humbleness. A gratefulness. For me.
I don’t think I’ve ever been looked at like that, not in this job, not in my marriage.
I let him hold on tight as they slowly stretch his leg out, inch by agonizing inch, until the patella slides back in with a click.
Alejo groans in relief, closing his eyes as his head rests into the grass.
“?Necesitamos una camilla?” Mateo asks as he hovers above, Luciano beside him, and I believe he’s asking if he needs a stretcher.
“No. Podemos ayudarlo a caminar,” Dr. Costa says. “?Listo, Alejo? Uno, dos, tres.”
Alejo nods and sits up, and they help him to his feet, Mateo under one arm, Dr. Costa under the other. Together they make their way across the field, Alejo limping but otherwise able to put pressure on his feet and move his legs with full mobility, which is a good sign.
“Take care of him, Thalia,” Luciano says with a nod.
“I will. You take care of the game. Make sure that wasn’t for nothing.”
“Hala Madrid!” he says and then turns around and jogs over to the ref.
I head down the stairs back under the stadium and over to the locker room. Alejo is sitting down and he already has ice on his knee. The doctors are talking about an MRI and getting him examined right away. Dr. Costa glances over his shoulder at me and practically sneers.
“What are you doing here? You should be ready to treat the other players. We can handle this.”
“I was just…” I start but Mateo gives me a nod.
“Come on,” Mateo says, putting his arm around my shoulder and leading me out of the locker room. “I need to get someone else in the game. Alejo will be fine.”
We go back up the stairs and onto the field and Mateo leans in close and says, “Sorry, it was easier if you weren’t there. I need the doctor to focus on Alejo, not his, how you say, pissing contest with you. It is a pissing contest, is it not?”
I sigh and run my hand over my brow. I can’t tell I’m sweating out of worry or because it’s a hot night. “Yes, it’s a pissing contest.”
“Funny how pissing can be used in so many different ways,” he muses. Then he slaps me on the shoulder and heads over to the bench to bring a player out onto the field.
I go beside David, and we sit down and try to watch the rest of the game.
Even without Alejo, Real Madrid ends up winning 3-1.
It’s bittersweet.
The next day I’m at work bright and early. Alejo is resting in his room upstairs while we (meaning the rest of the medical team, Mateo, and Jose, the club president), are gathered in the physiotherapy room.
Dr. Costa starts rattling something off in Spanish until Mateo clears his throat and shoots him a look. “Not everyone here speaks Spanish,” Mateo says.
Oh, if looks could fucking kill. The doctor glares at me like only a Spaniard can.
“The MRI results are promising,” Dr. Costa says bitterly, and I know that the bitterness in his voice is all because of me. “The depth of the groove, the way the patella scraped along the bone as it popped out, it’s something we can work with. That said, there are some things to consider, like the likelihood of it happening again now that there’s a groove. I might recommend surgery.”
“Surgery?” Both Mateo and I say at the same time. “Absolutely not,” Mateo adds. “That’s a worst-case scenario.”
“The boy is young and I’ve seen him play. He can be reckless. Who is to say this won’t keep happening? He doesn’t care about himself out there. In the moment, he just wants the goals.”
“He’s in the prime years of his career. Right now. I’m not subjecting him to surgery,” Mateo says. “It will cost us the whole season.”
“Jose,” Dr. Costa says to the president imploringly. “I’m sorry to say but in my medical opinion, it’s a viable option. Operate on his knee now, when he is young and able to spring back, and you’ll have him for years down the road.”
“We need him now,” Mateo says to Jose. “And down the road. So why rush into something drastic?”
Jose is a short man, thin as a wisp, with gold-rimmed glasses, grey hair, and a black mustache. He doesn’t smile as far as I’ve seen, and he seems to take everything very seriously. Which I guess is a necessity if you’re the president of the richest football club in the