back, Travis, so I can go through the assessments and see how much damage you’ve done.’
‘There’s no need, really. I’ll be all right in a few minutes,’ Travis said, but she could see that his mouth was tight with pain.
‘I still have to assess you, or Dr Fraser will have my guts for garters,’ she said with a smile. ‘OK. I’m going to raise your legs one at a time, keeping your knees straight. Tell me as soon as it hurts, OK? And I’ll stop immediately.’ She took him through a range of tests, noting his reactions.
‘I’ll put a compression bandage on—that’ll stop the pain and the bleeding inside your ligament, which causes the inflammation—and an ice pack,’ she said when she’d finished. ‘And now I’m going to make you a cup of tea, and I want you to sit there with your leg up and the ice pack on the back of your thigh for the next ten minutes or so, while I go and talk to Dr Fraser, OK?’
‘Yes, Doc.’ He sighed. ‘Am I going to be out of the team for long?’
‘For at least a couple of weeks,’ she said. ‘I know it’s hard and I know you want to play, but it’s better to let yourself recover fully now than to play on it too soon and do more damage.’ She finished making the tea. ‘Sugar?’
‘No. You’re all right.’ He gave her a rueful smile. ‘Thanks, Doc.’
‘That’s what I’m here for. And painkillers,’ she said. ‘Are you allergic to anything, or taking any medication for anything?’
‘No.’
‘OK. I’ll give you a couple of paracetamol for now—you can take some more in another four hours—and I’ll see what else Dr Fraser suggests.’ She patted his shoulder. ‘Chin up. It could be worse.’
‘Could it?’ Travis asked, looking miserable.
‘Oh, yes. Imagine having an itch on your leg in the middle of a really hot summer day—except your leg’s in a full cast and you can’t reach the itchy bit.’
That earned her another wry smile. ‘OK. That’s worse. Because I’d be off even longer with an actual break, wouldn’t I?’
‘Yes. But you’re young and fit, so you’ll heal just fine—as long as you do what Dr Fraser says.’
‘I guess.’
She left him miserably sipping his mug of tea while she went to find Jared.
Jared knew the very moment that Bailey stepped out of the tunnel onto the field, even though his back was to her. The fact that he was so aware of her was slightly unnerving. They didn’t even like each other—he’d known that even before she’d accidentally sent him that text saying exactly how she felt about him, in very unflattering terms. Dressed in a hooded sweatshirt, baggy tracksuit pants and flat training shoes, Bailey Randall should’ve looked slightly scruffy and absolutely unsexy—the complete opposite to his über-groomed ex-wife.
The problem was, Bailey was gorgeous. And those unflattering baggy clothes just made him want to peel them off and see exactly what was underneath them.
Not good. He didn’t want to be attracted to her. He didn’t want to be attracted to anyone.
Work, he reminded himself. This is work. You have an injured player, and she’s helped you out. Be nice. Be polite. Be professional. And stay detached.
‘How’s young Travis?’ he asked when she reached him.
‘Pretty miserable,’ she said.
Yeah. He knew how it felt, being taken off the pitch with an injury when you were desperate to keep playing. And, even though Travis’s injury was relatively minor and he’d make a full recovery, Jared knew that the inactivity would make the boy utterly despondent. He’d been there himself. ‘So what’s your verdict?’ he asked.
‘I got him to do a straight leg raise and resisted knee flexion, then did a slump test and palpation,’ she said. ‘I’d say it’s a grade two hamstring strain. I’ve put an ice pack on and a compression bandage for now and explained to him about standard RICE treatment. He’s having a cup of tea while I’m talking to you and seeing what treatment you want him to have.’
‘Thank you,’ he said. He was impressed by the quiet, no-fuss way she’d examined the boy and reported back. There was no ‘Told you so’ or point-scoring against him, even though he probably deserved it; all her focus had been on making her patient comfortable. She’d also come to talk to him about a treatment plan instead of telling him how to treat his patient, despite the fact she was obviously more than capable of doing her own treatment plan, so she’d respected his position in the club, too. Maybe he’d been unfair to her about her project, because she’d been spot on about the actual medicine she’d discussed with him. If she was that competent, she was unlikely to be working on a project that had no merit.
‘The poor lad’s going to be gutted about missing training and matches, but he needs to do it properly or he’ll end up with another tear in the muscle on top of this one, and it’ll take even longer to heal,’ she said.
Jared nodded. ‘He needs cold therapy and compression every hour for the first day, and to keep his leg elevated while he’s sitting, to reduce the swelling.’
‘I gave him some paracetamol—he said he’s not on any other medication and he’s not allergic to anything.’
‘Good. That’ll help with the pain during the acute stage, over the next couple of days,’ he said.
‘I told him that you’d come up with a rehab programme,’ she said, ‘but if he was my patient I’d suggest a sports massage at the end of the first week, and strengthening exercises in the meantime—standing knee flexion, bridge and seated hamstring curls with a resistance band. Nothing too strenuous, and he has to stop as soon as it hurts.’
‘Good plan,’ he said. Exactly what he would have suggested. They might not get on, but in medical terms they were definitely on the same page. ‘He can also do some gentle walking and swimming, then introduce running gradually. Though it’ll be several weeks before he’s ready to come back to full training.’
She nodded. ‘Look, I know you don’t believe in the stuff I’m doing, and I’m not going to rub your nose in it and say “I told you so”. But I do want some time to talk you through what I’m doing and—well, I suppose I really want to get you on board with the project,’ she admitted. ‘Can we have a meeting to talk about it—I mean really talk?’
If he’d listened to her and supported her argument that Travis was underperforming, the boy might not be sitting in the dressing room right now with a hamstring injury. Guilt made him sharp. ‘The only free time I have is before breakfast.’
He knew he was being obnoxious, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. What was it about Bailey Randall that made him behave like this? Something about her just knocked him off balance, and he liked things to be in perfect equilibrium nowadays.
‘Before breakfast,’ she mused. ‘I normally train at the gym then—but OK. I guess I can skip my session in the gym for once.’
‘Or we could train in the gym together.’ The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. What on earth was wrong with him? Panic flooded through him. This was such a bad idea.
‘Train together, and then talk about my project over breakfast? That works for me. As long as your partner doesn’t mind,’ she added quickly.
‘No partner.’ Though he appreciated that she’d tried to be considerate. In the world of football, there was a lot of jealousy. Sasha definitely wouldn’t have been happy about him having a breakfast meeting with a female colleague. Then again, Sasha had had meetings of her own with his male colleagues. In hotel rooms. He pushed the thought away. ‘Will yours mind?’ He tried to extend the same courtesy to Bailey.
‘I’m single,’ she said, ‘and I like it that way.’