Love Heals

Chapter 4

Emilio pulled his mind away from Rachel and the absurd drama that had been their relationship. He wondered where she was now and if she’d forgiven him for his alleged infractions. Though if anyone needed to be forgiven, it was her. A strobe of pain shooting up from his ankle completely distracted him from that train of thought. He really needed to speak to his doctor…

*****

“Stress fracture,” the team doctor said, looking from the X-rays to Emilio, the furrow in his brow making it clear to the doctor that he needed further explanation. “That’s a crack in a bone resulting from overuse. This happens in athletes who were trying to push their performance to a higher level, like you or even in a non-athlete who suddenly increases the amount of walking in a day. Most stress fractures heal of their own accord, although some are problematic due to their location or due to the blood supply of the involved bone. Stress fractures of the navicular bone, fifth metatarsal and tibial shaft were particularly problematic in athletes and may require surgery. Your injury is of the fifth metatarsal.”

“What do you recommend?” Emilio asked, sitting up and typing quickly on his iPad to look up metatarsals. It hurt, sure, but Emilio wasn’t sure it warranted “out until possibly the end of the season”. Absolute bullsh*t, that’s what Emilio thought.

“I recommend bed rest and physiotherapy. The recovery time if you have surgery doesn’t really justify any perceived benefits. And I think you’re motivated enough to take charge of your healing for the time you have to be out.”

“So I can’t play?” He didn’t mean for his voice to come out watery and sad and generally pathetic, but it did anyway. Bruce looked down at him, pityingly.

“Absolutely not,” Bruce said sternly, but kindly. Somehow. “You’ve gotta rest up, get better cos we’ll be in the finals of the MLS Cup Finals, I know this team has got it, yeah? You gotta be there, Milo, we need you.”

The doctor chuckled and shook his head.

“Sorry, Mr. Arena, but Mr. Da Costa is in no state to play soccer for at least fifteen weeks.”

“But you just said I can walk out of here! You said I can have a normal life! And my normal life includes soccer.”

“I’m very sorry, but not anymore. At least, not for a while.” The doctor looked apologetic but also like he would very much like it if he could leave Emilio and Bruce to their own drama. Emilio looked angrily down at his phone and saw nine texts and three phone called from Stevie, a phone call from Husidic, and two texts from Pedro that said pls text back the TV isn’t telling us anything Milo and im serious dude text me back, we’re worried. Which definitely meant his injury was broadcast all over the US and possibly the world and wasn’t that just the greatest thing? “Galaxy forward, Emilio “Milo” Da Costa, fell from the top – literally”. He could see the headlines.He texted Pedro back, everything’s fine, Pedro. I’m fine, tell mom I’ll call her tmrs. Just some silly ankle issue, I’m up and walking and everything.

“I’ve set up a physiotherapy appointment for you, tomorrow at 10am, I wrote it all down on a card, here,” the team doctor handed him a small white card which Emilio placed on his bedside table before leaning back in bed and adjusting his legs. Very slowly. Fuck, his ankle hurt.

“Did you book him with a good one? We need Milo playing as soon as his ankle is willing to cooperate,” Bruce said.

“Booked him with the very best; her name is Dr. Guararia. Quite young, around Mr. Da Costa’s age I think, but I’ve never seen someone fix someone up quite as quick as her,” the doctor said genuinely. “You’ll be in good hands,” he added to Emilio, who just grumbled a thank you. He felt like a petulant child.

“Meanwhile you’re free to go home. A nurse will be by with discharge papers and a wheelchair.” The doctor added. This was a relief to Emilio. He hated hospitals.

He grumbled all the way to the door while Bruce chuckled lightly, opening it for him to reveal Cameron, standing in the corridor, anxiously twisting his cap in his hands.

“Milo!” Cameron cried, turning to face him. He came over and hugged Emilio.

“Nothing hurts,” Emilio said to Bruce. “My ankle always hurts, my whole body always hurts during soccer season.”

Bruce shook his head.

“A stress fracture is a slow developing injury. It was lucky Sarkodie stepped on you and brought matters to a head. Now you have the chance to get it fixed, and you’re an asset to this team, Emilio, we can’t lose you for real.”

Emilio wanted to keep arguing but Bruce sounded so genuine and caring that he ended up just patting his coach’s arm, and instructing Cameron to drive him home.

“I need beer and to kick your and Stevie’s arse in Fifa,” Emilio said, sagging against Cameron, suddenly overcome with the thought and feeling of no soccer. Strong, dependent Cameron.

“Right,” Cameron said. “Sounds like a plan.”

*****

Emilio lost to Cameron in their FIFA tournament, and just barely beat Stevie, which was weird because Stevie sucked.

He felt like it was a sign.

*****

Emilio was late to his physiotherapy appointment.

It all started when he cut himself shaving. He was going through his normal morning routine, meticulously shaving and thinking about what he could do after his appointment when he nicked himself, right in the spot under his jaw. Once he stopped the flow of blood – why did such a small cut bleed so much? – he went into the kitchen to make himself breakfast, since Cameron had apparently already left. He burned his eggs and his coffee. He should’ve just gone to the bakery near the train station. The car service would have been more than happy to stop.

Finally, he got to the physiotherapy office – Clearwater Physiotherapy Clinic – ten minutes late and rushed in, as far as his limp would let him, feeling frazzled and frustrated.

The room he walked into was a small common-room-like area, filled with couches and chairs, a small coffee table and an end table supporting countless gossip mags and newspapers alike. Emilio could see some theoretical books, too. The couches were a deep blue and the walls were a soft beige, and it was all very inviting. There were plants littering the room, offsetting the paintings hanging on the walls in a nice, comfortable way, and sort of giving the room a sort of… life. And there was  a person waiting on one of the couches. So also giving the room life. Emilio shook his head; maybe his injury had made his brain addled instead of his ankle.

“Hello!”

Emilio turned towards the voice, towards the desk, and walked over. There was  a woman around his age sitting behind a computer screen with long brown hair, smiling kindly at him. “What can I help you with?”

“Hi,” Emilio said shortly to the woman behind the receptionist desk. He didn’t mean to be rude; he just wanted to get in and out as fast as possible. “I have an appointment at ten – or, well, I was supposed to be here at ten but the there was traffic, well actually I may have started out late, but I understand if you need to reschedule my appointment, I don’t expect to be given courtesies – ”

“It’s okay,” the receptionist laughed, typing something into the computer. “Dr. Guararia doesn’t have another appointment until after noon, I reckon she’s just playing a game on her phone while she waits.”

Emilio breathed out a sigh of relief. He was glad that he didn’t have to reschedule, leaving and coming back would be worse than just getting it over with. Emilio suddenly remembered the other person sitting in the waiting room, a woman if he could remember correctly, and his eyes flicked over to her just as he opened his mouth.