Page 21 of The Backup Plan

“Define pain.”

This time she doesn’t smile. “Discomfort. Tightness. Burning. Stinging. Dull ache.”

I tilt my head from side to side, pretending to consider. Then I lie. “Little stiff. Nothing unexpected or different from what I’ve felt during my rehab.”

Her gaze drops to my shoulder. Not admiring. Diagnosing. “I want to have a look. Shirt off.”

I pause. “Geesh. At least buy me dinner first.”

Annoyance flickers, and it’s brief but controlled. She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t indulge me with a laugh to break the awkwardness.

“Shirt off. Please, Lucas.”

“Well, since you asked me nicely.”

I peel my shirt over my head slowly. Not to show off, but because my shoulder protests the second my arm lifts.

I keep everything about me stoic, but the tightening of her mouth says she noticed.

Of course she did.

She steps closer, lips twisted in thought and fingers hovering momentarily before she touches it. When she does, it’s precise. Clinical. Professional.

“Raise your arm, please.”

Pain flares when I do, but I breathe through it.

“Higher,” she says.

I comply.

“That hurts,” she says matter-of-fact.

“It’s tolerable,” I lie.

Her eyes snap to mine. “That wasn’t a question.”

“I’m not warmed up so tightness and pain’s to be expected, at least per my last doctor.”

“Hmm,” she says as she manipulates my arm with one hand while keeping her hand pressed over my shoulder joint with the other.

“This isn’t a sport for the weak.” I shrug. “Football hurts.”

“So does lying,” she says. “But it causes a different kind of damage.”

I bark out a laugh. “You new to this?”

Her teeth clench. “Only new to you, but that shouldn’t make a difference.” She steps back, lips twisting and eyes focused on my shoulder as if she can see to the tendons and muscles beneath. “Structurally, it looks solid. You have most of your range of motion back with mild limitation in external rotation compared to the contralateral side. Rotator cuff feels strong, but there’s some mild tenderness over the anterior capsule.”

“I have no clue what you just said, but I know I didn’t hear you say that I’m cleared to continue progressive throwing and non-contact drills,” I say, knowing what my previous team doctor had said.

“You’re guarding it,” she says without acknowledging my comment.

“I’m being careful.”

“I call it being dishonest,” she says.

I open my mouth to argue and then stop.