114. Ice Bath for His Balls
ICE BATH FOR HIS BALLS
LAYTON
I wake at God knows what time. I should probably find a way to sleep at night instead of most of the day and half the night. It’s strategic, really. Pop will eventually decide that grown man or not, I won’t sleep all day. It’s like being a teenager again.
In his house.
With zero control.
And he’s always watching.
We’re a couple of weeks in and no one’s ever quite gotten around to taking me home. I could grab a Lyft. Though I can’t imagine how stealth I’d be.
Pop added cameras last fall. Securing the perimeter has probably dwindled when the biggest threat to the family is me imploding.
But I can fake it.
I can be awake during the day, fake the conversations with my family, and go through the motions. That’s doable.
At some point, they’ll give up on trying to fix me and get on with their lives. I’m counting on it.
Having them believe I’m fine will speed up the process. It’s simply a matter of fake it until I make it or until they’re fooled.
I rise and shower. I’d trim my beard, but this needs to look like a progression. I dress and am leaving when I find a box at the door. It’s small and unopened, with a Florida return address label. No name but I know that address.
I open it to find a refill on my tablets. These showed at my place in Florida. I don’t remember paying much attention to the packages but nor did I care.
I don’t know how he’s doing it, opioids being a controlled substance and all, but not worrying about running out is a Godsend.
Honestly, I didn’t think George had it in him.
I make it to the living room to discover it’s already early afternoon. And to find my sister wiping down the counters.
“Morning,” I mumble.
She jumps and turns, whirling on me with a towel.
“Unless you’re planning to strangle me, that’s an odd choice of weapon.”
She throws a hand to her throat as her chest heaves. She pulls out an earbud. “You scared me. I didn’t hear you coming.”
“I shuffle like an old man if I don’t have the walker with me. It’s not like I was sneaking up on you.”
“Well, I’d rather you here and shuffling than…” Her words hang in the air.
I look at the floor. That alternative wasn’t far from the case. I pretend to knock on my head. “I’m too stubborn. You know that.”
“Thank God. I’m counting on your pigheadedness to get you through rehab too.”
“Pot, Kettle. Kettle, Pot.” I move my fingers back and forth in the space between us.
“You know it.” She smiles for the first time as relief washes over her face. She rushes me, wrapping me in a hug.
She steps back, brushing invisible dust off her clothes, “I know, I know. I’m not trying to be a mush. It’s just— Well…” She looks away and when she forces her gaze to mine, continues, “You’re my person. I thought I lost you. And then I kinda did. No return calls. No texts. Nothing from you.”
I avert my eyes. I almost feel shame for how I treated my family during that time, but there was way too much going on.
Physically.
Mentally.
Emotionally.
“I’m sorry, Bright. You didn’t lose me. I lost myself, but I’ll figure it out.”
“You’re damn right you will. I need you.”
“Wait. What’s today’s date?”
“Why?”
“Because I need to mark this down. Did you just admit you needed someone? Brighton Ranger?” I lean around her dramatically to look out the window.
She turns to do the same. “What?”
“I was looking for flying pigs.”
She turns and smacks me on my right elbow. I flinch, not in pain, but fear, and that irks me more than if it had hurt.
“I’m sorry. Lay, I really am. That was thoughtless.”
“It didn’t hurt. Reflexes, that’s all.”
She studies me, her eyes dashing across my face, looking for a lie.
“I don’t know what to think of the beard. It’s more mountain man vibes than you ever put off. Like you need a flannel and work boots.”
“Shut your mouth. You know I’m too pretty for that.”
“God, I’ve missed you. Glad you’re back. Seriously. And, apparently, so is Luna. Did you know she comes in and sleeps in your room each morning?”
That surprises me. “No. When did that start?”
“Your first morning back. You sleep like the dead. She whimpered and scratched, and you never opened up. So Pop cracked the door, and she assumed the position. We couldn’t coax her to come out.
We still can’t. Every morning when we get to the ranch, I go to the barn, and she comes here.
Pop gives her what she wants.” She rolls her eyes.
“Shocker. She usually comes back to the barn with me after lunch. She spends hours guarding you every day.”
If I let that sink in, it will do a number on me. “One night she jumped up with me.”
“Pushy bitch. She knows better.” She looks over my shoulder and bites her lip.
Her face is serious when she looks back at me.
“Why didn’t you call or text me? Do you know what it was like to get on that plane, knowing you were unconscious and have to come home, not knowing…
” Her voice hitches, but she swallows forcefully, fighting for composure. “Not knowing if I’d see you again?”
I clench my right fist and grit my teeth, afraid to speak, afraid to face it. “You were there?”
“Of course, I was there, Layton!” She tosses the towel on the counter and crosses her arms, facing off against me.
“You think life was just going on as normal? We were eating pancakes and joking and going about our days while you were fighting for your life? Fuck you.” She shoves my chest. “The whole world stopped. The oxygen was sucked out of our lives until you woke up. We’ve had way too much shit in the last two years, and then you almost...
I won’t say those words aloud. Yes, I was there. ”
I wrap her up in a hug, wobbling a little with the force of her grip, my leg burning with the exertion. “I’m sorry, Bright. I’m sorry.”
I pretend I don’t hear her sniffle. Brighton hates to show weakness.
When she lets go, she searches the floor for a moment, finding her composure. “Now, when are you coming to the house for dinner?”
Me: This is more than you signed on for.
Me: Thank you. I mean it.
George: This is exactly what I signed up for. It’s what I do.
Me: I know better, but thanks. And thanks for the package.
The bubbles bounce, but I’m tapped out. I haven’t been awake and peopley for this many hours, aside from Lucifer’s taint, as I now refer to the trip with Exton and Pop.
That was forced. This is, too, but in a different way.
It’s not long before the door opens and closes, and Luna runs in with Pop on her heels. She plops to her butt in front of me, tail dusting the floor.
“I can’t get to you, Looney. Can you come up?”
“She knows better,” Pop says from the kitchen.
“Sorry, pretty girl. The grumpy old man is trying to keep us apart.”
“Yeah. It’s a regular Lady and the Tramp situation.”
“Which one are you?” I ask, watching her brown eyes hold mine. Her pants make her look like she’s smiling.
Pop comes into the living room with a glass of iced tea in his hand. “That should be obvious, son. Do we need to watch for signs of a concussion?” Pop’s voice has his sharp wit and dry humor back in it. I haven’t seen him this relaxed since Exton’s wedding.
I pat the sofa. Luna looks at Pop for a split second before leaping to my side and sitting tall, eating up my pets and praise.
“Both of you are spoiled and don’t mind worth a damn,” Pop offers as he plops in his recliner. There’s no sharpness in his voice.
“That’s not true, is it, Luna girl? You’re smart and you listen.” I stroke her short, slick fur. “You just love me and couldn’t resist. Isn’t that right?”
“Sure.” Pop draws out the word before quickly falling into a nap.
The dog at my side slides down to curl into me, head on my lap, and does the same. As far as shitty lives go, today isn’t that bad.
Livy
My phone is like a hot potato. The message from Layton taunts me.
I want to let him off the hook and I want to yank that hook in deeper. He can’t flirt with me, woo me, play my body like an instrument, and then ghost me for as long as he did, only to hit me with the authentic Layton I’ve come to know.
Layton: I don’t blame you. I’m sorry you thought that. I wish I’d seen your message sooner, so you didn’t spend months feeling like I could think that.
The thing is the read receipt from the message before is three days prior. He read my last message seventy-two hours before formulating this. I’d think he was playing games, but that’s not Layton Ranger’s M.O.
He’s a straight-up, call ’em as he sees ’em, brutal honesty kind of guy.
When he had a chance to play games, he didn’t. And he stands to win nothing now. So why do it?
I’ve had a couple of days of staring at that message. I’m not playing games either, but I haven’t decided what to say or how to respond.
Or if I’ll respond.
Is this an olive branch? Or was he just looking to assuage his guilt?
Is he offering absolution or requesting it?
The last one is what gets me. I assumed he was offering it when I saw it the day before yesterday. Now, I’m not so sure.
My phone buzzes while I’m deep in thought, surprising me, and I bobble it.
I grab it, trapping it between my therapy table and my hip, before it crashes to the floor.
Me: klm bnh
For all my eloquence and pondering, for all the deep thought about whether to respond, and if so, how, I’ve offered the perfect response of “klm bnh.”
A knock on my door divides my attention as my phone buzzes again from beside me. “Come in.”
In walks the new punter. Sam is young and fresh out of college and aggressively gunning for Hans Carlson’s position.
He’s small, though, and finds the NFL workouts more rigorous than he expected and more cutthroat than he could dream.
He’s told me this as we’ve worked on mobility on my table and increased flexibility.
I’ve suggested he come to my yoga class, but it seems he’s more into one-on-one.
“Good morning, Sam. What can I do for you?”
He puts a hand to his glute and walks toward the table. “There’s tightness down through my knee here. Can you take a look?”
“Sure. Hop on up.” I gesture to the table and slide my buzzing phone into my pocket.
He lies face down and points to his right side.
“What’s changed?” I ask. “Are you taking a different approach, feeling a deeper stretch? You’ve been kicking a long time without a problem, so what’s new?”
“I don’t know, Olivia.” He fumbles over my name as if he’s testing it on his tongue. He’s always called me Dr. Morgan, so this is new. And not necessarily welcome. “I think it’s turf. I’m used to natural grass. If I had to guess, that’s impacting my stride.”
“And where do you notice it?”
He points at a long thin muscle that runs the length of his outer thigh.
“And do you notice anything here?” I point with my hand toward his hip.
“Nothing.”
“That’s odd. Those two go hand in hand. Where there’s pulling or pain in the biceps femoris, there’s typically inflammation and tugging in the IT band.
I’ll talk with Dr. Silverberg about anti-inflammatories and getting you some rest for the muscle group.
In the meantime, ice baths twice per day to the belly button.
Heat twice a day. I’ll make sure AT is apprised and can offer additional stretches for you and that they’re going light on you on this side. ”
“Uh. Well…” He stutters and blushes to the roots of his white-blond hair.
“Great. We can revisit in three weeks, Sam.” I turn for my desk and sit, staring with forced concentration at my screens. I turn only to add, “Will you close the door on your way out? I have reports to prepare for medical. Thank you.”
The kid is a trip. I’d find it funny if it were happening to someone else.
I grab my phone and text Sabine, ignoring the notifications glaring at me.
Me: New kid just asked for another butt massage. Got twice a day ice baths for his balls for the next 21 days. I love my job.
Bean: How fast before he learns not to mess with you?
Me: I’m guessing the second time he dunks his twig and berries in a slushie.
Bean: Boss bitch move. You made my day.
Me: I also managed to accidentally text Layton when I was dropping my phone earlier. Very little boss in that move.
Bean: Did he respond?
Me: I don’t know. I refuse to look. And it doesn’t matter anyway.
Bean: You could block him and never have to worry again.
Me: And always wonder…
Bean: I’m sorry, Liv. Love you!
Me: Love you too!
A knock interrupts my thoughts, and I set my phone face down on my desk. “Come in.”
Dr. Silverberg walks in, a glum look on his face. He gestures to the chair asking permission to sit.
“Please do.” I lean back in my chair, swiveling away from my monitors to face him.
“I wanted you to know before it’s announced to the papers. Layton Ranger has separated from the team. His agent presented an injury settlement. The team agreed seeing as he’ll never be able to take another tackle, not with his medical history, and that’s assuming he could run.”
I sit trying to avoid my face revealing any reaction.
“He wasn’t injured in training or a game and they would’ve had to cut otherwise. He’s been too valuable to the franchise, so it was a graceful bow out on his part, and an easy one for the team to agree to.”
I nod.
“I don’t know who or how it will be announced, but it won’t be confidential after that point. Management will require all medical records be remitted to legal for archiving by five. Do you have anything you need to submit?”
I swallow hard and gather my raw nerves into a careful knot. “I’ll look. Anything I need to submit will be in the portal before close of business.”
“Thanks. I know you two were friends, so I’m sorry.”
I nod again, at a loss for words and fighting a losing battle with my emotions.
He stands and makes his way to the door, only to turn around when he arrives, and smirk. “Did the new kid try to get you to touch his ass?”
I tilt my head. “He tried. He won’t attempt it again.”
Dr. Silverberg’s smile widens. “Let me know if I ever need to step in for you. In the meantime, you definitely sent a clear message. The rookies are already quaking in their cleats.” He taps the jamb and sees himself out, closing the door with a click behind him.
I suck in a ragged breath and stifle a scream on the exhale. By the second one, tears are pouring down my face.
Regardless of whether he ghosted me, I know that man. His one true love is football. His only love is the game. And while he lost that love in April, today its corpse reared its ugly head.
Me: I’m sorry. I just heard. I… I wish I were more eloquent. I’m very sorry.
I hit send only to notice the thread above it.
Layton: Key lamp mode? Keyboard layout management? Kangaroos love mangoes?
Layton: Boy’s nursing home? Boats n Hoes? Bears need hamburgers?
Layton: If you’re in distress and need help, I need better clues.
He’s such a charmer, and I’m such a Debbie Downer.
Me: Keep deciphering the code. I’ll just stay here in some kidnapper’s trunk while you work it out.
The dots appear, and darn it if my heart doesn’t flutter a little. What is it about an enthralling man that makes a woman turn to mush? It works every freaking time.