by Robin Leaf
She sucked in a breath and made a noise that sounded like a very quietly whispered, “Holy shit.” She didn’t move for a few seconds; she just stared at me. Stunned silence was my best guess.
“So bad you’re speechless, huh?” I quipped.
She pulled her hand out of mine and dropped her eyes. “Yeah, that was terrible.”
She re-focused her attention back on my ankle, obviously flustered. She fumbled around a while, finally ripping off the white tape altogether. She walked over to the shelf to grab another roll.
I had to fight not to laugh. She was so fucking adorable, all annoyed and bothered, bothered by me. That thought thrilled me. “That roll was obviously a bad one.”
“Shut up.”
I couldn’t hold back. I laughed out loud. Hard. She threw the roll of tape at my head, which I easily ducked, but it did make me laugh harder.
I could tell her anger was melting because she was trying hard not to smile. “Cocky son of a bitch,” she gruffed under her breath.
Ozzie Franklin walked in and took the table next to me. Who names their kid Ozzie, anyway? I asked him once, and he said his parents were big Black Sabbath fans. Ugh. It was an insult to the real Ozzy, who was the only person who can pull it off. Otherwise, it’s a stupid name. It’s why I only called him by his last name.
“Sullivan, maybe you should stop working on the scrub,” he punched me playfully in the shoulder, “and work on someone who is actually playing today.”
“Maybe if you had shown up thirty minutes ago like you were supposed to, you’d already be done, Franklin.” I took minor joy in the fact that she seemed to spit out his name. Jackson was right, she was feisty. She looked up at me. “I’ll be right back.”
Etta disappeared into the office around the corner, and I watched her all the way.
“I see you looking,” Franklin roared. “And I agree. That is one nice piece of ass.”
I’d never really had a reason not to like Franklin. We’d never really been able to talk just the two of us about anything other than baseball. He’d been a little crass at times, but we were ball players. Crass is sometimes part of the camaraderie. I didn’t like him much, I’d just never had a reason to not like him — until he said that. I suddenly had the overwhelming urge to punch him in the throat.
“Don’t talk about her like that, Man.”
“What, you like her?” He chuckled. “Well, save it. She’s made it clear she doesn’t date athletes.” He took off his shorts, revealing that he was only wearing his jock strap. Asshole. Knowing she would be in here, he wore it, and made no motion to cover himself. “I was willing to break my no-freshmen rule for her.” He moved himself back on the table. “I bet she’s a virgin, too. Hmmmm, I’d love to pop that sweet cherry.”
I’ve heard of red hot anger. At that moment, I felt it. This blinding need to protect her, added to the jackassity that was flowing out of his shit hole of a mouth, made me want to kill him. I was just about to jump off the table to punch his jugular, at least for starters, when both Jackson and Etta returned.
Absolutely fucking perfect timing.
This pile of shit wasn’t worth getting kicked off the team and losing my scholarship. I took deep breaths to try to assuage my anger. I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I just closed my eyes and let Etta finish taping me, vaguely aware of my fists clenched so tightly that my hands cramped.
I finally honed in to the voices around me. I heard Jackson, so I focused on his words, hoping they would distract me enough to not go postal.
“Where are you going tomorrow night for your birthday?”
“I don’t know,” Etta sighed. “Emily, she’s my twin sister, and I are going to celebrate together. I want to go out to dinner and keep it simple. But she insists we go to some bar.”
“Bar? You aren’t old enough.” Jackson laughed. Even though he just turned twenty three, he always acted way older, treating the other trainers like little siblings.
“Emily heard about Ethan and contacted him a while ago,” Etta replied. “It was her early birthday gift to me.”
Ethan was our campus graphic artist, fancy name for forger. His fake IDs were legendary. My Ethan original suddenly felt heavy in my pocket.
“Emily is coming in town tomorrow and she arranged this party with a few of our friends at some place named Doyle’s. We have this thing we do every year on our birthday, and she says we can’t do it if we are in a restaurant. I’m still trying to talk her into my plan.” She tapped me on the knee. I knew my anger had almost completely dissipated when I felt the heat from her fingertips travel up my thigh. “Stand up and see if that’s better, Nathaniel.” My name from her mouth? Fucking sweet.
“What thing do you do?” Jackson asked.
“Well, when we were twelve, we made this list. Each birthday, we have a silly task to perform, a different task every year. It’s kind of like a bucket list, but nothing on it is too crazy, like climb Mount Everest or jump out of a plane. Just simple tasks. It’s kind of like a bet. If either of us can’t do it, the other gets to have a sit down with Mom and tell her all the things we’ve gotten away with over the years.”
“Wow. Gotten away with a lot? It’s that bad?” I asked.
She turned her attention to me and blushed. Beautiful. “Yeah. But the list of things I have on Emily is way worse than her list of my stuff. I’ve been looking for an excuse to tell Mom.” She paused. “How’s the ankle feel?”
“Good,” I lied. It actually did feel a little crooked this time. I swallowed. “So, what’s on the list for this year?”
She laughed. “We have to get blindfolded. At the time of each of our births, 11:57 p.m. for me, 12:09 a.m. for her, the blindfold gets removed and we have to kiss the first random guy we see.”
My chest tightened. The thought of her full lips on another guy actually made me a little sick. Shit. What the hell was wrong with me?
“That really isn’t safe, Etta.” Jackson! Thank God for Jackson. “Want me to be there? Your sister’s never seen me. I could be your random guy.” Jackson! Fuck off, Jackson.
“Thanks. I might take you up on that.”
Now the need to punch Jackson just overshadowed the need to punch the fuck nugget next to me.
But Jackson gave me a better plan. Thank God we didn’t have a game the day after tomorrow, because tomorrow night, I planned to take my too-good-to-be-fake ID and become “the first random guy” Etta Sullivan sees at Doyle’s bar.
Five
October 17, last year
We stared at each other for a long time, each assessing the changes to each other’s features. Other than her slightly lighter, way longer hair and her more toned physique, she really didn’t look much different. More refined. Older, yes, but not in a bad way, just less young girlish. She actually looked more beautiful than I’d ever seen her, and it killed me.
She took in my loose-fitting Texans t-shirt and my cargo shorts. Shorts in October is not abnormal in Houston. In fact, it’s rare that we get below 65 degrees until well into December. However, we’ve been known to wear shorts on Christmas Day as well.
Her expression remained impassive, as if she was unimpressed that I was there. No emotion? At all? It kinda pissed me off.
Jake brushed past me and hugged Etta. I watched their exchange in a daze, still not believing that she was here. They talked to each other quietly for a few seconds before she turned her attention back to me.
“You’re getting fat,” she jabbed, breaking my stupor.
I pointed to my knee. “Kinda haven’t been able to exercise lately,” I snapped back.
“Uh huh. Probably all that ice cream. And does your injury prevent you from shaving, too?”
I felt my jaw grind. I knew she was trying to piss me off. She smiled that tight smile that meant she was trying to mask other emotions. Despite the anger I felt toward her, I was slightly happy that I still knew her so well.
“Yes, well, go sit over there while I pull u
p your scans.” She pulled out an electronic tablet and started touching the screen. “I’ll need you to remove your brace so we can start the assessment.”
So many warring emotions played in my head. I wanted to hug her because I missed my best friend. I wanted to finally kiss her and tell her I love her. I wanted to back her up against the wall and make her cry out my name. I wanted to walk out this door and never see her again. I wanted to scream “fuck off” to her. I wanted to shake her for running away from me and not loving me back.
In the end, I did as I was told, like a pathetic little puppy.
I felt Jacob stand next to me as I undid the Velcro straps of my brace. “You knew about this?” I whispered through gritted teeth.
“Can we talk about this later?” he asked, removing my brace from my knee carefully and placing it behind me.
I turned to look my brother in the eye, knowing this would be the last time I would look upon his handsome face since I planned to fuck it up later. “Don’t think we won’t,” I growled, my tone even scaring me. I knew my face gave away my intent, too. He didn’t flinch though, or even look scared. Huh. I thought he was smart.
“Okay, Nate,” she began. It didn’t go unnoticed that she had never called me Nate before today. It felt every bit like a punch to the junk. “Today we will assess your injury, check out your mobility and do a few easy exercises. Then I’ll ice you down and give you some instructions on diet and some activities I want you to do at home between your visits here.”
“How often will that be?” I asked, wanting to know how often the torture, not from the work she wanted me to do, but from seeing her, would commence.
“Dr. Woods noted on your chart that you wanted to get back in playing shape, so right now, I’m thinking at least three times a week, maybe more.” Fuck. “But let’s see what you can do today before we say for sure.”
I disconnected my emotions and went into the zone I use when I’m working out and training. She moved about me, instructing and demonstrating as necessary, and I followed, not speaking at all, completely focused. Once she assessed my range of motion and strength of my right leg, she had me perform some easy resistance training exercises. The process took about an hour. The whole time, Jake just sat in a chair thumbing through a magazine.
“Okay, let’s get you iced up.”
“That’s it?” I asked suspiciously.
She looked at me, obviously annoyed by my tone. “For today, yes.” She walked over to a large freezer and removed two frozen cold packs from it. She wrapped them each in a pillow case and placed one underneath my leg and one on top.
I tried to hide my wince at the cold. “That didn’t seem like much.”
She smiled that tight smile again. “Good. You won’t be in much pain then. Speaking of pain, are you still taking prescription pain meds?”
“No, I haven’t since right after the surgery. You should remember how I feel about drugs. But I still have my prescription bottle. Why?”
She smiled. “I want you to lay off the pain killers, even the NSAIDs. Pain is your friend right now. It lets you know when you are doing too much. Soreness and stiffness in your muscles is to be expected, but knee pain is not okay. Only take an OTC if the pain is so bad, you can’t sleep, and then let me know about it on your next visit.”
“What happened to ‘no pain, no gain?’”
“Pain means injury. We are trying to heal, not injure further.”
Moving over to the tablet, she clicked on a few screens. The printer started whirring, and once it was done spitting out papers, she grabbed them and turned to me.
She started explaining the exercises, taking me step by step through each paper. Her voice was robotic, like a flight attendant explaining safety procedures for the two-hundredth time, a super sexy-voiced flight attendant. Next, she started in on the diet, mentioning something about fish and animal protein, specific oils, foods rich in calcium and vitamin C, seeds and fruits. Then she cited specific vitamins I needed and named several weird-ass supplements that might aid in the healing and building of joint and tendon tissues.
“Might? You don’t know?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I very much DO know.” She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and let it out slowly, her sign she was trying to curb her anger. I was getting to her. “The question is in the absorption rates. Our research shows there hasn’t been a significant enough increase in the healing of tissues from use of the supplement to justify the claims the manufacturers make. It’s one of the things my clinic is researching. My suggestion is to do the diet and the vitamins. The supplements won’t hurt, but our studies have shown that they don’t really speed up the healing process.”
I liked that I was getting to her. So, I decided to push some more buttons.
“If I am going to be able get back into my playing condition, do you really think this wimp-ass workout you gave me today and some stupid diet will do that?”
She glared at me, stunned, mouth falling audibly open, eyes turning stormy green. I could see the wheels working behind the storm. She was working up something big. I went in for the kill.
“Miss Sullivan, forgive me, but I’m just not convinced that you are qualified for this job.” I looked at my brother for one of our mental high-fives, but the tool busied himself turning the pages of his magazine faster, refusing to look at me.
Etta stood up, still glaring at me. She stomped toward me, and I flinched. I fucking flinched. God, what a pussy move.
“I’ll have you know, MISTER Slaughter, that while you left to go play your little games, I was busy getting my doctorate faster than anyone else has at this university.” She pointed her finger at me. “While you were getting interviewed by ESPN,” she pointed back at herself, “I was recruited by three different research clinics across the country, interviewed by the Mayo Clinic and offered the position for their head of research in sports injuries, which I was able to turn down to start my own clinic. While you bought your insanely expensive sports car, I became one of the youngest professors ever at Rice, complete with a funded research lab here at the clinic and my own lackeys. While you won awards no one cares about except the people receiving them, I received three, no make that four, commendations for breakthroughs in my research from the APTA, John’s Hopkins, the Mayo Clinic AND the AMA. While you dated supermodels, I opened this clinic and have treated numerous professional athletes, actors, and a former president.” She got right in my face and spoke in a loud whisper. “A former fucking president!” She stepped back and paced. “While you were pushing your stupid little sport’s drinks and cologne and doing underwear ads, I gained endorsements and endowments from the NCAA, the NBA, the NFL, the MLS, the NHL, FIFA, the Olympic committee, and even your precious MLB, to conduct my ground-breaking research.” She stopped and got right in my face. “And I’m not even thirty yet,” she added arrogantly. “So, if you still think I’m not qualified to help with your little boo boo, then you can walk out that door and never return. But if you want to continue with the chick who the commissioner of the MLB called, ‘the best there is,’ then I’ll see you tomorrow, 7:00 a.m. Just make sure you leave your cocky little attitude at home.” She turned to grab some things off her desk. “I’ll send Andre in here to finish you up, because right now, I have to get to my class.” Turning to stomp out the door, she yelled, “The one I’m TEACHING!”
Jake and I both stared for several minutes at the doorway after she left. Finally, Jacob broke the silence by laughing loudly.
“Oh, man,” he clapped his hands once, as if high-fiving himself. “That was friggin AWESOME!” I agreed, silently of course. It was a thing of beauty to see her so passionate and worked up, and I’d have appreciated it more if I had not been on the receiving end of it.
He moved to my side. “Has she always been like that?” He shook his head in amazement. “I never would have guessed she had that in her. Bet you feel really stupid right now.”
“Fuck off, Jake.”
That made him laugh harder. “I mean, that was legendary. She shut you up good. Better than even Mom could do.”
I glared at him. “You knew, didn’t you?”
“Of course I knew, dumbass.” He sighed. “You may have broken up with her, but it didn’t mean we all had to.”
I was about to light into Jake when a huge guy, probably 6’6”, who I presumed was Andre, entered the room. He was almost as wide as he was tall, linebacker sized and damn near pure muscle.
“So,” he starts, his deep booming voice resonating through my chest. “Are you the one who pissed off Etta?”
“Yes,” I admitted. Then I was struck by fear that I may be in danger from the wall that was Andre.
“That wasn’t smart.” I froze, fearing I was about become as bloody as I wanted Jake to be, but when I looked up at Andre, he was smiling at me. “The last guy who made her angry before therapy couldn’t walk for three days afterward.” He shook his head. “She was way more pissed than that today. Asked me to finish ‘the cocky ass hat’ for her, in front of poor Mrs. Jenkins. Little old lady almost had a heart attack from laughing so hard.” He removed the ice packs from my leg carefully. “You know, Etta is insisting on handling your case personally.” He tisked his tongue. “I’d really hate to be you right now.”
Too late. I already hate to be me.
***
“So are you not ever going to talk to me?” Jake asked as he pulled up to the popular hole-in-the-wall burger joint close to home.
“Talking is not I want to do to you, Jake,” I seethed.
He laughed, and I noticed the nervous hint to it. “It’s good I brought you to a public place then.” He opened his car door. “Come on. We can’t have THE Nate Slaughter caught staying in the car pouting during lunch, now can we?”