Page 26 of Really Truly Yours
“Nice of you to stop by.”
The toothy, gappy grin takes the wind from my sails. Nice? That’s me. “We brought you some things.”
“That’s what I hear. Didn’t have to do that.”
You can say that again. “Be right back.” Tossed about, I fixate on escape.
Outside, palm propped on the open tailgate, I stare at the boxed window unit. Might as well pencil that surgery in now. And for what? A man, old before his time, who didn’t earn jack squat of my good graces?
The breathing techniques coached into me over the years come in handy. Collected, and thankful no one from the team is watching, I pray my shoulder doesn’t come apart. I grab the box and lift as much as possible from my knees. The peeling door flies open right as I get there.
Sydnee. Always there in a pinch, isn’t she?
As I turn to set it down, I hear Donny gasping behind me. “Put that thing down, son! You’re gonna hurt yourself!”
“He’s a big boy, Donny. He’s fine.”
“His shoulder ain’t fine! Put it down, boy!”
The house shudders when the box thuds to the matted carpet in front of the window.
Donny is correct. My left shoulder is screaming four-letter words it hasn’t since I went out of the game three weeks ago.
Sydnee’s eyes dart between me and Donny, her hands hidden in the tugged-down sleeves. “What’s the problem here?”
She doesn’t know this part?
“We’re trying to keep this boy from having shoulder surgery!” Donny looks distraught. Because me without a hotshot career changes the calculus for his need of me in his life?
Sydnee’s hand pops from the sweater sleeve like a gopher coming out of its hidey hole. It perches on her waist. “Why didn’t you say something, Grayson?”
I shrug, and…oww. “This was my idea in the first place.”
Staring, she finally shakes her head. “Of course I knew you were having problems, but I’m sorry. I temporarily forgot.”
My shoulder throbs. Yep, my own brand of stupidrears its head again.
Whipping around, I yank the old unit’s cord from the wall.
“What do you think you’re doing, Tuff?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” I grip the window near the useless locks.
“Grayson!”
“I’ve got this.” I peer over the unit to make sure there’s nothing outside to be harmed, then muscle the window high enough to loosen the air conditioner. I give it a push.
Amidst a puff of dust, the unit smashes the weeds and grass growing along the rickety foundation. Take that.
The new AC is more streamlined but not lightweight. “You got a pocket knife, Donny?”
“Stop. We’ll get someone else to do this.”
I wiggle my fingers in front of me. “Knife, please.”
Hauling his oxygen with him, Donny lowers himself to the recliner, dropping the final inches in one quick whoosh. Sydnee folds her arms and scowls.
“Fine. I’ll get if myself.”