Chapter 7 Lottie

Chapter 7

Lottie

Nolan listened to my advice during the second half and played to the strength of his left side, rather than trying to make something happen with his right that would only put him at risk. After he threw his second touchdown of the third quarter and came off the field celebrating with Derek, he paused long enough to catch my eye from where I stood behind the team. If I hadn't been watching closely, I would have missed the almost imperceptible nod of his head.

Our defense managed to hold off San Diego's attempt at tying the game up at the end of the fourth quarter, clinching the first win of the season. The team celebrated on the field as reporters flooded around them to grab a photo of the players. An ESPN reporter stopped Nolan a few feet away from me.

"Nolan, that was an impressive game you had today. You threw for five total touchdowns at nearly three hundred yards passing. You must be happy with the strong start of this performance for the season."

The reporter, I recognized, was Harper Nelson. She was up-and-coming on the scene. Players loved her because she often asked knowledgeable questions during her interviews. Fans loved her because she was beautiful, with tan skin that balanced her chocolate-brown hair and hazel eyes. I had to admit that she was striking, but my heart still ached for the girl that had to combat being relevant for her looks rather than how good she was at her craft. I remembered seeing an article where she talked about being a female reporter in the sports industry and how she worked hard to remain knowledgeable about the game, so she was known for more than being a woman.

"It's the kind of start we wanted to have as a team. But this season is a marathon, not a sprint. There's a lot of games ahead of us that we'll have to chip away at." I watched Nolan morph into the player that was the nation's beloved quarterback. Gone was the hardened gaze and the pessimism I had witnessed this past week. He was the All-American guy as he talked with Harper.

"You battled through some adversity with your linemen not quite getting into position at times. What do you think you need to do moving forward as an offense?"

"I think it's just practice and getting more looks together. The offense will gel. We have some new blood on the line, and I think with more practice and a few more games, we'll be running on all cylinders."

"Thanks, Nolan." Harper flashed him a quick smile before she backed away with her cameraman.

Nolan noticed me waiting for him in the tunnel when he approached. He slowed from his previous jog to a walk as he got closer. His gaze held none of the disdain he usually looked at me with.

Progress.

"Thanks," Nolan told me. I had to bite back a laugh at how hard it seemed it was for him to say that word. "For the advice you gave me at halftime."

"I wasn't the one that just went out there and threw for nearly two hundred yards in the second half. You just needed a little reminder about who you are." I gave a small shrug of my shoulders. Nolan's eyes bounced around my face as if he were looking for something. I almost missed the ever-present annoyance that was on Nolan's face and the absence of it had me searching for something to fill the silence that was starting to grow between us.

"I think maybe a truce is on the table. No more avoiding me at the practice facility?" I asked cautiously. A sheepish smile crossed Nolan's face like he'd been caught red-handed. I noted the way that smile softened his facial features and showed me a different version of him.

"I'm a man of my word. I'll see you tomorrow at six."

Nolan Hill was indeed a man of his word. The next morning, his black Range Rover pulled up next to my car at ten minutes until six while the sky was still dark. I had been leaning against the hood of my car waiting when he pulled up.

I watched Nolan take in my leggings, running shoes, and long-sleeved workout shirt. He was dressed in a pair of shorts and a well-worn Bobcats crewneck; a Cougars baseball cap covered his normally tousled brown hair.

"You are not dressed in your usual attire," he said, speaking the obvious.

"Well, that's because we aren't doing the usual routine." I pushed off the hood of my car and started off toward the trail head that wove its way through the woods of the residential area that surrounded the Bobcats' practice facility.

"Where are we going?" Nolan asked, his long strides keeping easily up with my short ones.

"For a run. I want to switch things up and see how you do before we get into the training room."

I took off into a light jog the moment my feet hit the pavement of the trail head. Nolan and I fell into a steady rhythm with each other, the first few minutes of the run passing with comfortable silence. I appreciated Nolan's sudden willingness to listen to me and not fight over his treatment.

"So, you want to tell me about why you avoided me all last week?" I asked as we passed the first house in the surrounding neighborhood.

Birds chirping in the morning air and the pounding of our shoes on the pavement were the only sounds filling the space between us before Nolan finally answered me. "I don't particularly like therapy."

He gave me an embarrassed look, much like the one he gave me at the game the day before.

"It reminds me of the reason why I got hurt in the first place." I could tell that whatever Nolan was thinking about, it often weighed heavily on his mind. "I had missed those defensive players rushing me on the right side because I'd been lost the whole game. I hadn't had time to read the playbook that week as thoroughly as I should have … I had other things going on that drew my attention elsewhere. So, I wasn't as quick at finding my receivers that game and it eventually caught up with me. I let other things distract me and it cost me nearly everything."

"What was on your mind that week?" The professional side of me wanted to know what I was up against with trying to mend him, but I was also curious to know what could have shaken Nolan so much that it would affect his game like that.

"Now, I don't think it's fair that I'm the one answering all the questions here."

I noted Nolan's evasion, but I appreciated that he was at least trying today—even if it was difficult for him. It was only fair that I met him halfway. "What questions do you have?"

I could feel Nolan's gaze heavy on me. "You seem to know a lot about football."

"That's not a question," I replied.

The scowl I was used to seeing Nolan wear passed over his face again. "Why do you know so much about football?"

"My father coached high school football. I grew up with a game on all fall and winter. He liked to joke that it was in my blood."

What I hesitated to share was how football was the only thing that my father had ever really cared about. He thought coaching high school football was more important than even his family. Games became more important than holidays, birthdays, and eventually his marriage.

"He seems like a dedicated father," Nolan commented, oblivious to my pained expression.

I remembered a time when I desperately wanted my father to come home, only to be told that he had game film to watch—for a high school football game. He acted as if he were on the verge of winning the Super Bowl with the level of importance he thought it deserved.

Eventually, my mother pulled away from Olivia and me, as well. Too wrapped up in grief for a dying marriage to focus on the two children that were still there, that still needed her. She left me to raise Olivia on my own. They both did.

"He was dedicated to something. That's for sure," I mumbled.

Nolan's steps slowed for only a moment as he finally picked up on the bitterness lacing my voice. To his credit, he managed to navigate the conversation away from my father without knowing why he needed to.

"I don't think I've ever had a medical professional in my corner that speaks about football the way you did to me during halftime yesterday."

Nolan's comment nearly made me stumble to a stop. He hadn't added anything about never having had a female medical professional in his corner that could speak on football like that. He'd simply stated he'd never had anyone speak about football like that with him—my opinion wasn't questioned because I was a female. That simple distinction meant more to me than he probably realized.

"I have a feeling most people were probably just too scared to cross that line with you."

Nolan chuckled at my observation. That sound actually did send me stumbling this time.

Nolan reached out an arm to steady me. "Careful. You're the one supposed to be keeping me from injuring myself, not the other way around."

That melodic laugh rang in my head as I righted myself and continued down the trail. It was rich and showed a completely different side from the standoffish Nolan Hill I'd grown used to over the past week.

"How come you act so gruff with everyone in the facility?"

My question must have struck some kind of a nerve with Nolan because I watched that muscle jump in his jaw as he thought about how to answer.

"I'm not sure I have a valid reason. But I'm trying to get better."

Nolan pushed himself a few strides ahead of me and I noted the tension in his back. Maybe this season was about more than just winning a Super Bowl for Nolan. Maybe it was about righting some wrongs he'd done to his teammates these past few years and making some new memories to leave them with.

Slowly, the tension eased in Nolan's back and he fell back into stride with me. "How has someone so young managed to become a physical therapist for an NFL team so quickly?"

By giving up everything I should have been doing.

"I sacrificed a lot." It was Nolan's turn to side-eye my simple response. I sighed before expanding. "I stopped hanging out with my friends from college to the point I eventually stopped being invited to things. I went on dates with people, but it never went anywhere because nobody wanted to date a workaholic. I missed out on a lot of life."

Nolan was quiet for a few more minutes as we reached the turning point on our jog to start heading back toward the practice facility.

"You aren't a workaholic. You just have ambition." His voice was strong as he corrected me. It almost caught me more off guard than his laugh. I had never expected him to say anything so nice to me.

"Maybe so. I did end up here, after all." The repetition of running had my mind wandering off toward the bucket list stuck to my fridge at home. "But hopefully I can make up for lost time."

"How so?"

"It's silly," I told him. It was my turn to evade a question. I had already said too much. There was no reason to give him the full truth of my pathetic life. He had everything he ever wanted, and if he found out all I wanted for New Year's was to be kissed, I was sure he'd laugh at me. Not to mention he was a player. Admitting that I was venturing off on a quest I'd been convinced to go on full of experiences I felt I missed out on felt too personal. Something I shouldn't disclose.

The practice facility finally came back into view. But before we got any closer to it, Nolan reached out a hand and wrapped it around my wrist to pull me to a stop.

"I'd like to know what you think is silly about making up for lost time." I noticed how serious he was, and I realized that this was his olive branch to me. This was his way of trying to form some semblance of a relationship between us so he could meet me halfway. The hesitation still stopped me for only a moment. But now I wondered how unprofessional it really was to tell him that I was just trying to live life now instead of existing only to work.

Maybe he'd understand , a voice whispered in my head.

I wasn't sure if it was the nice gesture from him, but I found myself opening my mouth and letting some of the truth spill out. "My little sister came up with a bucket list for me. It's got stupid stuff on it. Like going out on dates, since I haven't really done that seriously in years, and watching the sunrise from the best view. Like I said, it's silly."

Nolan removed his hand from my wrist. "It's not silly," he replied fiercely. I shifted uncomfortably, unsure if I'd rather have Nolan's gruffness than this sincerity.

"Come on. Let's get going on the rest of what I have planned today so we can get out of here. I don't want to take up all of your day off." I started back up at a jog. A few seconds passed before I heard Nolan begin to follow me.

The two of us walked into the empty practice facility together and made our way toward the training room. I had stayed up all last night after the game coming up with the perfect routine that would not only help strengthen his knee in a way that would allow him to have a successful season, but also give him back some confidence in his body. Nolan's body was never going to be like it was when he was younger, but that didn't mean he couldn't invent a new version of himself.

"Here's what we're going to do." I started grabbing tape and wrap for Nolan's knee. "I'm going to do the same tape job I did at the half yesterday. Then we are going to go out onto the practice field."

Today I had more access to Nolan's entire leg without him in his football pants. I warmed my hands again before pushing up the hem of his shorts a little further to expose more skin. Nolan tensed on the table, and I pulled my hands back as quickly as I could.

"Are my hands still too cold?" I asked. Nolan kept his eyes on his feet as he shook his head no.

"Just took me by surprise." Nolan's voice sounded strained as he shifted on the table.

"Is anything sore?"

Another head shake.

I remembered what he told me earlier on our run, I don't particularly like therapy.

It wasn't the first time I'd ever had an athlete tell me something along those same lines. Everyone had a different reason for why, but I was going to make it my mission to change Nolan's mind.

I stared at him for a second longer before I put my hands back on his thigh and began to work the muscle. This time his muscles stayed relaxed. Once I finished the short massage, I made quick work of the tape support and wrap cover.

"Let's go to the field."

Nolan remained quiet the entire walk to the field and I tried to stir some conversation to keep him in the good mood he was in.

"You've been used to playing a specific way your entire career. But your body has changed. That doesn't mean you still can't compete at the highest caliber or at your highest potential." I walked the two of us over to the basket of footballs that was sitting on the sidelines. "However, if you dissect your stats, you play off your left side better than your right with or without an injury. There're a couple solutions to help you while we work on strengthening your knee—you let your linemen know to protect your right side more than before and we work on evasive maneuvers when you get pressured from that direction. That way, when it does happen, you don't lock up on the field."

I didn't catch Nolan off guard this time with the in-depth football analysis. Instead, I watched him slip into the legendary quarterback that he was known for being. For the next hour, we walked through different drills that would give Nolan ideas during the game.

We worked together like two like-minds as we bounced ideas off each other. Gone was the apprehension Nolan had for me and gone was my need to prove myself to him. We were on the same page for that hour, with both of our areas of expertise bringing a new perspective.

"How do you feel?" I asked him after his hundredth run through the drills.

Sweat glistened down Nolan's face and he sucked a few deep breaths in to calm his heart rate. There was something new in his eyes that I hadn't seen before—a sparkle.

"Fucking fantastic." That same melodic laugh filled the space around us, and I couldn't stop the smile that broke across my face at the sound. "Thanks to you."

I was used to getting recognition from my athletes in their recovery process. Normally, all I felt was proud of another job well done. This time, I felt something new as Nolan looked at me with that unfiltered smile—a small fluttering in my chest.

He tossed the football back in the cart as he walked past me. He reached out and gave my upper arm a squeeze before he disappeared toward the locker room.

"Same time tomorrow?"

"I'll be here," I told him.

Right before Nolan crossed the threshold back into the practice facility, he paused and turned back around. "Hey, Lottie?"

"Yeah?"

"Your bucket list isn't stupid. So don't let anyone make you think that."

I felt my cheeks heat at his words. For some odd reason, I was relieved that he didn't think I was a loser for dedicating so much of my life to my work that now I felt the need to make up for it.

"Can I tell you something, too?" I asked him before he walked away.

He nodded.

"Your teammates deserve this version of you."