Settling the Score (The Summer Games #1) - R.S. Grey Page 0,62

girl who spoke choppy English and smelled like roses. She had me position my wrist beneath the x-ray machine and when she adjusted it, her dark eyes glanced up at me with pity.

“Any pain?”

I knew they needed to get the right angle to see the full extent of the damage.

“A little, but I’m fine,” I said, lying through my clenched teeth.

Kinsley and Becca waited with me in the doctor’s office while the radiologist inspected the x-ray. For the first few minutes we sat in silence, too worried to bother with small talk.

“Your mom has been calling nonstop. Do you want to call her back?” Kinsley asked, holding up my phone.

I shook my head and kept my eyes pinned on the wall behind the doctor’s desk. It was the spot where a diploma would have hung, but the office was temporary and the doctor would go back to the United States when the Olympics were over. No need for a diploma.

“It’s going to be okay,” Becca offered.

I ignored the sentiment. If my wrist was broken, it was over. The Olympics, Rio, soccer, all of it. I was good, but unless I was whole, I was replaceable. It was that simple.

A few minutes later, the doctor knocked on the door and entered the office.

“Andie, we’ve got good news and bad news,” he said, curving around the desk and tossing my x-ray in front of me. He cut to the chase—no pleasantries or handshakes—and I appreciated that. “Your wrist isn’t broken.”

Kinsley, Becca, and I all let out a collective sigh as if it had been choreographed ahead of time.

“That said, you still can’t play on it. You’ve sprained several ligaments, and you’ve further strained existing inflammation of your muscles and tendons. The only thing you can do, and what you should have been doing already, is ice, rest, and eventually—”

I shook my head, already determined. “What would happen if I played on it?”

“Andie,” my coach hissed. I hadn’t even noticed her sneak in behind the doctor.

“Certainly you’d see degradation of the soft tissue and advancement of your tendonitis, possibly into a chronic state. We’re talking ‘at best’ here. The problem is, without proper flexibility and natural range of motion, any amount of pressure gets absorbed by the bony structures. You risk a catastrophic break, surgery, and a rocky recovery. So, I recommend taking at least six weeks off, rest, and PT, at which point we reevaluate.”

I stood and shook my head. “No.”

He reared back as if I’d slapped him. “Andie, we have to do what’s best for your long—”

“I’m not going home. I’m staying and I’m playing the last two games.”

“No, you aren’t,” my coach corrected with a tone that left no room for negotiation. “I’m sorry Andie, but you need to take some time to digest this information.”

I whipped around to face her. She had her arms locked across her chest. Her white hair was pulled into a ponytail that looked tight enough to cut off circulation. She’d inspired fear in me since the first day of training camp, but I’d learned to read her tells. Those crossed arms, the severe look—it was all an act.

“You’re young, and this is your first Olympics. If we play it safe now, you’ll have plenty more to come. You can stay in Rio with your team and start physical therapy on your wrist. If all goes well, you’ll be ready for the World Cup, and eventually the next Olympics.”

No, no, no.

“No, Coach, I can play,” I argued, turning around and holding up my wrist as evidence. There was no shudder or gasp of pain. “I’m fine.”

She shook her head, annoyed. “Don’t push this Andie, or I’ll send you home.”

“Keep me in the goal.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to keep her benched,” Kinsley said. She was Coach’s favorite player. If anyone could convince her to compromise, it was Kinsley. “Let her sit on the sidelines during the games. That’s better than nothing.”

“I agree,” Becca said.

Coach glanced to the doctor then back down to me. Her head dipped and my heart plummeted in my chest before she replied.

“I’ll consider it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Andie

“WHOA. WHOA. WHOA.” Kinsley reached for the bottle of vodka before I could tip it back for another sip. “Slow down there, Andie.”

I let her take the bottle; it didn’t matter. There were four more lined up on the coffee table. I’d forced Becca and Kinsley to get them for me on the way home from the doctor’s office. The liquor tasted like shit, but it helped dull both