fail to understand."

  Her words are sharp, but they don't cut me like they used to. I finally realize she's protecting herself just as much as she is the world that got her to where she is. She loves football, but she loves where it's gotten her even more. At the end of the day, that's sad.

  She's at the top of the pile, but she has to keep looking around to see if someone else is trying to climb up and steal her spot.

  I almost feel sorry for her, except I know the pile she's on top of is full of all the carcasses of people she's walked her skinny little Manolos over.

  "You don't deserve this life. You don't deserve Bear." She keeps trying to cut me, but my skin is rock solid.

  "See, that's where you're wrong. I deserve love. I deserve every single ounce I can soak up. Everyone does—even you."

  She snorts, but it comes out weak. "Don't worry about me, honey. I've got love in spades."

  "I don't worry about you. Not anymore. I'm done letting people like you tell me who I can and cannot love. I'm done letting you shit all over me and tell me it smells like roses. I am in love with Baron Richards, the man, not Bear Richards, the football star—and for the record, that's a hell of an important distinction."

  I turn around and start walking back to his room. I don't need a cup of coffee to perk me up anymore; Rochelle just shot adrenaline through my veins.

  It feels good to finally stick up for myself. I'm not going to let some girl outside a field house or a hospital room be the one to call action or cut on my love life. That's my call. It always has been and it always will be, and I'm glad I finally realized that.

  She calls out after me. "You're never going to be enough for him."

  "Well, that's not your problem." I don't bother to turn around. "So don't let it keep you up at night."

  I am enough for him.

  I don't need to stand outside a football stadium and scream it from the top of my lungs. I just need to show up, and keep showing up.

  And I plan on doing that. Every. Single. Day. From now until forever.

  Baron and I head to Ann Arbor to drop off Andie's car and grab a rental as soon as we're discharged. Then we head to Ohio as fast as the turnpike will take us. As we're pulling up to Baron's family home, I can see the smile grow wide on his face.

  Our car ride consists of relatively benign conversation, plus a nice soundtrack of my newest musical obsessions that my friends in Ethiopia introduced me to.

  Just before we reach the house, Baron puts his hand on my leg and squeezes gently. "Before we go in and my whole family starts to fawn over you, I want you to know that I'm not going back."

  "Back where?"

  "To Seattle to play. I'm going to have to sit out the rest of the season, that's a given, but I'm not going to push to renew my contract with them or any other team. I'm done playing football."

  I shift the car into park, my jaw practically dropping all the way down to the pedals.

  Before he can say another word, a short woman with cropped hair just as dark as Baron's races out to the car. Baron pushes his door open and stands up with a small grunt. She wraps her arms around him, and I can tell she's trying to be gentle while still squeezing the hell out of him.

  She pushes him away, her hands still connected to his arms. "Oh, it's so good to see you." Then she leans to the side and gives me an even bigger smile than she gave him. "You must be Monty."

  We're ushered in quickly, and we run through the family introductions. Everyone is here minus Devon; she had to stay in Ann Arbor for school. Baron's brothers and their families live close by, and the house feels nearly as loud as a stadium. Children and hellos and questions about Baron, it all overlaps. The sound is pleasant, like the houses I dreamed of when I was little. Mine was always so quiet, like a library full of adventure tucked between pages. Baron's is one where the adventure swings wildly from the chandelier in the living room.

  I can barely think past trying to make sure I remember everyone's names. I've got Alex and Marshall, his brothers, but my brain putters out after that.

  Who am I kidding though? My brain is clearly back in the car where Baron just told me he wasn't going back to football. Part of me is having an all-out dance party, and the other part is sitting over in the corner rocking itself back and forth.

  Is him leaving football really a good idea?

  We walk into the dining room, where Baron's mom has a feast prepared. I sit down next to Baron, watching him completely relax into his surroundings. I've seen him like this before. This is Baron, the man I met in Ann Arbor, and it makes me wonder if maybe the part of him that wants to leave football has been there all along.

  I still feel uneasy about it, but the idea is slowly gaining traction.

  Dinner is full of family banter, and I happily sit back and enjoy the rhythm of a family that is so much bigger and louder than mine. Baron keeps one hand on my thigh through the whole meal. I love the feeling of him next to me; he's like a warm compress that relaxes every last muscle.

  When everyone's plates are empty, I push away from the table and stand up, insisting that I clean up. Baron gets up to help, and I think everyone sees the look in his eyes that shows what kind of help he's talking about.

  We walk into the kitchen and set down the plates, and then Baron reaches his hands around my waist and lifts me up onto the counter, pressing his head against my chest.

  "This feels so good. I want you next to me." His voice is husky. "I've missed you next to me."

  "Me too." I lean my chin against his head and play with the texture of his hair.

  He lifts his head up and kisses me, and it feels like a sugar cube melting on my tongue…but it doesn't quite dissolve my fears.

  "You can't leave football. It's your life," I whisper.

  Baron shakes his head as he runs his fingers up and down my arms. My skin warms to his touch, and I know I never had any hope. "No, you're my life, and you heard what the doctors said: I'd have to have surgery if I wanted to go back. Do you know how many risks there are with that procedure? And what kind of risk I'd be taking every single time I went back out on the field? It's not worth it, Monty. You're worth it. My life is worth it."

  "But you'll miss it."

  "Not as much as you'd think. Playing in Detroit was great, but playing in Seattle didn't feel the same. Yeah, I'll miss it sometimes, but I'm so much more than just Mr. Sportsbal
l."

  I blush at my nickname for him, and he smiles.

  "I heard you call me that one time when you were on the phone with Andie."

  "Yeah, I kind of never knew what position you played," I admit.

  He laughs with a shake of his head. "Wide receiver, but I'll answer to the position of Montgomery Bell's boyfriend now."

  "Can we make jerseys?"

  One of Baron's brothers walks in, laughing. "What color jerseys were you thinking? Maybe a nice neon hot pink?"

  Baron just shrugs. "It's your team, your pick."

  The man would wear a bedazzled hot pink jersey if I asked him to; I have to wield my power wisely.

  I'm not really a football jersey type though. "What if we went with a nice soft baseball tee? Something that would feel nice and cozy while I lie in bed and read at night—that's my kind of sporting event."

  Baron's mom walks in. "Damn, I am so glad Baron finally brought you home to us. I'll sit and read a book with you any day of the week. These boys can go tackle each other in the back yard."

  I know what she means when she says it, but my chest squeezes happily at the word home. I've decided I don't have only one home in this world. It's such a small word with such a big meaning, too big to be attached to just one single place. No, my home is at my parents’ house and in Ann Arbor and on the road, doing what I love.

  And here. My home is here because this is where Baron is.

  I am home where I am loved, and there's no place more true than in the arms of the one you love.

  One Year Later

  I open up my laptop back at our hut in Thailand and start to upload the photos from my session. I pushed my boundaries yet again with an underwater session off the coast with a few expats who surf and free dive here for fun. If the photos are half as magical as the underwater scene looked in real life, they're going to be gorgeous.

  I've learned to lean into the discomfort, seeing it as a signal that I need to think about why I want to say no. Is it because I genuinely don't think I'll enjoy it, or is it just because I'm scared?