Free Between Now & Never by Laura Johnston

know what I wanted to tell him in the first place?
    Lizzy’s face pops up, inches away. “Hey, Cody!”
    I wince, my head aching with every sound.
    I’m in a hospital; that much I can tell. I scour my memory, starting at the present and scaling back. Lizzy’s face, Dad, Rachel’s and Mom’s voices, the splitting pain, the bright light, running in the rain with Jimmy—a dream—and then . . . nothing.
    My head throbs as I throw a glance around the room. “What happened?”
    Rachel’s eyes roll upward and then settle on my mom.
    Mom pats my hand. “Oh, here we go again. Honey, you were hit by a car.”
    “What?” I say, blown away. “In the Vette?”
    “The Corvette is fine,” Dad says and heaves a deep breath. “You were walking when the car hit you. In a dust storm.”
    I take it they’ve explained this to me before. But this is news to me.
    “A dust storm ?”
    “Mm-hm.”
    “When?”
    “Last night,” Dad says.
    I take a deep breath myself and let it out, my shoulder pinching with pain, my head aching anew, my leg hurting the worst of all. I take in the sight: the splint around my shin. My swollen leg.
    “Ah, shiz.”
    “Cody!” Mom exclaims, never one for foul language.
    “He said shiz, Mom.” Rachel comes to my defense.
    My heart rate flips into high gear as all I can think of is basketball.
    “When will it be better, Dad—my leg?”
    I reach for my face to assess the damage but think better of it. Feels like I got the tar beat out of me in a fistfight. For now, it’s the least of my worries. My leg.
    Dad still hasn’t replied, which can’t be a good thing.
    It all crashes in, pushes me back down. My leg. Basketball. The team I left at Desert Mountain. Everything I’ve worked for. How did this happen?
    “He needs more pain meds,” Mom says on her way out the door. “I’ll get the nurse.”
    I’m all light and dizzy, like I’ve been pumped full with meds already. For all I care, they can medicate me into oblivion. Knock me out so I won’t have to face reality.
    A doctor arrives, a guy in scrubs with a stethoscope around his neck. Doc has a warm smile and a wrinkly forehead, like he’s analyzed one too many charts in his day. He looks smart, and that’s good, I guess. Still, I wish I wasn’t here.
    He asks how I am. I understate by saying I’ve been better.
    I try to pull pieces of my memory back into place. Senior year. New school. New team. The Reebok Classic Breakout camp . “How’s my leg?” I ask.
    Doc sits down. “We ran a number of X-rays and found a small fracture in your left fibula. You were lucky; an isolated fibula fracture in a pedestrian versus car accident is rare. Typically, both the tibia and fibula are broken and require surgery. In your case, we’re dealing with a nondisplaced fracture, so you won’t need surgery.”
    “Good,” I say. “When can I walk on it?”
    “You’ll need a cast for up to six weeks.”
    My heart plummets.
    Doc seems to sense this. “But you’re young. There’s a chance you’ll recover quicker. I’ve seen casts for these types of fractures come off as soon as four weeks.”
    I think about the breakout camp in July, my best shot at getting a scholarship.
    “But you’ll be in a boot for a while after that,” he says. “The boot will be removable and will enable you to start strength and flexibility exercises with a physical therapist to reduce muscle atrophy.”
    A boot. Physical therapist. Muscle atrophy.
    My head spins and I think I’m going to be sick.
    Doc talks with my parents. I run through the basics; what I can remember at least. Our move from Scottsdale to Gilbert, Mom’s hometown. Grandpa Chadwick passed away two years after Grandma, leaving Chadwick Manor in my mom’s care. Mom loves the place, loves the land she grew up on, so we moved to be closer. I left my team at Desert Mountain High to go to Highland High. My mom, the floral designer. My dad, an FBI agent. FBI . . .
    “What is it, son?” Dad asks.
    My