One Night Before Christmas. Susan Carlisle
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“How much longer?”
“It should be only another ten minutes or so.”
The sky had turned gray and a large snowflake hit the windshield. By the time she pulled into the team compound it had become a steady snow shower. Instead of parking in the front, this time she pulled through the gate to the back of the building and parked in the slot with her name painted on it. Thankfully, her spot was close to the door so they wouldn’t have far to walk.
Dr. Reynolds huddled in his coat on their way to the door. With his head down, he walked slowly as if in an effort not to slip on the ice and snow. Melanie stayed close behind him. She had no idea what her plan was if he started to go down. Inside, they both took off their jackets and shook them out.
“I’ll take that,” Melanie said. Dr. Reynolds handed her his overcoat. Their hands brushed as she reached for it. A tingle of awareness went up her spine. Shaking it off, she hung their coats up on pegs along the wall and headed down the hall. “This way.”
“I assume Mr. Overtree’s X-rays will have been sent to your computer in the exam room. The MRI as well.”
“Yes.”
She made a turn and went down another hallway until she reached the Athlete Performance Area and pushed open one of the swinging doors and held it. She let him have the door, then continued into the room. Rocket, Coach Rizzo and her father were already there.
Her father gave her a questioning look. She shrugged her shoulder. Surely her father wouldn’t push Dr. Reynolds to agree to let Rocket play if the test indicated that he shouldn’t. As team doctor, she had the final say anyway. She would refuse to be a team player if it came down to Rocket’s long-term health. Moving on to her desk, she flipped on the computer. She pulled up Rocket’s chart. “Dr. Reynolds, the X-rays from last week and his most recent ones are ready for your review.”
Giving her what she could only describe as an impressed look, Dr. Reynolds seemed to appreciate her being efficient and prepared. For some reason that made her feel good. The kind of respect she didn’t feel she received from her father. She stepped away from the desk to allow him room. When the other men moved to join them, she shook her head, indicating they should give Dr. Reynolds some space. Despite that, her father still took steps toward her desk.
“Thank you, Doctor. You’ve been very thorough,” Dr. Reynolds said to her.
It was nice to be valued as a fellow medical professional who was more interested in the health of the player than whether or not the team won. She and Dr. Reynolds were at least in the same playbook where that was concerned.
In her mind no game was worth a man losing mobility for the rest of his life. A player’s heath came first in that regard. She was sure her father and the coach didn’t feel the same. More than once she’d been afraid that there might be repercussions from them if she placed a player on the disabled list. Even the players gave her a hard time about her being overly cautious. As their doctor, the players’ health took precedence over winning a game. Rocket had his sights set on being the most valuable player. He might agree to anything to get it. Even playing when he was injured. Sometimes she felt as if she had the most rational mind in the group.
Dr. Reynolds took her chair. He gave that same concentrated consideration to the screen as he seemed to give everything. With a movement of one long finger, he clicked through the black-and-white screens of different X-ray angles of Rocket’s knee. He studied them all but made no comment.
He turned to her. “Did you have a MRI done?”
She nodded.
“Good. I’d like to see it.”
She moved to the desk and he pushed back enough to allow her to get to the keyboard. As she punched keys she was far too aware of him close behind her. Her fingers fumbled on the keys but seconds later she had the red-and-blue images on the screen.
Minutes went by as Dr. Reynolds moved through the different shots.
“Well?” her father snapped.
“Let him have time to look,” Melanie said in an effort to placate him. Her father shot her a sharp look.
Dr. Reynolds continued to spend time on the side views of the knee. The entire room seemed to hold their collective breath as he spun in the chair. His gaze went to Rocket. “It looks like you have a one-degree patellar-tendon tear.”
That was what she had been afraid of. “That was my diagnosis.”
Dr. Reynolds nodded in her direction.
“We still needed a second opinion,” her father said as he stepped back.
For once it would be nice for her father to appreciate her knowledge and ability.
“Can he play?” Coach Rizzo asked.
“The question is—should he play?” Then, to Rocket, Dr. Reynolds said, “Do you want to take the chance on ruining your knee altogether? I wouldn’t recommend it. Let it rest, heal. You’ll be ready to go next year.”
The other men let go simultaneous groans.
Rocket moaned. “This is our year. Who’s to know what’ll happen next year?”
Her father looked at Rocket. “What do you want to do? Think about the bonus and the ring.”
How like her father to apply pressure.
Dr. Reynolds looked at him. “Mr. Hyde, this is a decision that Rocket needs to make without any force.”
Her father didn’t look happy but he also didn’t say anything more.
Rocket seemed not to know what the right answer was or, if he did, he didn’t want to say it.
“Hey, Doc, what’re the chances of it getting worse?” Rocket asked.
“If you take a hard hit, that’ll be it. Your tendon is like a rope with a few of the strands frayed and ragged. You take a solid shot and the rope may break. What I know is that it won’t get any better if you play. One good twist during a run could possibly mean the end of your career.”
Her father huffed. “Roger Morton with the Wildcats had surgery and returned better than ever.”
“I’m not saying it isn’t possible. However, not everyone does that well.”
Coach Rizzo walked over to Rocket and put his hand on his shoulder, “I think ‘The Rocket’ has what it takes to play for us on Sunday.”
Dr. Reynolds stood. “That’ll be for Mr. Overtree to decide.”
“You can’t do anything more?” Rocket asked Dr. Reynolds.
He looked as if he wanted to say no but instead said, “I’d like to see you use the knee. See what kind of mobility you have.”
Before Rocket had time to respond, Coach Rizzo spoke up. “Practice starts in about ten minutes.”
“Mel, why don’t you show Dr. Reynolds to the practice field?” her father suggested.
“Okay.” Once again, she wasn’t sure how being tour guide to the visiting doctor fell under her job description but she was a team player. She would do what she was asked. As she headed out the door she said over her shoulder, “Rocket, be sure and wear your knee brace.”
She looked at Dr. Reynolds. “The practice field is out this way.”
* * *
Dalton followed Melanie out a different set of double doors and into a hallway. At the elevator they went down to the ground floor. Once again she was wearing a very efficient-looking business suit. With her shapely, slender body it would seem she’d want to show it off; instead, she acted as if she sought to play down being a woman.
Her father sure was a domineering man. She seemed to do his bidding without question. He was afraid that if he hadn’t been brought in for that second opinion, her