Page 64 of Tangled with the Tight End

“No,” I say, before Andrew can answer. I look at my doctor. “I want her here … if that’s okay.”

Winona’s eyes meet mine. Her brows lift in question. I don’t have an answer. Why do I want her here? It’s not like she’s a qualified medical professional when it comes to splints and casts. At least, I don’t think she is. But knowing Winona, she actually is a qualified professional. She’s full of surprises, that’s for sure.

Thankfully, Andrew answers for me. “What Declan O’Connell wants, Declan O’Connell gets.”

I glance at Winona and she wags her brows in a way that tells me she’s going to be teasing me with that phrase for weeks to come.

Andrew smiles warmly at me and then he asks Winona to follow him out while a medical assistant wheels in the portable X-ray machine and drapes me in a lead vest and blanket.

After the X-rays are taken, Andrew and Winona return with Lynn, the trainer, and Coach Griffin, our offensive coordinator, in tow. Coach is laughing at something Winona said and she’s smiling back at him.

“What’s so funny?” I ask, my tone territorial and borderline irritated.

“I was just asking Winona if you’ve been a good patient,” Coach says.

“Don’t worry, Declan,” Winona says, smiling at me. “I gave you an A plus.”

“Still doesn’t tell me what was funny,” I say quietly.

What is happening? Why do I care if Winona and Coach share a good laugh? That’s a good thing. She’s comfortable here—fitting in like she seems to do everywhere she goes.

She approaches the treatment table and places her hand on my forearm. “I was just telling him about when I propelled around the room on your crutches.”

I smile at her even though it feels like she shared our private joke with the world.

I’ve been injured before. I’ve had temporary care. Usually it was on a rotation. Nurse A came. Nurse B was another day. Some other caregiver showed up the next time. I never had what I’ve had with Winona—someone in my house daily, getting to know me, pushing past my walls without even seeming to try.

Andrew pulls my X-ray images up onto the digital monitor on the wall. The team gathers around, staring at my ankle on the screen. The plate and screws are clearly visible. Winona stands up and moves next to Lynn, her eyes fixed on my X-ray.

She’s not here to merely do a job. Or maybe I am just a job to her. She studies the X-rays with an unexpected professionalism. This is not the woman who showed up to check on me wearing clown makeup. And yet, here she is acting as a part of a medical team, serving me, helping me heal. A tightness grips my abdomen.

Andrew says, “This is looking really good. The hardware is doing its job. If you look here, the bone is knitting slowly. Right on schedule,” he points to a white spot along the fracture line in the image of my ankle bone. Then he turns to me. “Let’s get a look at that incision.”

The words ring in my ears. On schedule. A tension I hadn’t noticed in my chest loosens. This schedule is much longer than I’d like, but I made it two weeks already. If all goes well, I’ll be back on the field before we’re out of this season. I’m coming back.

Lynn removes my splint. Winona steps back, taking a seat in her chair, staying out of the way, but engaged. I can’t stop watching her—like I’m seeing a wild animal in a new habitat.

Lynn turns to Winona. “We’re going to clean this up and then we’ll do a quick PRP injection to aid healing.”

“Platelet Rich Plasma,” Winona says to Lynn.

Lynn nods. I keep my mouth shut, careful not to show my surprise at Winona’s ease and familiarity with the medical terms. An inner voice reminds me, She did take three years of nursing school. She didn’t just Winona for Hire herself into this position. I smile at the idea.

She looks over at me, a questioning expression on her face.

“Color me impressed,” is all I say.

She smiles shyly.

Lynn asks me, “Which arm, big guy?”

Winona says, “Right? His arms are massive.” And Lynn laughs. Then Winona says, “I mean, I guess you’re used to massive arms around here. Personally, I’m not. Most of my work is in Waterford—with seniors and regular people.”

“Declan’s regular,” Lynn says, with a soft laugh.

“Maybe to you,” Winona says.

Lynn wraps my arm, pulls out the needle and draws my blood. Then she excuses herself to run the blood through the centrifuge for fifteen minutes.