Elio-

The soccer field is a blur of green and white under the afternoon sun. My teammates are shouting, the sound of the referee’s whistle piercing through the noise. I’m out here, but my mind is somewhere else, tangled up in the argument Max and I had before the game. It feels like I’m just going through the motions, not fully present.

I try to focus on the game, but I look over at the sidelines. I see Mom,Dad, and Gia sitting in their usual spot. Mom clapping, Dad leaning forward in his seat, and Gia is bouncing up and down, cheering loudly wearing an old jersey of mine. 

The ball comes to me, and I instinctively move to intercept it. And then, out of nowhere, an opposing player fouls me and fouls me hard. I hear my right knee make a sharp, cracking pop. The pain is immediate, radiating through my entire leg. My vision blurs, and I stumble, clutching my knee as I collapse onto the field.

I grasp, trying to push myself up, but my knee gives away beneath me. The pain is blinding, shooting up my leg and making it impossible to think straight. I reach down, my hand trembling as I feel the area around my knee. It’s already starting to swell, and I can barely put any pressure on it without feeling like something’s tearing inside. 

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, gritting my teeth as I try to stand. But the moment I put weight on my leg, it buckles, and I go down again. I can hear the referee’s whistle blowing, the game stopping as he holds up a red card. The other team takes a knee on the sideline and the player that fouled me is getting a talking to from his coach. My teammates make their way to the sideline except for our captain Ben and a couple others who are standing a few feet away. 

“Elio!” I hear mom’s voice cutting through the noise. I glance toward the stands and see my parents and Gia, their faces tight with worry as they start to move toward the field. 

My coach rushes over, kneeling beside me. “Elio, what happened? Can you stand?”

I shake my head, trying to keep my voice steady. “My knee…I think I heard it pop. It hurts like hell.”

He nods, his face grim as he signals for the team medic. “Don’t try to move. We’ll get you off the field.”

As they help me up, the throbbing is intense, and I’m biting back the urge to cry out from the pain. My mind is racing- how bad is this? What if my season is over?

My parents and Gia reach the sidelines as I’m being helped onto the bench. 

“Elio, are you okay?” Mom asks. 

“I…I don’t know,” I admit. “It hurts really bad.”

Dad crouches in front of me, his hand on my shoulder. “We’re going to get you checked out right away, okay? Don’t worry about anything else.”

I nod, but the worry is already there. As the medic starts examining my knee, I try to focus on something else. I catch Gia’s eye, and she gives me a small, worried smile. I manage to return it, but inside, I’m feeling anything but brave. I just want this day to be over.

The hospital room is quiet. I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, my leg is propped up with pillows and in a brace with ice packs wrapped around it. A dull ache throbbing in my knee despite the pain meds. Mom is pacing the floor while Dad flips through a magazine. Gia is in the corner looking out the window. We’re waiting- waiting for the results. 

The door to the room creaks open, and I look up, expecting to see a nurse or the doctor. Instead, it’s Max. The sight of him makes my heart skip a beat, but there’s still a tension between us, still lingering from the argument we had before the game. I don’t even remember exactly what we were fighting about-something stupid, no doubt-but it doesn’t matter now. 

Max hesitates in the doorway, his eyes locking into mine. His hair is messier than usual like he’s been running his hands through it. Without a word, he steps inside, closing the door softly behind him.

“Elio,” he says, his voice low and careful, like he’s testing the waters.

“Max,” I reply, my voice cracking slightly. I’m trying to sound casual, but it’s hard to hide the mix of emotions swirling inside me-relief he is here, guilt for how we left things, and of course me knee. 

He walks over to the bed, his eyes flickering to my leg before coming back to my face. There’s a tightness around his mouth, the kind he gets when he is worried but trying not to show it. “How are you feeling?”

Max nods, slipping his hands into his hoodie pocket like he is unsure what to do with them. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when it happened. I got here as soon as I could.”

I shake my head. “It’s okay. You’re here now.”

Max pulls up a chair and sits down beside the bed, close but too close, like he is gauging where we stand.

“I was worried,” he admits after a moment, his voice softer now. “When they told me you got hurt…I just thought about our fight and how stupid it was.”

“Yeah,” I say. “It was stupid.”

We both fall quiet, the tension between us slowly starting to ease. Max reaches out, his hand hovering for a second before he gently takes mine. The warmth of his touch is comforting.

“I’m really sorry,” he says, his eyes meeting mine with a sincerity that makes my chest tighten. “For the fight, for not being there when you needed me. I should’ve been there.”

“I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have let it get to me like that. I’ve just been stressed, and I took it out on you.”

Max shakes his head. “No, it's not your fault. We’re just both under a lot of pressure. But I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to.”

“Thanks, Max.”

We sit in silence for a while, just holding hands. Just then, the door opens, and a doctor walks in. Everyone goes quiet as we all turn to face him. I feel Max’s grip on my hand tighten. I can’t tell if it’s to comfort me or himself-maybe both.

Dr. Patel, the orthopedic specialist, gives us a nod before glancing down at the folder. He takes a deep breath, and that’s when I know it's bad. 

“Elio,” he begins, his tone gentle but serious. “We’ve reviewed your MRI and x-rays, and I’m afraid the news isn't what we were hoping for.”

My stomach drops. I can feel the anxiety rolling off my parents and Gia, who’s sitting up straighter now. Max is holding his breath beside me.

“What is it, Doctor?” my dad asks.

Dr. Patel looks directly at me, his expression kind but unflinchingly honest. “Elio, you’ve have a complete tear of your anterior cruciate ligament-your ACL. It’s a significant injury that will require surgery to repair.”

A torn ACL? I’ve heard about this kind of injury-people out for months, sometimes longer. 

“That’s not all,” Dr. Patel continues, and I can barely process that there's more. “In addition to the ACL tear, you also have a meniscus tear. The meniscus is the cartilage in your knee that acts as a cushion between your thigh bone and shinbone. This, too, might require surgical intervention.”

I’m stunned, my mind reeling with the implications of what he just said. Surgery, months or possibly a year of recovery, physical therapy. My soccer season is over. Maybe even my next season. I glance over at my parents, mom and dad are nodding their heads and I can see them thinking of questions to ask the doctor. Gia is now standing closer to the bed looking between me and the doctor. 

“How long will the recovery be?” I manage to ask.

Dr. Patel gives me a sympathetic look. “The recovery time could be anywhere from six to nine months, sometimes longer depending on how well your body heals and how dedicated you are to physical therapy.”

Max squeezes my hand again, bringing me back to the moment. I look at him, and he’s watching me. “We’ll get through this, Elio,” he says, quietly. “I’m here to help.”

Dr. Patel gives me a moment to process before continuing. “I know this is a lot to take in, and it’s not the news any of us wanted. But with the right treatment and rehabilitation, you can make a full recovery. You’re young and healthy, and that’s in your favor.”

“What happens next?” My mom asks. 

“We’ll need to schedule the surgery as soon as possible,” Dr. Patel replies. “The sooner we can repair the damage, the better chances for a full recovery. After surgery, we’ll start you on a rehabilitation program specifically designed for athletes.”

I nod, trying to wrap my head around surgery and rehab.

“Elio, I know this is hard,” Dr. Patel says, his tone gentle. “But it’s going to be okay, the surgeons will keep you safe and you’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” I finally say. “Let’s do this.”

Dr. Patel gives me a nod and hands a packet of what I guess is instructions to Mom and then turns to leave the room. I squeeze Max’s hand again, and this time he leans in closer, his presence comforting.