"Eloni was nice enough to give it to me. I told him you left something in the locker room."
"Oh, did I? And what was it that I left there?"
"My number," he answered with a smile, and Jenna couldn't stop the laugh that escaped her mouth, though she did quickly recover and straightened her face before Wyatt continued speaking. "I wanted to give it to you, but you ran off before I could."
"I guess that makes me some kind of cyber Dr. Cinderella?"
"Phone numbers are much more efficient than glass slippers, but that Cinderella was more receptive."
"He was a charming prince."
"And I'm not?"
"Oh no, not going there, Mr. McCoy. But I appreciate the information. I will be sure to, um, thank, Eloni when I see him for his next appointment."
"Don't be mad at him. I tricked him."
"I'm not mad. Actually, I'm a little flattered."
"I knew you had it in you, Doc."
"But flattered or not, I am seriously concerned about your shoulder, Mr. McCoy," she said, sitting down at her desk and taking the MRI results out of his chart. "Look at these images, particularly right here. These are from the MRI that your team had done after the Denver game. We aren't just looking at impingement and tearing, we have evidence of serious and repeated damage to that right shoulder. Basically, you had a sudden trauma during a prior game. From the notes here it was a few weeks before the Denver game. Your arm bone was forced hard into the shoulder socket. Add onto that, the repeated trauma you are seeing in other games, and the damage is simply not healing on its own. That is quite serious."
"I've been doing physical therapy."
"I saw that in the notes. I had hoped the physical examination would show some progress from it, but it doesn't look that way."
"I can get a cortisone shot to my shoulder before games."
"Cortisone shots are great. But, they need to be used sparingly, and you can't rely on them.
"I'll do more PT."
"Physical therapy hasn't been enough, so far. A treatment course based solely on PT could be a possibility, if you were a pharmacist that happened to enjoy playing softball on the weekends. But you're not. You're an elite professional athlete. Your performance will never improve and that pain won't go away, unless you have this surgery. The good news is that as long as you don't re-injure that shoulder more seriously, you should be able to make it through the last few games of the season. Then I recommend you have surgery immediately at the beginning of the off-season."
"There's got to be another way, Doc. Eloni said you had other advice for him, too. Gave him relaxation exercises or something."
"That's true. I treat the whole athlete."
"I'm not just an athlete, though. I'm a person."
His words jarred her back to her meeting with Richard.
Am I doing it again? she asked herself. Treating the athlete and not the person? Only seeing a chart and not a human being? If it truly is a barrier to my success, then maybe I need to step back and listen to this man.
"That’s very true, Mr. McCoy. I do try to take that into account — to understand the emotional strain you face. The accommodations athletes need to make to address those challenges. Your body is your life and your livelihood… I get that."
"Because you were an athlete?"
"Excuse me?"
"Eloni told me you played basketball, blew out one of your knees."
"Um, yes. I just don't talk about it much. Most of my patients know it, though, that's true." Jenna looked down at her notepad and tried to regain her composure. The memory of that injury was still fresh and sharing it with Wyatt felt incredibly intimate.
"But I'm not a patient. I'm a consult."
"What? That's true," she said, looking up and focusing on Wyatt again. "I take it just as seriously, though. Yes, I do try to bring my experience as an athlete to bear in all I do. The benefit is that I understand the strain of being at least a collegiate scholarship athlete. To have all those responsibilities."
"And you know football? I played with a guy at UT your dad coached in high school. They don't get much better than him apparently. He even used to coach at Georgia."
"Wow, you really did your homework, Wyatt."
"I told you I take my career very seriously. Georgia's a pretty good gig. You don't see a lot of assistant coaches step down voluntarily."
"True, but that's a hard life to have as a solo parent with a young child."
"My mother would agree with you on that point," Wyatt said darkly.
Jenna paused, wanting to pry so much into his life, but knowing it was wrong.
Instead she simply said, "Yes, I read once that your parents are divorced. Being married to an NFL player can't be easy."
Wyatt's face creased in what looked almost like anger, but it wasn't aimed at her, she could tell that. It looked more like the face of someone with an old hurt — an unhealed wound. It was an expression Jenna had seen on her own face more than once.
"So, your dad decided to become the king of high school football and summer quarterback camps, instead?" Wyatt went on quickly, changing the subject back to Jenna's personal life.
"Yep. And he's really great at it. I hate to be rude, but we should really get back to talking about your shoulder." Jenna definitely felt off-kilter when she was around Wyatt, and all this talk about her dad was all the more unsettling. This guy had a knack for getting under her skin and she couldn't let that happen anymore. She'd already relaxed too much around him.
"Right. We're here to talk about my shoulder. Eloni swears by the extra advice you offer, so bring it on."
Jenna had to fight back a little laugh.
"Eloni had serious stress issues. And his stretching was atrocious. Yoga and sewing with his wife turned out to be very effective."
"You're suggesting I do yoga?"
"You'd have to be careful not to strain your injury, but it could have some benefits to your overall awareness of your body and its cues. It doesn't have to be that. It can be anything you find which makes you feel centered and calm — able to refocus on your body and then, hopefully, your playing style and goals. Have you ever found something that had that effect?"
"Yes."
"That's great, what is it?"
"Oh nothing you'd care about," he mumbled out, a slight blush briefly streaking his cheeks and making her all the more intrigued by him all over again.
"Whatever you end up choosing on that end, unfortunately, I don't think it will be enough. Sometimes surgery is the only option. That was the case for Eloni and his knee."
"No surgeries for me. No hospitals," he said simply, but she noticed him swallowing hard.
"Look, Mr. McCoy…"
"I really mean it," he answered sternly, silencing her. "I mean that I'd like you to call me Wyatt," he continued, softening his tone and forcing a smile. For the first time, Jenna saw something in his eyes that wasn't pure cockiness and bravado. Could it be…fear? That seemed impossible. Yet, even though his flash of vulnerability was gone even more quickly than it appeared, she felt her disloyal heart soften, just a bit.
"All right. I'll call you Wyatt," she said, smiling gently.
He grinned in response, and her whole body seemed to flip over. Jenna hated what he did to her.
She realized she couldn't deny that she was attracted to him. He was like a multiplying virus — overtaking her sense of resolve with each continuing moment, and for all her years of fighting off men like him successfully, Jenna worried there would be no vaccine or cure to avoid the impact of this particular one.
"Thanks. You know my friends actually call me Wy."
"I'm not calling you that. Wyatt is all you're going to get from me."
"Are you sure about that?" he asked teasingly, but his stare directly into her eyes was too penetrating. She decided instead to peer at the chart in front of her. That was much safer than this man.
"I'm very sure…Wyatt. Now, I must say, your resistance to surgery
is really problematic. Yes, there are risks…"
"I'm not a fan of risks."
"Oh, well, I can certainly understand that." And she could. That was Jenna's life mantra, but it surprised her Wyatt shared that view. She'd assumed he had the kind of confidence and courage to take chances that only came from having everything in life handed to you. That was not consistent with the suddenly cautious and guarded man before her.
"Doc? Are you still with me?"
"Sorry. I was just thinking for a moment."
"Okay. So what else can I do?"
"Fact is, I really don't see how your regimen has made the improvements you need. And with all your emphasis on physical therapy over surgery — to not see marked improvement by this point — it's deeply concerning."
"I am making progress though. Let me show you. You have a fresh pair of eyes. I've really been committed to the therapy, and adjusting my game. I think it's helping."
"Has it? The notes from the team physician say your coaches feel you have a problem bringing passion and inspiration to your game. From what I have seen, that makes sense. Your approach is very clinical. Maybe that can work at some stages of your career, but you're almost thirty now, that is a key juncture in the trajectory of your professional life. Passion needs to be in every part of your life — in practice and in PT. That, taken with your resistance to surgery… Simply put, it's counter-productive."
"Wow, I knew you didn't want to like me, but come on."
"This has nothing to do with liking you or not liking you."
"Then give me a chance."
"What?"
"Let me show you what the other doctors are missing. I can do this without surgery."
"Oh, that chance. Of course." The flicker of disappointment in her belly made Jenna feel sick. She didn't need to be giving this guy chances of any kind. She needed to get him out of her office and out of her life.
"What did you think I meant?" he asked, a small smile quirking at the corners of his mouth.
"Nothing, um, I think I have my opinion."
"Come on, please."
Dammit, big ole sad eyes, really? she thought grumpily. Low blow.
"What do you propose I see?"
"How about you watch me play again?"
"I saw you play a week ago."
"I know, but I think the PT is paying off, and I've been working on my release after you mentioned it last week. I listened."
"Oh, that's great. I did notice your performance was improved in Sunday's game."
"See, I'm not totally a lost cause."
Jenna's instincts were telling her to run and move on from this deeply confusing man. Yet she knew this was a great opportunity, coming at the perfect time in her career. She'd be crazy to say no.
"All right, Wyatt, one more game."
"Great. Then you'll come with us to New Orleans. We leave Friday. I can tell the staff you're joining the rest of the med crew."
"Right, well, I suppose that covers it. I will see you for your next game."
Jenna stood and walked to the door of her office, desperately trying to ignore the tingling in her fingertips and intense nerves she felt with each moment she was near him.
Just a couple more days and then he's out of my life. I can do this.
She reached for the doorknob to open it and suddenly felt his warm, strong hand over hers. Breathing deeply she looked up and tried to pull her hand back, but he simply tightened his grip and looked into her eyes with such passion that Jenna was almost transfixed. The air around her was suffused with him and it occurred to her it should be a crime to smell that good.
"Thanks for listening to me and giving me a chance to show you what I can do. It's very important to me that I can stay on the field."
"I understand, Wyatt," Jenna responded quietly.
Wyatt leaned forward so that his lips were very close to her ear, and whispered, "I think you do."
Jenna willed herself not to look up into his eyes, but her body had a mind of its own, as she felt her chin raise and her face become so close to his. Every muscle inside of her clenched at his nearness and his scent enveloped her. The heat coming off his body was so much more real and powerful than in her dream and she wished she could just lean forward closer to him.
Yet, that was impossible. Nothing about the two of them together made sense — consultation or not, and she needed to remember it. Quickly she took a breath and regained some of her sanity before opening the door and gesturing for him to leave.
"Good-bye, Wyatt," she said, staring past him, afraid of what she would do if she looked at him again.
"See you soon, Doc," he answered.
She nodded, and then he was gone.
Jenna closed the door and fell backwards against the cool, painted wood, allowing some of her heat to seep away against its inanimate strength, as she wondered just how she would survive another run-in with this man.
CHAPTER SIX
Wyatt kicked his feet against the side of the hotel's indoor pool and used the force to dive back underneath the cool water for another lap. He gently moved his arms through the water, being careful to use the stroke his physical therapist had selected for him — the one that promised to loosen his shoulder joint while keeping the strength in his upper torso.
He hated having to limit what he did with his body — another cruel reminder he couldn't control everything in his own world. There was no time for that frustration though, because he needed to have the greatest shot at showing the good doctor what he was capable of during that night's game.
Movement in the water near him registered against his body and he pulled his head above it to see a blonde figure had jumped into the pool with him and was beginning to swim laps of her own. As she turned her head to take in some air he saw it was Jenna. Never having felt particularly lucky during his life, Wyatt couldn't believe his good fortune in that moment.
Ever since they'd arrived in New Orleans, she'd appeared intent on keeping a marked distance from him. Even though she'd watched his practice with the team the day before, she had eaten with the staff and barely said "hi" to him. He actually felt like he'd made some headway with her during her examination of him — especially during the portion when she was touching him.
Lord knew he'd liked that part. Though it wasn't just their physical attraction that he believed made her susceptible to him. He also felt like he was breaking through with her on another level — all of which had left him feeling optimistic that he'd been smart to select her for his second opinion, after all. He just needed to keep that influence going so she would be swayed enough to acknowledge his shoulder would be fine without surgery, such that the Roughnecks would re-sign him as a starting quarterback and everything could get back to normal.
Unfortunately, she seemed to have used their days apart before this away game to seal him off from her all over again. She was proving a bigger challenge than he'd bargained for, but Wyatt wouldn't be discouraged. Especially now that she was a mere few feet from him while most of the world was still sleeping — the sun only having risen a mere hour before.
He was impressed she hadn't hightailed it out of there at the mere sight of him in the pool. After allowing Jenna a couple of laps in peace, he made his way over to her. Wyatt leaned his back against the concrete wall as he waited for her submerged body to swim blindly to him.
Her strokes were smooth and strong, pulling her long, lean body through the water and showing how much effort she put into everything she did. As her blonde head approached him, he realized she was so engrossed in her movements she hadn't noticed he was now directly in her path.
Smiling to himself, Wyatt crossed his arms and watched with wicked anticipation as her right arm lifted out of the water. It arched beautifully, allowing her hand to curl into the water, where it proceeded to smack him fully on his cock. His eager appendage twitched at the attention from her.
Stifling a laugh, Wyatt took immense pleasure in watching her jerk back. She sputtered w
ater from her mouth, before standing up and glaring at him through swim goggles.
In spite of her obvious mortification, Wyatt didn't bother to hide the smug smirk that took over half his face, as he said, "I was going to say good morning, Doc, but I'm pretty sure I like your greeting much better."
Ripping off her goggles, she exclaimed quickly, "What the hell are you doing there, Wyatt? Are you trying to give me a heart attack? Or drown me?" Her cheeks were bright red. From the way she refused to meet his eyes, he felt confident it was due to embarrassment, rather than exertion.
"Easy, Doc, I thought you saw I was in here."
"In here swimming laps, not coming up on me like some extra from a shark week made-for-TV movie." She smoothed her wet hair back and turned away from him, apparently ready to get back to her workout.
"Hey, where are you going, Doc?"
"It's a pool. I'm swimming."
"Well, let your heart rate slow down for a minute. If I really did frighten you that badly, why don't you take a breather and talk to me…unless you're scared."
"Oh, don't be so predictable," she huffed out. "Of course, I'm not scared of you."
"Then it's settled. Good morning, how are you doing? Now, your turn."
"Fine, I guess my heart is still skittering a bit." She crossed her arms, unwittingly emphasizing that beautiful cleavage of hers that he hadn't been able to stop thinking about for days, and leaned back against the other pool wall. Her wet hair and flushed face were lovely, even if she was still looking wonderfully annoyed with him.
"I liked your stroke."
"My what? That was an accident! I didn't even know…" she stammered out quickly.
"Through the water. Get your mind out of the gutter, Doc," he said, with a smile, loving the bright pink that quickly returned to her face.
"Oh, um, then thanks. Ever since I blew out my knee, I try to swim regularly to ease the strain on it that my other exercises can cause. What about you? How does your shoulder tolerate swimming?"
"Pretty well. I worked on this regimen with my physical therapist. It's really helped my range of motion before games. You'll see that tonight, I think."
City of Champions Page 9
