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Trainer Russell appeared, slapping me on the back. “What’s the consensus here?”
Ripping my eyes away, I refocused on what I was supposed to be doing. “Shoulder is slightly tight. I would suggest some kinesiology tape here,” I said, gesturing to the area on Ryan’s shoulder that had been giving him some trouble. “Just for some extra support and protection.”
“Range of motion?” Russell asked.
“Slightly under full range, which is also why I suggest the tape. We want to keep it from slipping.”
“Good.” He approved. “Get him taped up.”
“You cool with some tape, Ryan?” I asked when the trainer moved off.
“Bro, sure,” he answered. “Mind if I shower first?”
“Bro, sure.” I agreed.
Ryan jogged toward Coach, then gestured toward me and the locker room. Coach waved him off, and Ryan disappeared.
I busied myself filling out a sheet that needed done and fought the urge to look at Lars again. I never meant to spill so much that day. To filet my heart and let him look inside. But the hurt in his eyes had been too much to take. Letting him blame himself for something that wasn’t his fault was not an option. Oh, it would have made things so much easier. I should have heaped all the blame on him, let him think he was lacking—
Snap.
Feeling a stabbing pain, I glanced down. The pen in my hand had cracked in half.
“Fuck,” I muttered, looking at the ruined form I’d been completing and the black ink smeared across my fingers.
Ripping the form off the clipboard, I tossed it in the trash along with the pen and went to scrub my hands.
And this was exactly why I told him the truth. Because even thinking about hurting him and making him hate me was intolerable.
A short time later, Ryan appeared, freshly showered and dressed in a pair of navy-blue sweatpants and Nikes and carrying his shirt.
Fishing around in a container, I pulled out a roll of hot-pink kinesiology tape. I held it up, waving it around.
Ryan shrugged, completely unbothered by the bright color. “Carrot will love it.”
I laughed and carried it over. “Definitely gonna go with pink, then.”
Sitting in the seat he’d been in before, he turned to show me his back. “Can I get you to write a note across it for her too?Kiss it and make it better.”
“Something tells me you don’t need a doctor’s note to get that girl to kiss you.”
“Still doesn’t mean I won’t stop trying.”
“Smooth, bro.”
“You know it.”
Chuckling, I grabbed a single-use alcohol wipe and ripped it open with my teeth.
“Sinclair! That ain’t hygienic!” Russel yelled.
I jolted. “Bro, I thought he went in his office.”
“He’s like Coach,” Ryan muttered. “Eyes everywhere.”
“Sinclair!” he yelled again.
I groaned. “It’s just Walsh.”
