“Coach, what about Dr. Morgan?”
Sam gave a quick, hopefully invisible, fist pump when Bruce asked the question.
“She’s just down the road in Hearts Bend and a sports medicine guru. Bruce, you sent North to her.” Sam slipped off the table and hobbled toward Coach Ryder. “I want to make training camp in July.”
“July?” Ryder said. “You won’t be ready in five months.” He and Bruce exchanged glances.
“Why not? By July, I’ll have been recovering for nine months. Just like Erickson.” Saying it out loud fed his hope. Made him believe this was doable.
“His injury was different than yours, Sam. We’ve talked about all of this,” Coach said. “You knew this upcoming season was a long shot.”
Yeah, they’d talked about Sam not playing but never about Dr. Morgan. Sam had been so sure he’d recover faster, beat the odds, come out stronger, that he hadn’t considered the sports medicine specialist who just so happened to live in his hometown. He’d grown up with her sons, had eaten dinner at her house so many times he couldn’t count.
“You’re still pretty tender.” Bruce motioned for Sam to get back on the table. “Not as far along as I’d like. Some of the simple exercises cause you pain.”
“So that’s it? You’re going to stick me on IR without even calling Dr. Morgan?” He hobbled over to his gear to retrieve his phone. “I’ll call her myself. I grew up eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at her kitchen counter with her kids.”
And Hearts Bend was only thirty-five miles northwest of Nashville.
“She’s always booked. We couldn’t get Trevor North in to see her last year for six months.”
Sam hobbled back to the training table and found Dr. Morgan’s number in his contacts. She’d helped him with a small injury in college. “Call me anytime,” she’d said after declaring him healed and whole.
“Dr. Morgan, please,” Sam said with a glance at his coach and trainer. “Sam Hardy calling.”
He tried not to look all smug, because he didn’t actually know if she’d come on the line, take his personal call. She had people upon people to manage her schedule. Her call-me-anytime invitation was what, ten years old? Since he only made it back to Hearts Bend occasionally—an Easter here, a Fourth of July there—he’d not seen the good doctor, or any of her kids, in years.
“Sam Hardy, is it really you?” Dr. Morgan’s rich contralto voice bolstered Sam’s hopes.
“Yes, ma’am, it is.” Suddenly he was fifteen again, sitting in her kitchen with her son Seth and flirting with her only daughter, Haley.
“Are you calling about your torn ACL?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said again.
She was silent for a few seconds and Sam heard clicking in the background. “How’s Thursday at two?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He smirked at Coach and Bruce. “I’ll be there.” Today was Tuesday. She was squeezing him into her schedule in just two days. Hashtag miracle.
“Okay, Sam, listen, if you’re my patient, you do what I say, when, where, why, and how. Otherwise, I’ll toss you out.” She paused, then continued with a bit of a laugh in her voice. “I may anyway, if you don’t return your stepmom’s calls.”
Janice. She’d ratted him out to Dr. Morgan? What in the world? But what did he expect? Welcome to small-town life.
“She’s my next call after we hang up,” he said, trying to sound sincere. If he said it, he’d have to do it. Janice had been calling—and calling—about his father’s sixtieth birthday party in a few weeks, wondering when he was coming, and if he was bringing a date. Well, he didn’t know if he was going, let alone when he’d be arriving. And most definitely not bringing a date.
“Good. Now she owes me one. And Sam, tell Bruce to give me a call. We’ll talk details.”
Sam ended the call with a look at Bruce. “She says to call her.” The expressions on Bruce and Coach Ryder’s faces were priceless. “She’ll see me Thursday.” He should’ve called her before his surgery. She might have had alternate ideas. But he’d listened to the team’s professional staff. He trusted them, which he didn’t do lightly.
He’d learned a hard lesson about trust and integrity when he was fifteen. Since then, a person, a coach, or even a team had to move mountains to gain his trust and respect. But he gave a hundred percent to everything he did.
Except when it came to love. He’d made some bad moves on that playing field and had spent the last few years recovering from his playboy reputation. He was getting too old for that mess. Pieces of his party days still popped up now and then. While he wasn’t signed up for the Lifelong Bachelors club, he couldn’t see him trusting his heart to any woman. Ever.
“All right then,” Bruce said. “Joann Morgan is the best, so you listen to her. Don’t go getting cocky and overdoing it. No tossing the ball around to keep your arm in shape. If you injure that knee again, you’re done. So slow down. Your long-term career is more important than one season.”
“This is our year for a Super Bowl ring. We have all the magic. Me, Sparks, and the Brisket.” Best in the league. “Our offensive line dominates the trenches. The D plays all out.” Postseason told a different story. Without Sam, the team seemed to fall apart. “I want to be the captain of the ship who gets our guys their rings. That should have been us in the Super Bowl last week playing the Bears and winning.”
Coach Ryder stepped up to the therapy table. “All right, see what Dr. Morgan has to say but, Sam, don’t get your hopes up. She’s good but so are our people. You’ll have until July camp. I advise you to listen to Morgan, listen to Bruce. You’re still our guy. We’re invested in you but we’re not taking unnecessary chances, and neither should you.”
