Page 73 of Playing the Field

Chapter Fifteen

Anastasia

“Does this hurt?” I press the pads of my fingers into Finn’s shoulder, trying to find the source of the pain.

He winces and jerks on the exam table, his body subconsciously trying to move away from the pain despite his stoic expression. “A little bit.”

“You were diagnosed with a brachial plexus injury when you were in high school, this lingering pain could be from the damage done to the nerves,” I explain as I massage his tense muscle.

He inhales sharply, gritting his teeth against the pain. “I know. It does this when I push it too far.”

I turn back to the counter, scribbling a note into his file. I chew on the inside of my cheek, wondering how nuclear Graham would go if I told him tonight that his scrum-half was out of commission just a few games into the season. There’s no way the team would survive the loss of another scrum-half. “You need to take it easy, Finn. I mean it. Ice it as soon as you get changed.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says quietly, keeping his eyes on his cleats. “Am I good to go?”

“No,” I respond instantly. “It needs to be iced and I need to fit you with a sling.”

“A sling?” he repeats, finally looking at me. His eyes are wide and full of panic like I’ve just suggested he hack his arm off with a dull hatchet. “For how long?”

I glance back down at his record, teeth grinding against the raw flesh inside my cheek. “At least a few days. If you keep pushing yourself, your career is over. You need to be serious about this.”

“Dr. Bellows,” Finn says softly, taking the ice pack I hand him and holding it against his shoulder. “This is my last year,” he says quietly. “I don’t want an injury to be what everyone remembers me by.”

“I understand.” I do understand, because I’ve watched this man find his rhythm and stride. I watched the first game he played when he joined the Tigers, watched his career ebb and flow as a second string, and I watched how his soul came alive when he was moved to first string. “Sling for a week. Take it easy. You’ll be back on the field for the next match.”

He sighs, his shoulders relaxing as I make a few more notes in his file. “Thank you.”

I close his record and lean back against the table, clutching the file against my chest as I meet his eyes. I’m about to lecture him on aftercare for a long-term brachial plexus injury, but the door to the exam room opens and the words get stuck in my throat.

Coach Brandt stalks into the room, followed closely by a disgruntled Graham. “Gallagher,” Brandt snaps, looking at the sling on the table beside him. “Doctor.” His voice is strained. “What’s going on?”

“He is having a flare-up from an old brachial plexus injury,” I explain quickly. “The previous injury likely caused some nerve damage, so when he over-exerts himself, the pain is worse.”

“Can he still play?” Graham asks quietly from his spot in the corner.

I don’t look at him, keeping my eyes trained on Coach Brandt. “He’ll be ready for the pitch by the next game, but practice needs to be light. No arm movements. He’s going to need to be in the sling for at least five days.”

“How can he practice in a sling?” Graham asks, agitation coloring his tone.

My nostrils flare as I round on him, unable to ignore his presence any longer. “He doesn’t!” I snap, slamming the file onto the counter. “He goes to practice to be kept in the loop. He can do leg workouts and anything left-handed, but his right arm stays in that sling.”

Graham’s jaw tightens and his hands slip into his pockets. “He’s our only scrum-half, in case you didn’t realize that. We can’t afford to bench him.”

“Really?” I retort. “Is that the position he plays?” My temper burns bright as I take a step toward Graham, ignoring the other two men in the room. “I thought for sure he was the quarterback.” I inhale a breath and snap, “Oh, right, wrong sport! That’s football!” From the corner of my eye, I can see Brandt and Finn exchange worried looks, but I can’t help my outburst. He just makes me so angry. “I know what fucking position he is! I’ve been watching this team since I could hold a ball! I know what’s at stake here!”

Graham squares his shoulders. “Then why are you benching him? Are you trying to throw the season for us?” His eyes glint dangerously as he regards me, his jaw still clenched and his shoulders tense.

I turn on him, sending my full ire toward him. “It’s five days, Callahan. I’d hardly call that throwing the season for you. It’s his shoulder, and if he doesn’t take care of it, then he’s done. For good,” I add, my tone venomous.

Brandt clears his throat, moving to put a hand on Graham’s shoulder. “It’s not a huge deal, Graham. He needs to rest or he might cause permanent damage. Gallagher,” he calls over his shoulder as he exits the exam room. “Do what the doctor says. Hit the showers and then get that arm in a sling.”

“Yes, sir!” Finn responds immediately jumping to his feet. He grabs the sling from the table and follows Coach Brandt back into the locker room, leaving me and Graham alone in the exam room.

I take a step toward Graham, my fists clenched at my sides. “How dare you!”

“Me?” He spits back. “What about keeping it professional, or was that all just bullshit too?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” My voice rises at least two octaves as my temper boils over. My skin crawls and my heart hammers against my ribs as I try to breathe through the emotional turmoil.