CHAPTER 19 Tanner Banks
Twin-Tuition
Was that her?
Or am I seeing things through the haze I woke under this morning?
I’m guessing it’s the latter.
Everything feels pretty damn bleak at the moment, so my brain manifested an illusion of the one person I feel like I can blame for this even though somewhere deep down, I know it’s not her fault. I’m angry at the world when there’s really nobody to be angry with except myself.
I don’t even know what to think this morning. The reality hasn’t hit me yet. I slept like shit because how the fuck are you supposed to sleep when your mind is heavy with the truths that haven’t hit you yet and your knee is throbbing and all you can do is focus on the pain?
And it’s not just that.
I had about a million phone calls and texts from family and friends who saw me go down. I couldn’t bear to reply to a single one of them, so I shut my phone off .
It didn’t matter. They tried to get to me through my brother instead.
He fended off as many as he could, but he made sure I knew that Lincoln, Grayson, Spencer, and Asher all called to check on me, as did our mom and stepdad.
I made it clear to Miller that I don’t want to talk to a single one of them.
He’s been a shield for me, but to be honest, I don’t really even want to talk to him about any of this. Talking about it feels like I’m acknowledging it’s real, and I’m not ready to admit that yet.
My brother volunteered to accompany me to this appointment since the team won last night and we— they —don’t have practice today, so he’s here with me. Trainer Nick is also here.
The team sent him over to pick me up and drive me to this appointment—surely exactly what he wants to do with his Monday morning. He claims it is, but in reality, it’s just part of his job. He can make sure I’m not moving the wrong way as I get in and out of the car, and he can make me sit in a wheelchair so I don’t bear any weight before the doctors see me, despite the fact that I’ve been hobbling around on it all morning.
The team chose this orthopedic practice for me. I guess the surgeon is the best in the area. Fine. Great. Whatever.
All I can do this morning is second-guess my decision to move here to San Diego given that I was taken out on the very first play. Would I have had the same luck if I was still in Arizona?
It’s a question I’ll never have the answer to, but it’s where my mind goes this morning.
“You look gray,” Miller says. “Are you okay?”
“Fuck you,” I hit back. Of course I look gray. I barely ate or slept at all since approximately nineteen minutes after one o’clock yesterday afternoon when my entire life changed in a split second. Hell, I’ve barely talked or acknowledged any of this.
Miller’s quiet, but truth be told, he’s a little gray, too. It’s our twin-tuition, a term coined by my little brother. He feels what I’m feeling, and right now, complete and utter devastation is a pretty accurate portrayal.
Nick wheels me into the office, and a medical assistant is waiting for me to take me straight back to the doctor. I suppose it’s one of the perks of my position—not having to wait in the reception area like everyone else does—but I’d rather not be here at all than be privy to that stupid perk.
The med assistant takes me directly to an examination room, and the doctor is already in there waiting for me when Nick wheels me in.
“Mr. Banks, I’m Dr. Barlow, and I’ll be your surgeon. I’m so sorry to see you in here. How are you feeling today?” he asks.
“Pretty shitty, if I’m being honest.”
He nods. “We’ll do everything we can to ensure a safe and speedy recovery. I’ve reviewed the tape as well as the imaging. Let’s get you up on the table so I can take a look.”
Nick helps me up, and I lay on the table. The doctor starts to talk as he assesses the extent of the damage, moving my leg in various positions to check for stability. “Tell me how the pain is today.”
I glance over at Nick and my brother, and I let out a frustrated breath. I thought patients and doctors were supposed to have confidentiality, but apparently not when you’re a pro athlete. “Brutal. I can walk, but not without pain.”
“That’s to be expected. We want to prevent additional injury, so it’s in your best interest to take it easy while we work to reduce swelling. We have a prehabilitation program to get your range of motion back ahead of surgery, and then we have extensive plans for after the surgery as well.”
“If my range of motion is back, why can’t I get back into the game and deal with surgery in the offseason?” I ask. I already know the answer, but I’ve also learned the answer is always no if you don’t ask.
“You’ve torn your ACL, Tanner. You know that if you jump, cut, or try to run on it, you’re risking more permanent damage that you won’t be able to come back from. You’re young. Quarterbacks play into their forties these days, and you’re healthy enough and strong enough to do that. This isn’t the end for you. It’s a setback that we are here to guide you through so that you can return stronger than ever and lead this team to the championship since Lord knows we’ve been waiting for this for years.”
I offer a wry smile at that. “And then I went and fucked it all up.”
The doctor presses his lips together as he shakes his head. He holds a hand out to help me up to a sitting position. “It was an accident, and nobody thinks that of you. All I’ve heard is well wishes. This town is pulling for you and praying for you.”
“Did you just say pull and pray?” I joke, and I’m not sure why I’m tossing out sex jokes at a time like this. The only thing I can come up with is that I’ve gone fucking delirious.
Or it’s just what I do. I use humor as a defense mechanism. Or I try to…not always successfully, I guess.
Miller barks out a laugh at my joke, but Nick and the doctor remain stoic.
“We’ll need our own imaging done ahead of the surgery, but based on what I’m seeing today and the MRI your team sent over, I’d like to schedule the surgery in four weeks,” Dr. Barlow says. “We can reassess and move that date as needed. Any questions?”
I shake my head.
“Great. I’ll have my partner, Dr. Hayward, come in next to go over the prehabilitation plan with you.” He excuses himself and leaves me in the room with Nick and Miller, and a moment later, the door opens.
“I’m Dr. Hayward,” the man says, sticking his hand out to me. “Are you comfortable having my new physical therapist sit in on our session?”
I shrug. “It’s fine.” I don’t really care who’s in here as long as they can fix this as quickly as possible.
He nods, and he opens the door for his PT to join us.
My eyes are on the ground as she walks in, and I hear a small gasp as the doctor starts to talk. “Cassandra, this is Tanner Banks,” he says.
My head whips up at the name to find a blonde woman staring at my brother with a slackened jaw.
It takes a few seconds for it to register…but holy shit. It’s her .
Same blonde hair. Same blue eyes. Same banging body.
She hasn’t seen me yet, but my first thought is that I can’t work with her. Are you kidding me?
My second thought is that even though I’m angry and frustrated and, obviously, injured , I’m stuck here for the next six to eight months. Having her here for the duration of that recovery might not be so bad after all.
She’s staring at Miller in a way I’ve often seen people look at my twin after meeting me first, and it’s yet another clue that maybe she has no idea who I really am. It’s as if she knows him, but there’s something a little off.
Because there is something a little off.
We look a lot alike—same hair, same eyes, same nose and mouth and facial structure. But there are obvious differences. He’s two inches shorter than me and quite a bit bulkier, and he carries himself differently. He doesn’t have the same air of cockiness I walk around with. He didn’t fall off his bike and catch himself with his chin when he was eleven, so he doesn’t have the same scar I have. And, of course, I’m better looking.
I’m staring at her as her eyes edge over to me, and I hear another little gasp as her eyes widen.
Holy shit.
It’s really her.
And she’s my physical therapist?
Or…she’s shadowing my physical therapist, anyway.
And she’s even more beautiful than my memory recalled.
Fuck.
If I say anything, they’ll never let her work with me. But maybe I shouldn’t let her work with me. Maybe it’s an absolute mistake to work with her on my recovery when she’ll only prove to be a distraction. That’s all she’s been since the night I met her, anyway.
She takes the reins.
“Nice to meet you,” she says to me, clearly pretending we don’t know each other, and she takes on an entirely different persona than the woman who was clutching the sheets in her fists as I drove into her in a hotel in Vegas. This woman is cold and clinical as she assesses my knee with the doctor.
I clear my throat but don’t say anything. I don’t want her to get in trouble, and to be frank, I’m still feeling quite a bit of anger about this whole thing. I’m still working through my own feelings as I try not to blame her for the entire reason I’m here, and now I’ll have her to blame if my recovery goes south.
I know logically it’s not her fault in any way, but I can’t help thinking if my head had been in the game the way it should’ve been, the way it was before I ever met her, this never would’ve happened .
It was a freak accident. Could’ve happened to anyone. Hell, it has happened to tons of players in the league.
But not in the same moment it happened to me. Not under the same circumstances. And I bet none of them had to work with a physical therapist they’d already fucked but couldn’t forget about.
“Once we get the swelling down, we’d like to start a comprehensive program ahead of your surgery,” Dr. Hayward says to me, and he drones on and on about what that means.
I’m not listening.
I’m trying to have a silent conversation with Cassie, but she won’t look at me.
What do I do?
Should I attempt to talk to her?
What the fuck would I even say? “You’re the reason I’m here and oh yeah why didn’t you use my number and whose kids were those and are you married or were you really in Vegas celebrating a divorce?”
My mouth often works before my brain does, and I’m about to ask everybody in the room to leave except her so I can have a word when Dr. Hayward says, “So we’ll see you back here tomorrow.”
“Huh?” I ask, and I glance at Nick, who’s nodding as if to say he got all that and he’ll take care of it.
“We’ll see you then,” Nick says, and the doctor leaves the room with Cassie trailing behind him.
She never even looked me in the eyes again…but it looks like I’ll be back here tomorrow to try again.
Whether or not that’s a good idea remains to be seen.