CHAPTER 32 BEN
I drag my tired ass to the hospital a half hour early, and I’m checked in right away for my MRI.
It’s not the first time I’ve done this, and in my line of work, it probably won’t be the last. It’s why there are MRI slots reserved at the hospital for team players on Monday mornings.
There’s always somebody who got banged up the night before and needs to be checked out.
And that’s what Mondays are for…at least during the regular season. During camp, Mondays are usually for meetings and film, especially after game day. Since I’m hurt, technically I get today off, but to show that I still have the drive, I’ll head over to the Complex after my MRI results come in.
I may have to sit out for the two-a-days and most of the workouts, but I can still attend meetings and I can still watch my teammates. I can observe and adjust my own future performance to ensure I’m the one out on that field again once I’m well enough to play.
But I’ll get the weekend off. Our game Sunday is in Baltimore, and if I can’t play, I won’t travel.
I know where I’ll be on Sunday instead.
I’ve already booked a flight. I leave Saturday morning around the same time the rest of the team will be taking off for Baltimore. But I’ll be flying west instead of east.
The techs prep me and inject dye into my veins and then I’m taken to the tube where I’ll have to lay still for the next hour.
The tube doesn’t bother me. I’m not claustrophobic or anything, but MRIs still suck. Being as still as possible and not scratching whatever itch happens to pop up for sixty minutes is annoying as fuck, but I’ll live.
And I do. I make it through the MRI, and a short while later, the doctor comes in to interpret the results. Coach Bruce is with him.
“How’re you feeling?” Coach asks.
“Been better, been worse,” I admit.
“The MRI confirmed Dr. Baker’s thoughts,” the doctor says. “It’s a small tear in your rotator cuff. Rest it, wear a sling the next few days to help with the inflammation, and I’ll send you home with a list of exercises and stretches. How bad is the pain?”
“If you’re asking whether I’d prefer ibuprofen or a cortisone shot, I’ll take the cortisone.” I know it’ll give me my range of motion back faster than waiting on ibuprofen. It’s not my first rodeo with this type of thing.
He nods. “I’ll send Pauline back in with the shot. Take care of yourself and take it easy for the next two weeks before you check in with Dr. Baker to see whether you’re cleared to play.”
“Thanks, Doc,” I say, and he nods and heads out.
“Two weeks isn’t bad,” Coach comments. “Are you coming to the Complex today?”
I nod. “Figured I’d deliver the news to Coach Thompson myself. And Shanahan and Bennett, too, since the general manager and team owner are probably wondering how long they’re going to be without their star tight end.”
Coach laughs. “Hopefully two weeks is all.”
“Gets me out of the rest of camp, anyway,” I joke.
Coach narrows his eyes. “I almost think you did this on purpose.”
I laugh then wince as my shoulder gets carried away with the laughter. “Definitely not.”
He leaves to get back to camp while I wait for my cortisone shot. While I’m sitting there waiting, I text Kaylee.
Me: MRI done. Small rotator cuff tear. Getting cortisone shot now, should be good as new in a couple weeks.
Right. Good as new. Nothing is good without her.
She writes back.
Kaylee: Thanks for the update. Glad it’s not worse. Take care of yourself, okay?
The nurse comes in to give me my shot, which isn’t particularly joyful, and then I head to the Complex outfitted with my new fashion piece…a navy blue sling.
I find the team split into different film rooms by position reviewing last night’s game. Coach Thompson is just exiting the quarterback room when he spots me coming down the hall. “What’s the word, Olson?”
“Two to four weeks from a level two tear. Got my cortisone shot and need to keep it stable for the next few days, then a little rehab and I should be good as new.”
Coach nods. “And the calf?”
“It’s fine.”
“Could’ve been worse, so we’ll take it. We need you, Olson, but we need you focused. We need you at the level you played at last year—the level that helped propel us to the championship. Use these next two to four weeks to sort what you need to sort. Then get back here and help us win some games.”
“Yes, sir,” I say.
I head upstairs to Calvin’s office next, and the general manager is just stepping out of his office. “Olson!” Steve greets me. “How long are we looking at?” His first question has nothing to do with how I’m feeling but everything to do with how this affects him and his team.
I get it.
This is a business, and it’s not about people first. It’s about players first, and right now…I’m not on that list.
“Let’s talk in Mr. Bennett’s office,” I say, mostly so I don’t have to tell the story twelve different times.
He nods and Calvin glances up when I walk in. “How long?” he asks.
“Two to four weeks,” I say. “It’s a low-level tear and they shot me up with cortisone this morning.”
“Good.” Calvin nods as his gaze returns to his computer screen. “Fix it and get back on my field. I got rid of our second best tight end for you. Don’t make me regret it.” His voice is gruff, and I think that’s his way of showing he cares.
I head back down to the tight end meeting, which stops when I walk into the room so I can tell everyone yet again what happened and how long my recovery will be, and then the attention moves off me and back to studying last night’s film.
We break for lunch, and Jack wants the story, too. I sit with him after we fill our plates with the spread provided, and Cory, Jaxon, Austin, and Tristan join our table.
I must explain my injury no less than seventy-five times, and once I get back home a little after eight o’clock, my dad is waiting for me and I’m ready to get this fucking sling off my arm.
Buddy rushes over toward me, and my dad chases him so he doesn’t jump on me.
“It’s all right.” I kneel down and pet my dog with my good hand.
There’s always something comforting about petting animals.
Studies have shown it’s an actual stress reliever, and I feel it now as Buddy leans in to lick my chin.
“I just fed and walked Buddy,” my dad says. “How’s the shoulder?”
“The MRI showed a level two tear. I got a cortisone shot and I need to wear the sling a few days and then start some stretches. And I’m tired of talking about it.”
He chuckles. “How’s it feeling?”
“The shot helped. Some whiskey probably will, too.”
“I’ll get you a glass.” He turns to walk toward the kitchen.
“Pour yourself one, too.”
He laughs, but he does it anyway. I kick my shoes off in the front hall then collapse on my couch and prop my feet up on the coffee table, and my dad hands me a tall glass a minute later.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
He sits in the recliner across from me, and I can tell he’s getting ready for one of those sorts of chats.
“What?” I ask, my tone full of petulant frustration.
“Why’d you stumble?” he asks.
My brows dip.
“When you went down. Why’d you fall back a little before you overcorrected?”
I should’ve known my dad would catch that. He watches every game. He’s my biggest fan.
I sigh. “Calf cramp, but it wasn’t just that. I was distracted.”
“By?”
“Kaylee. I can’t stop thinking about how I fucked it all up and now I’m at a different place. I’ve grown, and I’ve learned, and I think I even want the sort of future she wants even though I know I’ll never be good enough for her.”
“So fix it,” he says, like it’s just a simple solution.
“I’m going to try,” I say. “I booked a flight for Saturday.”
“What’s your plan?”
“I don’t know. Show up. Try to talk to her. Tell her I’m sorry for what I did and that I’m in love with her and hope she picks me over the baseball player.”
He presses his lips together.
“What?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Women. So damn complicated, but potentially so worth it.”
My brows dip. “Why?”
“She needs more than that. You can’t just show up and expect her to forgive you. You need to grovel. If you’ve truly changed…well, you need to show her how. And if there’s another man in the picture, well, you have to be prepared to lose her to him.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “How do you know all this?”
He chuckles. “Don’t worry about all that, kid. Just know that if she’s anything like her mother, she’s worth the trouble.”
“Are you saying Carol is worth the trouble?” I ask, changing the subject from me to him because I’m getting the slightest feeling he wants to talk about it.
“We have a simple relationship. There hasn’t been much trouble just yet.
It’s easy between us, but it’s not perfect.
She has her history and I have mine, but somehow it works.
And I know you can make it work with Kaylee.
I’ve seen you two together, and it’s something special.
But if she’s moved on, well, that’s something you have to be prepared to deal with.
You either bury it in the past or you walk toward the future with her. ”
He’s right.
I know he is, and his words have given me some ideas about a plan for this weekend.
I need to get to work.
And I can’t wait for Saturday to get here so I can win back my girl.