Page 55 of Hometown Halftime

“You’re early,” I say, dropping my bag beside the pile of balls.

He shrugs one shoulder, nudging a cone into place with the toe of his sneaker. “I enjoy being early.”

I begin working through practice jerseys when I decide I need to fill the silence.

“So,” I say casually. “Good weekend?”

Smooth, Malone. Real smooth.

Riley picks up another cone and walks past me to set it in place. When he comes back, he stops in front of me, a little closer than necessary.

“Yeah, it was really good,” he says with a sly grin.

He’s looking right at me, and I feel like he can see into my soul.

“What about you?” he asks.

My oh so helpful brain flashes the memory of his mouth against mine.

“Well,” I say casually, “I had a great time at Fall Fest, but there was this guy that couldn’t keep his hands off me.”

The tips of his ears turn pink. “Sounds like an eventful time. Can’t say I blame the guy, though.”

I playfully shove him, and he dramatically wobbles. “Focus, Rookie.”

Because the truth I’ve been avoiding since Saturday night is sitting there in plain sight. The kiss didn’t complicate things, it changed them. And the worst part is, I’m starting to think I don’t want to go back to the way things were before.

After the steroid shot at urgent care worked, I convinced myself the stiffness was getting better. The sharp pain down my leg faded enough that I slipped right back into normal life without thinking too hard about it. Coaching, bartending, carrying cases of liquor.

But that relief didn’t last long.

The feeling hasn’t been anything like before. But it’s in little things. A tiny twinge first thing in the morning when I swing my legs out of bed. Stiffness after long shifts at Gordy’s. Random little jolts that catch me off guard.

And maybe I could keep ignoring it if it wasn’t for the exhaustion. That part bothers me more than the pain.

I’ve always been good at pushing through things. Long nights and back-to-back double shifts were never an issue. But now, I feel drained afterwards.

So I made an appointment with my primary care doctor.

I expect her to tell me the same things urgent care did. Get rest, do some stretches. Suggest heating pads that never actually do anything except make you sweat through your shirt.

Instead, she asks a lot more questions than I’m prepared for.

How long does the stiffness last in the mornings?

Do over the counter anti-inflammatory medications help?

Any family history of autoimmune diseases?

Do your hips hurt too, or mostly your back?

I sit there in the exam room, suddenly feeling very aware of how many answers I don’t have. Because until this moment, I didn’t realize I’ve started moving around the pain without even thinking about it. Avoiding certain movements and sitting differently. Pretending I’m not struggling to get comfortable after practice.

“Well, Kinsey,” she says as she scribbles something on her notepad. “It could definitely just have been sciatica, but I’d like you to rule out anything else. With what you're experiencing and your past participation in a sport like rugby, I’m going to refer you to an orthopedic specialist.”

I sigh as I take the note from her hand. “Okay.”

She rises from her chair. “Just track your symptoms and any new or different pain. It will help when you have your appointment. Any other questions for me?”