Page 48 of Off Limits

I shake my head. “Not too bad, I don’t think. I just tweaked it funny, and Coach is being extra cautious. He said it’s a good chance for the rest of the bench to carry the load for a while and save me for when it counts in the playoffs.”

That doesn’t seem to do anything to ease Cal’s troubled expression. “You think it’ll make it harder for you to get an invite to the combines though? I’ve heard rumors that scouts could be at one of our upcoming games.”

Ah. That explains why Cal’s been working so much harder lately. Not me lecturing him about not being a big baby anymore. Though hopefully that helped some, because he’s not going to get any significant time on the field in front of a scout if he’s pissing off the coaching staff.

I shrug, dismissing his concern like I don’t share it. I hadn’t heard that rumor, but now that I have ... I swallow down the twinge of something like fear that tries to creep in. “I dunno yet. We’ll have to see how it feels in a few days. I’m under orders to stay off my feet as much as possible, elevate my leg, and swap ice and heat for the next couple of days. They don’t think I tore anything, but you know how it is.” Following Coach Reese’s plan to take it easy is my best bet to be in playing shape by then, so that’s what I’ll do.

Still frowning, he nods and stares at the ice packs surrounding my knee.

“Congrats on the last quarter. I hear you threw a beautiful pass.”

That does the trick to distract him from contemplating the premature demise of my football career. I don’t want to think about that possibility right now, and Cal looking all glum isn’t helpful.

“Thanks, man,” Cal says, his face brightening at the memory of the pass. “Too bad you didn’t get to see it. Jenkins did a good job as left tackle, though. The other guy got past him eventually, but he held him off long enough for me to get that pass off to Martinez.” His smile fades and his face turns sour. “Too bad it can’t happen more often.”

“Hey. Focus on the positive. You got time in the game today.”

Cal snorts. “Only because the same guy that took you out hit Kilpatrick too, and when he went down, he landed hard on his throwing arm. Like you said, Coach isn’t taking any chances, so he pulled Kilpatrick and put me in. Doesn’t mean Coach actually trusts me.”

All I can do is nod, because yeah, he only got to play because I twisted my knee and went down hard, followed by Kilpatrick. Kilpatrick was in here with me for a while, but went back out to watch the game with his ice strapped to his shoulder. Since I have to keep my leg elevated, I was stuck in here for the duration.

I’m saved from having to respond by the return of Kara, the assistant trainer, a businesslike woman with short hair, wearing the standard issue red Marycliff polo and khakis all the support staff wear on game days. “Let’s get this ice off, take a look at your knee, and then you can head out,” she says, pumping a squirt of sanitizer into her hands from the dispenser on the wall and rubbing her palms together. She retrieves medical scissors from a drawer, pulls up a stool next to the table, and sits down, motioning for me to sit up.

Cal lifts his chin. “Catch you after,” he says and heads for the bank of lockers so he can change out of his gear and shower.

Kara carefully cuts and peels back the tape, depositing the ice packs on the table next to me. She prods my knee, her face tight with concentration. “Tell me if anything hurts.”

I shake my head, and she gives my knee a pat. “Good. Hop up and walk a bit, let’s see how that feels.”

Standing, I take a few steps, grunting at the twinge that’s still there. “It’s not bad, but yeah, I can feel it.”

She nods and digs through another drawer, then tosses a black neoprene brace at me. “Wear this when you need to move around. You know the drill—rest, ice, compression, and elevation for the weekend. See me first thing before practice on Monday, and we’ll decide where to go from there, alright?”

Nodding, I sit back down on the table and pull on the brace. The trainer leaves, and I make my way slowly to my locker. I showered and changed earlier, after it was determined that I wouldn’t be returning to the field and would be lying here to ice my knee for a while, so all I have to do is gather my things and limp out of here.

Cal finds me, a towel wrapped around his waist, drying his hair with another. “You’re walking. That’s a good sign.”

Shrugging, I sit down heavily and pull on joggers over my shorts, followed by my shoes. “Yeah, but I’m on strict orders to rest until Monday.”

Cal grunts. “Bummer. We were all gonna go out and celebrate the win tonight.”

I take a peek at my phone while Cal’s talking and find a series of texts from Ellie checking up on me.

E: You okay? It looked like you went down pretty hard. I don’t know a lot about football, but the fact that people came out to check on you and that other guy seemed like not a great thing to me. And then you never came back out.

E: I really want to come see you. But you haven’t responded so you’re probably in the locker room. And since you’re not playing, I want to leave, but Cal’s playing so leaving feels somehow disloyal? Even though he has no idea I’m here. Which is especially dumb since I doubt he’d care even if he knew I were here. Other than keeping me away from his friends. That seems to be all he cares about where I’m concerned.

E: Sorry. You don’t want to listen to me gripe about my brother.

E: Let me know when you’re available. I’d come meet you at the players entrance, but I can’t for obvious reasons.

I have to bite my lip to hide my smile since Cal’s still here, but he raises his eyebrows at my expression and jerks his chin at my phone. “Who’s that?”

Trying and probably failing to be casual, I slide my phone in my pocket. “No one.” God, that feels awful to say. Ellie’s not no one. Not to me. Not to Cal. But there’s no way I’m going to spill those beans right now. Not without Ellie’s permission, for sure.

Cal gives me a knowing smirk. “Sure. I see how it is.”

I shake my head and stand, grabbing my jacket out of my locker and sliding my arms through the sleeves. “Whatever you say.”

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