Chapter 2
Lincoln balled his fists, fighting through the wave of pain. He refused the pain pills. Not because he feared being one of the old timers who hung around their local stadiums, grasping onto their glory days while they popped pills or drank themselves into oblivion. No. It was because he hated to admit his life was over. Without football, he was nothing. No job skills, no back up plan, no family to rely on. Sure, his team mates and most of the Buffalo coaching staff had stopped by over the last few weeks. But with them losing play offs, and now, all heading home for the off season, he couldn’t expect them to be there every day. It was just as well. He didn’t like anyone seeing him this way. All washed up, useless, with metal holding his hip together and a dark, dreary life ahead of him.
Part of him wished he had died on the operating table. The psychologist had a field day with that one. Depression, she’d called it. And physical therapy? For what? But of course, the shrink wanted to know why he wouldn’t go. Had gone on for hours about what a normal life he could have. Mentioned things he could do, that still kept him involved in football. But his normal life was on the field. And without that, he just didn’t care.
A knock on the door pulled him from the sad thoughts he kept rolling through his mind.
“Hey, do you mind?” The man asked, entering his room. Holding out a hand to Lincoln, he introduced himself, though Linc didn’t need an introduction to this guy. Probably no one in the free world would. “I’m Alex D-“
“Dare. Yeah. I know.” Lincoln’s voice came out harsher than he wanted. That seemed to be the habit lately, snapping at nurses and doctors, being short tempered with well-wishing friends that stopped by. He shook hands and then turned to look out the window.
“Well, I know who you are, too. Impressive career, Mr. Marshall. I’ve followed your playing.”
“Linc.”
“I’m sorry?”
He turned back to the visitor. “Just call me Linc. What do you want?”
“Oh, well, just call me Alex.” Dare slid the visitor chair over next to the bed. Lincoln wanted to smile, get excited. Until he got hurt, Alex Dare had been a football god. Just like himself. But his sour mood refused to lift, so he grimaced.
“I wanted to stop and say hi. You’re in my city. The least I can do is visit a player I’ve enjoyed watching. And, well, since I’m so famous,” he laughed, watching Lincoln closely, “it wasn’t hard to convince the nurses to let me in.” They sat quietly, as Lincoln just watched this man he idolized.
Finally, he broke the silence. “I’m guessing there’s another reason?”
Laughing again, Alex nodded. “A couple. First, my wife, Madison, is a fan. So, I promised her an autograph.” He slid a photo of Lincoln from his Super Bowl win with the Atlanta Arrowheads in front of him. Taking the offered marker in a shaky hand, Linc quickly scribbled his name, dropping the writing utensil on the bed table. He flexed his fingers, trying to ease the pain.
“You know,” Alex said, taking the photo, “physical therapy would help with that. I hear you’re not taking the pain meds, I get it, but therapy will help ease the pain and stress in your muscles, help you recover.”
Lincoln just stared. He knew Dare was right, that he’d had been through this already as well. But Lincoln didn’t want to give in. He was starting to forget why though. Why wasn’t he going?
Lincoln shook his head, and stared toward the window again.
“Look, man, I get it. There’s nothing to life without football, right? I felt the same way. It took my family and Madison to make me realize, there is more. We are in a position to do good. You and me, we’re legends. We’re players that have status, and those younger guys look up to us. There’s still plenty of opportunity for you to stay in the game.” Lincoln turned to Alex. He was right, to some extent. It just still burned his ass, that he was taken out of the game. “I work with players, to make sure they are financially sound. You could do that, you could help them have a Plan B to fall back on, in case they end up in this position.”
Linc sighed. “I know. I just…this isn’t…I don’t know.” He searched for the right words. He felt emasculated. Like less of a man, admitting this to another player. Someone as well-known as Alex Dare. “This isn’t what I thought my life would be. I don’t know who I am if I can’t play. I mean, I knew the risks. Every time I walked out there, I knew it could be the last time, but knowing it and having it happen…it’s just…”
“Just a shock. I’ve been there, it’s hard. Look, you don’t have to have all the answers now. Take things a day at a time. Focus on recovery first. Get out of this hospital. Then, worry about the rest.”
Lincoln nodded. Alex was right, and he knew it.
“Mr. Marshall, time for physical therapy.” A nurse entered the room, pushing a wheelchair ahead of her. Lincoln scoffed at it. “Are we going today?” The nurse and Alex stared at him, waiting on the answer. He slowly nodded, tossing back the sheet.
He winced, adjusting the leg of his pants one of the guys had brought for him. The pain in his hip was almost unbearable.
“And you’re going to want some sort of pain meds, you don’t have to do the strong stuff, but at least some Ibuprofen. The pain will drive you mad. Again, speaking from experience,” Alex told him.
Lincoln nodded, as Alex and the nurse helped him into the chair.
“I got this,” Alex said from behind the chair.
The nurse backed up, smiling. The damn Dare’s, Lincoln shook his head. He knew of the family. A bunch of charming, rich, people who were apparently good at talking people into things. “I have to say goodbye to someone anyway.” The chair moved down the hallway, towards the elevators. Neither man spoke, Lincoln contemplating his bleak future. Dare was right. One day at a time. He would recover and then figure out the rest. The league was covering his medical expenses. He had money in the bank and a paid off mortgage. He had time to think things over. The elevator dinged, as the doors slid open, and Lincoln accepted his fate. Sucking in air, he sighed it out.
Time to show everyone that Lincoln Marshall wasn’t a quitter.