I sat back in my seat, making my notes as I focused on the players, and that was when I saw it. Evan had taken a shot, and immediately I saw his right shoulder hitch. It was only a fraction and would have been barely noticeable to most, but it was completely unmistakable to me, who had spent years learning to read the movement of bodies like some readers devour books. Immediately after taking the shot, he rolled his shoulder, as if he was working out a kink. Only I had a feeling it wasn’t a kink. He was compensating for something.
I made a note to check out some videos of last year’s games to see if perhaps Evan had injured himself during one of them.It wasn’t uncommon that a player played through things. It also wasn’t uncommon for a trainer to clear a player without a proper examination. I’d seen it.
Anger flared through me. If it was the latter, this was exactly the negligence that I’d wanted to change and why I’d gone into this profession, especially after watching poor Marcus Grant’s career get pulled out from under him.
There was no way I could let it slide, nor would I.
The moment he stepped off the ice, I caught him in the corridor.
“Evan, hey, listen, I need to check your shoulder,” I said, holding the clipboard I was carrying against my chest.
He continued on past me, not breaking stride.
“Evan, did you hear me?”
“No, you don’t. There’s nothing wrong with my shoulder.”
I frowned, then ran after him, finally catching up to him.
“It might be nothing, but I saw you favoring it during the shooting drill. Your range of motion doesn’t look normal, and after you took the shot, I watched you roll it.”
He stopped in the hall and turned around.
“You have been here exactly three weeks, and you have watched us play for what, a couple of hours. You think you know my body better than I do?”
“Evan, this is my job,” I said, sighing, not really wanting to start a confrontation with him.
“Your job?” he said, his voice dropping dangerously low, “is to do what your father tells you. Not diagnose problems that don’t exist.”
The tone of his voice was enough to make me cringe. He made me feel as if I were overstepping and incompetent. He’d hit every insecurity that others had carved into me my entire life.
“Understood,” I said, keeping my voice neutral. “I will make a note in your file that you declined an examination.”
I whipped around and walked away.
“Bianca,” he called.
Only I didn’t turn back around. Instead, I kept walking. He’d made it clear to me exactly what he thought, and now I needed to do my best to avoid the fact that he’d struck a chord with my personal feelings and that they were trying to interfere with my work.
I walkedthrough the halls of the Lair on Friday morning, coffee in hand as I made my way to the training room. I was exhausted. Evan hadn’t made homelife easy after I’d confronted him about his shoulder. He was grumpy as hell, so I spent most of the week avoiding him at all costs when we weren’t here.
I dropped my things off in my office, grabbed my clipboard, which I kept pressed to my chest like a shield as I walked into the training room. After watching some practices and gathering my notes, I’d spent some time watching over some of the end-of-season games from last year to prepare for my one-on-one examinations with the players I’d made notes on. I wanted to be sure I missed nothing.
The moment I stepped into the room, I took in the familiar and comforting scent of eucalyptus. The steam therapy machines were already on, creating a warm and humid environment.
Immediately, my eyes fell on Evan, who was already sitting on the edge of the treatment table. He sat there with a permanent scowl on his face, which I was certain he reserved only for me. His jaw was tense, as were his broad shoulders.
“Morning. Let’s get started. I’m going to do a full assessment so I can get a baseline to go from. We are going to test range of motion, strength, and go over any areas of concern that you have.”
“I’m not doing this,” Evan said without looking at me as I approached him.
Since I knew he was the first on my list this morning, and we hadn’t exactly hit it off throughout the week here or at home, I’d mentally prepared myself and dressed in that metaphorical armor I loved so much. I stepped forward, keeping my voice clinical so that emotion didn’t come through.
“You don’t even know what ‘this’ is.”
“Don’t care. I told you I was fine, and I have no areas of concern.”
“Great, I am glad to hear that. If there isn’t anything to worry about, then this will make it easier on both of us and you should be out of here in no time.”
