1
IVY
Fact: 27% of those who worked in football organizations were women. If you went into the top quarter of payments, the number dropped to 14%.
Fact: there were more than 58,000 licensed athletic trainers around the world.
Another fact: my parents acted like they weren’t disappointed I would never be an athlete after a drunk driver hit me as a kid, ruining any chance of playing any sport. That happened when your leg and arm shattered.
I had other talents, but my parents didn’t care about those as much. I mean, heck, I could write with both hands, cosplay as Wednesday Addams, and win any board game, but could I ever make a sports team in my life? No. And as my parents were professional coaches, this was the greatest fault I had.
Did I also use facts to ease my brain when I was nervous? Yes. Did you know the body had a billion nerve cells?
“Emerson,” a rough voice barked out, pulling me from my inner turmoil.
“Yes, sir.” I stood straighter, gripping my fingers behind my lower back, cracking each knuckle three times to rid myself of this energy.
Fact: the only benefit of cracking knuckles was to release emotional stress.
I smoothed out my dark navy polo shirt, ensuring it was tucked into my khaki shorts. My internship coordinator, Henry Reiss, was a walking juxtaposition. He was tall and had an angry, deep voice and hard lines around his eyes. He was also patient, kind, and phenomenal at teaching. He was the football team’s head athletic trainer.
His gruff exterior had startled me at first, and even now, a few weeks into my senior year internship, his tone frightened me.
“I want you and Abe to work the restoration room today after practice. Tend to those on the list and any walk-ins. If they skip, let me know.” Henry tapped his clipboard on his desk and jutted his chin at the door. “Clean and check stock before you head out. My assistant is doing a run tomorrow before the big game this weekend.”
“We’re on it, sir.” Abe Smith motioned for me to go first through the door. Most mornings, all the interns met in Henry’s office where he assigned us tasks for the day. In the three weeks since Abe and I started full-time, we’d done cleanup in the rooms, training room, restoration, and field duty. My favorite moments were being on the field, inhaling the scent of fresh-cut grass, and hearing all the sounds of football.
My strongest senses were smell and sound. I wasn’t sure I could survive without them. Podcasts, audiobooks, and candles gave me life most days. But seeing how my parents were “live or breathe sports” types, there was a nostalgic feeling being on the field.
There were some not so great memories there too, but I shoved those away.
“I don’t know how you keep it so cool, Ivy. Being around these guys is wild to me. They are borderline famous, and some of them are going to end up in the NFL. I get to say that I tapped Dean Romano’s foot or Callum O’Toole took an ice bathI made.”
The usual blip of the stomach came and went, but it was faster now. You’d think three full years of hearing his name, seeing his face, and watching girls fall for him left and right would numb me to his presence, but it was impossible. Callum was a person one never forgot and couldn’t ignore. He was my opposite in every way. I was short, shy, and liked cats and game nights, while he was massive, loud, life of the party, a huge flirt, total dog person, and chose parties over quiet evenings.
I used to know everything about him, but that was then. This was now, and the current version of Callum wasn’t one I knew, so it was easy to pretend to be strangers.Because we really are.
“Dude, you can’t fangirl over them. They are just people who play football. Don’t get me wrong, if I ever met one of the NATA winners, I’d probably cry a little bit.”
“NATA?”
“National Athletic Trainers Association? Abraham. My dude. Why are you in this program without knowing our Forefathers?”
He laughed, a rich deep sound that made me smile too. Abraham was in his senior year like me and loved football so much he’d created a career path to be near it. I questioned his sanity there. I enjoyed helping people, and since I grew up around sports my entire life, working with athletes behind the scenes became a goal. Despite not being an athlete, I was highly competitive, and this role let me be a part of the world, playing to my strengths. Plus, after surviving the injuries I did, I grew really close with my physical therapists. Being able to help others through injuries around a sport I loved was a dream come true.It reminded me I was strong despite my injuries, and every day I proved to myself I could do it.
Our footsteps echoed on the tiled floor as we walked from the office toward the training room. This place had a huge facility, which was awesome as hell. The restoration room had large tubs for ice, tables where players could get tapped and ice wrapped around their muscles. As a shy, fact-loving person, I’d never truly been a part of teams. I always watched from the outside in, but being in this role felt like a safer version of that. I was working toward something. I was a part of a larger movement, and damn if that wasn’t the dream.
“Do you know who is in the NFL hall of fame?”
“I’m sure I could name a few, but I’m not here for the egos, Abe, I’m here to help get players ready to get back onto the field.”
“A woman after my own heart.”
“Oliver Stevens, first pick all-state both junior and senior year, Toledo Ohio, best hair in the league,” Abe said, his words slurring together a little too fast.
Oliver narrowed his eyes at Abe, flicking his gaze to me for a second before laughing. “All true. Make sure to tell O’Toole about the hair. He gets pissed when he hears it.”
Abe had half a smile and half a manic look on his face. I elbowed his side as I grinned at Oliver. “We’re heading to the restoration room. Do you need anything?”
