Page 38 of Broken Ties (Rixon High 4)

And Ezra had it in spades.

He’d been gifted with it, and yet, he didn’t want it. Not really.

Finally, Cole spotted me sprawled out on the grass and jogged over to me. “What’s wrong?”

“My shoulder.” I grimaced, refusing to think about the what-ifs and maybes.

“Do you need medical?”

“No, just give me a hand up?” I held out my good arm and Cole pulled me to my feet, and I swallowed a cry, gritting my teeth.

“I can’t play like this.”

There was only ten minutes left on the clock but I was done.

“Come on,” he said, taking some of my weight. “Let’s get you checked out.”

“Well the good news is it isn’t your rotator cuff.”

“And the bad news?” I glanced at the images on the screen. It was just a bunch of whitish blobs on a dark background; they didn’t mean anything to me. But they meant everything to the rest of my football season. My future on the field.

“It looks like an AC joint sprain. Have you been having any pain in practice?”

“A little twinge here or there. Nothing out of the ordinary. What’s the treatment?”

“We need to get you taped and into a sling. Then you’ll need physical therapy. I’d advise at least two weeks on the bench.”

“Come on, doc. I can’t sit out. It’s my final season. We have a bye next weekend, but I need to be on the field the week after that.”

“Take it easy in practice, follow the advice, and work with the physical therapist, and you could be good to go by then.”

Relief slammed into me. He couldn’t take away the rest of my season. I wouldn’t let him.

“You got it, doc. I’ll take it easy for the next couple of weeks.”

“And watch those tackles. If you’d have torn your cuff we’d be having a very different conversation right now.”

A knock at the door sounded and Coach poked his head around it. “How we looking, doc?”

“It’s an AC joint sprain. No tear. He’s lucky it’s mild. With rest and cold therapy he should be good to go in a couple of weeks. I’m going to write you a prescription.” He pinned me with a stern look. “You can get dressed now.”

Easier said than done. I snorted.

Coach passed the doctor on his way in and dropped his ass on the edge of the desk. “How are you feeling?”

“Could be worse. I could be out for the season.”

“You’ll need to sit out—”

“Doc said I can play in two weeks.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he said, scrubbing his jaw.

“We won?” I asked, refusing to acknowledge the warning in his tone.

“Yeah. Ezra and Cole make quite the team.”

“Yeah.” I dropped my eyes, scuffing the linoleum floor tiles with my sneaker.

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