One Night Before Christmas. Susan Carlisle
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be glad to hear that. We should be there in about thirty minutes.” Her father hung up and she asked her passenger, “Have you ever been to Niagara Falls?”
“No.”
“Well, the falls are a beautiful sight any time of the year, but especially now with the snow surrounding them.”
“I don’t think I’ll be here long enough to do much sightseeing.”
“It doesn’t take much to say you’ve seen the falls. They’re pretty large.”
“What I came for is to see Mr. Overtree, so I imagine I should focus on that.” Obviously he wasn’t much for small talk or the local sights. Melanie stopped making an effort at conversation and concentrated on driving in the thickening snow and slow traffic. With her heavier clothes on, she began to get too warm but didn’t want to turn down the heat for fear Dr. Reynolds needed it.
They were not far from the team camp when he said, “I don’t think I’ve ever met a female team doctor before.”
She’d long ago become used to hearing that statement. With a proud note in her voice she said, “As far as I know, I’m the only one in the NFL.”
“What made you want to be a sports doctor?”
His voice, she bet, had mesmerized more than one woman. Where had that idea come from? What was his question? “I wanted to be a part of the world of football.”
What it did was make her feel included. She’d grown up without a mother, a coach for a father and three brothers who now played professional football. In her family if you didn’t eat, drink and live football you were left out. As a girl she couldn’t play, so by becoming the team doctor she took her place as part of the team. Even when it wasn’t her heart’s desire. “Team means everything, Mel,” her father would say. “That’s what we are—a team.” He would then hug her. To get his attention she learned early on what she needed to do as part of the team. As she grew older the pressure to be a team member grew and became harder to live with.
She often wondered what her father would say if she confessed she didn’t want to belong to a team any longer. Sometimes she’d like to just be his daughter. She was afraid of what the repercussions might be. Still she would have to say she was happy, wouldn’t she?
Melanie pulled the car into her designated parking space in front of the two-story, glass-windowed building. “Leave your bag in the car. I’ll take you to the hotel after we’re through here.”
Dr. Reynolds nodded and climbed out. He wasn’t large like some of the players but he did look like a man who could hold his own in a fight. With those wide shoulders and trim hips, he appeared physically fit.
“This way,” she said as they entered the lobby. The space was built to impress. With hardwood floors, bright lights and the Currents’ mascot and bolt of lightning painted on the wall, the place did not disappoint. No matter how many times Melanie entered this direction, she had a moment of awe. She enjoyed her job, liked the men she worked with and loved the passion of the crowd when the Currents took the field to play.
Dr. Reynolds followed her through security and down the hall to the elevator. There they waited in silence until the doors opened and they entered. She pushed the button that would take them to the bottom floor where the Athlete Performance Area and her office were located. When the elevator opened she led him along a hall painted with different football players making moves. “Rocket should be back here.”
The team had a state-of-the-art workout facility, from whirlpool and sauna to a walking pool and all the other equipment on the market to help improve the human body. She was proud of the care she was able to provide for the men. Two years ago she had instituted a wellness program for retired players who continued to live nearby.
She pushed open the double swinging doors and entered her domain. Here she normally had the final say.
Rocket was already there, sitting on the exam table. Wearing practice shorts and a T-shirt with the sleeves cut out of it, he looked like the football player he was. What didn’t show was the injury to his knee and his importance to the Currents winning a trip to the Super Bowl.
She pulled off her coat. “Rocket, sorry to pull you back in but Dr. Reynolds wanted to see you right away.” Turning to Dr. Reynolds, she said, “This is Rocket—or Martin Overtree. Rocket, Dr. Reynolds.”
The two men shook hands.
“Thanks for coming, Doc,” Rocket said. “Mel says you’re the man to help keep me on the field.”
“I don’t know about that. I’ll need to examine you first.” Dr. Reynolds pulled off his coat.
“I’ll take that,” Melanie offered and draped it over a chair in the corner.
The doctor rolled up his shirtsleeves, revealing tanned arms with a dusting of dark hair. Using his foot, he pulled a rolling stool from where it rested near the exam table. He straddled it and rolled to the end of the table. “I’m going to do some movements and I want you to tell me when or if they hurt and where.”
Melanie watched as the doctor placed his large hands on either side of the huge running back’s dark-skinned knee. With more patience than he’d shown at the airport, he examined it. Rocket grunted occasionally when Dr. Reynolds moved his knee a certain way.
The doctor pushed with his heels, putting space between him and the patient. “Now, Mr. Overtree—”
“Make it Rocket. Everyone else does.”
Dr. Reynolds seemed to hesitate a second before he said in a stilted tone, “Rocket, I’d like you to lift your foot as far as you can without your knee hurting.”
Rocket followed his instructions. The grimace on the player’s face when his leg was almost completely extended said the knee might be in worse shape than Melanie had feared.
Dr. Reynolds placed his hand on the top of the knee.
She’d always had a thing for men’s hands. To her they were a sign of their character. Dr. Reynolds had hands with long tapered fingers and closely cut nails that said he knew what he was doing and he could be trusted. Melanie liked what they said about him.
He moved his fingers over Rocket’s knee. “That’s good. Have you had a hard hit to this knee recently?”
Rocket made a dry chuckle. “Doc, I play football. I’m getting hit all the time.”
“Yeah, I know who you are. But has there been one in particular you can remember?”
“A couple weeks ago in the game I was coming down, and the safety and I got tangled up pretty good.”
Melanie had learned early in her career as a team doctor that many of the players, no matter how large, were deep down gentle giants. Often they had a hard time showing weakness and fear. Rocket was one of those guys. Melanie was grateful to the doctor for his compassionate care.
“Any popping sensation, swelling or pain?”
“Not really. If Doc here—” Rocket indicated Melanie “—hadn’t pulled me off the machine the other day I wouldn’t have really noticed. Players are in some kind of pain all the time if they play ball. We get to where we don’t really notice.”
Dr. Reynolds gave him a thoughtful nod and stood. “I’d like to get some X-rays and possibly a MRI before I confirm my diagnosis.”
“I’ll set them up.” Melanie made a note on the pad at her desk.
The double doors burst wide open. Her father entered. In his booming voice he demanded, “Well, Doc, is Rocket going to be able to play on Sunday?”
Melanie flinched. Based on what she knew about Dr. Reynolds in their short acquaintance, he wouldn’t take kindly to being pressured.
Reynolds looked her father straight in the eyes. “It’s Dr. Dalton Reynolds.” Not the least bit intimidated,