DEACON
"Good morning, Noah. How're you feeling?"
I gazed up at my surgeon, who looked far too chipper and awake for so early on a Tuesday morning. Then again, maybe alertness and optimism were traits one wanted in the guy who was about to cut into one's leg.
"Ready to get this over with," I answered him. "I traveled with the team this weekend to watch my teammates play against Atlanta. I made the trip just to sit on the sidelines and watch them lose when I knew I could've helped to change that outcome. I don't want to do that again."
The doctor frowned. "You know I'm not making any promises about you playing again, Noah. No doctor in his right mind would. Let's get past this procedure, see how you heal . . . and then we'll talk."
I rolled my eyes. "Please, doc, enough with the flow
