“It’s...complicated,” I said.
Clay laughed his big, booming laugh. “Yeah, this kind of thing always is.”
I raised an eyebrow. “This kind of thing?”
“Love, man. I might be a football player and not a psychiatrist, but I know a guy in love when I see one.”
I cleared my throat and glanced away for a moment. If it were any other patient, I would’ve changed the subject as quickly as possible. Clay, on the other hand, was a guy I was comfortable being a little open with. He’d been my patient for a good few months and had the sort of way about him that made me feel at ease chatting about matters that didn’t involve torn ligaments or pulled muscles.
“Just... something a little new to me, is all.”
“What? You’ve never been in love before?”
I took my iPad off the nearby table and pulled up his file.
“I thought I had been.”
Clay nodded in understanding. “Until you met a woman that made you feel a sort of way that no other one had. I get it.”
“You do?” I asked.
Clay raised an eyebrow. “You sound surprised, doc.”
I chuckled. “No offense. But I've heard about your reputation around town.”
He waved his huge hand through the air. “Aw, that’s just talk. I mean, I date here and there. But love is something else, it's special. I know you’re the keep-shit-to-himself sort of guy, so I'm not going to pry. But let me tell you this—you find a woman that makes you feel this kind of way, you don’t let her go.”
Clay’s words affected me in a way that I couldn’t quite wrap my head around at that moment.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” my tone a bit gruff.
He chuckled. “There’s the Dr. V. I know.”
“It’s the Dr. V. that wants to get you back on the field after a rotator cuff injury. Now, tell me, how’s physical therapy been going?”
“Man, it’s beenhell. That Kelly, she rides me like crazy.”
“That’s her job. She knows how to whip someone into shape.”
“That’s what I'm finding out.”
“Anything else?”
He laughed. “She says she wants me to do yoga. You kidding me? Yoga?”
“Hey, don’t knock it until you try it. For a guy like you there are worse things than getting in some good stretches before hitting the field.”
The rest of the appointment passed casually as I checked out Clay’s shoulder and examined how his range of motion was doing. As we went through it, I found it damn hard to not think about Maddie and Piper. Those two were in my head like nothing else, and it took all the focus I had to keep my mind on my job.
“What’s the prognosis, doc?” Clay asked as I helped him off the exam table. “All clear to play?”
“Two weeks. You’re looking good so far, but I’ve also seen the way you use that shoulder on the field—it's like your own personal battering ram.”
He grinned with pride, reaching over and patting his shoulder. “This thing’s my damn meal ticket.” But as he spoke, he patted himself just a bit too hard, his face briefly wincing in pain.
“Actually, let’s make it four weeks.”
“Aw, man.”
