Page 6 of Possession

I squat down to make eye contact with the swimmer while Justin observes. “Hey,” I say to him. “I’m Olive.” I place a hand on his lower back. His skin feels warm. He groans again. “What’s your name, dude?”

“Tim,” he hisses. “My back is killing me. Jesus.”

I ask him to roll onto his side, thinking that might ease some of the pressure he’s feeling, and his breathing calms. “Is it ok if I check you over, Tim? You’ll feel my touch on your legs, ok?”

He nods, eyes closed. His hamstrings are tightly coiled. I tell him we are going to work on some gentle stretches to loosen him up, and then I fall into the trance that always comes over me when I get to work with an athlete. I breathe along with Tim, moving his legs, stretching his tight muscles. Sometime later, I’ve got one of his legs pressed against my shoulder and he’s talking easily. “I broke my own personal record at least,” he says, gritting his teeth as I try to loosen up his long leg.

Evidently, he pushed himself doing the butterfly. One mis-timed kick started off a spasm that wouldn’t quit. “Does it feel better now?” I ask, while I help him into a sitting position.

I hear a cough and I jolt, remembering that Justin has been here observing. I just handled Tim’s entire case—didn’t even ask for permission or advice. Justin stands with his arms crossed, frowning. “You seem like you’ve got things under control here, Hampton. What are you thinking next?”

I prod Tim to roll onto his stomach. “I’m thinking ice and stim.” Tim groans as Justin hands me the equipment to hook up to Tim’s back so we can send gentle, eletrical pulses to contract and release Tim’s muscles. His mood lightens. Justin pats me on the shoulder and walks off to take care of the other athletes who need help.

I get Tim connected to the unit and walk off to prepare some bags of ice for him. He sighs as the pressure increases. Most of the athletes say it hurts so good. Once I get Tim situated and on a timer, Justin summons me into his office.

“You did really well today,” he tells me.

“Thank you.”

I keep waiting for him to say “but,” since I know I overstepped with Tim. I’m just an undergrad work study. I start shifting my weight. The football team will be here any minute and Bax likes me to stretch him out, even though I’m not supposed to do that, either.

Justin doesn’t look up from his notes, his pen flying along the page. “I’m assigning you to swim this semester.”

“Swim? Justin, I thought—”

“You’ll be with Tim and his lanky friends and you’ll get real hands-on work assessing injuries and carrying out treatment. The football program won’t allow you nearly this level of access as an undergrad.”

I bite my lip. He’s right, of course. I’m allowed to touch Bax, of course, but the football players are too valuable. A misstep could be devastating to the program if a player got injured. But Bax is a pretty big diva when it comes to me being there for him and that’s a big deal, too. “Does Coach Burns know?”

Justin again doesn’t look up. “Just let me worry about that, Olive. Why don’t you go finish up with Tim?”

I step out of his office and reach for my phone to turn it on and at least give Bax a heads up, but Justin shouts, “Tim needs to come off the Stim, Olive. Now.”

CHAPTER SIX

Bax

PRACTICE WAS FUCKING brutal today. I’m definitely feeling my lack of sleep after a full session in the weight room and tackle drills on the turf. I can’t wait to get stretched out and sink into an ice bath. Scotty and Finnegan and I walk into the training room, stripping off our shirts like we own the place. Because let’s face it. We do.

We’re bringing this school millions of dollars in TV coverage and ticket sales. So do I act like a bit of a princess insisting that I have Olive with me when I need her? Yeah. I fucking do, and so you can imagine how I feel when I look across the hall and see her leaning all over some skinny dude wearing only shorts.

“Easy, buddy,” Scotty says, putting a hand on my shoulder when he sees me bunching my hands into fists. Slim Jim is talking up a storm to Olive as she runs her hands up his back, disconnecting electrodes. I feel a sudden urge to barge over there and hook them up to his nut sack.

“Olive, what’s going on?” I climb up on my usual table and sit, waiting for her to come over with the foam roller. She looks across the hall at me and bites her lip.

“Justin has me on a rotation with the swim team,” she says, nodding her head toward Slim Jim.

“Thank god,” the asshole says from the table, groaning in relief as she pulls off the last sticker. That mother fucker doesn’t even have any hair on his damn legs.

“Like hell you’re working with the swim team,” I grunt. Another trainer comes over to me, some girl with dark hair and a beauty mark.

“Hey, Baxter,” she says like she knows me. “I’m going to roll you out today, ok?”

“No!” I’m shouting now and everyone in the room turns to look. “Olive always works with me.” Olive flushes as Justin steps out of the office. I know what this is about. I cock blocked that squirmy jerk and he’s pulling a power play. I’m very familiar with men who like to pull shit like this when they feel threatened.

“Is there a problem here, Mr. Morgan?” He walks up to the table and stands with his arms crossed, like he’s not half my size.

“Yeah. You can’t switch trainers on me.” I’m not going to be polite. I know what I’m worth in this program. “Get Coach Burns in here.” I’m not going to fuck around with this guy’s power trip. I’m going right for the big guns.

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