Page 23 of Unwritten Rules
“I’m sure they’re doing their best, Dad.”
“I know, I know.” A smile warms his face. “I’m heading to lunch with some of the staff, so you’ll be all right by yourself?”
I nod. “I have my first session with Sinnett.”
“Ah, yes.” Dad flicks his eyes to where Sinnett stands in the front row with Khai, their voices hushed. “I need you to take good care of him, Tate. He needs to be in top shape before we can allow him back on the field.”
“I’ve got this. Nothing bad will happen to your star player.” I wish the confidence in my voice translated to the tremor tearing through my limbs.
He exhales a long breath and drags his attention back to me. “Sin likes to push himself to the limits, and I fear he’s going to do the same with his recovery. He’s a strong-headed man and loves the game, so I’m going to need you to keep him in check for me.”
I wish I knew how to do that.
“I’ll try my best.”
Dad smiles and pats my shoulder. “You’re the best. And if you need anything, you know where to find me.”
He follows the rest of the team out, and with Khai the last one out the door, Sinnett and I remain in the room. His intense eyes find mine from across the small space, searing holes into my already fragile body.
I’m reminded of how he looked at me in his car, how he made me feel like I was the only girl in the world, the one person sharing his orbit. And while I feel a similar tension, it feels more reserved, guarded. He’s putting up walls between us, and part of me wishes he wouldn’t. But the other part knows that with myfather as his coach, and the no dating rule in place, he doesn’t have a choice.
I exhale a long breath and rush out the door, Sinnett hot on my heels. Each step echoes in my ears as we make our way across the facility to the examination rooms. A buzz of nerves hum in my veins as I push open the door to the room, stepping to the side so he can enter. Cinnamon and cedarwood consume my senses as he moves past me to the table in the centre of the too bright room. His scent melts into my skin, and I have to fight the urge to take a deep breath.
“Lie down when you’re ready.” My voice cracks, sounding weird to my ears. I fight the urge to cringe as I walk to the table beside the bed, my back turned to him.
Sinnett doesn’t say a word as he climbs onto the bed.
If someone were to walk into the room, they could cut the tension with a blunt knife.
“Ready when you are.” Sinnett’s deep voice sends a shock wave down my spine, and I shiver.
When I turn to him, I keep my eyes locked on his thigh, which could prove to be a bad decision because my goodness they’re bigger than I remember. I clear my throat. “So, tell me how this injury occurred.”
Sinnett clears his throat and shifts his hands so they’re resting under his head, eyes locked on the ceiling. “I took a hard knee to the thigh during a rough tackle. The pain was immediate. At first, I couldn’t tell if I had broken a bone or if it was muscle related.”
“I did look over the X-ray taken from the day it happened, and there doesn’t seem to be any broken bones. Although, I’m sure your previous physio told you that.”
Sinnett nods. “He put me on a recovery plan of light stretches, but I feel like I could be doing more. Ineedto be doing more.”
The desperation melting into his voice doesn’t go unnoticed by me. He’s eager to get back on the field, and I understand why. With this being his career, being out of action means a lot of pressure is likely building on his shoulders. Pressure to come back as fit and strong as he previously was. Pressure that he might be letting his team down because of the injury. Being injured doesn’t mean he can sit around and wait for it to heal, not if he wants to pass the physical examination to play. Not only does he need to focus on the recovery, but staying fit, too.
I swallow hard and eye his quad. “Mind if I take a look?”
“Be my guest.”
The tremble in my hands is embarrassing. Why am I so affected by him? I need to get a damn grip.
The area appears swollen in some places with minimal bruising, but other than that, it doesn’t look too bad. But the muscles could be a different story.
“My dad told me you suffered a grade two quadriceps muscle contusion, based on what the previous physio observed.” I trail my fingers over the swollen area, searching for lumps or any indication that something is amiss. Goosebumps rise in their wake, and I fight the urge to smile in triumph at his reaction to me. “What is your flexibility like with movement?”
I’m reminded of how he limped on the field during the game. Sinnett’s face was devoid of emotion when he walked, but with the swelling and how early on he is in the recovery period, he should be harbouring more pain than he’s letting on.
“Well, I can sit and stand if that’s what you’re referring to,” Sinnett responds, voice gruff.
“And what’s the pain level like?” I grab his ankle and gently guide his leg to bend into a right angle. A sharp intake of breath forces my attention to Sinnett. He bites his bottom lip as he stares at the ceiling. “If your expression is anything to go by, I’m going to guess the pain is moderate and uncomfortable.”
“No,” he rasps, voice tight as I lay his leg flat on the table. “I can manage it.”
