"You'd never have made it as a pro football player if you did," Castellanos pointed out. "Now what's this about the ankle?"
"The game that... I popped off," Brutus said reluctantly, "I fucked up my ankle. Those last two plays, I tried to plant my foot and it rolled. Then went and got yeeted onto it. Didn't help I had a three hundred and forty pound assist on those plays."
"I remember the team saying something about that. Their first attempt to let the whole thing blow over."
Brutus nodded, sighing. "Yeah well, the press doesn't know about it, but it was more than just a rolled ankle. It was a more serious injury."
"Jesus Brutus, why didn't you say something?" Castellanos asked heatedly, turning in the driver's seat to glare at him. "The fuck, man?"
"What?" Brutus asked, just as hot. "I've had problems with my ankles for the past three seasons, ever since Trent Jackson tackled me on an interception and stopped me from getting a pick six. I've had every ortho and their brother take a look at the MRIs, and they all tell me the same thing. Surgery isn't going to improve the situation. So I wear heavy duty ankle braces during practice and games under my socks, rehab the fuck out of my ankles every day, and 'suck it up' for the field. It adds to the whole Bad Boy thing anyway, I play a third of my games pissed off because of the pain."
"I get that, using the pain to motivate you," Castellanos said, "but look, you slowed down. So how did they feel right now?"
She was upset, angry, but also concerned about him. It made him more calm, and Brutus took the opportunity to let go of the anger and try to be in the moment, to be open with her.
"During the test, it felt like I was getting kicked in the ankle every step," Brutus admitted. "Just like every other time I've run for significant distance in the past three years. So in the off season, I do exclusively non-impact cardio when I'm doing anything but sprints. Even then if I can I do water sprints in the pool."
"Makes sense," Castellanos said. "Still Brutus, you should have told us. Told me. We've all got security clearances, I know shit that I can't tell you. We would have kept the secret."
"It's not that, I just... it's not my system to ask for the easy way out," Brutus said. "I do what needs to be done, bottom line."
"Yeah well," Castellanos sighed, "More importantly, as your team leader, my job is to take care of my troops. I keep my team healthy for their jobs, because here's a little inside info related to the fitness test. Nobody's ever won a war in track pants and t-shirts, and the last time anyone ran two miles uninterrupted in combat, they were going the wrong way."
Brutus laughed, nodding. "Okay, I can see the logic in that."
"Good. Now here's more logic," Castellanos said. "I will bust the chops of any soldier under my umbrella. Ask any of them, and they'll tell you I'm three times stricter on them than Sergeant Orkin is. But at the same time, tell them how I am when someone says some shit about anyone on my team. That includes you, Brutus Townsend. I'll tear anyone's head off if I need to."
"A mama bear, huh?" Brutus asked.
Castellanos nodded.
"Cool."
"Yeah well, my job is to keep you able to perform your duties. Now, are you wearing your ankle brace right now?"
"No... for just walking around I'm okay, and these boots help a good bit," Brutus said. "You military types do well with those."
"Okay. Well on the upcoming days, we're going to have some pretty physically active days, so wear the brace inside your boot. In the meantime, I'll pull Lieutenant Parker aside, talk to him on the down low. We'll see what can be worked out."
"So the press never finds out," Brutus said, and Castellanos nodded. "You don't need to."
"Bullshit." Castellanos handed him the clipboard. "Now, you just did this truck with me, get started on truck sixty five right next to us while I go chase down the lieutenant. I'll be back before you get into anything you're not trained to do."
Castellanos left, and for a second Brutus was tempted to run after her, ask her not to do it. But instead he stopped, and went over to the truck sixty five and popped the hood, getting started. The truth was, he'd been having ankle problems since his high school days. Nothing was going to fix it, and any run over a hundred yards was painful.
Two miles? Absolute agony, especially being so close to the end of the season and the grind of the past seven months. Taking February off for rehab wasn't enough, not by a long shot.
Just survive this week, he told himself. Then you can spend the next four months resting, rehabbing, and popping glucosamine powder like it's Kool-Aid.
He looked over, where Castellanos was talking to Lieutenant Parker, and he felt better about the upcoming week than he thought he would.
Maybe this week wouldn’t be so bad after all.
7
LINDA
Linda forced herself to focus. Despite the distracting thoughts of Brutus, she had a job to do.
