“Good.” Martinez pointed his finger at Robert in warning. “Because we’re not taking it easy on you today.”
“I’mnot gonna take it easy on you guys!”
After a bunch more welcoming slaps on the back from the rest of the team, Robert went to his cubby. When he took out his gear, an overwhelming feeling of gratitude washed over him. Even though he worked hard to earn his spot as an O lineman for the New Jersey Bucks, the stars had always aligned for him.
He strapped his protective equipment to his chest, and a surge of testosterone hammered through his veins. He was ready to pummel something. Anything. The drive he had for the game accelerated every time he suited up, and he couldn’t contain his enthusiasm. A quick jab to the inside panel of the cubby and a howl let out some of the steam percolating inside him, but he needed to get on the field and play.
He ran his hand over the smooth fabric of his jersey with affection, looking down at his number. As he pulled on his pants, he flexed his knee and felt the strength that had returned full force. He was ready. He was more than ready. He was itching to get out there and play.
After he laced up his cleats, he stood up. Bubbling over with adrenaline, he picked up his helmet and slammed it against the wall of his cubby, accompanied by a loud growl.
Martinez looked at Robert with his eyes gleaming, then grunted loudly. Remington howled. Then Lewinski. Player after player followed until the locker room became a melee of manly grunts and shouts.
Coach’s voice boomed over everyone. “That’s the spirit! We got Blade back now! We’re gonna plow through New Hampshire on Sunday like a tornado!”
Everyone shouted their agreement.
“Blade, are you ready to get back in the game and show us what you got?” Coach roared the question. “Are you a hundred percent?”
“Hell yeah!” Robert yelled back. “A thousand fucking percent!”
“You sure about that? Do you want us to take it easy on you during practice today?”
“Hell no!”
“Good. You heard him,” Coach told the team. “Play hard. But play smart because we’re gonna kick ass! Nothing is going to stop us now!”
As the team rallied, Coach approached Robert, a look of fatherly concern on his face. “How are ya, kid? Seriously.”
“Great. I meant what I said. I’m ready to hit the turf, and I’m bringing everything I got.”
Coach nodded once. “If for any reason you feel any pain in that leg, or in that knee, you stop and walk off the field. I don’t care what you’re doing. If you feel like you’re straining that leg, head out.”
“I’m good. But, I promise, if at any time I feel like I’m not, you’ll be the first to know.”
Caution always ebbed at the forefront of Robert’s mind when returning to practice after an injury. He didn’t want to overdo it, yet he didn’t want to baby the injury. If he wasn’t able to handle the brutality of the game, better to find out now rather than later.
The team started with basic warm-up stretches and a quick jog around the field, followed by a day of running drills. Robert marveled at his recovery. The knee and leg proved to be better and stronger than before without any repercussions. Thank God because he wasn’t ready to give up yet.
The team ran to the locker room, amped to the max with more fuel than before practice started. Coach followed and stood on one of the benches to address everyone. “That was phenomenal! You guys always make me proud! You gave it your all out there! Blade, you’re back!”
Thunderous cheers echoed off the walls.
“That physical therapist must have been awesome,” Martinez said, when the cheers died down enough for him to be heard.
“She was,” Robert agreed.
“A chick for a doctor?” Remington commented, while waggling his brows. “Was she hot?”
A round of laughter followed, and someone shouted, “Did you bang her?”
All eyes were on Robert. Even Coach was waiting curiously for an answer. “No,” he replied, annoyed at the vulgarity of the question. “She’s my doctor.” While most of the guys loved to brag about their conquests, Robert always valued his privacy. His personal life washispersonal life. It wasn’t to be discussed in the locker room like a bunch of horny teenagers.
The next day, Robert woke feeling like a king. He wasn’t sore, except for the elbow in the ribs he accidentally took from Villalobos. With a successful practice behind him, he was ready to move on to the next item on the agenda—Amber.
He’d watched her every move several hours a day, five days a week, for two weeks. He knew what time she arrived at the physical therapy practice in the morning—between 8:00 a.m. and 8:05. How long she took for lunch—30 minutes. What she liked to eat for lunch—turkey and Swiss on whole wheat with lettuce and mayo and a bag of chips. How many cups of coffee she drank on a typical day and her favorite flavor—four and hazelnut. And, most importantly, what time she left for the day—5:00 p.m. That’s why he’d been standing on the street outside Morgan Physical Therapy Solutions for the past 10 minutes. His plan was to catch her on her way out the door and offer to buy her dinner. As a thank you. And to tell her about his practice session with the team. No strings. Just a friendly dinner. At least that was his story in case she tried to decline because of ethical reasons.
He showed up empty handed, without flowers or a thank-you card, and wore jeans and a T-shirt. He was trying to make an impression bynottrying to make an impression. Hopefully, it wasn’t obvious.
