She nods. “I’ll get Heidi to bring the low-intensity stretches in. Nothing more than fifteen minutes at a time. If you so much asthinkabout a leg press before week three—”
“Noted.”
“You’d better mean that.”
She peels off her gloves with a practiced flick and drops them in the bin. I’m about to open my mouth to retort when there’s a knock on the door, and a blur of pink appears.
“Sorry!” a voice calls cheerfully. “Left my emotional support hydration in here!”
A woman about Carina’s age breezes in, her athletic wear a bright, floral pink pattern that definitely isn’t clinic-issued. She snatches up the green glitter bottle and gives me a quick once-over before grinning.
“Hi. You must be the goalie who’s been logging into my rehab app at all hours of the day and night.”
“Who the hell are you?”
She doesn’t seem offended. In fact, she grins wider. “Heidi Grant. We’re gonna be physio buddies.”
“I’m thrilled,” I reply dryly, reaching for my socks.
Carina bites her lip to stifle a grin, then gestures to the drink bottle now in Heidi’s hands.
“You left your bottle in here again.”
“I left it by accident when I came in looking for you earlier. You skipped lunch, so I thought you’d be hiding in here.”
“I’m sorry, are you the food police?”
“When it comes to ensuring your sustenance levels, absolutely.”
Heidi drops into the chair beside Carina’s desk and turns her attention on me again.
“That log entry at 2:14 a.m.?” she says, eyeing me like she already knows the answer. “That a goalie thing, or just a you thing?”
I tug my sock the rest of the way. “It was 2:09.”
She hums, entirely unimpressed. “You know there’s no leaderboard for compulsive data logging, right?”
“Tell that to my quad.”
She snorts. “Obsessiveanddefensive. Excellent rehab traits. Can’t wait to start.”
Carina barely reacts, instead opening a drawer and prepping paperwork as though she’s used to Heidi’s antics.
“Compulsive athletes,” she mutters. “We’ll have to form a support group.”
“Only if you bake for it,” Heidi says with a grin, before her tone shifts again. “Vitals all clear?”
“Wound’s healing well, range is ahead of protocol.”
“Of course it is.” Heidi stands with a sigh and grabs a folder from the desk to read through the notes, then tosses me a look over her shoulder. “You’re a week out and already acting like the Olympics are tomorrow. I’ll grab a print-out of the extended low-load protocol for you. You might as well use it.”
I nod curtly. “Thanks.”
“You can wait in the front lounge,” she says, already walking out the door. “I’ll bring it out.”
I stand carefully, reaching for my crutch to steady myself.
“She’s quirky, but she’ll put you through your paces,” Carina says, stepping around her desk with a sheet of paper in hand.
