“Your appointment with Dr. Baker is in thirty minutes. Jack would like me to attend with you,” she says.
I nod. “Let’s meet there. I’m going to train a bit afterward, and you don’t need to stick around for that.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to. I need to get an idea of what you do, and if we’re going with the grinding athlete angle, I’ll need to take photos of you in action so we can start building a social media campaign showcasing that.”
“Fine.”
We head toward the practice facility in our own cars, a welcome separation. Sometimes being in the same room as her gets overwhelming. I guess I’m not used to spending so much time with a single person.
Even when I was married, we didn’t spend this much time together. At first, maybe. But things change. Life changes. It’s the one constant, I think.
“Everything looks good, Maverick. You’re cleared to return to light practice. I want you to sit out of the game one more week, but depending on how things go, you may be able to start as soon as next Sunday,” Dr. Baker tells me after the exam.
Even Everleigh looks excited. Maybe we both feel a bit of joy because now we’ll have even more separation.
But as soon as I have the thought, I know it’s wrong—for two reasons.
One, she’s got my schedule and a free pass to every part of my life on the field thanks to Jack.
And two…the thought of more separation from her isn’t pulsing the kind of joy inside that I was expecting it to.
CHAPTER 16: Everleigh Bradley
Secret Appointment
I glance through the calendar and see a time slot blocked off tomorrow morning bright and early before Maverick’s four-week checkup with Dr. Baker at the Complex. It doesn’t saywhatthe activity is, but since I’m supposed to shadow him everywhere, it looks like I’ll be getting up before the sun tomorrow.
When I meet with him in the evening, I ask him about it. “What’s this?” I point to the digital calendar I have pulled up with the five thirty to six thirty time block.
“A weekly appointment,” he grunts.
I thought we were getting past the grunting after he punched some guy who dared to look in my direction, but apparently I stand corrected.
“For what?”
He tilts his head and studies me, and he looks away when he answers. “Something I do weekly when I can.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.” I purse my lips.
“Is there any chance I’ll get to do this myself?”
I shake my head.
“Right, then I guess you’ll find out in the morning.”
“What time are we leaving?” I ask.
He rolls his eyes. “Five fifteen.”
“What should I wear?”
“Whatever you want.” He’s really giving me nothing here.
“I’ll meet you in the lobby at five fifteen.” That’s what I tell him. In truth, I’ll be down there at five so he doesn’t escape without me.
Once we go our separate ways, I spend the rest of the evening wondering what the hell a grumpy pro football star does bright and early on Friday mornings before practice.
Does he go get a massage?
