Danny gets home late. The kids and grandparents are all asleep, but I had to wait up for him. He took a big hit in the second half of the game today. They were up by two touchdowns at the time, so their new rookie quarterback was able to finish up for him and still come out of it with a win.
“How are you feeling?” I ask him when he comes through the garage door.
“I’ll be fine,” he responds, seemingly on autopilot. And it makes me wonder if that’s what he said to Lori after games like this.
I stand up, take his bag, and gently press my lips against his.
“I’m going to ask you again,” I say. “How are you feeling?”
He studies my face. “You really want to know, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do. The announcers speculated you would undergo concussion protocol and had a possible shoulder injury.”
“I am fine,” he says with a little smirk. “I don’t have a concussion, but I am exhausted and do have an acromioclavicular joint injury. Nothing a good, long soak in my new bathtub won’t cure. Especially if it’s with you.”
“The tub is big enough for two,” I say, pretending to need convincing.
He nods his head toward his room, and I eagerly follow.
When we get in his bathroom, he locks his door and then says, “Would you mind starting the water while I unpack?”
I drop his bag on the closet floor. “We can unpack tomorrow. And you should know that I didn’t come in here with you, looking for sex. I’m really concerned. Please, talk to me. I have no idea what a acro-whatever is.”
“I’ll explain in the tub,” he says. “But I might need you to help me take my shirt off first.”
“That I can do,” I reply with a grin.
Once his clothes are off and he is situated in the warm water, I perch on the edge of the tub. “Okay, tell me.”
He shakes his head. “Not until you get in.”
“I don’t know what hurts, Danny!” I say, frustrated.
“As the announcers suggested, I have a shoulder injury. Everything else on me is working just fine.”
I let out a little huff, strip, and get in the tub, but I sit on the opposite side, facing him.
He slides a hand up my leg and smiles. “I feel a thousand times better already. To answer your question, an acromioclavicular, or AC, joint injury is the medical way to say I have a shoulder separation.”
“Is that like when you dislocate it?”
“No. The AC joint sits on top of your shoulder between your collarbone and your shoulder blade,” he says, pointing to his own. “The AC joint allows the arm to make both overhead and cross-body movements.”
“Like throwing the ball?”
“Exactly. There are a bunch of ligaments that stabilize the joint. When I fell on my outstretched arm, the force caused the ligaments to overstretch, and they were damaged in the process.”
“Does that mean you need, like, surgery to fix them?”
“Have you ever sprained your ankle?”
“Yes.”
“You know how they can vary from a mild sprain to a bad one?”
“Yes. I’ve had them before. Once, they told me the sprain was so bad that it would have healed faster had it been broken. I was in a boot for months.”
“Same thing. The ligament damage can vary from a mild strain to a complete tear.”
I lean closer to him, inspecting his shoulder. “It is bruised and looks swollen.”
He responds by kissing my neck. “I had it X-rayed in the locker room. No bone fractures. There’s swelling but no bump at the tip of my shoulder, which would mean a grade three or more severe injury. It’s probably between a one and a two. And, like a sprained ankle, it will start to feel better within a few days. They will reassess it tomorrow, so when I come home with it taped or in a sling, don’t freak out. I’m fine, I promise. And I’ll be fine to play next Sunday.”
“Okay, but—” I manage to get out before he uses his good arm to pull me onto his lap and back to his lips.
“No more talking,” he says. “We need to focus on healing. And that starts with me inside you.”
“I didn’t realize that,” I say jokingly as I nip at his neck. “But I’m all for doing anything that might help you win another ring.”
“Stay with me tonight,” he says.
We’ve moved from the tub to the bed, and I’ve thoroughly enjoyed helping make him feel better.
“I suppose I could set the alarm and sneak home early.” I love lying here in his arms. “Plus, I’m dying to tell you about my day.”
“Oh boy.” He laughs. “Did my parents horribly embarrass me?”
“Not at all. When I was a kid, Thanksgiving was just another reason for my father to drink. He hated having to go to my grandparents’ house for dinner because he thought it was too formal. I used to love the pomp and circumstance of it, though. Grandma always used her pretty china and let me help her light the candles on the table. I remember sitting up straight, using my best manners, and feeling so very grown-up. When she passed away, all the family traditions seemed to fall apart. My holidays in LA were often spent with friends, trying to create new ones that never quite felt the same to me. When I was with Troy, we didn’t even bother trying, usually choosing to vacation instead. But, today, it was all about tradition and family, and I know the weekend will hold more of the same. I got to know your parents and truly enjoy their company. Your mom taught me to make her French toast, which will get baked tomorrow morning.”
“It’s a holiday tradition at my house,” he says. “She’s made it every Thanksgiving and Christmas morning since I can remember. She’s tried a few times to change it, but Dad and I revolt. It’s too good.”
“She told me that, too. And you should know, Danny, I’ve fallen in love with your family just like I fell in love with you. Your parents, your kids, your friends, your adorable puppy. I’m completely smitten.”
He snuggles me into his chest, wraps an arm around me, kisses the top of my head, and is quickly asleep.
I let out a content sigh, close my eyes, and dream of our future together.
