Page 2 of Jason

“Is there any way to get my man here back on the field sooner?” Curt, my manager asked.

Not even half an hour after I called him, he came barreling into the room, shouting at the nurses to get out of his way. I didn’t want to, but he was the only person besides my teammates who could give me a ride home. I would be touched by his display of concern if the man wasn’t all about the money I provided him. As he approached the bed, barely sparing me a glance, his beady eyes swept my body on their downward trajectory, and then fixated on my leg. There they stayed for the last fifteen minutes before the doctor came in.

“Ah, we could try with some cortisone shots, but I don’t recommend that. Especially while playing.”

“And why’s that?” I asked, feeling my heart start beating faster, almost as if seeing the light at the end of the tunnel after all.

“Because you’ll feel like you have full mobility and probably ignore our recommendations, which could end in a severe injury,” the doctor simply shrugged his shoulders, familiar with the players’ reactions and their lack of following doctors’ recommendations.

“What if I promise to listen and follow your rules? I asked, since I couldn’t let the opportunity for an earlier comeback slip through my fingers.

“Then I would have you come in every three days starting next week to have your shots, and we’ll continue doing them through your physical therapy and slowly wind them down, both in frequency and the dosage,” the doctor looked at me, not even blinking throughout his speech, daring me, assessing my reaction. “If you follow our every word, you should be back in the game two weeks earlier.”

“Only two weeks?” the asshole standing next to my bed exploded. “He needs to be back in three weeks, ready to start the season.”

“Done,” I said, not looking away from the doctor.

I wanted, needed him to know I was dead serious. I also didn’t want to give my manager the chance to do anything stupid, like suggesting to go find a different doctor, who would no doubt make things worse.

Not wanting to be shoved in a corner like a disobedient child, Curt growled, “We’re going to need the best physical therapist there is.”

The doctor looked to Curt, smiled a little, and after shaking his head, muttered, “Of course.”

*~*~*

“I should come to Denver. You need someone to take care of you,” my mother said into my ear, not really hiding the fact that she was crying.

“Mom, you don’t need to do that. I’ll be fine,” I murmured in a soft tone, trying to get her to stop overreacting and keep her from doing something foolish.

Please God, stop her from getting some wild idea like jumping on a plane in the middle of the night to come here to fuss over me. Once she has it in her head, there's no way for anyone to stop her...not even Dad.

I loved my parents, especially my mom. God knows I did. But with the constant calls from her just to check how I was doing, or to hear my voice, or to tell me the latest thing my dad did, was driving me out of my mind. The last thing I needed was for her to come here and turn my place upside down, as it wouldn’t meet her standards of what my home should look like. Every time she came to Denver for a visit, the moment she stepped over the threshold of my home, she would start to decorate it. I lost count of how many frou-frou bowls and toss pillows or the like I stuffed in the cubby that was my basement. She always complained it looked too manly and that it needed a woman’s touch. It was only the fact that she did it all out of love for me and that I secretly enjoyed it, granted, not to that extent, that prevented me from being a total dick and demanding for her to stop. Also, I loved my mom and was confident enough in my manhood to admit I was indeed a mama’s boy. To my mother’s utter despair, I had no plans of finding the right girl and settling down.

Not right now.

Not when I finally had all I worked hard for most of my life for, minus the current situation. Though, I was confident it was just another bump in the road.

I’d make damn sure it was, and I wasn’t going to fuck it all up by finding some god-awful woman whose entire life dream was to find an athlete and live her life spending his money and cutting his balls off, like most of my teammates did. Because many of my teammates ended up with such women, during away games, they ventured around the town to seek out an easy lay, just to feel something other than the frustration their wives constant nagging brought on. I did find a woman every now and then, but I was upfront. A no strings attached fuck that wouldn't lead to the altar.

“Are you sure?” my mom asked through another sniff, no doubt trying to get me to cave.

“Yes,” I said firmly, so there wouldn’t be any doubt.

“Jason…” she tried to say, probably get me to see her side on a long-suffering sigh, but I couldn’t hear her words.

The sight that greeted me as I exited my bedroom made me stop listening and get a quick hold on the rage that started to boil. I kept my eyes fixed on the carpet until I calmed down just a little. Otherwise, I would strangle Curt, who was casually leaning against the kitchen counter.

Every available surface in the room was covered in beer bottles, pizza boxes, and condom wrappers.

“Listen, Mom, I have to go,” I cut her off from whatever she was saying.

“Oh, that’s right! You’re meeting with your physical therapist today.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled, turned and sent a death glare to the man who completely ignored my warning signs, but was inspecting my fruit that was on the counter near him with mild interest.

“Call me after and tell me what his recovery plans are for you,” she demanded in her mom voice, the one you don’t ignore.

“I will, Mom,” I lied. There was no way in hell I was going through another conversation like this today.