I sit with my hands folded, waiting for him to finish. Barrett watches from behind his desk, expression blank.
“The initial twelve-week protocol was already conservative,” Winters continues. “Adding three more weeks means our captain misses opening night. That’s unacceptable.”
“What’s unacceptable is rushing a player back from a fifth shoulder dislocation complicated by muscle tears,” I say calmly. “The labrum is barely functional. One bad hit ends his career.”
“That’s speculative.”
“That’s based on imaging and fifteen years of sports medicine evolution that you seem to have missed.”
Winters’ face reddens. “I’ve been with this organization for?—”
“Twelve years. Yes, you’ve mentioned that.” I pull out my tablet, queue up the file I’ve been preparing for exactly this moment. “In those twelve years, how many players have you sent for surgery that could have been prevented with proper conservative management?”
“That’s not?—”
“Donovan. Granger. Louden. Should I continue?”
Barrett shifts in his chair, and I can see him doing the math. Those are three career-ending surgeries that happened on Winters’ watch.
“Dr. Walker makes valid points,” Barrett says.
“Dr. Walker may be letting personal feelings cloud her judgment,” Winters says carefully, and the shift in his tone makes my stomach drop.
The room goes very still.
“Could you elaborate?” My voice is perfectly level even though my pulse is suddenly racing.
“I’ve heard there was an incident. Unprofessional conduct.”
I let the silence stretch just long enough to make him uncomfortable. Long enough to show I’m not rattled even though we both know what he’s implying.
“If you have concerns about my professional conduct, I encourage you to file a formal complaint with the appropriate boards,” I say. “They can review my treatment protocols, success rates, and patient outcomes. I’m confident in their findings.”
“That’s not what I?—”
“Or perhaps you’re suggesting that my personal life somehow affects my medical judgment? That would be an interesting position to take, considering your own history with the team nutritionist three years ago.”
Winters goes pale.
Barrett’s expression doesn’t change, but I see the flicker of recognition. He knows. Of course he knows. Everyone knows about Winters and the nutritionist who quietly transferred to another team.
“My protocols are based on current best practices and peer-reviewed research,” I continue, keeping my voice clinical. “Captain Varga will miss opening night because he lifted excessive weight against medical advice. That’s documented.” I turn my tablet to show Barrett the log. “The extended timeline ensures he returns at full capacity rather than limping through a season that ends in surgery. If you disagree with that approach, you’re welcome to present alternative treatment plans backed by current medical literature.”
Silence.
Winters is staring at me like I’ve just pulled a weapon he didn’t know I had.
“I’ll take that as agreement,” I say, standing. “Roman remains out until October twenty-third. Non-negotiable.”
I leave before either of them can respond, before Winters can regroup, before Barrett can see my hands starting to shake.
My hands are still shakingwhen I reach my car.
Not from anger. From the effort of staying calm while Winters tried to use Roman against me. From the realization that the supply closet was stupid, reckless, and everything I’ve worked for could disappear because I couldn’t keep my hands off Roman for five minutes.
A knock on my window makes me jump.
Roman’s standing there.
