Page 15 of Red Zone
And slid lower.
* * *
“Did you give yourself a concussion?” Glazier snapped his fingers in front of Bowen’s face.
“What?” Bowen shouted at him, startling the third-string quarterback who was stuck starting today. They were back in the training room, and while Bowen wasn’t playing, Glazier was doing one of his twice weekly exams on Bowen’s progress.
“You zoned out there. If you didn’t give yourself a concussion, you might have been hypoxic from screaming at your physical therapist,” Glazier humphed.
“I don’t like him. He wouldn’t let me do more reps on my right shoulder.”
“He’s following the prescribed plan from Dr. Reynosa-Romualdo.”
“That asshole. Wanna know why I lost it? No playing for six weeks. I have to miss two more games,” Bowen hissed, wishing he could move away from the ice strapped to his right shoulder. They only let him out of the sling to do light PT reps and ice.
“Right. You were having a rage blackout. Interesting.” Glazier shined a pen light in his eyes. “Not a head injury.”
“Back the fuck off.” Bowen batted the light away with his good left hand. It was amazing how much more dexterous his weak side was getting in the past three weeks since his injury. Between having to eat and dress one handed, the left was getting a real workout on his cock, particularly when he kept having that lucid dream.
His brain was full of jumbled memories and mush from the night of his injury. Nothing was clear after getting in the ambulance. An occasional glimpse from MetroGen, Roy talking to him, and waking up alone in his bed with an erection the size of the Lombardi trophy.
He had no idea if the shower had happened or if it was a very, very vivid fantasy. It would piss him the hell off to discover he’d fucking pounded Roy in the locker room showers and couldn’t remember.
Not that he could ask her, because she was MIA. She hadn’t returned after that game. He’d been left with nothing except a doctor’s report from Dr. Reynosa-Romualdo and an invoice to replace a pair of scrubs for Dr. Joel Glazier.
“I’d been wondering where football’s greatest asshole had disappeared to. He’s back.” Glazier flipped through a few pages of documents on his clipboard.
“Where is Roy?”
“I told you ten times. Reassigned in Ortho at MetroGen,” Glazier dismissed his question.
“Why? She’s great. Better than you.” Bowen was quite aware he was being ridiculous. Glazier was one of the best orthopedic sports medicine doctors in the country.
“She most certainly is not. Contrary to how you may feel, her job here is quite replaceable. And you aren’t helping.”
“Dr. Navarro isn’t the same,” Bowen growled. “I’m not doing anything wrong to prefer her.”
“Your injury has gone viral. People want to know who that cute little Filipino girl was taking care of you. ESPN wants to interview her about your injury. More attention on her at this point is a problem.” Glazier was right about that part. Bowen had gotten more media inquires in the past two weeks than he’d had the entire past season.
It didn’t make him any happier. Coach Stefengold had the PR department write a standard statement and had deflected the pointed questions he’d received at the postgame press conference after last week’s loss.
“She’d listen to me, and call you out for following this bullshit from Dr. Reynosa-Romualdo.” Bowen picked up the physical therapist’s clipboard where it had a daily weightlifting regimen for the therapist. “I want his recommendation changed. He’s examined me exactly one time. Why didn’t you have him come here instead of Navarro?”
“You’re shitting me, right?” Glazier crossed his arms.
“Find me another doctor to clear me if that asshat won’t.”
“Really? Hey, Jon, get your cute little Filipino ass over here.”
Dr. Jon Navarro trotted over from where he was helping stretch one of the offensive lineman’s hamstrings. “What’s up,hepe?”
From what Bowen understood, Navarro was a fifth year Ortho resident and very, very gay. Bowen didn’t have an issue with gay. He had an issue with Navarro not being Roy and his tendency to spew out random quotes he must have learned in college.
“Navarro can stay out of this. It’s between you, me, and that Dr. R-R asshole.”
“I’m sure Navarro has an opinion and can talk to Dr. Reynosa-Romualdo. Since he has an MD behind his name. Defensive End Sullivan went to Google med school this week and decided he wants to tell Dr. Reynosa-Romualdo that he should be allowed to play today.”
“And?” Navarro asked warily.
