Hard & Deep: A Football Romance

“How many more seconds now?” he asked.

She gave him a half smile and looked at her watch. “Twenty-five.”

I've done much harder workouts than this, he thought. Coach has put us through drills that would make a normal man puke. How is it that I've survived that, but somehow this physical therapy is killing me? I'm sweating like I've been running stairs while wearing a weight belt at altitude.

Oliver wasn't one to quit, though, so he pushed through until Elsie finally told him to stop. He drew in a breath of relief and relaxed his entire body. His knee was throbbing and his sweat-soaked skin felt cool as the fan across the room blew air toward him.

“This is harder than it should be,” he said, not looking at Elsie and just staring at the ceiling. He hated this feeling. “I feel so weak right now. It's frustrating.”

“It's hard because you're healing,” she replied, jotting some things down on her clipboard. “Be kind to yourself, Ollie. You're doing great.”

“Sure, Doc,” he said, shaking his head. “Whatever you say.”

In the matter of a few weeks, Oliver had gone from being at the top of his game to the very bottom. He'd gone from throwing touchdown passes in a championship game to writhing on the floor in agony and unable to walk without the help of crutches. It made him feel like a cripple.

How in the hell am I going to take my team to a single victory next season if I can hardly even move my damn leg? he thought, as he pushed himself up to a seated position on the floor and leaned against the wall.

Deep frustration bubbled up in his stomach. And below that, despair tried to creep in, but he was too frustrated to let it make its appearance. Despair would have its chance to rear its ugly head when he was alone later that night.

Yeah, that's when I can fully feel bad for myself, he thought, still wincing in pain. When I'm hungry and it hurts too much to make it to the microwave, so I just drink protein shakes instead. That'll be a great time for self-loathing. The same damn thing I've been doing every night for two weeks now.

Elsie was looking at him and her stare caught his attention. Her dark, caring eyes locked with his and for a fleeting moment, he felt a tiny bit better. Just having her in front of him made him feel that all was not lost and that there was still a chance that good could come from this whole thing.

“I can tell you're upset,” she said, taking a seat next to him against the wall. She stretched out her long legs in front of her. “But I'm not lying when I tell you that you're doing a great job. It's only been two weeks since your surgery. You shouldn't expect to be in peak condition quite yet.”

Oliver harrumphed.

“When I was in my residency, I helped treat a professional football player who had an ACL tear just like yours,” she told him. “He injured himself in January and we had him back on the starting lineup in September. His team won the championship game that year.”

Oliver looked over and their eyes met. She had the most beautiful, caring eyes he'd ever seen.

“Why are you just now telling me this?” he asked. Nikki had said something about Elsie's credentials so the story sounded familiar, but he hadn't paid much attention at the time.

“Because when we first starting working together, I wasn't sure how quickly you'd progress,” she explained. “I didn't want you to think we could have you up and running in just a couple of months, just in case it wasn't feasible.”

“Does it seem feasible now?” Oliver turned to face her, sitting in a weird semi-cross-legged position, which felt better on his knee.

“Let's just say that you're doing better than that particular patient was at this point,” she said, patting his hand and smiling. “Keep it up. You're doing great.”

“That's good to hear,” he said, slowly massaging the tender tissue around his knee. “Believe it or not, I think actually know the guy you're talking about. He was one of my favorite players before I went professional. Addison Lamone, played for Denver, right? The guy is a legend.”

“I cannot confirm or deny that he's the patient I was talking about,” she said, putting on a serious face. “I'm not allowed to divulge any information about previous or current patients.”

“I have to respect that,” he replied, liking that she smiled at him.

She re-positioned herself against the wall, crossing her legs at the ankle. The soft scent of her shampoo hit him. She smelled amazing. Like roses. He tried not to think about it. She was off limits.

“Ollie, you mentioned you have a brother,” Elsie said, staring through him. Her dark eyes looked evaluating and concerned. “Tell me about him.”

Ollie raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side. He still wasn't used to interacting with someone who didn't already know every detail about his life. “What would you like to know?”

“Only what you want to share with me,” she said, turning to face him and tucking her legs underneath her. “I can tell that you're feeling down right now. You sounded really proud of your brother the other day, so I thought it might lift your spirits to talk about him. It'll give you something to focus on that's positive, rather than how difficult your recovery is and how you feel like you're never going to walk again, let alone run, jump and play.”

Oliver's face softened.

This girl can read me like a book, he thought. That's the perfect subject to distract me from my current situation.

“His name is Michael,” he said, feeling his lips curl up into a smile. “He's finishing his senior year at college and has already been accepted into Harvard's medical school. He's going to be a doctor.”