Daxson
"Can you hurry the fuck up and tell me what's wrong, Doc?" My words came out a little sharper than expected, but given the situation, I hoped that Dr. Freeman would understand.
My hands instinctively tightened around the cold metal bars on the side of the table as Dr. Freeman adjusted a black brace around my knee. Damn, this man sure was taking his time. His warm hands continued to poke and prod while my face contorted in pain.
It was a sharp ache that started in my knee, radiating up my hamstring and down my calf simultaneously. The feeling never waned or disappeared, but was constant and consuming. The simple fact I could feel the pain made me uncomfortable because people always gave me credit for having a high pain tolerance.
My momma was the first to find out how much pain I could take. Still to this day, she says I scared her half to death. Demarcus and I were riding four wheelers in the field out behind our house. It seemed harmless enough, but we were young boys—stupid, confident, reckless. It didn't take my brother long to come up with something dangerous to do. He wanted to pretend we were in a high speed chase, so his stupid ass drove the four-wheeler underneath the carport at full speed. Of course, I didn't duck fast enough and the bottom piece of metal sliced down the top of my head. I was bleeding, but I wasn't in pain. I thought it was just a cut and wanted to get a bandaid, but once my mother realized what happened, we were in the car headed to the emergency room. Needless to say, I ended up with a bunch of stitches that day.
But this injury felt different than any previous ones. During the initial impact on the field, I'd completely lost consciousness. I didn't know what was going on until they had me on the cart headed back to the locker room.
Despite that fact, in my mind, this was nothing. Maybe a pulled hamstring, or just a dislocated knee. A couple assistant coaches who helped me off the field still lingered in the locker room with curious eyes. I'm sure, just like me, they were waiting for any news on my condition. It made me wonder what the fans were thinking. They just watched one of their star players go down. I mean, football injuries happen all the time, but I don't think anyone expected this to happen to me.
It wasn't in my future.
Dr. Freeman rose to his feet and stepped away from the table. There was a dark look in his eyes that allowed an uneasy feeling to settle in my stomach. He looked like he was about to give me some bad news—hands behind his back and a blank expression plastered across his wrinkled face.
"Well, Daxson. I'm sorry to tell you, but it looks like you've suffered a triple ligament tear in your right knee."
I tilted my head when he shuffled through one of his bags. If Allyson was here, she'd be able to help me understand the medical jargon.
"So, what's that mean? Some PT, a few weeks of rest, and I'm good to go?"
"It's a little more complicated than that." Dr. Freeman sighed as he dumped a few pills into his hand. "Basically, the weight of the players who tackled you combined with the impact of you returning to the ground has twisted your knee and torn three of your tendons. These tendons are important because they provide stability to the knee and hold the muscle to the bone. I've fitted you with a brace to hold everything in place until we can get you to the hospital for an MRI and hopefully immediate surgery."
My thoughts raced faster with each word he uttered. He was unraveling my entire life, leaving me to watch my future fall apart. All I could do was stare at the little, white pills in his hand.
"Surgery? How long will I be out?" I asked, trying to ignore the nausea swirling in my stomach.
He persisted with the medication again. "Here, take these, it'll help with the pain and swelling."
I hesitated. I'd always been against medication because I had cousins who became addicts. I watched pills destroy their lives.
"Trust me," Dr. Freeman uttered, dumping the pills into my hand.
"Fine." I stared at the pills in my palm before tossing them into my mouth and swallowing. "Now, how long will I be out?"
Dr. Freeman let a soft sigh escape his lips. "Daxson, I understand football is your life, but this is a rare injury that we have to take seriously."
"A timeline, please," I responded through gritted teeth.
His shoulders fell and he rested his hand on the table before looking me directly in my eyes. "It's very likely you won't play another NFL game."
There went any hope I had left. Gone. Just like that. It felt like he'd pushed his hand into my chest, crushing my ribs and stealing my breath. I couldn't be hurt that fucking bad. There was still too much for me to accomplish. After everything I'd been through, why would God do this to me?
"I'm sorry, Dax—" Dr. Freeman was interrupted.
"Where is he?" Allyson's voice cut through the silence at the same time she crashed through the locker room door.
My grip tightened on the metal bars located on the sides of the examine table again. The reality of the new information Dr. Freeman shared was slowly starting to sink in. I couldn't bring myself to move, not even having the energy to acknowledge my beautiful fiancé whose footsteps drew closer to me.
"Dax. I was so scared." Her small hands touched my forearm. "Are you okay?"
My jaw locked at her question. "Open your fucking eyes. Does it look like I'm okay, Allyson?"
She retracted her hand from my arm like my words had scolded her. She was quiet for a few seconds which gave me time to regain my composure. I was frustrated and angry, but I knew I shouldn't take it out on her. My father taught me better than that.
"You look like you've been rode hard and put up wet," she whispered from her spot beside me.
I glanced up at her in response to her words. Static held her dark curls to the side of her face and neck as she pulled her New England beanie off her head. She offered me her sweetest smile, but no matter how hard I tried I couldn't bring a smile to my face.
"You could say that."
Allyson's expression fell when she didn't get any emotion from me. I could see the worry swimming in her eyes. I glanced away from her. She was never good at hiding her feelings.
She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and looked at the ground. "I just had to watch my future husband, the love of my life, my best-friend take a big hit on the football field. I watched you crumble to the ground and not get up, Dax. I had to watch the hit replay over and over on the big screen while they carted you off the field. I've been trying to get down here to you for like thirty minutes now, but security wouldn't let me back. Now that I'm with you... it feels like you don't want me here."
I sighed heavily when I heard her sniffle. There wasn't time for tears. It was hard enough dealing with my own emotions, I couldn't handle hers too.
"I'm sorry, Ally. I just... I'm still processing everything."
She nodded and placed her hand against my forearm again, stroking her soft fingers along my skin. "I know, and you're probably in pain too. Did the doctor tell you what happened?"
"Something about a triple ligament tear and surgery." I shrugged and my eyes dropped to my knee.
I attempted to lift it, but a sharp pain to radiated down my leg, causing my jaw to lock.
Allyson's hands pressed against my thigh and forced my leg back to the table. "Stop."
"Why? I can take it. I want to prove it's not as bad as it seems."
"No, you can't, Dax. You might be my knight in shining armor, but you aren't Superman. If you do anything further, it'll only do more damage," she pleaded.
"He told me I might not ever play another game, Allyson. I refuse to let that be the truth."
"It all depends on the extent of the injury, baby. Don't jump to any conclusions yet. He was just telling you there's a chance." She lifted her hand to brush her palm against my cheek.
I leaned my head away from her. "Dr. Freeman wouldn't lie to me, Ally." I stared at my hands resting in my lap. "This changes everything."
If I couldn't play another game, I'd never be able to keep the promise I made to my father. I hadn't made enough of an impact in the league to have my name in the Hall of Fame.
She sighed and dropped her hand to her side. "It only changes everything if you let it."
"No, Ally. You don't understand. This—" I thrust my hands toward my knee, "—changes every fucking thing. After surgery, the likelihood of me coming back and competing at the same level is small. I'll never be able to accomplish all the goals I'd set with my father. No football Hall of Fame. No nothing."
"Don't tell me I don't understand, Daxson. I know what it feels like to have your goals taken away from you. To have your future funneled. I know exactly what that feels like because I lived it for eighteen years, but I also know there's always another path, another way to achieve your goals. You and Caleb taught me that." She sighed and picked at her nails. "I know this is what you feel like you had to do to honor your father, but sometimes God has a different plan for us. Maybe this is His way of telling you to start chasing your dreams again instead of your fathers."
I couldn't stop the rush of negative thoughts that flooded my mind. They took me back to the day my family buried my father. The anger, the sadness, the uncertainty all led me to a distrust in God. I didn't want to go back to all those feelings, but they didn't seem to be giving me a choice. Football was my only link to him. It didn't make sense for God to take that away from me too.
I shrugged and curled my hands into fists. "God seems to have a lot of plans for me. It's kinda ironic that they all seem to involve taking away things that are important to me."
"Dax, don't think like that." Allyson's soft fingers traced along my tattoos slowly. "Aren't you the one always telling me to think of the glass as half-full and not half-empty?"
I chuckled, but not because of her words. She was right. I did always try to view my glass as half-full. Unfortunately, it seemed like God would never keep pouring from my glass, taking a little more each time until it felt like there was nothing fucking left.
"I mean, that's cool if you have something in your glass." I sighed and pulled my eyes away from my knee to look at her. "At this point, Allyson, my glass is entirely fucking empty."
"You still have your family. You still have me, Dax, and we have a future together." She lifted her left hand so that my grandmother's diamond ring sparkled beneath the locker room lights.
I focused on the ring for a moment before dropping my eyes.
"You still believe that, don't you?"
"Daxson, it's time to transport you." Dr. Freeman entered the room with two EMS members.
The female EMS worker pushed a stretcher up beside the metal table and started asking me a few questions.
I responded to her absentmindedly as I avoided looking at Allyson. Secretly, I was glad our conversation was interrupted because I just wasn't in the right mindset to talk to my future wife.
The only thing I could think about was the fact I let my father down. I didn't fulfill my promise to him. What kind of man was I? How could I be a father to my own son if I let my father down?
"Mr. Winters, can you hear me?" One of the EMS workers questioned.
I was pulled away from my thoughts. "Yeah, I'm good."
"I asked if you wanted your fiancé to accompany you to the hospital?"
They had wheeled me to the back of the locker room where they paused inside the open double doors that led outside. The chilly wind gusted past and mingled with the warm air inside. I focused on Allyson who was standing silently beside the metal table I had just been on. Her small hands hung in front of her, gripping her beanie tightly like she was nervous. Her eyes were locked on mine, afraid I would disappear.
I hung my head and sighed heavily. "No."
"Very well." The EMS workers pushed me out the door and began loading me into the ambulance.
I never looked back at Allyson. I couldn't bring myself to do it because as much as I loved her, I knew what was ahead for me.
And, sadly, it was something I knew I would have to get through alone.