Page 61 of Playing With The Mountain Man

“I’ve reviewed everything, and we found …”

I was out of my chair, dragging my hand through my hair. This was my life we were talking about. Surely I had the right to know. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“What do you mean, nothing?”

They’d scanned me from head to toe.

“Exactly that. We found nothing. Everything is as it should be. There’s no residual scar tissue. The muscles are solid. The tendons look good. There’s no reason you shouldn’t get back your full range of motion.”

“Full range of motion,” I repeated, not really comprehending what they were saying. All of this and they’d found zero. Absolutely fucking nothing.

“Yes, Cody. There’s no medical reason that, in time, you shouldn’t regain full range of motion in your shoulder.”

Ah. There it is. “In time?”

“Yes, Cody. In time,” Coach repeated in his fatherly tone.

“How much time?” I dared to ask, almost choking on the question.

Again, they all looked at each other, not at me. When Coach nodded at Jamie, our long-suffering team physio, he turned in his chair to face me. “We can’t give you a timeframe, Cody. You know that. You’ll be ready, when you’re ready.”

“Then you’ll let me play?”

“You’ll play when you’re ready and you pass all the tests. No shortcuts,” Coach declared.

I slumped in my chair. I knew there was no point arguing. It wouldn’t end the way I wanted, no matter how good my argument was.

“Okay. So I’m assuming you have a plan?” I asked, looking around the room full of experts.

Their silence was deafening.

“Just spit it out,” I begged.

Coach leaned forward, steepling his fingers under his chin. “You’re not gonna like this, Cody,” he started, and my stomach sank. “You need to be patient. Keep working on it. Follow Jamie’s instructions to the letter, and you’ll get there.”

I huffed. Great. Time and hope. Really reliable things to bet my future on.

“If you stay in Dallas …” Jamie started, and I cut him off.

“I’m not staying. I’m flying home today. As soon as we’re done here, I’m on the next flight home,” I told them, not leaving room for argument or objection.

“Dallas has …”

“I’m not staying here to rehab. So whatever the plan, let’s figure out how to make it work in Wattle Creek,” I declared, taking charge. It was my life, and I was calling the shots. I’d do the work, I’d jump through the hoops, but I was going to do it my way. And I was doing it where I wanted to.

Jamie looked at Coach and when he nodded, his shoulders sagged. I had no doubt I’d made his job harder, but that wasn’t my problem. My focus was on healing the best way I could, and I knew that Wattle Creek was the place for me to do it.

“Okay. Let me review the plan and send you something new. You’ll need equipment,” he tossed out like it was going to change my mind, or maybe he was just hoping.

“Order it. You have my address. Ship it there,” I clarified.

“Cody, the club already …”

“Jamie.” This time it was Coach cutting him off. “Order the equipment. Cody, you’ll be back in Dallas every two weeks to see Jamie for an assessment,” he announced, and now it was my turn to nod my agreement. “And I want twice-weekly check-ins. No excuses.” He pinned me with a glare.

“Yes, sir,” I agreed.