“Oh. Yeah, of course,” he says and almost sounds disappointed. “I’ll talk to you later then.”
“Okay. Bye, Will.” I hang up and walk back into the courtroom as quietly as I can, ignoring the swooping in my stomach over Will calling me about my LSAT. Sandra Fray catches my eye on my way to my seat in the gallery and I feel my heart sink. But instead of giving me the disappointed and shameful look I’m expecting, she sends me a little wink with a smirk. As if saying, watch me eat these boys (and this case) alive.
Chapter Seven
Will
My knee is aching today. Most days, it doesn’t bother me much, but today, it’s hurting something nasty. That throbbing and pinching throughout my left knee and into my quad is telling me I need to take it a little easier than I’d like.
I remove a plate from either end of the bar and finish my set of leg presses with less weight than normal, focusing on form instead of how weak I feel because my knee is angry with me.
I knew I fucked it up when it happened, but I thought it would be fine in a month, back to normal in a few weeks like it usually is whenever I’ve tweaked it in the past. That’s the main reason why I didn’t work out much over the summer, I was trying to rest my knee and give it some time to heal without the stress of practice or games. But it's been nearly eight weeks since I tweaked it water skiing, and my knee’s not getting any better. It’s actually only gotten worse since practice started up again.
I hop off the leg press machine and take a small lap around the weight room, testing out my knee. It feels unstable; my kneecap is feeling loose and the joint itself is aching. I’vebeen able to convince myself that it wasn’t a problem, but there’s no way I can keep telling myself that lie any longer. My left leg feels weaker and I’m babying it during drills, I'm slower too.
Toward the end of weight training, Coach calls out, “Will Taylor!” My stomach drops, “meet me in my office after you're finished with your set.”
I set my weights down. Coach calling someone into his office is not usually a good thing. A few of the guys are laughing and hooting at me as I make my way out of the weight room and toward Coach’s office. I knock on the door, feeling oddly nervous.
“Come in,” I hear through the door.
I open the door and find Coach sitting in his chair behind his desk looking slightly like a movie villain.
“Sit,” he says.
I take a seat in the chair across from him and rub my hands over the fabric of my shorts, wiping away the nervous sweat on my hands. “You wanted to see me.”
“You’re damn right I wanted to see you. What the hell are you doing out there, Taylor?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Do you want to blow out your knee on the ice this season? Because that's what’s going to happen if you don’t start taking care of yourself. I will take you off the ice before I willfully let one of my players destroy themselves. That’s not how I run my team. Next time I see you not taped or braced up, you’re not going on the ice. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now get your ass to the athletic trainer's. Now. And for God’s sake Taylor, don’t treat your body like shit just because you decided you aren’t going to the league next year.”
He waves me off, dismissing me. I don’t mention the fact that I haven’t made up my mind on whether or not I really willrefuse to sign with the league when I graduate, and instead, I take my ass to the athletic trainer to get my knee taped up.
Two guys are already laying down on the blue leather medical tables being wrapped and iced. “Come on in and take a seat,” the athletic trainer says without looking up from the ankle she’s wrapping. How she knew I was standing in the doorway, I’m not sure. I plop myself onto the next available table and lay back, extending both legs forward. The leather groans and sticks to the back of my legs.
“Your knee giving you problems again?” the trainer says, pulling up her stool to the edge of my table. I nod my head yes and point to my left leg.
“Yeah, water skiing over the summer,” I admit. I don’t admit how much it's been bothering me or for how long either, not wanting to hear a lecture about what I should have been doing and how I’m only hurting myself by not doing it. Coach let me have it enough for one day.
The trainer is efficient and doesn’t try to make awkward small talk while wrapping my leg, which I appreciate about her. She tapes my knee up with some instructions to start adding in my physical therapy exercises and stretches back into my daily routines, and to come back in two days to get my knee retaped.
I hop off the medical table and shift my weight back and forth between my legs, testing the stability and the pain, surprised to find my knee does feel a little better. It definitely feels more stable than it did even a few minutes ago.
???
Back at the apartment, Adrian’s in his room with the door closed. I’m not sure where Liam is.
Hushed and muffled voices float through Adrian’s door and a women’s bag is set on the kitchen counter. Damn, he works fast.
I pull out a gallon bag and fill it with ice, knowing that I need to stop pretending my knee is fine and take some steps to actually heal it. I wrap the bag of ice in some paper towels and head into my room where I can ice and stretch it.
I tore my ACL my junior year of high school during a hockey game. It was a complete tear and I had to have surgery to fix it. Luckily it was early in the season when it happened, and although I missed playing the rest of my junior year, I didn’t miss playing my senior year. Since then, though, it's been an on and off again issue. Sometimes I tweak it and it's fine, or other times, like right now, it upends my entire life and everything I do. My knee is a huge part of why I’m thinking about not signing with the Panthers after I graduate. I don’t want a knee replacement by the time I’m 30. I don’t want to be in so much pain that I can’t play hockey with my kids or go dancing with my wife. I know some guys would sacrifice everything for a chance to play in the league, but I’ve seen what happens to those guys' bodies, and I don’t want that for me. Hockey is number one, but I know that will change someday, and I just can’t stomach the idea of missing out on life because my knee is fucked up beyond repair from two or three years of pro hockey. Call me a sentimental pussy, but it's true.
