GRAYSON

"The infamous Nessa!"

I dragged my hand over my face as Dr. Martinez slid into the small exam room. She was going to embarrass me, wasn't she? If that was her mission today, I was doomed. That big brain of hers housed an infinite amount of ammo she could deploy to make me turn red in the cheeks.

But it wasn't me who was turning red. Not yet, anyway. A light blush spread over Nessa's face as the two women shook hands. She probably didn't realize how much attention she was going to get at this visit.

My moms had decided to stay home today. They were present the first time Dr. Martinez had gone over my options, and while they weren't happy with my decision, she had put them at ease like she was usually able to do.

I didn't miss how Grace and Lillian were whispering with Nessa in the kitchen this morning, though. It couldn't be more evident that they were all on a team against me.

"I promise you that I'm not the least bit famous or important," Nessa said, tucking into herself as she sat in the chair beside me. Always making herself smaller than she really was.

Dr. Martinez waved her comment away. "You are around here. There are at least five nurses who would die to meet you after taking care of this one for a month." She jabbed a finger toward me, and I braced myself for the embarrassing parts. "Wouldn't shut up about you."

"Longest fucking month of my life," I said, grabbing Nessa's hand and giving it a squeeze.

She shook her head, eyes shining as she glanced over at me. "You're so...."

"Ridiculous?"

Nessa paused, like she had been considering a different word. Dare I say...a nicer word. But then she eventually settled with, "Very."

My doctor—my Ph.D. toting, nationally renowned doctor—snorted. "That's one way to put it. I was ready to cuff him to his bed because he kept threatening to leave before he was cleared and go find you." She mumbled something else under her breath, and I was pretty sure it was stupid would be a better word.

"Harsh, doc. Harsh."

She sighed. "In this field, you learn pretty quickly who leads with their head and who leads with their heart." A glance at Nessa. "For this conversation, you'll need to use both."

Nessa sat up primly in her chair and gave a distinct nod. I could see in every inch of her body that she came prepared for battle.

"So let's talk about your man, huh?"

I flicked away the deep satisfaction of being labeled Nessa's man and tried to focus. But Dr. Martinez didn't even look at me. She sat on her little swivel stool wheeled toward my girlfriend.

"I don't know if Grayson told you, but we've known each other a very long time," she said.

"Since birth," I added.

Nessa looked surprised to hear that, her eyes assessing Dr. Martinez's youthful face and black, thick hair that didn't contain a single gray hair. Sure, she could dye it. But even then, she didn't look like she was old enough to have grown up with a rotary phone.

"Grayson said that he had surgery when he was a baby. Did you..." Nessa drifted off as Dr. Martinez began to shake her head.

I tensed, knowing what was coming. Nessa was about to realize just how many opportunities I had to tell her about my heart and just how many times I had skipped over it.

"Dr. Wilder, my attending and the best damn mentor I ever had...He was the one who recognized Grayson's symptoms before anyone else. He completed the initial procedure when Grayson was only a few months old."

I felt Nessa's eyes shift to me, and I couldn't bring myself to look back at her.

Every single time she called me Wilder. I could have told her any single one of those times. But I always chickened out. Nessa had spent enough time looking for my flaws. I didn't need to go pointing out my biggest one of all.

I tried not to tell people what my middle name was. Because I tried not to tell them about my heart.

Digging in my pocket, I pulled out my wallet, figuring it would give me a minute to get my shit together. Tucked behind my license was a folded picture that I'd carried with me since I was old enough to bother with having a wallet instead of rolled-up money with a rubber band.

"Here," I said as I placed the picture in Nessa's hand.

Her hand slipped over her mouth as she realized what it was.

Dressed in scrubs, a tall man with silvery-white hair held a baby. A baby with gray eyes and wild chestnut hair and all wrapped up in a yellow blanket.

"Look at you," she cooed, touching the picture with a single fingertip.

"My moms adored Dr. Wilder." I cleared my throat. "He passed suddenly not long after that picture was taken."

"Oh."

Nessa's eyes drooped, telling me she was genuinely sorry to hear that. She gave the picture one last long look before handing it back to me. Our eyes finally met, and I didn't see the frustration or disappointment I expected to see in her gaze. It was more like a sad enlightenment. Like she'd finally put the last piece into a puzzle.

"So football," Dr. Martinez cut in. "I hear that's what we are here to talk about today." She turned to the desktop computer, commencing a round of clicking that echoed in the exam room. "Let me just pull up Gray's latest lab work."

I nodded. "I wanted to follow up on the plan we talked about, and I wanted Nessa to be here, too."

"Let me guess," Dr. Martinez said, still looking at my chart above the rim of her glasses. "She doesn't want you to play."

"No," Nessa said crisply. Clearly. "I do not."

A chuckle came from the doctor.

"I don't blame you for being concerned. And if he were going to continue his warfarin, it wouldn't even be an option. That's more of the concern than his actual heart. Contact-sports and blood thinners don't mix."

She gave me a pointed look as if I planned to go out and start practice today with all those anticoagulants running through my veins. I threw my hands up to assure her that wasn't my intent, and she looked back at the computer. "But given his progress, I was able to offer him another choice, like an intermittent dosing strategy that's been proven effective for elite athletes. We could also look into switching to a low-dose aspirin regimen."

"And it's safe?"

There was a pause, and I wanted to kick Martinez for taking so long to answer.

"It's safer," she finally said.

Nessa's expression told me she didn't like that answer.

Was it wrong that I loved how much she cared at all?

"I'm not going to deny that there's a risk. There's always going to be a risk in playing a sport like football, even without the health conditions that he does. And I've talked to Grayson extensively—

"Extensively."

"—about it over the years. But unfortunately for you..." She looked at Nessa, amused sympathy in how she did it. "He's really good. He's a really good football player. Not very many other players in the league racked up 1,800 receiving yards last season."

"Aw, glad to know you're keeping up on my stats, doc."

"My pride and joy right here." She said it sardonically, but I knew it was sincere in part.

I laughed, but the entertained grin on Dr. Martinez's face quickly faded. "What I'm saying is that the two of you will need to talk about what it would mean for him to play. And for him not to play. It's not really just a game. It will change the trajectory of his life. And yours."

Nessa fiddled with the zipper on her purse, and I jumped in.

"Hey, don't scare her off. Took me long enough to get her to stay."

Luckily, beyond the slight fidgeting, Nessa didn't move a muscle. But it was a lot of information to absorb, from the options Dr. Martinez had given for my medications to the insinuation that my future was going to be tied to hers, and I leaned forward, thinking we'd better wrap it up before it became too much.

But she surprised me, squaring her shoulders.

"Shush, Grayson. I'm not going anywhere." She turned to Dr. Martinez. "I'd like to learn more about coarctation of the aorta. Is there a risk that it will return again?"

"Always a risk, but the re-narrowing of the aorta is most commonly seen in patients who had the reparative surgery when they were infants. Like Grayson. Now that he's had the surgery as an adult..." She gave a little shrug. "We'll need to keep a close eye on his blood pressure and he's going to document any and all possible symptoms—" A glare at me. "—but it would be rare for it to return again."

Nessa appeared to be mulling that over. "The alternative anticoagulation treatment," she said. "And the surgery that was performed on him in the spring...do you have any resources I could take home about those?"

There was a slight twitch in Dr. Martinez's lips as she glanced at me.

"I bet your moms love her."

I smiled.

"They do."

****

A week later and Nessa was still pouring over the pamphlets that Dr. Martinez gave her. Tonight she sat in a recliner chair in the corner of my new living room, tapping her pen against her cheek as she read through an article on intermittent dosing strategy for anticoagulation.

"I can't believe the fate of our season rests in the hands of that tiny brunette," Julian's gruff voice spoke into my ear, and I tried not to laugh.

Living with him and his little side comments were going to be a big change from last year, but it would be worth it. I had my own room, my own bathroom, and live-in friends that didn't bring the drama that Brodie did. Not that any of that was really Brodie's fault. He was taking the semester off, and I hoped he would come back in the spring in a better place.

"You guys will do just fine without me if I don't play."

Julian walked over to the other side of the living room, giving me a look that said he didn't believe me.

"I can hear you," Nessa said, tapping her pen even faster. "And guilt-tripping him into playing isn't going to work."

I grimaced. Regardless of what I'd just said to Julian, she was wrong about that. Of course I didn't want to let my teammates down. And Jules knew that.

But he wasn't totally on my side.

"I'll keep his ass from overworking, Nessa. I just need him to look pretty in the endzone like once or twice a game and catch some passes."

Nessa smiled without looking up. Despite the August weather, she was curled up in a huge blanket with the window air conditioner blowing on her. "He's good at looking pretty."

I groaned. "You two together are the worst. If I'm going to play, I'm going to play."

Scowling, Nessa finally lifted her head.

"Everett," Jules snapped. His eyes bugged out of his head. "It's called a compromise, man," he said through gritted teeth, giving Nessa a cautious side-eye.

"You should listen to him," she hummed before going back to her reading.

We'd spent a long time talking the other night, and God, I loved Nessa, but she asked a lot of questions. Did I want to play for the pros? Did I want to be a music teacher? How was my physical therapy going? My hand-eye coordination? My stress-level?

If I didn't know any better, I'd say that my moms had texted her the questions themselves.

Fuck. The problem was that I didn't really know what I wanted to do in the future. Football and music had always been my passions in equal parts. But I did know one thing: I wanted her. At the end of the day, if she drew a line in the sand and on one side was Nessa Elez and the other side was football, I'd pick her every time.

But she didn't do that. At least she was trying really hard not to do that. I supposed I could try not to draw a line in the sand, too.

"Fine. I guess there could be some concessions with my playing time and my training. As long as coach agrees."

"Oh, he'll agree."

I snorted. "You gonna talk to him, then?"

Julian laughed. "No, I'm gonna stick your girlfriend on him."

Nessa finally put the pile of papers down on the table next to her. She grinned, mischief clear in the pull of her lips. "Gladly."

Leaning against the wall on the other side of the living room, I lifted a finger and motioned for her to get her ass over to me. "Come here."

She stood, crossing the space with a cocked head, wanting to know what I wanted. All I wanted was a kiss, though. Well, and I had something to give her.

"Yes?"

I moved my other hand out from behind my back. "This is for you."

She looked down to see me holding out one of my jerseys. Gold and blue with Everett stamped across the back. Number 54.

"No matter how much I play this season, this is still yours," I said.

I hadn't meant to do it as a way to convince her one way or the other. But as Nessa made a little sniffing noise and bit her lip, taking my jersey and holding it tight in her arms like it was a teddy bear, I knew that this was the moment she was giving in.

"You better be fucking careful," she said eventually.

"Always, baby. Always."

💗

On my IG story I asked who you thought was going to win this debate about football... nessa or gray.
nessa was by far the winner-
which didn't surprise me at all.
we will see what happens!

pls note the disclaimer that while I do have some experience with anticoagulation treatments, I am not a doctor nor do I have medical expertise on heart conditions so I could have made errors lol
Thanks for reading!
xoxo amelie