Execution (Off Balance 2)

Between trying to set two different appointments for two different doctors—one specialist, one physician—getting lost driving, almost running over a turtle from spotting a damn alligator on the side of the road, waiting for hours to see the doctors, and test after test, I was ready to call it a day.

The only thing that saved me from losing it was a bottle of Motrin and the strongest coffee Starbucks offered plus two extra shots of espresso.

A bowl of penne a la vodka would've been nice too. But I didn't dare.

The outcome from both doctors had been craptasic. Another day, another hurdle.

Pulling up to World Cup, I carefully stepped out of my truck and applied pressure to my good leg, which the doctor had advised against. Added pressure and added weight could eventually cause a tear on that side too.

With my keys and cell phone in one hand, I pulled open the glass door and limped inside the gym with a puckered face and fresh out of fucks to give. I was beyond aggravated I had reinjured myself. The frustration slowly dissipated as I inhaled the chalky, powdery scent that permeated the air. I treasured that scent and this place. It was home, where I was supposed to be, but once again it felt like it was being ripped from my grip, and I'd do anything to hold on to it.

The last time I'd come to see Kova after a doctor's appointment, I'd worn a green dress chosen with him in mind. This time, I wore navy blue shorts, a basic graphic shirt from Target, and a pair of stone-gray Converse. My auburn locks were tied up in a disaster of a messy bun. I wasn't in the mood for any shenanigans.

I spotted Kova through the glass window of the lobby where he was training the men's team. I caught Hayden high up in the middle of holding a skill on the rings. His triceps quivered, his face as red as a fire hydrant, but that didn't prevent him from smiling at me. A little more of my irritation melted away.

Kova looked over his shoulder and held up an index finger. I could see dark circles under his eyes from where I stood. He looked tired. The thought of how my injury would affect not only me but also him flooded my mind. He's put so much time and work into me, I didn't want to let either one of us down. Nodding, I turned and made my way to his office. The pain in my ankle was reduced to a low dull and I plopped down in one of his chairs with an exasperated sigh. I was thinking about it too much and needed to stop. My head lulled back and I closed my eyes, fatigue coming down on me once again. I laced my fingers together on my stomach and waited.

Within a few short minutes, I heard footsteps approaching down the hall.

"Ria."

I opened my eyes and my heart did an obnoxious little jump. I should've told him to stop calling me the nickname he had given me, but I couldn't find it in my heart. I liked the sound of it only on his lips.

My eyes immediately zoomed in on his toned arms. His muscles flexed as he walked around the desk, twirling in a downward s

piral like powerful golden ropes. I wanted to reach out and trace them with my fingers from the curves of his shoulders to his wrists. Covered in white dust, he wore a sleeveless shirt with his predictable basketball shorts. Even his backwards hat had chalk on it. Air seized my lungs, a little knot clamped the back of my throat. I was so drawn to him, like a magnet ready to collide with its counterpart.

Kova ran a tired hand down his face. "I pray you have good news for me?"

I sat up straight and cleared my throat. "Good news is I have micro tears in my Achilles a little bigger than the last time," I said sarcastically. He sat stone-faced, unimpressed with what I considered good news, but I needed something to help me pass this hurdle I was suddenly faced with. "The MRI didn't show a complete rupture, which actually surprised the doctor. He was sure I tore it completely. Strangely enough, he concluded that I have an abnormal ankle joint. Apparently, I've been compensating on one side. Who knew? My foot has less than ten-degree flexion due to my ankle bones, so my Achilles takes the brunt of the landings. The area around my Achilles, the bursa, blows up and squeezes the Achilles, which is where the pain is coming from. So, they're going to do platelets-rich plasma injections," I said slowly, trying to make sure I got it right, "to promote fast healing and then do the Grayson Technique. He insisted I rest for several weeks, but I told him that wasn't an option." I paused to glare at Kova, dipping my head a little to reinforce my next words. "Because it's not an option, Kova. I know I should go easy when I condition and train, but we'll see. He told me with the PRP I should start to see signs of increased function within four to six weeks, as long as I don't do any extra aggressive physical activity, but physical therapy that’s set up through my doctor." I added the extra in there.

"Graston Technique."

Damn it. I knew I got the name wrong. "Tomato, tomahto."

"Did your doctor say how many injections?"

"Four. At the most, six. But he said only time will tell."

"And how—"

"Oh! And he said no anti-inflammatory medicine, no matter what. That's a bummer considering Motrin is part of my food group."

Kova gave me a droll stare. "I am well aware of that. And how often is the blading to occur?"

My brows furrowed. "Blading?"

"Yes," he sighed. "Blading is a nickname for the Graston Technique, Adrianna." I stayed silent as he continued. "They run a steel bar over your Achilles to smooth it out." His brows lifted and he moved his hands back and forth like he was rolling out dough, exhibiting how it would happen. "It is usually done to help prevent swelling and immobility." He stared at my blank face. "It is a more extreme form of massage, if you will."

I didn't move a muscle. And barely moving my lips, I blandly said, "He didn't explain that part to me. I'll have to find out when I go back for the PRP." Blading did not sound like fun. It sounded like torture.

"Who is your doctor?"

I rambled off the name of the office as he leaned over and unlocked one of his desk drawers. He pulled out a manila folder and opened it, flipping through the pages inside.

"What are you doing?"

"Ah, so I was right," he said, reading the paper in his hand. "They have trainers at this office who go around to the sports clubs in the area and work on athletes with injuries so they don't have to leave the gym. The blading only takes about ten minutes or so, this is perfect if you need it a few times a week."