CHAPTER FIFTEEN #2
The words hang there but I don’t comment because isn’t that what everybody wants in their life? Someone to settle into life with? It’s what I thought I had with Jared until he decided his wife’s success should not surpass his own.
“You’re quiet,” he says.
“I’m working.”
“Didn’t mean to strike a nerve with that,” he says.
I shake my head and chuckle. “You didn’t. It wasn’t. Just . . . concentrating on your measurements.”
He nods very slowly, just once, and yet our eyes remain locked on each other as if there is more to be said here.
I clear my throat and move back to my tablet. When all else fails . . .
“Thank you for the morning runs. I appreciate it, but I’m pretty sure you’ve shown me enough safe routes that you don’t have to feel obligated to go with me anymore.” I stare at the cursor blinking on the screen. What did I need to document?
“Not an obligation. It’s nice to have a partner to run with. Accountability and all that.” I can see him shrug out of the corner of my eye.
Haven’t our runs been the unexpected surprise of my week? Opening my door on day two here to find him waiting for me, and then for him to just fall into place running beside me like it was planned?
“Besides, it’s funny to hear you say how much you hate running but then be so good at it.”
The compliment doesn’t go unnoticed, but I pretend it does. “I still despise doing it.”
“Liar.”
“That’s Doctor Liar, to you,” I say, earning the laugh he gives. I know I’m about to cause him some discomfort, so I figure I’ll keep this Q&A thing going. And if I start it, then it can’t be about me. “What was your favorite team?” I ask. “Best memory of it.”
“Loved all of them for different reasons. Some had coaches I loved and teammates that were okay. Some had coaches I wasn’t thrilled with but had teammates I still talk to. Then there is the rarity of loving everything about both and the organization. I’ve been lucky to have a few of those.”
I start my last set of assessment exercises, pushing his shoulder farther than I have and earn a hiss of breath. “And the Rebels?”
“It’s still too early to tell. Much like I’m sure you feel.”
I nod because it’s true. I’m still the newbie on the medical staff yet to prove myself to both players and fellow staff alike. It’ll come, eventually, but feeling like an outsider sucks, and I’m certain that’s how we both feel at times.
“I know what you’re doing,” he says.
“What’s that?”
“Distracting me.”
“From what?” I ask. “The pain or the Coach calling you out part?”
He shrugs, but his jaw tightens. I make a mental note of the angle.
“I think that’ll about do it.” I step back, professional mask sliding fully into place.
“What’s the assessment, Doc?” he asks after a moment. “That it’s a miraculous recovery and I’m at one hundred percent again?”
I cross my arms over my chest, lean my ass against the table behind me, and meet his eyes.
“You know from all of the hard work you’ve put in over the past eight months to get to this point that there is no miraculous recovery when it comes to this type of injury.
It’s a misnomer that there is. All recoveries look different. ”
“Understood,” he says, eyes intense and expectant.
“As for your current status, your range of motion is measuring better than your chart indicates it was last time so that’s a positive.
You’ve increased your weight load and resistance in the gym, another positive.
And per the team statisticians, your velocity and arm angle are less than two percent off where you were before the injury.
That’s incredible. But that doesn’t mean you’re completely healed and ready to play a complete, full-contact game.
And it also doesn’t mean you aren’t going to have pain or discomfort. ”
“It’s football, Doc. That comes with the territory.”
“Yes, but my goal is to continue working how we are so that you experience the least amount of pain. Part of that includes making sure the supporting muscles and ligaments around your shoulder are as strong as possible. Another is easing into full-time play. I know what your previous doctor said and I respect his opinion, but playing in a practice scenario like you were doesn’t equal a real game with the pressures and snap decisions you’ll make without thinking of your arm’s best interest first.”
“Isn’t that the point? To not think of my arm so that I don’t play with fear?”
“Exactly,” I say, pleased that he just agreed with me without realizing it. “That’s why you need to trust me. Be honest with me. Tell me what’s tight and hurts and if something feels off. The more you hide, the harder my job to help you becomes.”
“The more I hide,” he says quietly, “the more I protect my contract and my chances.”
And there it is.
The most honest thing he’s said to me yet.
“Sometimes the hardest thing about medicine is having to give a truth the patient doesn’t want to hear. Trust is a big part of that two-way street.”
He purses his lips and sits up. I know he hears me, but he doesn’t respond for a beat. “Guess I should have warned you that trust isn’t an easy thing for me.”
You and me both.
I meet his eyes, hold them, then crack a smile to lighten the sudden weight of the moment. “Good thing I like a challenge, huh?”
Lucas studies me for a long moment, rises from the table, and for the first time since we met, he doesn’t argue. He just nods and then walks away.