“I’m afraid the news isn’t great, son.”

No shit.

I don’t look up at the doctor as he slaps my x-ray onto a lighted screen. From my peripheral, I can see he’s pointing, but I don’t need to see it to know it’s broken. I knew it the second it happened.

“You’ve re-broken the fifth metatarsal.”

“How long will I be out? Same recovery time?”

He hesitates, and I grind my teeth impatiently. “This is much more serious. The bones have displaced this time.”

“How long?” I growl, not caring that I sound like an asshole.

“You’ll need surgery. Three months, maybe four until you’re—”

“Three months? The season will be over in three months. My college career will be over in three months.”

His eyes are solemn. “I’m sorry, Wes. I know it’s crap news.”

“What if I don’t have the surgery? I could wear a boot for a few weeks, finish the season and then have the surgery.” It sounds crazy even to my own ears.

“You need the surgery. The bones aren’t sitting properly. Even if you wanted to grin and bear it, this is just going to get worse every time you put pressure on the foot. You aren’t going to be able to play competitively with this type of injury until you’ve had the surgery and healed properly. I’m sorry.”

The doctor leaves and a nurse comes in to get my signature on a stack of papers. I sign them without reading the fine print. What the hell could it possibly say that would make this any worse?

Coach steps in as they prep me for surgery. I’ve taken off my jersey for the last time, and it sits awkwardly between us in a clear plastic bag. He shuffles from one foot to the other. It’s obvious he has no idea what to say, but I’m glad he doesn’t try to pacify me with words of hope and encouragement. We’re two quiet men, each stewing with his own version of this nightmare.

“The team is out in the waiting room.”

“I don’t want to see anyone right now.”

“I figured as much, but I wanted you to know they’re here just the same. There’s a pretty brunette out there pacing the floor too. That the girlfriend?”

Blair.

I nod.

“She has the stubborn look of a woman who isn’t leaving until she sees you.”

“That sounds like her.” A small smile cracks and then falls. “Tell her to go home. Tell all of them to go home. They aren’t doing me any favors by being here. I just want to be alone.”

“I’ll tell them,” he says and backs out of the room, stopping with one foot in and one foot out. “Won’t be responsible for kicking anyone out who doesn’t want to go, but I’ll tell them.”

As his steps echo down the hall, I lie back and close my eyes. I embrace the pain. I’d embrace it every day if it meant I could keep playing and see this season through.

I can’t think about what’s next or what tomorrow will bring . . . what I’ll say to those people in the waiting room. My request may scare off some of my teammates, but I know when I wake up, Coach, my roommates, and Blair will be waiting for me. Waiting to reassure me and pamper me. I don’t want any of it. I want to crawl into a hole and fixate until I’ve come up with a plan to rewind time or gain another year of college eligibility with Z.

This was our year.

It was our fucking year.

I crack one eye open, then the other. Reflexively, I close them both. The light in the room makes the fog in my head swim. There’s movement beside me and then her touch. I’d recognize it anywhere—even drugged and pissed at the world, apparently.

“What are you wearing?”

“What?” Her voice is shaky and quiet like she’s talking to an invalid. Guess that’s me.

“I asked what are you wearing? Leather skirt maybe, halter top, sexy nurse? Give me a visual.”

“Jeans and your jersey,” she says with a hint of humor in her voice. “I’m sorry I’m not dressed like a puppet from your teenage wet dreams.”

I peek out at her beautiful face and let my eyes wander to the jersey she wears, the one I’ll never put on again. I close my eyes to squeeze away the pain. “I’m pretty sure my teenage wet dreams always included chicks wearing my jersey.”

I joke with her, even though I don’t feel like being funny. I’d really like to send her away and drown in misery, but I think I’m more likely to get her to leave if I pretend I’m okay instead of a man who has lost a piece of his soul.

I open both eyes slowly, letting them adjust to the light and finding her face. Looking at her heals and breaks me. I’ll never be the same, and whoever I was when she met me? He’s gone. Maybe she knows it, maybe she doesn’t. Her eyes give nothing away as she tries a hesitant smile.

Regardless of how I’ve changed, I still want her. She’s maybe the only thing I’ve ever been certain about besides basketball. But even as I realize this, I know my actions won’t back up my feelings. Sometimes, we make bad decisions not because we aren’t aware but because it feels good to cause pain. That’s how I feel as I plan to break her heart and mine.

“Shouldn’t you be in Succulent Hill by now?”

“I wanted to see you before I left.”

I raise my arms to the side. “You saw me.”

Her hands go to her hips. “You didn’t really expect me to go without checking on you first, did you?”

I hadn’t. Hoped, maybe, but I knew she’d be here.

“Go, be with your family. My parents are on their way, and I’m heading to Kansas with them.”

“You are?”

I can tell she didn’t anticipate this. I wasn’t supposed to leave Arizona until the week of Christmas. What the hell did she think I was going to do? Ride along with the team? Roll myself in a wheelchair to the games? Sit on the fucking sidelines and have everyone look at me with pity? Yeah, no thanks.

“But what about . . .” She fidgets with the bracelet on her arm. The one that matches mine.

“I’m out for the rest of the season, Blair. I’m done.” The words physically hurt. I don’t feel done. I haven’t finished what I set out to do. I’ve failed them. Failed Z. It’s his last season too, and what if he doesn’t get drafted because I couldn’t get him the ball? I owe him my whole college career and I’ve failed him.

She nods. Everyone seems to be doing that a lot lately. Silent bobbleheads, unsure of what to say. “I could stay until you leave. I’m just going to be sitting around by myself. Both my parents are working next week.”

She sure as shit is not making this easy.

“Nah, go. I just want to be alone. Finally catch up on sleep and all that.”

She bites her lip, clearly torn between making a stand to stay and honoring my wishes. Reaching into her purse, she pulls out a box wrapped in red-and-white stripes with a huge green bow on top. “Merry Christmas, Wes.”

She pushes the present into my hands and I open my mouth to speak. “I—”

She cuts me off. “It’s okay. I wasn’t expecting anything.”

What I’d been about to say was that I’d left her present at the house where we’d planned to say goodbye before the break. I lift the box, shaking it gently like I’m trying to guess what it is. She doesn’t smile. She’s no longer fooled by my playful charades. She sees through me. Sees me. Always has. I wonder what she sees now, a broken man?

“Merry Christmas, Blair.”