Page 71 of Lost Trust

I let out a slow breath. “And if I don’t do surgery?”

She folds her arms. “We watch your symptoms and function closely. If you have persistent pain or weakness after three to six months of physical therapy”—she pauses—“surgery becomes the only option. Especially for someone like you.”

I already know where she’s going. “Because I’m a bull rider.”

“Because you’re young, active, and your job requires heavy lifting, forceful movement, and overhead use of your shoulder.”

I stare at the floor. “I can’t do it now.”

Jovie doesn’t argue.

“I committed to the academy for ten weeks.”

She raises an eyebrow. “I think Bryce would understand.”

“Ten weeks,” I repeat.

Surgery means recovery. Rehab. Time away from the academy. Time away from riding.

Time I don’t want to give up.

Jovie studies me for a long moment, then lets out an exasperated sigh. “Okay.”

I look up.

“You’re committed to the academy for ten weeks. We can work with that.”

My shoulders loosen.

“But,” she adds.

There it is. I knew it wasn’t gonna be that easy.

“You’re starting daily physical therapy, and you’re going to follow what I write up for you exactly. No skipping because you feel good one day. No deciding you’re healed because you can lift your arm without any pain.”

“Whatever you say.”

She gives me a pointed look. “God, you’re just as stubborn as your brother.”

I grin.

“And that grin isn’t gonna get you any further than it does him,” she snaps. “Every day. You’ll be in this clinic every single day.”

I nod.

“And in the meantime, I’m going to go ahead and set you up with a consultation with an orthopedic sports doctor I trust.”

“Thanks, Jovie. I’ll consider surgery after the summer.”

She leans back in her chair. “Consider it seriously.”

“Promise.”

The door opens, and Micah’s head pops inside.

“You ready to roll?”

I stand. “Anything else?”