"I don't have anywhere else to be," I said, grim and dejected as fuck. I know I was being pessimistic, but I saw my dreams slipping away. No combine, no pro day, no draft, no contract. Nothing. All this work for nothing.
It was like Slade could read my mind. "Hey. Chill out. No sense worrying until you know the facts. It could be a grade one strain, in which case, you'll be up and around in a week."
"A week? That can the difference between getting drafted and being passed over. And what if it's more?"
Slade's brow furrowed. "Geez. Will you try not to think like that? You know it's not true. These scouts have already seen you. You've got agents coming out of your ass, for God's sake. They're practically stabbing each other in the back to get close to you. A groin injury … "
" … makes me damaged goods," I said, finishing his sentence. "A player gets hurt once, and they're more likely to get hurt again. They get cautious, too. They don't have the same full-on energy on the field because they don't want to get hurt again. You know it as well as I do. This is a shit sandwich, no matter which way you slice it. It would have been bad enough during the season, but I only have seven weeks until the combine. I can't afford to take it easy. Once they know I was hurt all that interest could dry up."
"You're blowing it out of proportion, but whatever." He sat in one of the guest chairs in the corner, leaning his elbows on his knees. "We won't know anything until the doc comes in."
I held my tongue. Slade didn't get it. He had his academics to fall back on. I wasn't in dire straits, but my GPA was simply okay. It wasn't stellar and unlike a few of these guys, I had no fallback career plan.
NFL or bust.
It was premature, but I started to wonder what I could possibly do if going pro was no longer an option.
The option.
My parents would be supportive. I didn't have to doubt that. I just couldn't imagine what other path I could take now. For my whole life, this was all I worked toward. This was all I ever wanted. Sure, I was dwelling in the absolute worst case scenario that if this injury was really bad, I wouldn't be drafted right out of college the way I had always planned. I could wait a year, but I didn't want to do that. Waiting was not in my DNA. I had no idea what I would do in the meantime, either, besides work out and keep myself conditioned. A whole new group of players was coming up next year too. I would be old news by then. The scouts and agents would move on.
I clenched my jaw to hold back the agony.
Falling apart and praying were not options either.
4
Samantha
I received a phone call from Dr. Jeffries around three o'clock on Monday afternoon. Kristy was at a meeting to be assigned an unplanned tutoring student due to some kind of mix-up, so I was alone in my dorm room, researching the school's baseball team players, their stats, past injuries, that sort of thing. I knew most of them already, but liked to be on top of the people I worked with.
When my phone rang and I saw it was my department head, my stomach did a flip. Trouble was brewing. Why else would he call me? And in the middle of an afternoon where I wasn't expected anywhere? Come to think about it, this was actually the first time I'd ever heard his voice over the phone.
"Hello?" I answered.
"Samantha?"
"Hi Dr. Jeffries. Yes it's me."
"I'm sorry, but an item has come up that I need to discuss with you." He sounded tense. He might as well have said, we have a problem. I could hear it in his voice. This was bad news along the lines of end of the world stuff.
I slumped a little in my desk chair. "What is it?"
"One of the top-tier football players had an injury during a practice yesterday."
I frowned. "They're still practicing? Even in the off-season?"
"Yes. You know they condition year-round. This is one of our graduating players, one who shows promise for a top ten or top fifteen NFL draft pick come spring … which is why I'm calling you."
"Me? I'm not sure why, Professor," I stuttered out. This was football he was talking about. In my mind, I wasn't interested. "It's good to know you think that highly of me." I was at a loss, just blabbering, hoping he wasn't calling for the reason I thought he might be calling. He didn't randomly contact people to report injuries, not when said person wasn't involved in the sport in question.
"It's Evan Marshall, the wide receiver," he sighed out. My eyebrows shot up. No wonder he was so tense. Marshall was one of the school's star athletes, and considered a shoe-in for the NFL. The school was dying to get a few more of its students on an NFL roster.
"What happened to him?"
"X-rays and other diagnostics by the medical staff have confirmed he has a grade two groin tendon strain down his left leg. It's moderate to severe."
"Ouch," I said, feeling sorry for the guy, if only because I was sure he had to be in severe pain.
"Yes. We're sending him in for a few more tests to be sure there isn't any surrounding damage."
"I see." I went quiet. I wouldn't lead the doctor into asking what I knew he was about to ask. I wanted to hear it from his mouth before I politely turned him down.
"He's been assigned a certified athletic trainer as well as a graduate assistant in between follow-ups with the physician team, but they will need more help. This is a five to seven day a week assignment until the combine. A two-person support team won't be enough."
Dr. Jeffries paused. I knew what was coming. I wasn't going to bait myself by offering to help. If they were short on football support, the soccer student core should have been the next source of help, then basketball, track and field, cross country, volleyball, maybe even golf. But not baseball, and not me.
"They're going to need some more help."
"I'm sure he does, if he's as talented as they say he is."
The doctor laughed. "You don't know?"
"Do you mean how talented he is? No, not personally. I've never seen them play."
He was silent, then asked, "You're kidding me, right?"
I genuinely laughed at his reaction. "Is that so hard to believe, Dr. Jeffries?"
"I was under the impression that every student at this school made it a habit to attend every football game, is all."
"There may be a few of us abstainers around. You're not wrong, though. The campus is eerily quiet on Saturday afternoons in the fall. Everyone makes the mass exodus and ends up at the stadium for home games. Most everyone." I laughed again. That was my nerves about the direction this conversation was taking.
"I'm sure it is. Anyway, like I said, he needs the best support on his rehabilitation and recovery team." I heard the deep breath he took through the phone's speaker. I closed my eyes, knowing what was coming. "You're the best I have."
"No way," I said. It fell out of my mouth before I could stop myself.
"What?" he snapped.
"I'm so very sorry, Dr. Jeffries, but I really can't. I don't mean to come off as rude, but you've just assigned me to the baseball team. I can't manage the athletic therapy for that team while doing a gig for a football player. I can't do both. I need time to sleep and eat. Oh, and to study, of course." I chuckled nervously. He didn't join me.
"Samantha, this isn't a request. And I'll have to postpone your assignment to the baseball team until Marshall is back off the injured list."
Oh no, he didn't.
Did he just … ?
He couldn't have.
My heart sank down to my shoes. I didn't believe it.
"Is this a mistake, Dr. Jeffries? I mean, are you sure? This doesn't seem fair, does it?"
"You're right. It's not, but things like this happen all the time. I'm sorry, Samantha. I understand this isn't the assignment you were hoping for. I'm sure it's not the way Evan Marshall saw things going, either. Sometimes we have to make the best of a situation even if we wish it wasn't so."
"I understand that part. Honestly I do, but you have to know I've worked so hard to get the baseball assignment. To have it taken away now … gosh, please don't do this. It's what I've been working for since I started as a freshman. There has to be someone else in the class or from the staff who can take this on?"
"There isn't anyone else, and to be clear, I'm not taking anything away from you." His tone became more curt. I was pushing the boundaries in this power dynamic, but I had to try.
"But sir-"
"Samantha, I'm only removing you from the baseball crew until Evan is off the injured list. You can go back to baseball when he's better."
"But … but … who knows how long that will take?" I asked, searching desperately for a way out. I squeezed my pen so hard, I thought I might snap it in two.
"You have six weeks."
I nearly fell out of my desk chair. "Six weeks? That long? Why such a specific deadline?"