I roll my eyes. She doesn’t flinch at that, either.
She starts walking me through basic movement screens—shin taps, seated flexion, supported straight-leg lifts—but I resist half of them. Not to be difficult. Just because it all feels like bullshit. Like going through the motions is going to magically fix a torn ligament.
I’m already counting the minutes until this is over.
“You need to relax,” she says. “If you’re bracing, the tests won’t be accurate.”
I scoff under my breath. “Little hard to relax when the season’s on the line.”
She meets my eyes. “All the more reason to do this right. We have ten weeks to get you back to full weight-bearing strength and through the entire return-to-play protocol. That starts with us finishing today’s baseline.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll note that you refused assessment, and Dr. Patel and I can discuss noncompliance.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “So that’s how it’s gonna be?”
“That’s how it is,” she says, calm as ever.
And somehow that annoys me more than if she’d tried to coddle me.
She moves my leg through a careful range of motion, pausing when I hiss through my teeth.
“That one hurt?” she asks, still watching the angle.
“No,” I lie.
She writes something down.
I hate the feeling of being handled. Watched. Evaluated.
I hate that she’s not rattled by it.
I hate that she’s still annoyingly sunshiney even now.
When she finishes setting the brace, I don’t even look at her. Just mutter, “We done?” like every second in this room is a punishment I didn’t earn.
“For today,” she says. “You did really well.”
I hold back a snort when she lies.
She continues, “We’ll start gentle mobility work tomorrow.”
I don’t say anything back. Just grab the crutch and limp out without another word.
One day down.
Nine weeks and six days to go.
Chapter Three
CHARLOTTE
Iwash my hands in the back sink and stare at the faucet for a second longer than I need to.
Declan’s chart is open on the screen in front of me. Everything’s entered: the range limits, his extension lag, the swelling, the signs of guarding. It’s all there—clean, correct, clinically sound.
So why does it feel like I just walked off a battlefield?
