Chapter 17 #2
He chuckled as we pulled up to the house. I opened the house group chat to send a text since Derek and Enzo weren’t home. Typing one-handed was a pain in the ass, but they’d been asking for an update. Then I sent the same message to Devon since he wanted to be kept in the loop too.
Shoulder’s back in place. X-rays looked clear. Stuck in a sling until I see ortho
Mason put the car in park and climbed out. I did the same, but at a much slower pace.
“You need help?”
“No,” I grumbled.
“You say that now, but wait until you try to put on pants. Then you’re going to be begging for my help.”
“You’re annoying.”
“You’ll get over it.”
“Can you leave?”
“Nope.”
He unlocked the front door, and I headed straight for the couch while fumbling with the sling’s strap, and he disappeared into the kitchen. I heard a cabinet open, then another, followed by the pantry door.
“If you eat my protein bars, I’m ending our friendship,” I called.
“You buy the shitty ones anyway.”
“They’re not that bad.”
“They taste like chalk.”
While Mason continued whatever he was doing, I sat back and tried to relax. Five minutes later, my phone buzzed, and my agent’s name appeared on the screen.
“Hey, Marcos,” I answered, trying to sound like I wasn’t in pain.
“How’s the shoulder?” he asked without a greeting.
“How’d you know about my shoulder?”
“Devon called me a few minutes ago.”
Damn, that was fast.
“Well, there’s not much to report right now. I’ll follow up with ortho soon.”
“I already took care of that. I’ve got you scheduled with Dr. Meyers tomorrow morning. He’s one of the best sports orthopedic specialists in Northern California.”
I sat up straight, the pain from the sudden movement making me hiss. “Tomorrow morning?”
“I don’t like wasting time,” he explained. “Devon said the X-rays were clear, but shoulders can be tricky. I want someone who works with athletes evaluating you.”
Mason came back into the living room with an assortment of snacks and a bottle of water. He dropped into the chair across from me, then pointed at the phone as if he wanted to know who it was.
“My agent,” I mouthed, then turned my attention back to Marcos. “What exactly will happen tomorrow?”
“Dr. Meyers will examine your shoulder, review the ER notes, and decide which imaging he wants.”
“Is it normal to get that all done so quickly?”
“For regular people? No. For athletes with agents who know who to call? Sometimes.”
I snorted. “Guess I’m lucky, then.”
“You’re going to get good care, but you’re going to have to take this seriously.”
“I am taking it seriously.”
“No. I can tell you’re irritated right now. That’s different.”
“I’m not going to do anything to make it any worse,” I huffed.
“Most athletes don’t intentionally make injuries worse. They make them worse because they feel better for five minutes and decide they don’t need to follow medical advice.”
“What happens if it’s bad?” I was almost too scared to ask, but I needed to know.
“Then we deal with it.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only answer worth giving until we know what we’re dealing with. For tonight, ice it, take whatever meds they gave you if you need it, and keep the sling on. Tomorrow, we’ll get more information.”
“Okay.” I nodded.
“I’ll email you the appointment details.”
“Thanks.”
“And Keaton?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t test the shoulder tonight.”
“Why does everyone treat me like I’m a little kid?”
“Because you’re an athlete, and athletes tend to be stubborn.”
“True,” I agreed. “Thanks for hooking me up with the doctor. I’ll let you know how it goes tomorrow.”
After we ended the call, I set the phone on the couch beside me and rested against the cushions.
Mason waited almost five full seconds before speaking, which had to be a record for him. “So what’s the plan?”
“You’re really going to sit there and pretend you didn’t hear everything?”
He shrugged. “Your agent’s voice was a little muffled.”
I shook my head. “You’re unbelievable.”
He beamed.
“That wasn’t a compliment.” I rolled my eyes.
“I’ll be the one to decide that.” He smirked.
“I’ve got an appointment with an orthopedic specialist in the morning,” I stated to answer his original question. “Can you drive me?”
“Whatever you need.” He nodded, then turned on the TV.
My phone lit up a few minutes later with a text from Rowan:
I know I already said it but don’t push it with your shoulder
Why does everyone keep assuming I’m going to do something stupid?
Years of experience
Rude
It’s accurate. You’ve never liked it when people tell you what to do
He may have been right, but I wasn’t going to tell him so. Instead, I typed another message:
Marcos got me in with a specialist tomorrow morning
That was fast
Apparently he knows people here in Sac
Sounds like you’re in good hands
I hope so
Well I just wanted to check in with you before I head out. Grant mentioned trying to get me on a card in 8 weeks. I’m grabbing a drink with a couple of the guys from AC to celebrate
Congrats! That’s awesome. I want all the details once it’s official. Have fun
Talk later?
Yeah
Love you
Love you too
My shoulder throbbed as I got up and walked to the fridge for an ice pack.
Not pushing it wasn’t going to be easy.
The next morning, Mason drove me to my appointment. “I’ll just wait out here,” he said as we pulled into the parking lot.
“I’m not sure how long it’ll take. My agent mentioned they might do some imaging.”
He nodded. “No worries. I’m going to listen to a true crime podcast to help pass the time.”
“Just don’t get any ideas,” I teased and headed inside the building.
Dr. Meyers’s office didn’t look like the emergency room, which was already an improvement.
It had no harsh fluorescent lights, no overflowing waiting area, and no kid coughing in my direction from the seat across from me.
The walls were lined with framed jerseys, signed baseballs, and photos of athletes I recognized.
Once I was called back, everything moved faster than I expected. The doctor examined my shoulder carefully, tested my range of motion, and reviewed the ER notes. Then he looked at me over the top of his glasses and said, “I want an MRI.”
I let out a breath. “Okay.”
“My medical assistant already made a call, and the imaging center can fit you in today.”
“Do you think it’s bad?”
“I think you’re a fighter dealing with shoulder instability, and further imaging can help me answer your question.”
Dr. Meyers wrapped up the exam, and I walked to the medical office next door where I was put into an MRI machine, where I tried not to move and think about how badly my shoulder hurt from staying still too long.
When I was done, the technician explained that they would get the results over to Dr. Meyers’s office soon, and that I could expect a call when Dr. Meyers’s office was ready for me to come back, probably in the next hour or two.
I headed to the parking lot and climbed into the car with Mason.
He hit pause on his podcast and glanced at me. “How’d it go?”
“Fine,” I grumbled, annoyed that I still didn’t know exactly what was going on. “I’ve got to wait for the MRI results.”
“How long?”
“A couple of hours, maybe.”
He nodded. “Guess we’re hanging out a little longer. Let’s get some lunch, then we’ll come back and wait.”
Two hours later, I was back in Dr. Meyers’s office as he clicked through images on the screen. “I think you got lucky.”
I let out a breath. “Really?”