I nod and stand, heading for the door.
“Berger?”
“Yes?” I pause, glancing back.
“You’re hoping to wind up in Boston?”
“Yes, sir.”
Wagner nods. “I know a trainer on Beacon. They’d be fools not to make an offer anyway, but I’ll put in a good word.”
“Thank you,” I say thickly.
He nods again. “Get going, Berger.”
I take the stairs down one flight and wind up in the medical and training wing. The staff is all here for me, so there’s no wait. I’m ushered into one of the exam rooms as soon as I arrive.
Yves Durand, the club’s head doctor, asks me a few preliminary questions, noting my responses on my chart before launching into more specific inquiries about my shoulder. “Any clicking, catching, or sensations of subluxation or looseness?”
“None. Just fatigue after longer sessions.”
“That’s normal. How’s the strength compared to your nondominant side?”
“Pretty even now.”
Yves does a clinical assessment next, checking my range of motion, scapular control, strength, and stability.
“Range is full, no impingement, strength is symmetrical, and I’m not seeing any instability or apprehension.” He grabs my chart again, signing the bottom with a flourish. “Based on today’s evaluation, I’m officially clearing you for unrestricted return to match play.”
Thank fuck. The tension saps from my muscles.
“Make sure you continue with your shoulder maintenance protocol. Rotator cuff and scapular stabilization work shouldn’t drop off just because you’re back in full competition. We’ll monitor the load carefully when you’re back in goal. If you experience any change in shoulder stability or function, report it to a trainer immediately.”
I nod, sliding off the table and pulling my T-shirt back on. “I will. Thanks.”
“Berger?”
I glance back, halfway to the door. “Yeah?”
Yves smiles. “It’s good to have you back in goal.”
I grin back, attempting to ignore the squirming sensation in my chest. Wagner was right. Everyone’s expecting me back—to stay.
“No one’s happier than I am.”
Coming off an injury isn’t the smartest time to be shopping around for a new club. I’ll have a short window to prove I’m able to perform at the same level, that my track record pre-surgery wasn’t impacted by time away.
Before leaving, I stop by the locker room. I hover in the doorway for a few minutes, staring down at the FC Kluvberg emblem painted on the floor before walking over to my locker.
A banner has been hung above it, readingWillkommen zurück!
“I would have writtenClaire Caldwell’s Coach,” a deep voice says.
I grin, turning to watch Beck enter the locker room. “You’restillannoyed about theSaylor Scott’s Inspirationsign?”
“Nah, I just missed giving you shit.”
We share a brief hug, and then he claps me on the back, nodding to my shoulder. “How’d it go?”
