Cuts and Bruises

Chapter Five

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Vincent's head snapped up and his eyes narrowed at Sandra. "What?" He spat, and then looked at me in disgust before looking back at her. "She's just a student in training and you trust her to take care of the teams best player?"

I would roll my eyes when he complimented himself, but I was too busy being offended. Sure, I was just training, but I've been taking care of the boys on this team since freshman year. Never have I once messed up, inaccurately diagnosed someone, or incorrectly helped during the rehabilitation process. Vincent and I may not exactly like each other, but I expected him to at least respect my ability as a physical therapist.

I narrowed my eyes at him and was about to bark out a rude remark when Sandra spoke instead. "You insisted she was of more help than me before, so now she's going to do it again."

"She's just a fucking student, she doesn't know anything-" Vincent starts to fight, but I've had enough.

"She is right here," I snap at him, and he finally turns to acknowledge me. "And I am perfectly capable of helping with physical therapy. From what I've gathered, it looks like you tore your MCL," I say with a single glance at his knee. "That's about a three week recovery with copious stretches to let your knee adjust while its healing." Then I smile bitterly and spit, "But I don't want to help you anyway, since I'm just a student, and I don't know anything and all."

When I throw his words back at him, Vincent looks genuinely remorseful. But, as soon as the moment comes, it passes, and he's back to scowling at Sandra.

"Too bad for the both of you," Sandra says with clear malice. "Lily, I'm officially assigning you to Vincent to help him with his physical therapy sessions. I want a progress report written after every session and given to me at the end of each week so I can monitor his recovery. Do you understand?"

If Sandra wasn't so damn threatening all the time, maybe I would've fought back and told here there is no way in hell I will willingly help Vincent Bradshaw. By the look Vincent was giving her, I'm sure he wanted to say something along the same lines. But her sharp glare told me there was no room for arguing, so I just exhaled and nodded my head.

"Yes," I mutter. "I understand."

She nods and takes a step back, gesturing to Vincent, who still sat on the examination bed. "Well, proceed. See if your MCL assumption was correct."

I nod again slowly and look at Vincent, who is clenching his jaw and glaring at me. I narrow my eyes at him and glare back, but have to suck it up and walk over to him. Gently, I put one hand on top of his knee cap, and the other underneath, on his lower leg. I apply a little pressure and glance up at Vincent to gauge his reaction, sure that he would sugarcoat the pain like all the other players.

"How does that feel?" I ask quietly, my eyes searching his face for any sign of discomfort.

"Fine," He grits out through his teeth.

"Any discomfort?" I ask, pushing a little harder on his knee.

He clenches his eyes shut and groans, "A little."

I stopped pushing and instead placed one hand on the inside of his knee and one on the outside of his lower leg. Gently, I move his knee side to side, twisting it carefully. I feel his leg tense up immediately, and Vincent's hands balled into fists so tight that his knuckles were as white as a sheet.