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“I mean,” I start, more confused than ever. “Why would the coach do that? He says he’d never risk us injuring ourselves or not being ready for a meet, it just doesn’t?—”
“Make sense?” Brad says, finishing my thought.
“No, it really doesn’t,” I reply, shaking my head. “Maybe I should call them?”
“Angie already called Stefan,” he says, and of course she would have, she’s his sort of girlfriend, sort of hook-up. “He just said he can’t talk about it because of the NDA and that’s all she knows. It’s caused some friction with them apparently.”
“Seriously?” I ask, surprised Stefan wouldn’t talk to her. “And is it not really fucking weird that we even sign NDAs. I mean what the hell is there to hide?”
“Coaching practices, tactics,” he suggests with a tilt of his head. “Who knows.”
I feel even more confused than before, having no clue what happened to my two teammates or the real reason for why we have to sign an NDA when we join the team. At the time I joined, I didn’t even really think about it, it was just another piece of paperwork in an already growing pile.
I’d had a lawyer look over it all, but it wasn’t someone I knew very well and fuck, maybe they weren’t even that good. Maybe they didn’t give a shit.
I make a mental note to send my NDA to Jeff Holden in case that gives the lawyer any extra information that can get me the fuck out of here and back home to Badger Creek.
“Anyway,” Brad says, interrupting my thoughts. “Enough about all the cloak and dagger shit, you looking forward to your girl coming to visit?”
When I wake Thursday morning,my knee hurts so bad, I consider digging out the painkillers I got after my surgery. I never finished them, but I do remember them being strong. Certainly better than the Tylenol I’ve been taking since I came back.
At this point I’m even considering the injection the team doc keeps pressuring me to have, which is how I find myself outside his office after I finish my morning jumps.
“Nick, hey, what can I do for you?” he asks, when I’m finally called into his room.
I take a seat, stretching my leg out in front of me, wincing as a pain shoots out of my knee. “Not gonna lie, doc, my knee feels like it’s getting worse.”
He rests his elbows on his desk, leaning forward a little with a sympathetic smile. “The cortisone injection will fix that.”
I force myself not to react as I ask, “Yeah, but isn’t that just a band-aid?” I ask. “And maybe we need to address whatever’s really going on?”
He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches me from behind his desk. I’m not sure if I’ve just put my foot in it a little by questioning his competence but fuck it. I’m tired of all this bullshit and I’m really fucking tired of my knee hurting and no one seeming to give a shit about it.
“You think something else is going on?” he finally asks.
“I don’t know, yeah,” I admit. “Why else would it be hurting so bad?”
He tilts his head to the side, his smile widening a little. “Well, you haven’t exactly been using it these past few weeks, have you?” he asks. “Your body is just adjusting, remembering what it’s like to be on skis again. A bit of pain is normal, Nick and I promise you, these injections will help with that.”
I shove a hand through my hair as a weird feeling settles in my stomach. It suddenly feels like I can’t trust anything this guy is saying to me. “Can I at least get some more scans?” I ask.
“More scans?” he repeats and again it feels like he thinks I’m questioning his judgment.
“Just to make sure,” I say. “After that, I’ll reconsider the injection.”
That second part is a lie because I already know I’m not having the injection. I don’t want to mask this fucking pain. I want to fix it. I want to know my knee is stable and it’s safe for me to be back out on the slopes. Not risk more injury or worse because I’m simply hiding the pain and the real problem with some drugs.
The doctor turns to his computer screen and what I assume is my file that’s open. I watch as he types in a few things, before his printer suddenly churns to life, spitting out a sheet of paper. He grabs it, signing across the bottom before sliding it across his desk toward me.
“Head down for an MRI,” he says, his smile gone now. “I know what it’s going to say and afterward, you’ll be back here for the injection.”
I take the piece of paper before he can change his mind about this. “Next week yeah,” I say. “I’ve got the weekend off, so I’ll be back next week.”
He smiles again, but it feels insincere and wrong now. “We’re all here to help you, Nick,” he says, standing. “Remember that.”
After my scan, I head back to my room, knowing it’s only one more sleep until Lis gets here. As shit as everything is that’s going on here, I cannot fucking wait to see her again. As I tidy up my room a little, my still unpacked bag lying on the floor, my phone pings with a text.
Coach:Scan was all clear. Get the injection Nick and let’s get you jumping. We still have that triple kicker to practice.
