Page 2 of Offside

Twenty years with the organization had taught her exactly how much explanation a player could fight her with.

I followed her into the training room. My jersey was off before we reached the corner station. She put one hand at the front of the shoulder and the other under my elbow, then guided the arm through a small circle. It moved because she moved it. When she had me lift it myself, it stopped short.

Her mouth flattened. "Sit."

I sat down. Zoe worked across the room with Eriksson face down on the table, one knee bent as she checked the movement of his hip. Eriksson raised his head when we came in.

"Again?" he asked. His attention shifted to the shoulder.

"Nothing happened," I said.

"That's usually when they make you sit down." He rolled his eyes.

Declan looked up from the laptop at the desk.

He took in the jersey over my left hand, Vicki's fingers on the joint, and the position of my right arm. His expression didn't change. It never did, even when things were happening. Declan was always calm.

"What happened? Did the pain come back?"

"Volkov finished contact in the corner," Vicki said. "Arm went weak. He stayed in for two more shifts and stopped reaching on that side."

"It came back."

Declan closed the laptop and crossed the room.

He knew the shoulder. He'd had his hands on it three mornings a week since July and often enough in the two seasons before that. Vicki let him take my arm without discussing it.

"Active first," he said. "Lift it straight ahead. Stop when it stops, not when you think I want it to stop."

I lifted. The joint tightened near eye level. I pushed another inch and felt the strength drain out again.

"There," I said. "I can go higher."

"You can shrug higher. That's not what I asked for." He set two fingers along the top of the shoulder. "Again, without bringing this up to your ear."

The second attempt ended lower than the first.

He had Vicki read the angle while he kept my shoulder blade from climbing. Then he tested it out to the side, watched the same failure, and wrote both numbers down.

"Now passive," he said.

He tucked my elbow against my ribs and held my wrist. I let the arm go loose while he rotated it outward. His hands were warm. They were always warm.

The joint stopped before his pressure did, and he eased off immediately.

"Pain? When you lift the arm?"

"Four," I said, keeping my face still.

"You're trying not to show it." Declan studied my face.

"I don't have a pain face."

Across the room, Eriksson said, "You do."

Zoe gently pressed his head back toward the table.

Declan repeated the movement more slowly. The muscle across my upper back locked before he reached the same point. He didn't force past it.