Leslie's Curl & Dye

by DL White

  “You’d lose your scholarship, though.”

  A short laugh caught in my throat as I revealed yet another secret. “I was about to lose it anyway. I was flunking out that semester, just barely eligible to play. The idea that I was causing a burden to my folks, that I could be of more use at home?”

  I tipped my head back against the headboard, my eyes on the muted SportsCenter broadcast but my mind back at Healy, 2006. “It messed with my head, you know? I couldn't concentrate. Half my mind was on my mom and the other half was on the draft. I wanted to be home. And you and I were in that class together. I wanted you to have that internship—”

  “That I didn’t even get, because I was so busy crying over you leaving Healy.” Leslie smirked. “So we all know what happened, next.”

  “Yeah. I got a couple of offers and I picked the one that served my best interests. I wanted to play for the NBA. Of course, I had my dream teams, but most of all I wanted to be able to help my family out.”

  “What did your parents say when you came home, talking about entering the NBA draft?”

  I laughed. “Dad was hot. For a minute, he was hot. I was all kinds of irresponsible, ungrateful, stupid. But I did a lot of work for him, basically managed his company while he was doing stuff with my mom. By the time the draft came around, they were hopeful. I walked away from a lot, to help them out. I got lucky.” I nodded, realizing again just how lucky.

  “So your knee wasn’t an issue?”

  “Nah, cause I took six months off. Worked out, kept it loose, didn’t stress it. I was a rookie, so I wasn’t getting a whole lot of play. But the better I played when I did play, the more I played in subsequent games and then the knee started to bother me again. But I didn’t want to be benched so early out of the gate. My rookie contract was only two years and I was coming up for trade, so I played like my life depended on it.

  “Got on the Warriors and everything was good, except now I got a lot of play time. I did a lot of pivoting on the knee. I was used to moving a certain way, to protect the knee, but I got bumped one night, landing a jump shot.”

  “I watched that game. And all the ESPN replays. You tore your ACL. Dexter was upset. He had you on his Fantasy team that year.”

  I nodded. “You know the deal, after that. Surgery, rehab, kid gloves for five weeks. That’s rough on a young player when the season is only six months. ”

  I grimaced, reaching up to rub the knots of tension from my neck.

  “So… for pain, the docs were giving me these pills. Oxycontin. I took them and they worked. I’d keep asking for them and they’d keep giving them to me. I was playing hard, but I was on the pills so I didn’t feel it. Got traded again to the Baltimore Herons. Played okay through most of my career with them, but this one game… I was like Jordan, you know? Shot after shot after shot. Until the same thing happened… landed on the wrong knee in the wrong way.

  “The second ACL tear was the worst time to have an injury. My contract with the Herons was coming up. I tried to convince the league that I could be back up to 100% in no time, just give me the off-season to rest. The Herons offered to waive me, forgoing the last year of my contract, if another team wanted to take me. But at that point, I couldn’t even play. My knee wasn’t healing like it was supposed to, probably because I wasn’t rehabbing right. And... things were getting weird, with the pills.”

  “Weird,” repeated Leslie, her forehead creased. “Weird how, with the pills?”

  I couldn’t swallow the hard lump in my throat. I couldn’t even look at Leslie, but she reached up and cupped my chin and turned my face toward her. I didn’t want to be this man, in front of her. I wanted to have been stronger, better, healthy. But I wasn’t. I was just Kade Cavanaugh. And that was going to have to be okay for Leslie Baker.

  “When I came back to Healy, I didn’t go home because I couldn’t go home. I didn’t want my folks to see me. If it wasn’t for Kendrick I don’t even know where I’d be right now…” My voice trailed off and I broke eye contact.

  “Were you… addicted to the pills?”

  “Nah,” I said, chewing on my bottom lip. “I mean… maybe. I was dependent. I hated every minute of needing pills to function. I’d seen people lose everything behind an addiction and I didn’t want that shit to get worse. I came to Healy to shake the pills. And then I needed something to do because I had too much money and free time. I had too many people reaching out to me. Hey, Kade. How you doin’? You need anything?’ Like, legit doctors calling me, offering to write a script. You know how many players go out on that floor, high on something their doctors gave them? Or buying shit on the street? I’ve seen guys go from Oxy to heroin because it’s cheaper. That’s hard core.”

  “Shit,” she whispered, incredulous. “So you take enough Advil to kill a horse.”

  “Babe, I would rather limp around the rest of my life than have to be on those pills again.”

  Leslie shifted so she was on her knees next to me. “Okay, I get that. But… from what Erik said about tonight’s practice, I think you tore something. That’s not going to magically heal—”

  “I told him not to say anything,” I grumbled, rolling my eyes.

  “He didn’t have a choice. Don’t be mad at him, Mister Limping Around, Pretending Nothing’s Wrong.”

  “My leg’s not gonna fall off or nothin’.”

  “Babe—”

  “Look, Les— I’m not going under the knife again if it means I need narcotics for the pain. Not during the campaign, anyway. ”

  “Kade, what campaign? You can’t even walk!” Leslie’s nose flared, her eyes widened. Frustration vibrated from every cell, making the air between us thick with contention. I wasn’t trying to be stubborn— really, I wasn’t. But I wanted her to understand where I was coming from and to what lengths I’d be willing to go. I was not going past the stopping point I’d decided on in my head. Surgery wasn’t happening. Narcotic pain pills were not happening.

  Leslie closed her eyes, her chest barreling with the breaths she inhaled— in, out. In, out. When she opened her eyes again, she appeared much calmer— for which I was grateful, unless it was the calm before another storm.

  But it wasn’t. She sat up, wrapping her arms around me, bending to press her lips against mine. “I’m gonna stop. And say thank you for sharing that with me. I know it was a big deal for you to do that and I’m so glad I know. I’m so glad you trust me enough to tell me. And I’m not judging you. Not now, not then, not ever. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I said, sensing the but or however that was coming.

  “Now… if you want Kendrick or Erik even Dwayne to go to the doctor with you, fine. If you want me to go to the doctor with you, I absolutely will; but with or without me, KC...you’re going.”

  I frowned.

  “No one is saying we let the doc cut you up that day. But we at least find out what’s wrong, what’s torn, what can be treated without surgery. We find out if we can wait until the election is over to make a decision. And we get you something not quite a narcotic but stronger than Advil because I swear if you get an ulcer from that stuff…”

  I chuckled, smiling at all her we statements. And her demands. It had been a long time since a woman other than TC had had the right to boss me around. To be honest, Leslie had been the only woman I’d ever given the privilege.

  Resolute, I tilted my head up for a kiss. I could deal with the compromise and even if I couldn’t, I’d been defeated.

  “So I can’t seduce you into not making me go to the doc, huh?”

  She giggled, settling on my lap and scooting up so she and I were chest to chest. My hands settled in their normal position, around the perfectly round orbs of ass cheeks. She cradled my face in her hands and brought my lips to hers, kissing me again. “You can seduce me whenever you like, but you’re not going to change my mind on this. I can’t stand to see you in pain anymore, KC. And if it turns out that you have to have surgery, I’m here to help you. I’m not going anyw
here.”

  “Yeah?” I grinned. “I was thinking I would stick around, too.”

  “Oh? Not running off to follow some other dream?”

  “My dream is right here, sitting in my lap.”I knew that would make her cry. She sucked in her bottom lip, trying to stave it off, but I saw the shine in her eyes and the red glow in her skin. I’d make it up to her. For the rest of my life, if I had to. “Matter of fact, I’m so here, I’m trying to get a job as the Mayor of this town. I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.”

  Chapter 25

  KC

  * * *

  Two days later, I was in the backseat of the Escalade, my right leg stretched out and knee brace on, headed to Healy. Potter Lake didn’t have an orthopedic specialist, which is what I would need. Leslie had called Dwayne and got a referral and a recommendation for Dr. Irons with Belaire Orthopedic and Sports Medicine Clinic. He was, Dwayne said, the best in the Southeast and would be responsive to my requests for treatment that didn’t involve medication.

  “Besides,” Leslie quipped, “Doc Moore would probably tell you to just put a bag of frozen peas on it.”

  TC and Leslie sat up front, chatting like they’d always been life long friends. Kendrick was next to me, flipping through screens on his phone.

  “What are you doing over there, man? You’re real quiet.”

  “My other job—checking on our social media campaigns. Getting good interaction on SnapChat with the Top Five Cuts feature,” he muttered. “Instagram is looking good, too. Still getting hits on that cut Tamera did for you.”

  I perked at that. “Yeah? Let’s see.”

  Kendrick showed me his screen. He brought up the picture that he’d taken that night at the Kit Kat and posted under the Guys N’ Dolls account. Kendrick began to scroll through thousands of comments. Most were nice, some fans that had watched me during my NBA days.

  “That’s cool,” I said, relaxing against the leather seats again.

  “So, Kendrick,” Leslie called from the front of the truck. “That snap thing? Does that get you foot traffic? Like people walk in and say they saw a cut on… whatever… gram and they want it?”

  Kendrick laughed. “First of all, you’re too young to not know what you’re talking about, Leslie. You need to let me give you a tutorial. Secondly…yeah. That’s why we do it, and stay on it. Your girl Evonne has a page on here. You should get her to run one for the shop.”

  “Hunh, really? I think I will.”

  “See, when I tell her stuff like that, she says I’m being bossy. When you say it, she listens and decides to take your advice.”

  Leslie turned in her seat and shot a playful glare back at me. “That’s because you usually are being bossy about it, KC. Kendrick is more likely to give me advice that doesn’t sound like an order.”

  “Ain’t he?” TC had to add. “Just bossy!”

  “Whatever,” I grumbled, mindlessly rubbing my knee. It was swollen and didn’t easily bend. It also didn’t hold much weight, so I’d been using a cane. I’d fought the appointment, but deep down I was looking forward to getting some relief.

  TC pulled into a parking lot in front of a tall glass and aluminum building. The curved design of the architecture caught the sun just right, reflecting into my eyes. I squinted, climbing out of the truck, leaning heavily on the cane on one side and Leslie on the other.

  We inched our way through the sliding glass doors and into an entryway that looked more like a hotel lobby than a medical center. Instead of tile or linoleum, the floors were carpeted, the chairs were comfortable microfiber in muted colors.

  Leslie pressed the call button for the elevator and helped me shuffle in when the doors opened. I leaned against the stainless steel wall and pushed out a heavy breath. I hadn’t taken any anti-inflammatories since the day before and the thump of pain radiating up my thigh and down my calf was overwhelming.

  “Must be bad, huh?”

  “Yeah,” I bit out in a harsh whisper. “It’s like… tight. And hot.”

  “Hang in there,” she soothed, rubbing my back through the thin jacket I’d pulled on. After weeks of over ninety degree temps, there was a slight chill in the air, which gave Leslie an excuse to light up the gas fireplace. The trees were already bright hues of red, yellow and orange and suddenly, everything was pumpkin or apple or squash flavored.

  The elevator stopped on the ninth floor and slid open and I was relieved to see a comfortable waiting room. I limped my way to a chair and lowered into it, heaving a loud gust of relief. Leslie went right to the front counter to check us in. I heard low murmurs from across the room.

  “Babe, you have your insurance card?”

  I nodded, leaning over to pull my wallet from my pocket, then the glossy card from its slot. I had played in the league just long enough to qualify for the upper tier of coverage for retirees. The plan would cover me and my spouse, however potential she may be, until I was eligible for Medicare. Little things like that were starting to matter to me, the closer Leslie and I became. I was serious when I said I wanted her to be my future…those were words I’d never said before in my life, but I meant them.

  Leslie finished with the nurse, and took the seat next to me. “It’ll be just a few minutes. Dr. Irons is finishing up with a patient. How are you doing?”

  “Okay, now that I’m sitting.” I looked up to see Kendrick and TC walk in. They took seats near us. “I just want to get this over with. I shouldn’t have been messing around with those kids. I knew better.”

  “I’m sure you’ll remember all this pain and regret.”

  “And if you have problems remembering,” TC said, “I’ll remind you.”

  A door swung open and a nurse came out into the waiting room. “Mr. Cavanaugh?” I raised my hand, then braced myself to stand. Leslie grabbed my arm on one side and I leaned on the cane as I followed her through the door to Dr. Iron’s office.

  “You’ll sit and chat for a few minutes, then the doctor will probably send you down to the scanning suite for an MRI, so I’ll come back to get you.”

  “Oh… he’ll do an MRI today? Like… not weeks from now?” Leslie asked.

  I hid the amusement in my voice when I answered. “Welcome to dating an NBA type, Leslie.”

  “Well, young man. It seems as if you’ve been through quite a bit, as far as your knee is concerned.”

  I nodded and swallowed, adjusting in the chair. Earlier, we’d met with Dr Irons, who looked like he’d been a former ball player himself, though he swore he hadn’t been. Tall, muscular, angular face framed by a trim beard. His accent was light, but the lilt in his voice told me he was from, or had spent significant time on an island.

  After our conversation and my description of what had happened at practice he’d sent me three floors down for an MRI and CAT scan of my knee. Now we were back upstairs in his office and he was poring over the films.

  “Yessir,” I responded. “I’ve put my knees through a lot, ever since I was young.”

  “Yes,” he mumbled, viewing a set of x-rays behind a light box. “I see that. Although the situation, for the moment, isn’t as bad as you’ve probably thought it to be.”

  I glanced at Leslie and she glanced at me. There was a possibility that there was good news, here.

  “I see a great deal of scarring and inflammation. Your cartilage is seriously degraded. We will want to talk about an implant quite soon.”

  He glanced at me over the rimless glasses he wore. I was expecting to hear that, since I’d been putting it off since high school. He continued, “There maybe be a re-injury to the ACL. I’d like to check out the meniscus as well but for now it seems intact. I need to treat the swelling, as it is severe. That’s why you can’t bend your knee. The pressure is causing the pain and I can’t see much until we get that taken care of.”

  “What do you recommend, Dr. Irons?” asked Leslie. Her brows were knit together and her face had that look she got when she was highly concerned. I was touched that
she as so invested. “Kade is running for office out in Potter Lake. The election is in a few weeks. He doesn’t really have time for bed rest.”

  “That’s what Dwayne told me. Good luck on your efforts, young man. However, the knee doesn’t have a concern for our schedules. If it needs rest, then that’s what we must give it, no?”

  His voice was so soothing and grandfatherly, I don’t think Leslie took the reprimand like she would have normally taken it. I sure didn’t. I wanted to be able to stand, to walk again. Short of downing some pills, I’d do what I had to.

  He turned off the box and pulled his glasses from his face, folding them and tucking them into a pocket in his pristine white lab coat. “I’m going to prescribe a treatment that won’t require full bedrest, but I do want you to take it easy on the knee. No standing for long periods of time, no walking long distances. Certainly no running or jumping. And you could stand to drop about twenty pounds. There’s no need to be so bulky— you haven’t seen a court in years.”

  Did this dude just call me fat? I opened my mouth to react, but Leslie’s grip on my forearm stopped me. I paused, breathed, and swallowed my response. Besides… he was right. I’d been eating like crazy, especially the last few weeks, and I had put on some pounds.

  “Tell me, have you heard of cryotherapy?” I nodded. The machines were like putting your arm or leg in a freezer. When I left the league, the machines were being added to a lot of team therapy rooms. The doctor reached for a pad from his desk and began scratching out some notes. “The idea is that the forced, cool air and the compression lowers or eliminates swelling and encourages healing. You can rent or buy one— I’d suggest you buy one, with your history, and begin a course of forty-five minutes to one hour therapy in the morning and at night.”

  He handed the notes to Leslie, who squinted to read them.