Page 221 of The Sweetest Return

“You've always been good at telling everybody what they need to fix.”

I gave him a look.

“Am I lying?”

“You enjoying yourself?”

“A little.”

“I’m trying to have a serious conversation.”

“So am I. You been seeing the field since you were a boy. Used to come home from practice correcting grown men's footwork like they had hired you.”

“I was right.”

“Made you right and annoying at the same time.”

My mouth almost moved.

“But you were good at teaching,” he continued. “You showed people. Walked it through. Stayed until it made sense. You didn't just bark and leave.”

His eyes held mine.

“Seems simple from here.”

I looked down at the table.

“I’m afraid of failing.”

Pops didn't move.

There it was.

Ugly and honest enough that I couldn't take it back.

“I know football. I know what those backs are missing. But playing at that level and teaching it ain't the same thing. If I walk back into that building and can't help them, everybody will know.”

“You survived everybody knowing before.”

“My body failed me before.”

His expression changed.

I looked down at my hands.

“I did everything right. Rehab. Treatment. Strength. Recovery. Came back every time they told me I had a chance. And my body was still done before I was.” My voice lowered. “Maybe I don't trust myself going back into that building with another job that depends on me being useful.”

A truck beeped outside as it backed through the yard.

Work kept moving.

Pops looked at me for a long time.

“That knee did not fail you.”

My jaw tightened.

“It ended something,” he said. “That is not the same.”