Beyond Repair

Chapter 2

I shot up in bed, gasping for air. Every time I fell asleep, it was the same agonising process. I could feel the sweat dripping down my face, my chest, unfortunately not my legs, even though I knew it was there. Despite the intense hatred directed at whoever was ringing the doorbell, I was at least a little grateful to them for pulling me from my eternal, torturous black hole.

I grabbed my phone from the table beside my bed and opened up the app that controlled my doorbell. Seeing Dickie's face filling the screen and wanting to slip back into the nightmare instead of having to face him. Dickie was my manager, although his stocky build made him look more like he managed a rugby team than a football team. His balding head and fierce demeanor didn't help his image, either. Except for those ridiculously, kind blue eyes of his that were staring back at me. "I know you're there, Max. The heavy breathing gives you away. Another nightmare?"

I was so sick of people asking me that. Every single night since the accident, I had lost Terri all over again. Forced to see her slipping away from me each night. I pressed the button to release the door without saying a word to him. I refused to admit he had woken me just at the moment she had slipped away from me, but I couldn't deny the accusation either.

It had been three years, and nothing had changed. I still lost her every night. I still couldn't use my legs and I still couldn't wait to die.

I knew it sounded like I was depressed, but I didn't think so. There was just nothing to live for. It seemed completely logical to me, although my shrink said otherwise. I dragged my wheelchair closer and dropped down the side panel. Making quick work of dragging my lame ass into its frame before clipping the side back in place.

Heading straight for the bathroom to deal with my catheter. Dickie knew the drill and wouldn't expect to see me until I was comfortable with myself again. I might have suicidal thoughts from time to time, but I was still strong enough to look after myself and to be myself. I didn't allow anyone to see me in a weakened or vulnerable state.

It had been bad enough after the accident when I had no choice in the matter. Everyone had been staring at me with their eyes glazed over with pity and tears. As soon as I was allowed to get home, I made sure I could stay independent. I would never again be forced to see their pitying looks.

My morning routine was down to perfection. First, I emptied my bladder pretty much like every other human on the planet, even if it was with the help of a tube. Then I wheeled myself into the shower and switched to my shower chair. Washing off all evidence of the nightmares that plagued me. It wasn't a difficult job, but I hated having to touch my useless, dead legs. That's what they were to me, dead. I would have been happier if they had just chopped the useless things off. At least then they wouldn't taunt me every day.

The days after the accident had been almost like a funeral procession. Each of my surviving team mates passed through my hospital room as though they were paying respects. I didn't know if it was for my legs, my girlfriend or our fellow teammates.

I was forced to watch Ian Buckfield die. He had gone the same way as Terri, despite me trying to grab him. As our goalie, he was fast and reactive and still hadn't managed to save himself from what could only be described as the worst of all deaths.

Then, Stuart, the poor kid, had only celebrated his eighteenth the week before, but I felt a certain amount of peace knowing he died on impact and didn't have to stare death in the face. I had prayed in those first days after the accident that they would be the extent of the death toll. I had never really been touch and go, despite my injuries. Toby had been a different matter. Besides me, he was the only person who had significant injuries. Everyone else was just badly shaken, and a bit battered. Toby had tried to get to the others to help them. He was the team medic, so it was in his nature. As the bus had moved, the same movement that killed Terri, some kit had become dislodged and left him with a severe brain bleed.

If only he had stayed in his seat, it would have missed him completely. The hospital put him in an induced coma that seemed to last forever. They never managed to bring him out of it and after six months, his parents decided it was time to end his suffering. I had been there by his bedside as the machines went silent. It would have been wiser not to see another one of my team die, but as captain, I felt it was my duty. He might not have been a player, but he was still part of my team, an integral part of it.

His mum had tried many times to come and see me. Each time, I smiled and played the part of the grateful survivor out of nothing but respect for the loss of her son. It was exhausting, but even without my legs, even when I had been replaced, those men were still my responsibility. That didn't end when my career did or when their lives did.

I knew seeing me alive and well helped her. Thinking I had come out the other side and had accepted my injuries gave her a glimmer of hope. It was all I had to give her and there was only me to give it, so I did.

I grabbed for the towel on the rail and swore under my breath. It wasn't the first time I had forgotten to bring a fresh towel with me and it wouldn't be the last. I slopped my naked ass back into my chair and headed for the wardrobe. Grabbing my towel as I passed. Not that it did me any good. The chair was already wet.

I headed for the wardrobe. It had always been a wasted room for me. Way too big to be necessary, but since the accident, the size made it perfect for me. Selecting a pair of footie shorts and a basic tee easily before grabbing a pair of boxers. I was only getting dressed for Dickie's sake, so I didn't need anything special, just comfortable.

Before long, I was wheeling my way into the living room, not bothering to smile. Dickie had made himself comfortable and had made us both a coffee. I didn't expect anything less. He might not have been officially my manager for three years, but he was around my house more than my own mother. He felt guilt for the accident, not that it was really his fault.

We had been travelling home from Barcelona and the driver of the team bus had taken a turn too wide. It had skidded and ended up hanging off a cliff into a ravine. No one even knew how we had ended up there because it wasn't the route he was supposed to follow. We had a driver who worked for us all the time, Gary. I would have trusted him with my life.

Except Gary had arranged to renew his vows to his wife towards the end of the Euros. We had never gotten further than the first couple of rounds and no one expected us to get near the finals. I couldn't blame him for thinking he would be free and clear by then. Dickie had been forced to hire a temporary replacement. No one knew until afterwards that he was a little too fond of tequila. In a drunken haze, he had changed all of our lives, including his own. He had been arrested in France as soon as the police arrived and he was jailed there. Dickie blamed himself for not checking the bloke out more rigorously. In his defence, he was in the middle of the Euros.

"Boss."

"Max. How are you doing today?"

"You ask me every day and get the same answer. Couldn't we just cut out the middleman and you answer your own question?"

"No."

"Same as yesterday, boss." I rolled my eyes at him, but had enough respect to at least try to hide it from him. "Why do I get the honour of your presence today?" It was a different excuse every day, except match days, when I got a phone call to check in instead.

"I want you to come back to work."

"We've had this conversation. My legs don't work. That's kind of a prerequisite for a footballer."

"And I've told you time and time again you would be a valuable addition to the coaching team."

"But I'm not a coach. I'm a footballer, boss. You think dragging me down to the pitch to watch the lads do what I dream of doing is going to give me a purpose, but it's not. I will just hate myself even more."

He tutted at me but nodded. Dickie kept trying, but he knew as well as I did that I was a footballer and nothing else would fill that void inside of me, no matter how much he wanted it to. "I've hired you another PA." This was code for carer. I refused to have a carer under any circumstances, and Dickie changing the job title didn't change that. It made no difference to me. They all quit quickly enough and winding them up at least gave me something to do with my time.

It was actually reassuring that I could still make a grown man cry when I put my mind to it. The doorbell rang again. "That will be your PA, I'll get it." Something was off, he was up to something. I opened the app on my phone and winced. Not because she was a she although I wasn't happy about that, but the sheer colour of her, it was like looking directly at the sun.

She swept into the room as though she was skipping through a field of daisies and my head started pounding before she even spoke, but I knew what was coming.

In a voice several decibels too high and too perky, she squeaked, "Hi, Mr Matthews, I'm Clara." I didn't respond, but turned and wheeled myself from the room. A whole day in a darkened room wouldn't be enough to calm my mind after that!