Page 65 of Colliding with Ten

The next day, Marcus Hill handed me a stack of NDAs and watched me sign them all.

“The paperwork is important,” he said. “But this rule matters more. What happens here doesn’t leave here. Not to your brother or your friends. Not to the other cheerleaders either. These men trust this staff with their bodies and their careers. That’s not a small thing.”

I nodded. “Understood.”

He didn’t smile. “No, you don’t. You think you know. But you haven’t been tested yet.”

I nodded again, holding his stare. “Okay.”

He studied me, then handed me a clipboard. “Good. Let’s get started.”

The first week was a study in humility. The training room was always moving, players rotating in and out between practice sessions. I watched and took notes. I asked questions when Hill invited them and stayed quiet when he didn’t, but paid attention.

The injuries ran the gamut. A wide receiver nursed a high ankle sprain he’d managed for three weeks. A lineman’s hip flexor tightened every Tuesday, for reasons no one explained. A cornerback tweaked his hamstring in practice, called it a cramp, and hoped everyone would buy it. They didn’t. For the first time, I realized that at this level, you’re never fully healthy, sometimes just barely functional.

Micah was in on Wednesday and hopped on the training table with his left ankle swollen after practice. Hill pressed two fingers along the outside of Micah’s left ankle, right over the swelling. Micah hissed through his teeth, then grinned like he hadn’t just flinched.

“Lateral swelling,” Hill said, more to me than to him. “Probably a mild inversion sprain. Grade one. It’s tender over the ATFL.”

I made notes.

Micah looked at me. “Translation?”

“You rolled it.”

“How’d you know? I rolled it during zone drills. You’re getting good at this.”

“I’m just observing.”

“How bad is the pain?” Hill asked.

“Whatever number makes it sound the least serious.”

Hill didn’t smile, but I bit the inside of my cheek.

“Three.”

Hill continued to examine the lateral ankle and checked the range of motion. I prepped the ice compression wrap at the sink while Hill gave Micah the full breakdown.

“Elevation tonight, no weight-bearing drills tomorrow, then we’ll reassess on Friday.”

Micah grinned through the news. “You know, I always thought you’d be good at this.”

I kept my eyes on Hill as he wrapped. “Really?”

Micah nodded. “You pay attention to people. You listen. Most people just wait for their turn to talk.”

I glanced up. He was watching me with an unreadable expression. I looked back down and watched Hill finish the care. When he was done, Micah flexed his foot and swung his legs off the table. As he passed, he glanced back at me, his gaze lingering before he left. I might have thought more about our interaction, but things moved fast in the training room, and we were on to the next player.

It had been a busy afternoon, a week and a half into the fellowship. We were cleaning up after the day's last rotation. The training room was empty, with the ice machines as our background music.

Hill was restocking the compression sleeves, and I was updating the log when he said, “You got people asking about you.”

I looked up. “Sorry?”

“Your recovery. I’ve had several check-ins from the Stallions’ medical staff since the incident.”

I set the pen down as my stomach fluttered. “The Stallions?”