“It’s not a piece of shit,” he replies. “It’s traumatized. And this wouldn’t be as bad if you’d come in sooner.”
I bark out a humorless laugh. “Join the club.”
He pauses, glancing up at me. “You doing okay mentally?”
I scoff. “Fine.”
He doesn’t push. That’s one thing I’ll give him. He knows when to back off. The truth is that my thoughts have been all over the place lately. Not being able to play, being away from my team, seeing Ellie again. It’s all taking a toll on me. It’s hard not to be negative when a shit ton of negative things are happening to you.
We move to the bars next. Assisted squats. My least favorite.
“Slow on the way down,” he instructs.
“I’m going slow.”
“You’re cheating,” he accuses.
“I amnotcheating.”
“You’re shifting your weight.”
“Because it hurts.”
“That’s the point.”
I lower myself another inch and my knee screams as I feel a deep grinding sensation that makes my stomach flip. My hands shake as I grip the bars, sweat rolling down my spine.
“Fuck this,” I snap, standing up so fast it makes my head spin.
“Jamie,” Jared warns. “Sit back down.”
“No. I’m not doing this today.”
He steps in front of me, voice steady. “You don’t get to quit when it getshard.”
Something in me snaps.
“My entire fucking career is over because of this knee,” I bark, jabbing a finger downward. “I think I’m allowed to tap out of a goddamn squat.”
The room goes quiet. Jared doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t argue. He just nods slowly. I’m sure he’s used to people freaking out on him. I know I lost my cool for a second, but I fucking hate this shit. I’m twenty-seven years old. I have a whole life to live, and one stupid accident is going to ruin it for me.
“Sit,” he says. “We’ll reset.”
I do, my chest heaving, jaw tight, shame creeping in behind the anger. I stare at the floor, blinking hard. After a minute, he speaks again.
“You know why this feels worse than games or injuries, right?”
I don’t answer.
“Because you can’t brute-force it,” he continues. “You can’t push through and win. You have to slow down. Let your body lead.”
I laugh bitterly. “That’s not how I’m wired.”
“I know.” He meets my eyes. “But it might be how you survive this.”
That sits heavy in my chest.
We finish the session quieter after that. My leg throbs, but the anger dulls into something heavier. Something like grief.
