Swinging his stick around to avoid an opposing attacker, Connor thrusts the ball at me, and from there, it’s muscle memory. As a midfielder, it’s not my primary job to score, but when my team slides me the ball, it’s clear they’re placing trust in my judgement. I bolt down the field, all the while deciding my next move. I can pass this ball, or I take it all the way. At least two attackers are covered. The final Boulder defender is heading my way.

SHIT. He darts left, I go right, he mimics me, I spin the other way, and with a whip of my stick, it’s in the air, and then …

The lights go out like they always do when New Haven scores, crowd whooping as strobes streak across the field and my teammates rejoice. But when they turn back on, a distraught ‘ooh’ ripples through the first couple of rows, yelps of shock from the guys.

Turf pricks at my bare arms. The Boulder defenceman nearest to me – the one who’d covered me – mutters a shaky expletive. I immediately wonder why I’m not in more agony, and as the adrenaline wears off, it hits me like a ton of bricks to the face.

‘FUCK!’ I nearly scream. Tears well up in my eyes, sweat beading on my brow. I claw at the ground. My teeth saw at the mouthguard as they try in vain to bite away the pain.

A whistle blows in the distance, and the red fabric of the first-aid bag appears in the corner of my blurry field of vision. ‘Okay, okay. Take a deep breath,’ the team medic tries to calm me. ‘Take—’

‘My knee, my fucking knee.’ The energy trickles right out of my body like something’s sucked it all from me. I whimper as I try to clutch my right knee, but it won’t move, I can’t move, and it’s my worst nightmare. I run. I hustle. I’m a midfielder, it’s what I do, and now I can’t move.

‘Colt! Colt, bro … bro, hang in there.’ JJ’s voice joins our medic. He tosses his stick off to the side and kneels beside me. Even through the grille, I can see the fear in his eyes.

‘What happened? How does it look?’

It’s a dumb question. When you play lacrosse, you know exactly what different kinds of injuries feel like. We’ve been taking knocks to the head since we were ten. We grow up thinking we’re indestructible. Usually, I get back up right away. My mom used to call it one of my best qualities. This time around, I can’t manage it.

‘You gotta shut up, man.’ JJ, usually loud and boisterous, is mumbling, stringing his words together. ‘You gotta shut up so they can help you. Don’t look.’