Page 39 of Hometown Halftime

My voice cracks. “Riley…”

“I’m right here. You’re going to be okay.”

Knox opens the passenger door, and between the two of them, they get me inside without making me feel entirely powerless, even though it feels like I am.

As Riley adjusts the seatbelt across my lap, his fingers graze my wrist. He leans back, eyes meeting mine. There’s worry there.

“I’ll text you to see where you’re at as soon as practice wraps up.”

Riley looks at Knox, “Thanks, Coach.”

Knox tips his chin, and Riley shuts the door.

Chapter seventeen

Kinsey

The waiting room of Helping Pines Urgent Care has a TV that’s stuck on a home renovation show that’s playing a montage of drywall disasters, and every chair feels engineered for maximum pain.

Knox sits beside me in the molded plastic chair, knee bouncing with nervous energy. He keeps shooting glances at me. Every time I shift from the pain, his jaw ticks. He tries to hide it, but he fails.

When the nurse finally calls my name, Knox pops up like a jack-in-the-box.

“Do you want me there?” he asks apprehensively.

“You can come,” I say. “It’s fine.”

The nurse leads us to an exam room, directing me to sit on the paper lined exam table. I stare at it for a moment, knowing it will be a struggle. Then Knox takes my hand and I climb onto the table as carefully as a ninety-five-year-old. The paper crinkles obnoxiously loud under my weight. Knox hovers by the door, big, clearly uncomfortable and trying not to show any emotion.

The doctor enters, an older woman with a sensible bob haircut and kind eyes. She has me try to stand and move my legs, asks the standard questions, and listens while I explain the sudden pain, the way it radiates down my leg, how I couldn’t straighten out.

She nods slowly. “It’s presenting like acute sciatica, but you'll need to follow up with your primary care provider to rule out anything else.”

I instantly bristle. Not because it’s an unreasonable diagnosis, but because the certainty in her tone feels too easy, too quick of a conclusion.

“I’ve had muscle strains,” I tell her. “But this feels entirely different.”

“That’s because sciatic pain is nerve pain. And it can present differently each time. Pretty common.” She taps a few notes into the computer. “We’ll give you a steroid injection, recommend rest for a couple of days, ice and ibuprofen if you need it, and I’ll print out some stretches you can do. Hopefully it will improve and then you’ll follow up with your primary.”

I exhale slowly. “Where does the shot go?”

The doctor turns, already pulling out supplies. “Gluteal muscle.”

Behind me, Knox chokes. I don’t turn to look at him, because if I do, I’ll laugh. He clears his throat once, then another time, like he’s trying to relocate his soul.

“Uh—I’ll just—I’ll step outside. Real quick. Just—yeah.”

He leaves so fast he bumps into the doorway. Twice.

The doctor pauses, glancing at the closed door. “Is he always like that?”

“Only when confronted with unexpected glute exposure,” I say.

She smirks. “Well, he’s a good friend for helping you. This will only take a second.”

I lie on my side, trying to find a position that doesn’t make me feel completely ridiculous. The doctor talks me through it, professional and brisk. The pinch burns, then settles into a heavy, warm ache.

When it’s done, I slowly push myself upright.