Chapter 3 Lottie

Chapter 3

Lottie

"Your office is right in here." The owner of the Bobcats, Gary Martinez, pushed open a door in the training room and flipped the lights on.

I stared at the modern office with floor to ceiling windows for a wall and looked out onto the practice field. The cabinets along the back wall were black and the carpet had subtle hints of navy and red, the Bobcats' colors. A TV hung on the wall directly across from my desk and I even had a window to look out into the training room.

"I can't thank you enough for this opportunity." I reached out to shake Gary's hand.

"When I interviewed you for this job, I knew you were the perfect choice and not just a convenient quick fix for losing Roger." A familiar zing of pride filled my chest. "I'm sure some of the early birds will start rolling in soon, so I'll leave you to get settled in. Don't hesitate to give me a ring if you need anything. I'm real excited to have you here, Lottie."

Gary left me to a completely empty training room without a soul in sight.

This was peace.

The facility had every modality I could possibly need to help a player when they sustained an injury: infrared lights, cold and hot tubs, ultrasound, shockwave therapy, among others. I was in the middle of admiring the anti-gravity treadmill when the door opened and the first person of the day walked in. He wore a Bobcats quarter zip and had a backpack slung over one shoulder.

"You must be the new physical therapist," he greeted.

"Charlotte Thompson." I walked over to shake the man's hand. I noticed his quarter zip had his name and title stitched on the left side— Ezekiel Williams, Head Athletic Trainer . "But you can call me Lottie. I'll answer to either."

"I'm Zeke. I run the athletic training side. Excited to work with you. I know we'll be working closely together. I went ahead and created a file of the players I think you'll be working with most of the time." Zeke unlocked the smaller office next to mine that all the athletic training staff shared. He set his bag down on one of the desks and pulled out a thick folder.

"Thank you," I told him as I took the folder and flipped it open.

A photo of Nolan Hill stared up at me with handwritten notes on his medical history next to it.

"You'll mostly be working with Nolan. He's two seasons off of a left knee reconstructive surgery on his ACL. He's the coaching staff's priority for us as last season he didn't seem comfortable yet on his knee. We believe he hasn't rehabbed that knee enough for him to feel full stability on the field. The coaches don't want to worry about that problem this year."

Deep brown eyes looked up at me from the folder. I took in his close-cropped, curly hair, clean face, and the small wrinkles by the corners of his eyes. He was handsome in the conventional sense and perfect to be considered as the face of a franchise.

"You may also work some with Derek Allen, one of our starting tight ends. He's coming off of a strained hamstring from last year due to chronic tightness in his back. There are a few others on that list that have ongoing issues, which we thought you'd be the best to serve them while we help manage the normal aches and pains that come up during the season."

"This is perfect." I gave Zeke a smile. "This is more in depth than the files that Gary gave me last week. So, I'm extremely grateful."

I turned to head back into my office but stopped short when I heard Zeke clear his throat.

"I also wanted to warn you about Nolan"—Zeke paused— "he's grown exceptionally … hostile these past few seasons. So don't be offended if he's not all sunshine and rainbows."

This wasn't the first time I had heard someone describe Nolan Hill like this. There were whispers among the professional sports world that Nolan had grown angry after his injury, or even bitter, but I thought differently. I had watched countless games that showcased his mishaps and his reactions full of anger afterward—the helmet throwing, the yelling, the looks of disappointment. To me, Nolan Hill wasn't angry or bitter … he was desperate .

"Thanks for the heads up." I raised the folder of information up as one last acknowledgment before I went to tuck it away in my office. As soon as I was behind my office door, I flipped the folder back open and met the pair of intense brown eyes.

I believed Nolan was desperate because he was afraid of the end. Desperate I could work with. No matter how off-putting Nolan may try to come off, desperate meant he would do anything to succeed.

I had spent part of the last week poring over the routine that Roger had for Nolan while tweaking it to incorporate some exercises I felt would benefit him on the field. I pulled that plan out of my bag and laid it on my desk next to Zeke's notes. Roger had mentioned that it was hard to get Nolan in the training room, but I figured if he wanted this bad enough, he'd show up.

A knock sounded on my door, pulling me from the rabbit hole I often went down when I think about one of my athletes' regimens. I looked up to find the same intense brown eyes I had just been staring at. Those eyes were set in a tan face that still had some color from training camp and the preseason games that made him look almost rugged. The lines of his face were pronounced—sharp cheekbones and a jawline that would have women lining up around the block for a chance to see—there wasn't an ounce of baby fat left on his face. His shoulders were broad and stretched nearly from one side of the door frame to the next. He wasn't as muscular as his running backs or his defense. He was long and sinewy with a muscular build that he had honed over the years to be a machine on the football field. But it was those brown eyes I couldn't stop looking at. They looked at me with a hardened gaze—as if he were annoyed that I was standing in front of him. The Nolan standing in front of me wasn't the guy in the picture on my desk that looked at the camera with eagerness.

Neither of us said anything at first as we sized each other up. The quiet grew heavy the longer it went on without either of us being willing to be the first to speak.

I watched in fascination as a muscle jumped in his jaw before he finally conceded whatever standoff we were in. I tried to keep the smile off my face when I realized I had made Nolan Hill uncomfortable. Which was fine in my book. I was here to break the cycle that occurred during last year's season, which included his old routine with Roger.

"I'm Nolan Hill."

Straightforward. To the point.

"I'm Dr. Charlotte Thompson." I managed to stand from my desk and walk across my office to extend my hand to him despite the pressure I felt lingering in the room. I'd never felt anything but confidence when it came to my job and one athlete that was angry at the world for something that happened to him wasn't about to stop me.

Nolan's large hand wrapped around mine, dwarfing it. His palm scraped against my palm as he squeezed my hand with what I personally thought was intentionally more force than necessary.

If he thinks he can intimidate me into whatever form of submission he has in mind, he's sorely mistaken.

"I presume Roger gave you the details of my routine?" If I knew Nolan Hill better, I may have thought I saw a flicker of fear in his eyes as he waited for my answer. His voice told a different story, however. It was one full of superiority and authority. The message was clear in that single question.

You will not change the status quo for me.

"He did." I chose my words as carefully as I could. I was already painfully aware that this working partnership was like a field full of landmines that I'd been told to walk through without a map.

Nolan sucked in a breath before letting it out slowly, his shoulders sinking down away from his ears. His eyes searched my face. His hand still gripped mine. I had this odd feeling that I was being observed by a lion that was trying to figure out if I was a gazelle. I slowly took my hand back from his without breaking eye contact.

Whatever observation Nolan had drawn from me, it must have been sufficient. He backed out of my office doorway, giving me space to walk out into the training room after him.

There was one thing that Nolan Hill needed to learn about me though: I could be just as stubborn as he was when it came to my job.

"I have some tweaks to Roger's plan," I told him as the two of us stopped at one of the training tables. Nolan didn't say anything as he slid out of his sweatpants and onto the table in a pair of shorts that landed mid-thigh. Muscular thighs flexed as he pushed himself up into a sitting position.

Defiance flashed in Nolan's eyes before he told me, "I'm not sure adding in anything new the week before a game is the smartest idea."

I had to restrain myself from putting the heat pack down on Nolan's knee with more force than necessary. One of my biggest pet peeves was people questioning my decisions. I hadn't spent an exorbitant amount of money on an education for a degree and title to prove my competence to have someone tell me that I didn't know what I was talking about.

"With that mindset, you'll never make any changes to a routine—even if it's needed." Nolan's eyes narrowed as he watched me set the electro-stimulation machine to the appropriate settings. I could tell he wasn't used to someone pushing back on his judgement.

Not so fun, is it?

"I just think a seasoned professional would understand the potential hazards of making changes to a routine so close to a game day."

Seriously? I looked up at the heavens above me. You give me my dream job and then force me to deal with this asshole?

"Well, since we're both seasoned professionals in our craft, I'm assuming you know that Kurt Russell with the New York Gladiators has a meeting every Monday with the Gladiator training staff to reevaluate last week's plans to make sure they will suit the upcoming week."

The silence that followed my statement was loud. I had a feeling throwing out the quarterback that he was often compared to would do the trick. Nothing worked better than using an athlete's competitive personality to your advantage.

Nolan grabbed the remote from the table next to him and turned up the volume on the television in the training room.

I bit my tongue as I formulated a plan. I'd let Nolan have this week to do whatever he thought was best for himself before I challenged him again. Nolan watched me with a scrutinizing stare as I placed the pads on the proper area to stimulate the muscles around his knee and prep them for the movement they were about to do during practice.

The doors to the training room slammed open and a tall man who was more muscle than man burst into the room, with a shorter man following closely behind him.

"What a glorious day!" The taller one, who I realized was Derek Allen, sang out. "Don't you think so, Zeke?" Derek asked as he poked his head into Zeke's office. Zeke just blinked at him.

"Zeke." The other man behind Derek gave the athletic trainer a wave.

"Hawthorn." A smile spread across Zeke's face.

Hawthorn Smith. Kicker.

"How come you don't smile at me like that, Zeke?" Derek asked as he grabbed a heat pack for himself.

"Because you terrorize him every day of the season," Hawthorn told him as he breezed toward the hot tub.

Derek turned around and noticed me and Nolan. "You're the new physical therapist!"

"I'm Charlotte Thompson, but you can call me Lottie," I told him as I took the pads off Nolan's knee. I could feel his eyes on me as I addressed Derek.

"Well, Lottie, welcome to the Bobcats. The greatest team in the NFL—although I may be biased," Derek whispered the last part from the table next to us.

"How many shots of caffeine did you have this morning?" Nolan asked, his eyes now closed as I massaged his knee. The previous gruffness he had addressed me with gone.

"Probably one too many," Derek replied sheepishly.

"I've got five down that he's going to puke today," Hawthorn told Nolan from where he'd submerged himself in the hot tub.

"I'll put down ten." The previous tense set of his shoulders eased.

"Alright," I cut in before their bets could escalate. "Grab a band and start doing these exercises."

I tossed the list of exercises I had made down onto Nolan's chest. He cracked an eye open. I cocked a single brow at him as a challenge.

Nolan and I held eye contact, each of us daring the other to blink first.

"Are you having a staring contest?" Derek asked. Nolan blinked; our standoff was broken. Nolan sighed before he walked over to the wall of bands to grab one, paper clutched in his hand.

I grabbed a sanitizing bottle from near the hot tubs to wipe off the table we had used when I caught Hawthorn's gaze. He gave me a wink.

Nolan completed the exercises without complaint. I kept a close eye on him as I worked on Derek's lower back, all while getting peppered with questions from the tight end.

"Where are you from?" A small town outside of Chicago.

"Are you a football fan?" My middle name is Madden after John Madden, if that says anything about the family I was brought up in.

"Do you have a favorite team?" Born and raised a Bobcats fan.

"Are you just saying that because you're trying to get on my good side?" No.

I didn't have a moment to take a breath until I was walking out to practice with Zeke. I didn't mind though. I'd always enjoyed the way my body and mind went into cruise control when they were overloaded with tasks.

Luckily, once practice got into full swing, Zeke was too busy with tending to the players with his athletic trainers to talk to me. Which gave me the perfect opportunity to study Nolan as he moved through the different drills his coaches were throwing at him. Today's practice was scaled down in intensity with the coaches wanting to ease the team into the week ahead. Even still, I watched Nolan move through a few snaps. His movements were smooth from years of practice. His eyes scanned his receivers with methodical analysis as he made his decision for his open target.

However, after about an hour of watching him, I noticed a pattern. Every time he was pressured by the defense on his right side, his movements grew sloppy. He didn't move as confidently within the pocket. By the end of practice, I could confirm that Nolan Hill wasn't fully recovered from his knee injury. Unfortunately, I was going to have to figure out some way to win him over and convince him to let me do my job so I could help him.

I may have walked into a taller order than I originally realized, but I never backed down from a fight.