Page 15 of The Perfect Game

Stepping through the doors, I glanced at the schedule of people who’d checked in, recognizing most of the names. I scrolled over to see the ones who’d be coming in later, which helped me prepare things for my boss to use. As I made it down to the times at the end of my shift, the very last name stood out to me, and panic took over.

Serena Gates.

Nine

Serena

As much as I dreaded going to the physical therapist, I was over hobbling around, unable to walk like normal. It had only been two days, and I knew I wouldn’t survive in a cast for weeks or months.

My mom dropped me off on her way to her shop in downtown Pecan Flatts since it was too painful to drive with my right foot.

“You’re not coming in, Mom?” I asked as she pulled up to the curb.

She grabbed her wallet from her purse and pulled out an insurance card with my name on it. “I’m already late for a meeting, Rena. Here’s your insurance card, and just use your credit card for the co-pay. Your dad should be free to pick you up. He said something about finishing with his trainer around six.” She pushed up her sunglasses and fixed her hair in the mirror. “I’ll be home for dinner tonight, though. I think Liza made your favorite: chicken and kale.”

I opened my mouth to say that was most definitely her favorite dinner, while I could probably find something better to eat in the trash. But now was not the time to argue. She was already irritated as it was. Just another reason for my ankle to get better. I needed the freedom driving myself places could afford, because when my parents forgot about me, at least I wasn’t begging them to be dropped off places like I’d done for years before I got my driver’s license.

I got out and hopped on one foot to open the back door of my mom’s SUV. I grabbed the crutches I’d been using the past day and a half. They were from when my dad had knee surgery three years before, and even on the lowest setting, they were awkward to maneuver. But anything was better than hopping or putting my full weight on one foot the whole time.

Walking through the door, I was greeted by the receptionist, who took all my information, insurance card, and payment before ushering me into the back room.

“This is John Talbot. He’s the owner and head physical therapist of the place and will get you fixed right up.” The woman left me in front of a guy who looked like he could’ve taken on a truck in a game of chicken.

“Serena Gates, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” He reached out his hand, and I placed mine in it, surprised that it disappeared beneath his thick fingers.

I frowned, wondering who he could have been talking to about me. “Finally?”

“Your dad talks about you all the time. He said you’d be in today when I saw him this morning at the gym. We go way back.” The guy’s broad smile was infectious, and as curious as I was about the truth of his words, I couldn’t stop a smile. I just wished my dad would spend more time talkingtome thanaboutme.

A few seconds ticked by, and as John dropped my hand, the pieces clicked. “Are you Big T?”

The man chuckled, the sound so deep I was sure he had to be using a voice synthesizer. “That was my nickname back in college. Your dad and I played together and then got drafted in the same round. I ended up with too many concussions after a few games and the doctor said if I got hit one more time, it wouldn’t go over well.”

“I’m surprised I haven’t met you before. Dad talks about you all the time.” I leaned onto the crutches, the burn in my good calf making it hard to focus.

John waved. “I met you a few times when you were a kid, but with how busy your parents are, it’s hard to find a time to get together.”

“You’re telling me,” I mumbled. The words struck too close to home, and I was just ready to get going with this appointment.

He patted a table and said, “Hop up here. We’ll get you warmed up and going. Did you bring your x-rays?”

All the air rushed out of my lungs. “Um, I didn’t get an x-ray done.”

“MRI?”

Shaking my head, a wave of shame rushed up, the heat singeing my neck and cheeks. John seemed to understand my embarrassment and patted the table again. I’d just trusted my dad when he said I wouldn’t have to go to a doctor for the injury. My worry now was that I’d have to go to the hospital and my ride had already left.

“I’m going to push around a bit, just to check things out, if that’s okay?” He looked me in the eyes, waiting for confirmation.

“Do what you need to. The sooner I can walk on my own, the better off I’ll be.” I hated the desperation in my voice, like I was one burst of wind away from blowing down the castle of cards that was my life.

He pushed and prodded, bending and flexing my foot at different angles. When I cried out the last time, he stood. “From what I can tell, it’s a severe sprain. Hey, Clark,” he said to someone across the room. “Bring me a heat pack, will you?”

A tall, lanky form came to my side with the heat pack, greeting me with a nod and a nervous smile. “Hey, Serena.”

“Ben? What are you doing here?” I stared at him, wondering if I was dreaming. He’d been in my thoughts a lot since Saturday, probably because I was trying to figure out if he was for real.

The corners of his mouth turned up, his eyes bright. “I-I’m an intern here. So pretty much the errand boy.” He grinned, glancing at John.

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