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“Seriously, one more?” Lee cringes as he completes another set.
“Do your fans know you’re this much of a complainer?” I take the small free weight from him and return it to the weight rack.
“Do your friends know you’re this much of a sadist?”
I laugh and walk over to one of the tables and pat it. “Hop up. We’re not done yet.”
Surprisingly, working with Lee hasn’t been that bad. He hasn’t tried to hit on me or bring up our past, the kiss, or our run-in at the restaurant when I was on a date. In some ways, spending time with him today reminds me of when I tutored him in college. I’d be all business and he’d do his best to steer us off course.
Lee walks over, and from the way he’s holding his shoulder, it’s sore. He might be super fit, but when your body is used to this kind of conditioning, even a week off requires building up your endurance again, especially after an injury.
“Lie on your back. I’m going to help stretch you out.”
He gets up on the table and does as I say. Everyone else is long gone, back on the field for practice, so it’s just the two of us in the rehab room.
I raise his leg slightly off the table and go through a series of stretches.
“Do you think it will really be three more weeks until I can get back on the field?” he asks.
I frown. There’s no good answer. Every athlete and injury is different and there’s no way to say for sure.
“I’ll tell you what… we’ll both do our parts and commit to getting you back out there as soon as possible, sound good?”
He blows out a frustrated breath. “That’s a blow-off answer.”
“What did your brother say? I’m sure he’s had to deal with injuries over the course of his career. He must have had good advice for you.”
A soft grunt leaves his lips as I push a little harder into the stretch. “He pretty much told me what everyone else has—do what the doctors say. Rest when I’m supposed to, then work my ass off in rehab to get back out there.”
I lift a shoulder. “He’s a smart man.”
“It’s not the physical part I’m struggling with.”
“The mental?” I release his leg and walk around the table to work on his other side.
“Yeah. Believe it or not, this is the first time I’ve had to miss more than one game and I guess I wasn’t prepared for how much it’s fucking with my head.” He’s staring at me stretching him out, but I see his vulnerability. I wish I had magical advice that would make him feel better.
I pick up his other leg and begin the series of stretches. “There’s a lot of pressure coming at you from a lot of different angles. That can’t be easy for anyone to deal with.”
A sardonic chuckle leaves his lips. “True. But honestly, most of it comes from my own head. It’s like… if I can’t perform on the football field, what good am I?”
I pause what I’m doing and look at him. “Lee, you’re more than just your stats on the field. Nobody is just one thing.”
He’s quiet and contemplative for a moment, and I go back to the stretching.
“I guess… I don’t know, doesn’t matter.”
My forehead wrinkles. “No, what were you going to say?”
He’s closing up, and I don’t want him keeping things locked inside.
Lee blows out a long breath. “I don’t know what I told you back in college about my family life…” He lets the words hang there for a moment.
I shake my head. “Nothing really.”
“Well, my dad died when I was pretty young, and it sort of sent my mom into a tailspin of depression and anxiety. Kane basically had to step in to raise me. He made sure to play close to home instead of taking a scholarship to the States until I finished high school. My mom was an absentee parent, and when I was young, I used to work so hard to try to gain her attention, her praise—hell, any kind of emotion would’ve been welcome. Anything to acknowledge the fact that she knew I was there.”
It’s not unusual for athletes to use physical therapy as a form of emotional therapy too. Before I started with the Kingsmen, the athletes I worked with at the private practice in Wisconsin were always confessing all kinds of things to me. I think that something about being vulnerable physically allowed them to be vulnerable emotionally.
