prefer Mr. McCoy. You have what looks like a serious shoulder injury that is being exacerbated with every game you play in, so hopefully we can make some headway today."
"I'd like that," he said seriously. Her eyes were earnest and it looked as though maybe she really did care about his well-being. It made his chest feel tight in the oddest way. "Hey, Doc?"
"Yes?" She took her glasses off and placed them on her desk, looking directly at him intently. It was distracting how big and blue her eyes were — huge almost, and rimmed with long, soft lashes. She was so unlike the women who had thrown themselves at him most of his life. Even her physical appearance was a breath of fresh air. It looked like she didn't seem to wear much, if any, makeup. She blinked patiently at him and he remembered it was his turn to talk.
"How'd you know my shoulder was hurting when we met? The team and I have worked hard to keep it out of the press."
"It's my job."
"I've met other people whose job it was also, and they couldn't tell. Was it because you were looking very closely at me while I played?"
"I was, but only out of professional curiosity."
"Come on, Doc. I really want to know."
She sighed, "Fine. Right before you throw, you twitch your right shoulder and glance slightly sideways. I noticed it first when you were a QB at UT, especially in the Orange Bowl. Then when you turned pro and played in Dallas, it was there as well. And it looked like you still had it when you were traded to Pittsburgh."
Wyatt let out a dry, mirthless laugh that didn't meet his eyes.
"You're the one that asked," she huffed out, scribbling a note angrily on her pad, refusing to look at him.
"I'm not laughing at you . Trust me. No, I'm just impressed you noticed so much about me over the years. I'm also trying to count all the different coaches I've had since I was barely out of the crib, and wondering why not a single one of them picked up on that."
"Well, it's subtle. Those D-linemen probably register it on some level, too. Even if they don't consciously realize it, they sense it. And all those coaches? Your talent when you are hitting on all cylinders really is remarkable — good enough to overcome that idiosyncrasy in your throw, so they probably weren't looking for it."
"And you were?"
"I have a gift for recognizing things no one else wants to see."
"And how could you tell I was injured?"
"When I saw you play in person, I noticed your tic is even more pronounced than usual and that your release is markedly slower. You've always held the ball longer than most QBs in the pros, but now, you're also dropping that shoulder a bit. And you’re often ending up with more dirt on your jersey than on the field. Point is — the injury and repeated trauma you've endured make your habit more obvious. That makes it easier for the linemen to see and figure out what your next move will be when you play. That's why you're getting sacked more, picked off more, you name it."
"So this is the part where you fix my game to prevent further injury? I'm on board with that."
"Hold up, it's true that as surgeons go, I'm generally not as eager to resort to a quick slice and dice, but you have serious repeated trauma to your throwing shoulder, and it's affecting your whole game. Let's start by taking a look at that shoulder. Hop up here on the bed…" She suddenly blushed and looked away from him, causing him to raise an eyebrow and fight the smile breaking out fully on his face. She quickly cleared her throat and blurted out, "I mean the examining table. I need to manipulate your shoulder."
"You got it. I like an assertive woman that knows what she wants." She rolled her eyes, but he noticed her cheeks turning slightly pink. He could see he wasn't imagining it when he remembered she wasn't impervious to him.
Wyatt felt a little shitty about deliberately keeping her off-balance, especially when he thought about his real reason for selecting her as his consult physician.
"I'd like that," he said seriously. Her eyes were earnest and it looked as though maybe she really did care about his well-being. It made his chest feel tight in the oddest way. "Hey, Doc?"
"Yes?" She took her glasses off and placed them on her desk, looking directly at him intently. It was distracting how big and blue her eyes were — huge almost, and rimmed with long, soft lashes. She was so unlike the women who had thrown themselves at him most of his life. Even her physical appearance was a breath of fresh air. It looked like she didn't seem to wear much, if any, makeup. She blinked patiently at him and he remembered it was his turn to talk.
"How'd you know my shoulder was hurting when we met? The team and I have worked hard to keep it out of the press."
"It's my job."
"I've met other people whose job it was also, and they couldn't tell. Was it because you were looking very closely at me while I played?"
"I was, but only out of professional curiosity."
"Come on, Doc. I really want to know."
She sighed, "Fine. Right before you throw, you twitch your right shoulder and glance slightly sideways. I noticed it first when you were a QB at UT, especially in the Orange Bowl. Then when you turned pro and played in Dallas, it was there as well. And it looked like you still had it when you were traded to Pittsburgh."
Wyatt let out a dry, mirthless laugh that didn't meet his eyes.
"You're the one that asked," she huffed out, scribbling a note angrily on her pad, refusing to look at him.
"I'm not laughing at you . Trust me. No, I'm just impressed you noticed so much about me over the years. I'm also trying to count all the different coaches I've had since I was barely out of the crib, and wondering why not a single one of them picked up on that."
"Well, it's subtle. Those D-linemen probably register it on some level, too. Even if they don't consciously realize it, they sense it. And all those coaches? Your talent when you are hitting on all cylinders really is remarkable — good enough to overcome that idiosyncrasy in your throw, so they probably weren't looking for it."
"And you were?"
"I have a gift for recognizing things no one else wants to see."
"And how could you tell I was injured?"
"When I saw you play in person, I noticed your tic is even more pronounced than usual and that your release is markedly slower. You've always held the ball longer than most QBs in the pros, but now, you're also dropping that shoulder a bit. And you’re often ending up with more dirt on your jersey than on the field. Point is — the injury and repeated trauma you've endured make your habit more obvious. That makes it easier for the linemen to see and figure out what your next move will be when you play. That's why you're getting sacked more, picked off more, you name it."
"So this is the part where you fix my game to prevent further injury? I'm on board with that."
"Hold up, it's true that as surgeons go, I'm generally not as eager to resort to a quick slice and dice, but you have serious repeated trauma to your throwing shoulder, and it's affecting your whole game. Let's start by taking a look at that shoulder. Hop up here on the bed…" She suddenly blushed and looked away from him, causing him to raise an eyebrow and fight the smile breaking out fully on his face. She quickly cleared her throat and blurted out, "I mean the examining table. I need to manipulate your shoulder."
"You got it. I like an assertive woman that knows what she wants." She rolled her eyes, but he noticed her cheeks turning slightly pink. He could see he wasn't imagining it when he remembered she wasn't impervious to him.
Wyatt felt a little shitty about deliberately keeping her off-balance, especially when he thought about his real reason for selecting her as his consult physician.
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