Page 3 of Fever Dream
“Good,” he replies. I like how no nonsense this man is, how straight to the point. “What I will warn you though, is that Casey … can be rather …a lot.” Ben snickers at my side and I find myself sitting straighter in my seat. What does that mean?
“By that we mean Casey has this way of getting under your skin quite quickly and before you know it, you’re working for him instead of the other way around,” Ben adds.
“We love the kid to death, just to be clear,” Mick adds, an affectionate grin on his face. “He’ll be an absolute dream for you to treat given the passion and dedication and energy he brings every day to the club. You’ll also have all the support you need from the Fever to get him back to his best.”
“I appreciate that, and I can’t wait to get started,” I tell them both. Mick nods and Ben and I stand to leave.
“Renee from HR will meet with you this afternoon to give you a proper induction and sign all the forms and policies and allthat bureaucratic stuff we’re forced to do,” Mick adds on our way out.
After we leave Mick’s office, Ben finishes our tour in the medical area with the physio treatment rooms, ice baths, spas and hydrotherapy pool. There’s also a wellness room with infrared saunas and compression boots. The medic office is right next door, and Ben shows me to the desk beside his that will be mine for the duration of my time at the Fever.
He introduces me to Emma Winston, the club’s junior doctor who is in the desk on my other side and to Tim Masters, the club’s chief doctor who occupies the corner office.
Collectively we are known as the High Performance Program and I have to admit I like the sound of that. The Program is headed by Tim who is reportedly an absolute gun in sports science and injury management. There is a sense of energy and excitement here at the club and I like the vibe of this place already.
Ben and I spend the next hour going through Casey Calloway’s medical records and current treatment programs.
“The most recent MRI was four weeks ago,” Ben continues, pulling out the MRI scans alongside the x-rays we have been studying. “This one suggests the adductor strain has moved up to second degree.”
“Yeah, I’d agree with that,” I say, scanning the imaging. “There’s definitely signs of edema and haemorrhage at the site of the strain but at least there doesn’t appear to be any bony injury which is good news.”
“So? Thoughts on treatment options?” Ben poses, leaning back in his chair with an expectant air. Right. This is where I come in, the reason for this dramatic shift in hemispheres.
My answer is cut short by a burst of laughter which is followed by the swift and sudden arrival of its owner at our door and my attention is instantly waylaid.
So, here’s a funny thing. Yes, I had only been given all of a couple of days to prepare myself for this move from the comforts and familiarity of the English Premier League to the complete unknowns of Australian rules football. And yes, I’d only given myself the brief introductory course to Aussie rules on the layover in Singapore.
But no, not once had I thought to enquire into the actual players I would be treating, and more specifically,thisspecific player, the one who I will be spending all my foreseeable days and nights obsessing over.
No, not this specific player—the one who is standing in front of me with an expectant air and a megawatt smile if ever I’ve seen one. The one with an energy that hits everyone in the room smack bang in the face. And in my specific case, maybe a little bit further down south. The player who has apparently been downloaded straight from Harrison Thornfield’s fantasy playbook.
Oh no, I was not expecting that.
But I am nothing if not a professional and I quickly shove that bone crunchingattractionto the Fever’s number one star player aside and rise to my feet.
“Casey?” I say, ignoring my suddenly sweaty palms and racing heart as I take his outstretched hand. “I’m Harrison.” At least that is something I can remember easily enough. Anything beyond my name will admittedly be a challenge right now.
“Harrison,” he grins, holding on a little tighter and not letting me go. “You’re the one who’s here to make me good as new?”
He’s looking at me with such faith and hope and sincerity that I feel my entire soul melting into a puddle of liquid.
“That is certainly the plan,” I manage, proud of myself for not falling at his feet. I’m rewarded with his beaming smile, and I inwardly curse.
Nope, I am a professional first and foremost.This, I can deal with. I’ve been working in the sports therapy field for years in some way, shape or form and have so far managed to reach my twenty-three years of age without ever once swooning or fawning over the pretty boys in the locker room. I’ve always managed to separate this part of my life from my private life, and I am not going to stop now.
Even if Casey Calloway has a face that could launch a thousand ships.
Even if he has perfected that effortless windswept look with that dirty blonde hair of his, the kind that looks like he’s just raked his hands through but which he probably spent ten minutes in front of the mirror to make it sit just so.
Even if he does have those sparkling blue-green eyes that a lesser mortal might easily get swept away in. Even if he does have that perfectly tan skin that suggests a summer spent on the beach. Even if I can’t help wondering if he wore boardshorts or those tight little swim shorts I happen be quite partial to. I bet he’d look amazing in a pair of those what with that body currently hiding underneath those gym shorts and black tank top.
And this is where my fantasy needs to end. Like, right now. Time to calm down and cool off. Cease and desist. Wave the white flag.
Nothing good can come of an infatuation with the team’s best player. Nothing good can come of a one-way attraction that will do nothing for my sanity or general health or just basic ability to get on with life.
Huh. Looks like they didn’t call this team the Fever for nothing.
CHAPTER 2
