I glance up at him. “MRI came back just like you expected, right?”
“High-grade MCL tear. Patel briefed us before you got in. Ten-week return-to-play estimate, assuming everything goes clean. But no contact, no ice, nothing until he clears full progression.”
I nod. “He hates it. But I’ll get him there. One rep at a time.”
“You always say that.”
“Because it works,” I say, letting my tone brighten. “First sessions are the hardest. We’ve crossed that hurdle.”
David smirks. “You’re the only person I know who’d look at Declan Tremayne grumbling through a shin tap test and call that a hurdle crossed.”
David starts walking, and I fall in step beside him.
“Coach is shifting Tyler Reed to the top line for now,” he says. “He’s fast, he’s hungry, and we don’t have time to hesitate with the Wild Card this close.”
I nod. “I’ve got to learn the team dynamic, but I’ve watched enough tape to know he’s definitely eyeing that C.”
David shoots me a sideways glance. “You already know all this?”
I shrug, then elbow his side lightly. “You could’ve warned Declan, you know.”
David lifts a brow. “You told me not to.”
I sigh. “I said don’t make abig dealabout it. Notdon’t mentionit.”
He runs a hand through his blonde hair, a shade darker than mine. “Well, you know Declan. If I’d said anything, he’d have made it weird before you even walked in the door.”
“I get it,” I say. “But he’s not just your captain, David. He’s your best friend. And I’m your sister. That puts you right in the middle whether you like it or not.”
David frowns. “Just… don’t take it personally, okay? He’s not exactly great at asking for help.”
I nod. “I know. Doesn’t mean he gets to treat me like a complete stranger.”
He blows out a breath. “I figured you’d win him over.”
“I will,” I say simply. “But it would’ve helped if he didn’t find out I’m his new PT while strapped to a treatment table with a torn ligament and zero warning.”
David winces. “Yeah. Not ideal.”
“It’s fine,” I say, and I mean it. “He’ll come around.”
“You’re too optimistic.”
I flash him a grin. “It’s my best quality. That and not quitting just because someone makes it hard.”
The rest of the day blurs into a steady stream of evaluations, treatment notes, and a few maintenance check-ins with guys managing the usual aches—taped ankles, sore hips, tight backs.
A couple of guys ask how Declan’s doing. I keep it straightforward—brace on, MRI finished, the doctor will walk him through it. Anything beyond that’s not mine to say.
By the time I finish notes, help clean up, and check in with Vic about the morning prep schedule, it’s nearly six.
My quads ache from standing, my brain’s spinning from new faces, and my badge keeps flipping the wrong way. But I’m still steady. Still proud.
Day two, done.
I text Kristy before heading out:
You still up for hanging tonight? I could really use a reset button and lemon bars.
