“All yours.”
Epilogue
Three Months Later…
Rhys O’Shaughnessy
“It’s fine,” I insist with a growl, glaring at the doctor. My coach, team physician, even the fucking owner of the team are all here in this meeting. “I can play.”
“No, you can’t,” the doctor insists grimly. “You’ll tear that rotator cuff again in a heartbeat.”
“I’ve done the therapy,” I insist. “I’ve done everything you’ve told me to.”
“Yes, you have. Rhys, you and I both know that this happens to players every day.”
“Not to me.” I lean forward. “Not. To. Me.”
“He’s not saying you’re out for good,” Reggie, my coach reminds me. “You’re just out for the season, and it’s almost over anyway.”
I’m staring at the doctor, who’s looking back at me with tired, sad eyes. He and I both know the truth: the chances of me coming back are slim.
“What do I need to do?” I ask.
“Keep doing what you’re doing. Keep up with the PT, get it worked over by a massage therapist regularly to keep the muscles supple. Exercise.” He spreads his hands wide, as if to say, what else can I say?
“I’ll be back next season,” I promise the room, and I can’t help but wonder who I’m trying so hard to convince, me or them?
“And we’ll be excited to have you back,” Mr. Lyon, the owner, replies. “Get yourself well, Rhys. That’s the most important thing.”
We all leave the boardroom, and I walk briskly to my car, anxious to get out of here. Summer is hanging onto Chicago like a pit bull with a bone. It’s fucking hot.
I take off down the interstate, ready to be back in Denver, wishing Kate would be there to talk to. And, at just the thought of her, I know I need to hear her voice.
“Hello?” Her voice is full of smiles as she answers.
“Hey, kiddo.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m out for the season,” I reply, and check my blind spot to switch lanes. “Doc just confirmed it. They made me come all the way to fucking Chicago to tell me that I can’t play.”
“I’m sorry. I thought you already knew that.”
“I was trying to get back in before the postseason.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Keep working on it. Exercise. Get it healthy.”
“Do you have to be in Denver to do that?” she asks.
“No, I suppose not.”
“Then get your butt to New Orleans. I have the perfect place for you to stay.”
THE END
Epilogue
Three Months Later…
Rhys O’Shaughnessy
“It’s fine,” I insist with a growl, glaring at the doctor. My coach, team physician, even the fucking owner of the team are all here in this meeting. “I can play.”
“No, you can’t,” the doctor insists grimly. “You’ll tear that rotator cuff again in a heartbeat.”
“I’ve done the therapy,” I insist. “I’ve done everything you’ve told me to.”
“Yes, you have. Rhys, you and I both know that this happens to players every day.”
“Not to me.” I lean forward. “Not. To. Me.”
“He’s not saying you’re out for good,” Reggie, my coach reminds me. “You’re just out for the season, and it’s almost over anyway.”
I’m staring at the doctor, who’s looking back at me with tired, sad eyes. He and I both know the truth: the chances of me coming back are slim.
“What do I need to do?” I ask.
“Keep doing what you’re doing. Keep up with the PT, get it worked over by a massage therapist regularly to keep the muscles supple. Exercise.” He spreads his hands wide, as if to say, what else can I say?
“I’ll be back next season,” I promise the room, and I can’t help but wonder who I’m trying so hard to convince, me or them?
“And we’ll be excited to have you back,” Mr. Lyon, the owner, replies. “Get yourself well, Rhys. That’s the most important thing.”
We all leave the boardroom, and I walk briskly to my car, anxious to get out of here. Summer is hanging onto Chicago like a pit bull with a bone. It’s fucking hot.
I take off down the interstate, ready to be back in Denver, wishing Kate would be there to talk to. And, at just the thought of her, I know I need to hear her voice.
“Hello?” Her voice is full of smiles as she answers.
“Hey, kiddo.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m out for the season,” I reply, and check my blind spot to switch lanes. “Doc just confirmed it. They made me come all the way to fucking Chicago to tell me that I can’t play.”
“I’m sorry. I thought you already knew that.”
“I was trying to get back in before the postseason.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Keep working on it. Exercise. Get it healthy.”
“Do you have to be in Denver to do that?” she asks.
“No, I suppose not.”
“Then get your butt to New Orleans. I have the perfect place for you to stay.”
THE END
