Chapter 6: The Fall
The spring air in Austin carried a different weight. It was warm, thick with the scent of cut grass and blooming mountain laurel, a promise of the brutal summer simmering on the horizon. For Will, it carried the electric crackle of a new routine.
Twice a week, he made the drive to Lake Travis High School. The field was a temple of Texas football, immaculate turf ringed by towering bleachers that could hold thousands. He wasn’t on the payroll yet, just a volunteer “quality control assistant” offered a chance to prove himself. Mostly, he tracked player hydration, filmed drills from the sidelines, and carried a clipboard that felt both ridiculous and sacred in his hands.
He’d swapped his jeans for gym shorts. It was a practical decision; the Lake Travis coaches moved, they demonstrated, they were in constant motion. The first time he’d walked onto the practice field, his prosthetics bare to the world, the hum of anxiety was a live wire in his skull. But the eyes of the coaches and players slid over him, registered the metal and carbon fiber, and snapped right back to the playbook. They cared about what he knew, not how he stood. It was terrifyingly simple.
Today, the offensive coordinator, a grizzled man named Coach Briggs with a voice like gravel, was frustrated with the footwork of the sophomore running backs. “They’re dancing, not driving!” he barked, pacing. He turned, his gaze landing on Will in the bleachers. “McCord. You got decent feet in your day, right?”
A few players glanced over. Will’s throat tightened. “Yes, sir.”
“Get down here. Show these kids a three-step plant and go. Just the feet.”
It wasn’t a question. Will set his clipboard down, the plastic suddenly slick. He walked down the aluminum bleacher steps, the hollow clank of his steps echoing. He could feel Cassy’s absence like a physical void; she had a late seminar, but she’d insisted on coming next time. He was glad she wasn’t here for this.
He positioned himself on the turf, the artificial blades springy under his cleats. He focused on the memory in his hips, his thighs, the ghost of a muscle memory so deep it bypassed the hardware. “It’s not a jump,” he called out, his voice stronger than he felt. “It’s a punch. You plant here,” he stamped his right foot, the impact vibrating up his residual limb, “and you explode forward.” He demonstrated the short, choppy three steps, his movements crisp, his balance perfect. The players watched, their youthful skepticism giving way to focus.
“See? No wasted motion. Now, with a little more burst.” He took a breath, coiled his body, and pushed off for a more powerful repetition.
The failure wasn’t dramatic. There was no scream of tearing metal. It was a dull, internal click, a sudden, profound disconnect between will and action. His right prosthetic knee simply stopped responding, locking at a ninety-degree angle as his momentum carried him forward.
He went down hard. Not a graceful stumble, but a full, uncontrolled pitch onto the turf. The air left his lungs with a soft oof. His clipboard skittered away. For a second, there was only stunned silence, the gargle of a distant sprinkler, the thud of his own heartbeat in his ears.
Then, a laugh bubbled up from his chest. It was a helpless, wheezing sound, born of pure absurdity. He rolled onto his back, staring at the vast blue sky, his malfunctioning leg stuck in the air like a bizarre bug’s limb. He kept laughing, tears prickling the corners of his eyes.
Coach Briggs was the first to move, his weathered face etched with concern. “McCord, you alright? Medic!”
Will held up a hand, still chuckling. “No, sir. I’m fine. It’s just… the hardware quit. Battery maybe. Or just a shitty day.” He slapped the turf with his palm. “The plant foot gave out. Literally.”
A couple of the players grinned, the tension breaking. One of the linemen, a giant kid with a kind face, stepped forward. “Need a hand up, Coach?”
“Yeah. Thanks.” Will let the kid haul him upright. He stood, wobbling slightly on his locked leg. “Well,” he said to the gathered team, shrugging. “That’s why we practice fundamentals. So when your equipment betrays you, your form’s so baked in you don’t eat total shit.” A ripple of laughter went through the group. “Somebody grab my clipboard?”
That evening, the community center room felt like a sanctuary. Will sat in his usual chair near the back, the ghost of the turf burn on his palm. When it was his turn, he didn’t talk about cravings. He told them about the fall.
“So I’m lying on this perfect field, this million-dollar field, with my leg stuck in the air like a damn lawn chair, and I just start laughing,” he said, a real smile on his face. “A year ago, that would have been a two-day bender. The humiliation. The fucking reminder of it all.” He looked around at the familiar, non-judgmental faces. “Today, it was just a thing that happened. A mechanical failure. Not a moral one. I got up. I finished practice. I even made a joke about it.” He paused, letting the truth of it settle in his own bones. “I didn’t think about a drink. I thought about getting home and telling my girlfriend the story.”
The room responded with soft chuckles and nods. Mike, the man with the gentle voice, said, “Sounds like you’re building a life that’s stronger than the fear, Will.”
After the final prayer, Will stepped out into the violet twilight. Cassy was leaning against her car in the parking lot, arms crossed, a smile playing on her lips. She pushed off and walked toward him.
“So,” she said, looping her arm through his. “I hear you took a dramatic dive for the team today.”
“Who told you?”
“Coach Ramirez texted me. Said you ‘handled the adversity with comedic grace.’ He’s very proud.”
Will groaned, laughing. “Of course he did. It was so stupid. One minute I’m demonstrating elite footwork, the next I’m eating field.”
She leaned her head on his shoulder as they walked. “I wish I’d seen it.”
“You do not.”
“I do. I want the full picture. The good drills and the faulty knee locks.” She squeezed his arm. “It’s all part of it.”
They drove to his apartment in a comfortable silence. The place had slowly become theirs. Her plants were on the windowsill, their textbooks permanently intermingled on the table. They were cooking together, a messy, fun process that usually ended with more food on the stove than on their plates.
As they lay in bed later, the glow of the streetlight casting long shadows from the ceiling beams, Cassy traced idle patterns on his chest. Her prosthetic legs were leaning against the wall next to his, two silent, mechanical sentinels.
“My lease is up in July,” she said, her voice casual but with an undercurrent of something careful.
Will’s breath hitched. He knew this was coming, had felt it in the way they orbited each other in the small space, in the quiet dread he felt on the nights she went back to her dorm. “Yeah?”
“Mrs. Henderson in 2B told me the apartment below hers is coming available. It’s a one-bedroom. Bigger than this. Has a dishwasher.”
He turned his head to look at her. Her eyes were wide, watching him in the half-light. “Are you asking me to get a dishwasher with you?”
“I’m asking if you want to stop living in two places and just live in one.” She propped herself up on an elbow. “With me. Officially. Splitting rent, fighting over the thermostat, the whole catastrophic merge.”
The old fear tried to rise—the fear of being seen all the time, of his bad days having a permanent audience, of the eventual strain. But it was a whisper now, drowned out by the memory of the silent, suffocating apartment after she’d walked out. By the sound of her breathing next to him every night. By the pure, simple fact that he was happier, healthier, and more himself with her there.
“It’s going to be messy,” he said.
“Obviously.”
“I snore sometimes. Phantom pains wake me up. I will leave my legs in the middle of the floor.”
“And I will trip over them and swear at you,” she countered, a smile in her voice. “And I hog the covers and my finals week is a state of emergency and I will probably adopt a cat without asking you.”
He reached up, his hand cupping the back of her head, pulling her down for a kiss. It was soft, a seal. “Okay,” he said against her lips.
“Okay?”
“Yeah. Let’s get the apartment. Let’s get the cat. Let’s do the whole thing.”
She kissed him again, deeper this time, her body settling against his with a sigh that felt like homecoming. The future wasn’t a cliff’s edge anymore. It was a threshold, and they were stepping over it together, into the chaotic, beautiful, ordinary mess of what came next. Outside, a warm spring wind rustled the oak leaves, carrying the distant, hopeful scent of rain.