I limped toward the locker room, stubborn and determined to prove a point no one had asked me to make.
Inside, it was quieter. Just a few girls changing, laughing softly. I sat carefully on the bench and peeled off my knee pad. The fabric stuck slightly to damp skin. When I pulled it away, I froze. My knee was already swelling, and the joint looked wrong. The skin was tight and shiny. I pressed lightly around the kneecap. Pain shot up my thigh so fast it made my vision blur.
“Oh,” I whispered.
Not good. The adrenaline was almost completely gone now. What remained was sharp and specific.
I tried to stand, but my leg buckled immediately. I grabbed the bench to steady myself.
“Okay,” I muttered.
Mel appeared in the doorway like she’d been waiting for this exact moment. “Tell me the truth.”
I didn’t answer.
She stepped closer, looked down at my knee, and swore. “That’s not a little twist.”
“I know,” I admitted begrudgingly.
“You need to go to urgent care.”
The words hit harder than the pain. Urgent care meant forms. Insurance. Copays. Lots of expensive words I could not afford.
“I’ll ice it,” I said quickly. “It’s just some inflammation.”
“Belle,” Mel said carefully, not buying it for a minute.
“I’ll rest it,” I said, trying to get her off my back. I know she means well, but a medical bill is out of the question right now.
“You couldn’t put weight on it.”
“I can hop.”
She crouched in front of me.
“This is what player insurance is for?” she said quietly.
I looked at the lockers behind her, anywhere but her eyes. Yes, this is what the player’s insurance was for . . . the player’s insurance I had let lapse three months ago. So, technically, I should not even have been playing tonight, as the league would be no help.
“I forgot to renew it.” The word felt smaller than I wanted it to.
She closed her eyes briefly.
“Okay,” she said carefully. “We’ll figure it out.”
Figure it out. I hated that phrase. It meant money. And money was already spoken for. Monday was in two days, and I was just about ready to have enough to pay the past due bill for my father’s care before he went into step-up care. And now this.
I leaned back against the lockers and let my head fall back.
“I can’t afford a hospital bill,” I said quietly.
Mel didn’t sugarcoat it. “You also can’t afford permanent damage.”
The silence that followed was heavy.
My phone buzzed in my bag, but I ignored it.
And I was sitting here calculating the cost of standing.
