Page 72 of Dirty Filthy Boy
Chapter 21
Ty
TWO WEEKS HAVE GONEBY since MacKenna left. Two weeks without her in my bed. Strange how easily I fell into a routine with her, and our entire time together lasted less than a week. I miss her with every ounce of my being. Her laughter, the way she cocks her head when she disagrees with me. The way she bites down on her lip to keep from laughing at me. But mostly I miss her warmth in my bed, her body next to mine.
I'd called her to make sure she'd settle in all right, but her answers had been short and tight. And then she'd asked me not to call her any more. The only way I'll get to talk to her is if she interviews me again. And I don't know that that's ever going to happen. Not if Coach Gronowski has anything to say about it. He'd tried to shut down MacKenna about Mad Dog's interview, but he'd been pushed back by both Trevor, the head of PR, and Oliver Lyons, both of whom loved the article she'd written on Ron.
As it turned out, Mad Dog's article was just as great as Todd's. MacKenna piece covered not only him, but his home life, including his wife and three kids. The way he talked about his middle son's autism brought out the soft side of him. Oh, he still mows down offenses on the field, but the guys in the locker room have come to respect this other side of him. Now we understand why he rushes home every night. To be with his family. The rest of us should be so lucky.
"Mathews?" one of the physical trainers calls out my name as soon as I step into the locker room.
"Yeah?"
"Doc Latimer wants to see you."
Hopefully, it's what I think it's going to be. It's been three weeks since I was benched and I'm more than ready to get back in the game. They'd done another MRI yesterday and put me through a range of motion exercises. I'd passed them with flying colors with not even a twinge in my shoulder.
I run all the way to Doc's office.
"How do you feel?" he asks.
"Great. Ready to get back in the game."
He gives me one of those tight smiles of his. "If you felt like crap, you'd say the same thing."
"Probably. But I'm telling the truth."
"Well, I've reviewed your MRI and other tests, and I do believe you're right."
My lips can't help but split into a wide grin. "Yeah?"
He nods. "I've cleared you to return to the game."
"Great."
"On one condition."
"Whatever, Doc. I'll do it. So what is it?"
"I want you to wear a brace all the time."
"I can't do that. That thing inhibits my mobility."
"It's a modified version, a state-of-the art model that's never been tried before. It should help prevent another shoulder injury."
"Do I have a choice?"
"No. Not really."
"Then bring on the brace." I'll just have to live with the darn thing, whatever it is.
"Tony will fit you into it. You'll practice with it for a couple of days. The manufacturer is very eager to make sure it works with you and for you. If it doesn't, it's back to the drawing board."
"Good to know I'm a guinea pig."
In the physical training suite, I meet the person who designed the brace, a nerdy-looking guy with big, thick glasses. "It's been created to your specific measurements and will provide us feedback of everything your shoulder is doing."
What? "And I'm supposed to wear this 24 hours a day?"
