Page 80 of Drop Shot
Off to the side my team of coaches talk amongst themselves. I don’t deem the doc with a response.
“My suggestion”—the doctor goes on, ignoring their pattering— “head to France and rest up tomorrow and the next day then start with some stretching and go easy the first day back. I’ll be there, and I’ll assess further but right now I don’t think there’s anything to be worried about.”
I lean my head back on the exam table and breathe out a relieved, “Good.”
Injuries are par for the course in any sport, but when you’re a professional athlete it can be detrimental.
“You can get out of here,” he tells me. “Rotate the ice and heat and elevate it when you can.”
“You got it, doc.” I give him a thumbs up.
My coaching staff pulls me aside, basically telling me the same shit the doctor just did, and finally lets me go with a warning to be ready bright and early for a light practice in two days.
Jackson follows me out of the exam area. “I’ll get your hotel booked.” He taps away on his phone.
I shake my head. “Whimsy will take care of it.”
He stops in his tracks, forcing me to stop too. “She’s not your assistant anymore.”
I flinch. Right. She’s my … whatever she is. “She can still handle it. She knows what she’s doing.”
Jackson narrows his eyes. “Why?”
“Because I want to stay in an apartment, not a hotel, that’s why. She knows what I like. She’ll pick a good place to rent.”
Jackson shrugs. “Fine. Whatever keeps you comfortable.”
I head past him and outside. Noah’s hopping off a golf cart that’s used to transport the athletes around.
“How’s the knee, dude?” he asks as he approaches, reaching out to shake my hand and clap my back. I do the same with him. I guess it’s a good thing we were out early in the doubles matches.
“Could be worse,” I reply. “Good luck today.”
Noah plays his own semi-final match today.
“Thanks. You headed to Paris straight away?”
“Yeah, probably by tonight.”
He nods, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I doubt I’ll see you until I’m there, so take care of yourself and that knee.”
“I will.”
Noah nods and heads past me into the building.
“You need a ride?” The golf cart driver asks.
I shrug. “Why the hell not?”
It might be last minute, but Whimsy uses her skills to secure us an apartment in Paris. Ebba quickly volunteers herself to join us since the place has two rooms. If Whimsy is annoyed by that fact she hasn’t shown it. I figure she booked it so we could have separate rooms but here we are, forced to share a room again.
I follow Whimsy onto the plane. Ebba’s coming on a flight in the morning. It didn’t make sense to use private, so she booked us seats on a commercial airline.
“Do you want the window?” she asks, pausing in the aisle so another passenger can put their things in the overhead bins.
“I’ll be fine in the middle.”
She gives me a questioning look but doesn’t argue. I notice Whimsy always takes the window seat on whatever flight we’re on. It’s just normally we have enough time to fly private or book first class. I’ve noticed she gets slightly sick on take-off and landing and that it must help her to look out because she always makes sure to keep her eyes glued to the window.
