He nods, seeming to mull it over. Both Mateo and Dr. Costa are battling for dominance here, and honestly, I’m on Mateo’s side one hundred percent, and that’s got nothing to do with how I feel about Dr. Costa.
“How long is he expected to be out?” Jose asks eventually. “Let’s just play it by ear for now.”
Mateo exhales in relief.
Dr. Costa shrugs. “I don’t know. It will depend on his physical therapy. Normally I would say three weeks, but since he can’t wear a knee brace during the game, then I would double it. Don’t put him out until he’s one hundred percent. Six weeks. Maybe more.”
“Shit,” Mateo swears, making fists in his hair. “He might not be back for El Clásico.”
“Or he may be. Like I said, it depends on the therapy.” Doctor Costa looks over his shoulder at the team, completely avoiding me. “One of you will step up and take on Alejo, giving him specialized treatment.”
“Actually, I think Thalia will be the right person for the task,” Mateo speaks up.
My eyes widen but I don’t say anything. I just raise my chin and nod. “Claro.”
Jose peers at me. “Picking up some Spanish already?”
“Are you sure?” Dr. Costa asks Mateo, but Mateo gives him a smug smile.
“Absolutely. You can handle it, right, Thalia? You certainly handled the same with Wayne Rooney.”
Actually, it was me and another therapist in charge of him back at Man United, but I just nod. “It would be my pleasure.”
Now I’m not sure if Mateo is giving this to me because he believes I would be the best at it or because it pisses off Dr. Costa, but I’m not going to argue with him.
Even though, really, the idea of working so closely with Alejo for so long should have me a bit on edge. But, at the moment, none of that matters. In fact, it seems silly compared to the big picture. Alejo needs to get his body back into working order, so he can continue to help Real Madrid — and himself — succeed, and I’m going to go in to this with determination and resolve, doing whatever I can to help him achieve that.
“Okay, whoever,” Jose says with a wave of his hand. “Let’s just check in a few weeks from now and see how it’s going. If it’s slow or iffy, he’ll get the surgery.”
And I’m going to make damn sure that’s not going to happen.
“She’ll have to start right away,” Dr. Costa says, as if I’m not here.
“Yes,” Jose says, nodding at me. “Go upstairs to Alejo and get started on him.”
“Uh,” I say, and clear my throat. “With all due respect, sir, Alejo was just injured last night. He’s been through a lot of trauma, mentally and physically. He needs to rest today. He definitely needs to keep sleeping. Otherwise we’ll be starting with more work against us.”
“Fine, fine,” Jose says as he walks away and out the door.
The other therapists look at me. Not in an envious way — after all, they all have people they look after, and we’re only going to get more injuries as the season goes on. But they’re looking at me differently, that’s for sure.
I’m remembering what my father told me once when I had been dumped by my boyfriend a week before my final exam for my Master of Science in Physical Therapy. He sat me down and let me cry and told me, “If you’re going to do big things, you can’t let the small things matter.”
He’s right. It doesn’t matter what the therapists, or Dr. Costa, or anyone thinks of me. I know what I have to do. I have a goal.
To heal.
“Mateo,” Dr. Costa growls. “Can I see you for a moment?” He then stalks off to his office.
Mateo runs his hand over his face in exasperation and then follows.
The most important thing right after an injury like this is to treat the inflammation at the spot. The doctors already have a knee brace on Alejo, and last night they treated it with plenty of ice and anti-inflammatories. He’s been resting all day.
My job as the first step of treatment is to help get that inflammation down.
Alejo makes his way to the physio room without any support.
He looks awful. Dark circles under his eyes, hair greasy, his leg puffy on either side of the heavy-duty knee brace he has on.
“What are you doing?” I say to him, rushing over to his side and putting his arm around my