The doctor’s tone softened. “Look, those are worst case scenarios. And hopefully we’ve caught this in time. You’ve been having brain scans for a year, and you can see the deterioration in your brain, but it hasn’t reached crisis level yet.” The doctor cleared his throat. “But if you carry on playing football, it will. Another concussion could be the end of life as you currently know it.”
Cam had watched the replay of his collision five times since yesterday. It had been brutal, the way they always were. He’d gone up against the wide receiver, both trying to catch the ball, and their helmets had collided in mid-air. Cam’s head had bent back almost ninety degrees, and as he’d suspected, his helmet had flown off in one direction while his body hurled to the ground in the other. He must have been knocked out on impact with the wide receiver, because he hadn’t even put his hands out to brace himself as his body collided with the ground. He’d looked more like a ragdoll than a damn football player.
He still didn’t remember a second of it. Of course, he knew it was himself he was watching, not only from the number on his back and helmet, but from the way he played. He spent half of his life watching his own football games, he could spot his ‘tells’ in an instant.
And yet he didn’t remember a thing. Not from the play being called to waking up on the grass. He didn’t remember going in for the ball, or the sickening thud that must have come from his helmet hitting the wide receiver’s. And that scared him more than the scan of his brain on the screen in front of him. He didn’t want memory loss to be part of his life. Didn’t want to get sudden outbursts of anger like he’d heard from those who suffered from CTE.
He could live with the constant headaches. But not the personality changes.
The problem was, he had no idea how to live without football. It wasn’t just part of his life, it was his life. From the moment he woke up in the morning, until the moment his head hit the pillow at night, it was who he was. It was in the breakfast he ate – nutritious and full of protein – to the morning drills he did at the gym to keep his muscles in peak condition. In the drive he made to Freedom Field every day, and the meetings with the coach to discuss tactics.
It was his social life, too. The team tended to stick together in their off-time, hosting parties and dinners and every other kind of get-together. There was solace in spending time with people who understood your lifestyle.
Heck, he’d probably spent more Thanksgivings with the Bobcats than he had with his own family.
And now, he was going to have to leave all that behind? The thought was giving him palpitations.
“I need to think,” he said, running a palm across his short hair.
“Of course.” The doctor nodded, switching off the screen. “And if you have any questions, call me. I’d like to see you again next week. Make sure you’re healing from this concussion.”
“Yeah.” But Cam’s mind was elsewhere. Somewhere in the middle of the turf on Freedom Field. The place he’d called home for the last almost-decade of his life. Giving the doctor a grim smile, he walked out of the consulting room and into the main lobby, swallowing hard when he saw his assistant, Brian, waiting there for him.
“Everything okay?” Brian asked. He’d been Cam’s PA for the last six years.
Cam blew out a mouthful of air, then nodded, though nothing was okay at all. “Come on,” he said, nodding his head at the exit. “Let’s go home. I need to tell you something.”
“Another orange juice?” Brian asked, pointing at Cam’s empty glass. Cam shook his head and stared down at the remaining orange liquid, running his finger along the rim.
“Nah. I think I’ll head out of here.”
“In the middle of the game? Don’t you want to watch the end?” Brian lowered his voice. “You know they were just trying to fill time when they said the rookie was a breath of fresh air, right? You’ll always be the Bobcats’ star safety. He’s just filling your space until you decide what to do.”
In the week since Cam’s visit to the doctor, he’d had so many meetings his head would be full of wool, if it wasn’t already, thanks to the multiple TBIs he’d suffered from. With the coach, with Marty Landsman, the owner of the Boston Bobcats, with the team’s doctor, and with some of his defensive team mates, too. And he still hadn’t come to any conclusion.
There was still a place for him on the team if he wanted it, Coach had made that much clear. But until he decided one way or the other, Cam needed to take a break and the rookie was going to be played. The guy needed the experience.
“Maybe you could give him some pointers,” Coach had suggested. “He looks up to you.”
Yeah, maybe. But not right now. Because it felt like he was hitting himself in the face a hundred times every moment he didn’t run out onto the turf.
On Friday, before the rest of the team had caught their flight to California, he’d joined them for a party at Dan Motion’s house, to celebrate his fiancée’s birthday. It had been less than a week since he’d played, but there was already a feeling of being an outsider. He hadn’t been able to joke with them about what they’d do in San Francisco on Saturday night, or about the drills Coach had made them run all week. Even when he’d joined in a discussion about the San Francisco team’s weaknesses, he’d felt a pang in his stomach.
Because he wouldn’t be able to take advantage of those weaknesses. Or try to intercept the ball and run it up the field. With every day of indecision he was being inched out, and pushed away from the life he knew.
That’s why he’d suggested to Brian that they watch the game at a bar. He’d only sulk if he was sitting in his leather recliner at home, watching the oversize screen that had been installed the year he’d bought the house on Beacon Hill. So much better to be surrounded by people than to be alone.
“Hey, is that Cam Hartson?” he heard a woman whisper.
“Jesus, it is,” the man next to her agreed. “Hey Cam, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be playing ball?”
A man to his left lifted his head up. “Saw you take that hit last week. Looked painful. You out of the team now?”
Cam curled his fingers into his palm and forced a smile. “Just resting.”
“That rookie though. He’s good. You’re gonna have a battle to get your place back.”
Cam’s muscles tensed.