Camryn Quinn is finally getting what she wants...sort of. Moving into a dorm and away from her not so supportive father is a good first step, but like everything with him, it comes with strings. She must attend the college of his choosing for at lea...
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The facility is filled with people even though it's only seven in the morning. Assistant coaches heading to meetings to talk about strategy for practice, trainers heading to stretch with players before we meet for practice. It's just how it is during the season.
If I wasn't called into a meeting, I'd be with a trainer, running through my PT exercises before heading to the indoor practice field for a walkthrough of our offensive for the game in a few days. I'm still not playing, but I need to keep up with all the plays to know what's going on if I ever get to be more than a body on the sidelines.
I knock on the door, and Coach calls me almost immediately. His office is large. With windows lining two of the walls, the others are fitted with every single award he's ever received—as both a player and coach.
"Coach," I say in greeting. He doesn't even glance up from where he's sitting behind a large dark wood desk. I'm not surprised that he doesn't greet me. If he called me in here, it's for a reason. Which I can only assume is on his tablet because he's tapping on the screen and doesn't look in my direction until he turns the screen around for me to see it too.
I look around for a family picture, anything to commemorate Camryn's mom, his wife, but find none. I don't blame Camryn for not coming to her family if she thinks they wouldn't be there for her, not now that I know the truth. I don't know how they couldn't when I can still see the pain on her face when she showed up at my house the other night. Right now, seeing Coach so focused on the task at hand isn't anything new to me, but now it makes me believe her even more.
"Just pulling up the report from Kramer," Coach starts. "Knee looking ninety percent healed, scar tissue builds up responding to injections. Recommendation to drop to one day of PT per week and increase in team workouts and practices." He reads directly from the report, but I could have quoted that for him. I've practically had it tabbed in my mind since my appointment yesterday.
"Doc told me you have the final clearance for games?" I act as if I don't already know the answer. I begged Dr. Kramer to just give me full clearance, but Coach makes the final call for his players. I may be medically cleared, but Coach Quinn will decide whether or not he actually wants to use me in a game. I've barely practiced with the team, and I haven't stepped foot into a real game since the Championship one in January. I've never tried to play in full pads on my new knee, and he might think I'm not ready. Or that he has someone better suited for the job.
Coach gives one of his unnaturally long pauses as he looks over the report again, scrolling up and down as if he too needs to reread it to fully understand all the medical terms.
"How does it feel?" he asks, finally, setting the tablet down and rounding to the front of his desk. He leans against it, crossing one ankle over the other.
"Honestly, Coach? It feels good. I'm lifting and running almost the same as before. Grundy hooked me up with a new brace." It might be the first time I haven't lied about how I'm actually feeling. The trainer I've been working with has given me a lot of tips, and the new brace gives me all the stabilization I need.
