Chapter 8 #2
I looked at the laptop, then the papers, then the coffee she clearly hadn’t had time to finish. “Just don’t burn yourself out trying to prove something to people who already decided what they think.”
She blinked like she hadn’t expected that.
I hadn’t either. But it was true. She looked exhausted, and something about it bothered me more than it should have.
Catherine in the shower had wrecked my head.
Catherine in that black dress had wrecked my self-control.
Catherine tired and still working because she wanted so badly to earn her place got me somewhere else that was more dangerous because I could relate to her and feel for her.
“I’m fine,” she said, waving off the comment.
I pushed off the doorway. “I have my medical check-in. I better go.”
“With Dr. Patel?”
“Yeah.”
She glanced toward the hall. “Is it okay if I observe?”
Bad idea. Terrible idea. My shoulder gave a dull throb like it wanted to join the conversation.
“Sure,” I said, because apparently, I had learned nothing.
Her face brightened a little, which made the bad idea feel worth it.
“Thank you,” she said.
I nodded. Her gaze held mine. Neither of us mentioned last night, and it was better that way because we almost crossed a line we could never uncross. The list of why we were a bad idea was long enough to wallpaper the whole medical wing.
Dr. Patel was already in the exam room when we walked in. He gave me the kind of smile doctors gave athletes when they knew we were about to lie to them.
“Hunter,” he said. “How are we feeling?”
“Great.”
Catherine made a small sound behind me. I ignored her.
Dr. Patel looked at the tablet. “Any concerns since the end of last season?”
“Nope.”
“All right. Let’s go through the check-in.
” For the next forty minutes, he put me through the usual routine.
Vitals. Mobility. Strength testing. Reflexes.
Range of motion. Neck. Shoulders. Arms. Back.
Legs. Groin. A few questions about old injuries.
A few questions about sleep. A few about nutrition.
Then baseline concussion stuff. Catherine stood off to the side with her laptop, observing, taking notes only when Dr. Patel asked, keeping her face professional.
Everything was fine until the shoulder portion.
Dr. Patel had me lift, rotate, resist pressure.
I knew how to keep my face blank. I’d been doing that since juniors.
You didn’t wince, hesitate, or give anyone a reason to start talking about maintenance days before camp even started.
He tested external rotation against resistance. The pain sparked. I kept my face still.
Dr. Patel moved on. “Good.”
Catherine didn’t. Her fingers paused on the keyboard. I saw it. She saw me seeing it.
Her eyes narrowed the tiniest bit. Don’t, I thought.
She looked at Dr. Patel. “Can I ask a question?”
Nope.
Dr. Patel nodded. “Go ahead.”
She kept her tone calm. “There was a slight decrease in resistance on his right side during external rotation. It may be worth comparing that to last season’s notes, especially if there was any prior rotator cuff irritation.”
I stared at her. Traitor.
Dr. Patel looked back at me. “Rotator cuff irritation?”
“It’s fine,” I assured him.
Catherine’s eyes stayed on the laptop.
Dr. Patel folded his arms. “Hunter.”
“It was tight at the end of last season. Normal wear,” I explained.
“And now?” he asked.
“Normal wear,” I repeated.
Dr. Patel stepped closer. “Any pain?”
“No.” I was holding my breath. What was Catherine doing? Every athlete had injuries to hide. Catherine looked up. I looked right back. Her face said, really? Mine said, don’t.
Dr. Patel sighed. “Let’s retest.”
This time, because Catherine had already called it out and because it irritated my shoulder even more to have it tested a second time, the shoulder pinched harder. I still didn’t wince. But Catherine saw something.
“Hunter,” she said quietly.
My name in her voice hit differently in this room. It wasn’t sexy or teasing. It was filled with concern. I loved the Dallas Blaze, but no team wanted a player who was hurt or injured. They wanted players who could be on top of their game and perform.
I looked at Dr. Patel. “It’s manageable.”
“That means pain,” Catherine said.
Dr. Patel nodded. “It does.”
I exhaled. “It’s not a big deal.”
“It’s July,” Dr. Patel said. “This is when we want to know about not-big-deals. Better to strengthen and correct now than chase a bigger problem in October.”
He made a note on his tablet. “I want Wren to take a look and run you through some targeted work. Nothing dramatic. We’ll monitor it.”
I looked at Catherine. She did not look sorry.
“Great,” I said, forcing what must have been the fakest smile of my life.
Dr. Patel smiled. “That sounded sincere.”
Catherine pressed her lips together like she was trying not to laugh. I hated that I wanted to make her laugh again. Dr. Patel finished the exam, then told me to run my summer diet over with the dietitian since she was in the facility today.
“Anything else you’d like to hide?” he asked.
“Nope.”
Catherine lifted her brows.
“Nothing,” I said again.
Dr. Patel looked amused. “Good. Wren is down the hall.”