Rebound Read online

  “Where did you go to school?” Bri asked, a chill racing up his spine. This story sounded way too familiar to him.

  “I started college at Drexel.” Obie turned away and resumed his work, rubbing his cheeks on his shoulders. “I’m sorry. This is very unprofessional of me. I shouldn’t be acting this way.” He stood a little straighter. “We should be using this time to talk about your knee and our plans for getting you into full-on basketball shape.

  “Maybe.” Bri put his hand on Obie’s, stopping it. “I remember that incident. I was in the city and I knew him. Cooper Collins.”

  “Yeah. That was his name.” Obie returned to work on his other leg.

  Bri lay back down. “I played on the same team as him for a year. He was a freshman the same year I was a senior. A real asshole. He was one of those guys who thought he could build himself up by tearing others down. I didn’t know him at the time that he hurt you and your friend, but I heard about the incident.”

  “Everyone did. They closed ranks around the athletes and defended them for weeks until everything came out. Meanwhile, Harper was in a coma and no one wanted to believe me. I ended up changing schools because of him. I couldn’t take the harassment any longer. I transferred to Penn State and got my degree there.” He pulled his hands away. “I think that’s enough for now.” Bri didn’t know if he meant the massage, the topic of conversation, or both. Not that it mattered. Obie wiped his eyes again and stepped back.

  “I understand. When I was in college, a guy on my floor, Willy, was hurt pretty badly.” He paused, not really wanting to talk about it now. The air in the room was already thick enough that he didn’t need to add to it. And from the slight puffiness around Obie’s eyes, he didn’t need to hear it. Bri wasn’t up to talking about his grow-up moment anyway. “Why don’t we get to work,” he said around his slightly sore throat.

  “Take off your shoes and carefully get off the table. I’m going to have you lie on the mat. We’re going to work on some basic stretches. Carefully, with no quick movements. This is to get those muscles that you haven’t been using ready to become functional again.” Obie stood near his feet, looking at him, his eyes intensely meeting Bri’s.

  “How do we do this?” Bri lay flat on his back on the mat with Obie lifting his injured leg, cradling it in his hands.

  “Okay. I want you to point your toes, stretching the muscles of your foot and upper leg. Hold it for a count of ten.” There was a little discomfort. “Tell me if you experience pain. There might be some soreness or tightness that I hope will dissipate, but what we want to avoid is pain, sharp and damaging.” Obie counted slowly. “Now release. Let’s do it again.” Three times, and then he stretched his foot the other way, tightening his calf. Three times he held it. “Now raise your leg at the hip, point your toes, and think long and strong. Feel it all the way down your leg.”

  “Wow,” Bri said as he gritted his teeth. “I’m holding it as long as I can.”

  “Then relax and we’ll do it some more times. I want you to hold it, make those muscles work for you. Don’t bend your knee, just stretch and awaken your muscles,” Obie said. He had a great voice—instructive, but encouraging in tone. It made Bri want to do whatever he asked, just because he didn’t want to disappoint him. “Good. Now let’s do both legs together. I know the other isn’t injured, but your mind is getting used to having one leg and making do. So we need to retrain it to use both.”

  “Okay.” Bri did it and found the injured leg had an easier time. Up and down, stretch and release. They worked his legs before even trying his knees. “Do you want me to try bending my knee with both legs together?”

  “Now you’re getting it. Don’t go to the point of pain,” Obie cautioned, and Bri bent his legs downward together. “Very good. A little more.”

  Damn, Bri’s legs shook and sweat broke out on his forehead. Still, he pressed on, going slowly, with Obie guiding him with his magic hands. His abs ached from holding, taut and still. “I can’t do any more.” He straightened his legs and breathed deeply.

  “That’s good, but next time remember to breathe. You’ve worked out, so you know how to breathe for power. You have to do that here. Just because there aren’t any weights involved, that doesn’t mean you don’t need that same control.” Obie smiled. “That was awesome, by the way. You are already bending a little bit more than you did last time, though we have a lot of work yet to do.”

  Bri lay back, closing his eyes, praying to God to give him the strength to continue. He was already tired, sweating, and felt like he’d had a full workout. “One more?” Bri asked.

  “At least four. Let’s try it again.”

  Over and over they worked his knee, with no weight, just getting it moving. He hadn’t even put any weight on it and already his leg felt more like his own than the part of him locked away in the brace.

  “Okay, let’s take a break.” Obie got him a water. “Drink this and just breathe for a while. Let’s rehydrate and oxygenate.” Bri drained the bottle, then set it aside. A few minutes later, Obie was back at it, taking him through breathing exercises before going through the stretches, and more.

  By the time Obie helped him back up and handed him his crutches, Bri was both energized and excited, as well as tired and wrung out. He knew he’d made real progress, and that felt good. “I know I’m going to be sore.”

  “Sore is good. Pain is not. Remember that. Drink lots of water and eat just like you would after a heavy workout, because you just had one. Your body is going to scream for energy and protein so it can heal. Be sure to give it what it needs. Stay lean, though.”

  “Damn. I was heading for onion rings. I’ll have to go to Mediterranean Garden instead.”

  Obie chuckled. “Good choice.” He chuckled, and his stomach rumbled. “I guess I need to eat as well.”

  Bri sat down and put his brace back on, hating the thing more and more each time he was able to take it off. For a while, it had felt protective, keeping out what might hurt him. But now, he found it restrictive, and he mentally chafed against it. “Do you want to join me?” Bri asked. “Unless you have another appointment or something.”

  “You’re my last one. I try to keep Fridays lighter so I can make sure I’m caught up at the end of the week.” He started closing down everything and turning off the lights. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll go with you. As long as we understand that it’s dutch treat.” The caution in his eyes made Bri wonder if he’d had trouble with that sort of thing before.

  “You got it. I’ll finish up here and be ready when you are.” He got the brace attached properly and then went through the process of getting his shoes on. It always took some doing, but he was ready to go when Obie returned. He followed him out, through the yard, passing both George and Gracie as they lounged in the shade near Obie’s fountain.

  “I’d offer to drive,” Obie said. “But….” He opened the garage door, and Bri laughed outright at his Smart car. There was no way he was ever going to fit in that. “I only drive in town, and it sips gas.” Obie closed the garage door, and Bri motioned to where his car was parked.

  “It’s no problem.” Bri handed Obie his keys. “You go ahead and drive. It’s probably better for my knee at this point, anyway. You’ll get us there faster.” And he needed food badly. He got into the car, and Obie did the same, moving the seat up and then setting the engine to purring.

  “This is really awesome,” Obie said, sliding back and forth over the seat. “I like my car because it’s practical and good for the environment, but this is cushy. And it sure beats my bicycle seat.”

  “Bicycle?” Bri asked, trying to remember the last time he’d ridden one that wasn’t in a gym.

  “Yeah. I ride whenever I can, and on weekends I sometimes race, things like that. I like that I can lower my carbon footprint, making the world and our lives better. I only drive when I have to, really. My car is one of the first Smarts they imported. I’ve had it for, like, quite a while, and it has les
s than thirty thousand miles on it because I don’t drive that often.” He made a few turns. “Keep an eye out for parking, will you? It can be a pain this time of day.”

  “Right there.” Bri grinned. He had great parking karma, and right now he was glad it was holding true. The car felt stuffy and close, even with the air-conditioning running. Bri knew it was his proximity to Obie—more importantly, the way his scent seemed to expand and fill the car. Each time he inhaled, he got a whiff of herbal freshness that tingled the back of his nose. It was probably a combination of the potion Obie used for massage, the plants he worked with, and his own fresh scent, sending Bri’s olfactory nerves into a frenzy. Dammit, he nearly leaned closer just to get a stronger smell of it.

  Obie parallel parked, and Bri opened the door. Before he could get his crutches, Obie brought them around for him and waited while he stood up. Then Obie handed him his keys, and they made their way down to the very busy restaurant.

  “Mutasem,” Obie said once they were inside, and a large man with black hair and a missing left eye hurried over to him. He also had a hand that was missing some fingers on the same side.

  “Welcome, my friend,” Mutasem said with a crooked smile that was warm and genuine, reaching all the way up his cheeks. “And my new friend. You were here last week. Welcome.” He waved profusely. “I do not have a table right now.”

  “It’s all right,” a woman said from nearby. “We just sat down. Why don’t you take our table and we can wait for the next one.” She and a man Bri assumed to be her husband stood up, moving out of the way.

  “Thank you. That’s very nice of you,” Obie said.

  “I’ve been on crutches before,” the woman said, as she walked back toward the waiting area. “It isn’t fun.”

  At first Bri wondered if she and the man were being so nice because of who he was, but neither of them seemed to recognize him. Still, it was very thoughtful. “Obie, would you get a ball out of the trunk for me?” He handed him his keys and lowered himself into the chair, glad to be off his leg again. Obie had been right—the dull ache had already started.

  “Is this what you wanted?” Obie said, once he’d come back from the car. He handed him the basketball, still in the box. Mutasem, obviously figuring out what was going on, came over with a marker. Bri signed the ball and dated it, then got up and took it over to the woman.

  “Giving up the table was very kind. Please, take this as a thank-you.” He smiled, and the woman seemed shocked. Her husband, on the other hand, grinned.

  “That is so awesome. Our son is a huge fan and his birthday is next week. He’s going to be thrilled.” He shook Bri’s hand profusely, and when another table opened up, they went over and were seated.

  Obie sat down across from Bri. “That was pretty nice of you. I heard that a lot of guys only give autographs when they’re paid to.”

  “Lots of them do. It’s a whole other source of income. I did that for a while, but I found that giving a little of myself and being willing to meet the fans had its own rewards—ones that have nothing to do with money. After I got hurt, the team got hundreds of emails and even cards and letters wishing me a speedy recovery. Someone actually sent a tin of cookies, decorated as basketballs.” He couldn’t help smiling.

  “I can see that. Being nice doesn’t cost anything. But being liked helps in other ways.”

  “Yeah, it does. And it came back to me in a big way. I got endorsement deals because I was liked when other players were passed over.” Bri worked hard to maintain his reputation. “I also don’t go out and get drunk or make scenes. I only have so long to play, and once I’m not relevant anymore, the endorsements and other deals will fall away. How many athletes have you seen where everything gets ripped away because of a tweet or a picture of them doing something stupid? Remember Michael Phelps’s bong pictures?” Bri shook his head slowly.

  “I suppose. You’re in the public eye and you have to act like it.”

  Bri nodded. “A lot of the guys didn’t, and then they wondered why they were getting bad press or had people running after them all the time, trying to take pictures of whatever they were doing, just in case it could be sensationalized.” Thankfully, for the most part, Bri’s life off the court was boring enough that they rarely took an interest. And he wanted to keep it that way. “I love the game, I do. More than anything else, I’m happiest when I’m on the court. And I want to be able to keep doing that.”

  “Who’s your hero?” Obie asked.

  “Magic Johnson, I think. He was a great athlete and an incredible man both on and off the court.”

  Mutasem came over to the table. He talked for a few minutes as he explained what his specials were.

  Obie turned to Bri. “Do you trust me?” Bri nodded, and Obie turned back to Mutasem. “Why don’t you bring us what you think is best.”

  Mutasem grinned. “Wonderful.”

  “And we’ll have water and your orange-carrot drinks.” Obie shared a smile with Bri as Mutasem hurried away. “He’s an amazing cook. Most of the dishes are variations on those his mother makes. Wait till you taste his tomato and cucumber dip.” Obie rolled his eyes in bliss, and damned if Bri didn’t wonder what it would be like to put that look on Obie’s face… in a very different way. “He dices tomato and cucumber really small, adds some yogurt and tahini, garlic, and some other spices. You eat it on pita bread and it’s tangy and zippy.” He smacked his lips just as Mutasem brought fresh pita and the very dip he’d just mentioned. Bri took a bite and hummed right along with Obie. It was everything he’d described… and more.

  “What’s your dream?” Bri asked, getting their conversation back on topic.

  “Oh goodness.” Obie sighed and dipped another pita point. “I had so many of them. I was going to be a doctor, but that went out the window when I learned how long it took. There was no way I was ever going to be able to afford that much schooling. And I really like what I do.” Obie smiled. “You know, if I had a dream, it would be to ride in the Tour de France. I do some races now and I like to think I’m pretty good.”

  “That’s cool. Maybe once my knee is healed, we could ride together. I’m always looking for interesting ways to keep fit in the off-season. What else?” he asked, leaning a little closer. Obie had a way of knitting his brow just a little bit when he was thinking.

  “I don’t know if it qualifies as a dream, but I’d like to write a book on whole-life wellness.” He sat up a little straighter and his eyes glinted with passion. “I really believe that the key to health is for all of us to look at our entire lives—what we eat, how we play, the spaces around us, the people we spend our time with, even the plants and animals that we allow to share our lives. It all impacts our health.” He paused when Mutasem came over with small, lightly dressed salads. The lemon popped on his tongue, and Bri was suddenly even hungrier. “Even the friends you choose can impact your health,” Obie continued.

  “I can see that. Bad habits are so much easier to start than good ones and a hell of a lot harder to break.”

  Obie grinned. “Exactly. We are all influenced by the images and messages around us. I try to make it so that the ones around me are positive and help me live the way I want. That doesn’t mean I always succeed, or that I’m a dick. At least I hope I’m not. I mean, it’s important to listen to opposing viewpoints. That’s not what I’m saying. But it’s best to distance yourself from people who do things that aren’t good for you.”

  “Like your feral friends?” It was too good a chance for him to pass up.

  “Chippy and David are harmless. They’re twinks—heck, so am I, I guess. They’re over the top and love to have a good time. But when the chips are down, those guys are there for me like no one else ever has been.” Obie turned, and Bri followed his gaze, the television over the counter catching his attention.

  “You follow the Phillies?” Bri was a little surprised.

  “I love sports. That’s why I do what I do. After school, I wanted to go into athlet
ic therapy. But jobs were hard to get, and I ended up at one of those huge practices with revolving doors of patients. One day I saw twenty people. Twenty. And I only got twenty minutes with each one of them, tops. I wasn’t really helping them. When my grandpa died, he left me his house with the instructions that I sell it and use the money to make my life better. So I decided to start my own practice. That was three years ago, and Hunter was one of my first patients. I already knew Monty. I was able to help him, and he told everyone he knew. Word spread, and my clientele grew. Now, I stay as busy as I want to be. I work with athletes in baseball, football, hockey, soccer, rugby, basketball—you name it.”

  “I see.” Bri finished his salad and sat back. It had been so good and incredibly light.

  “Each sport has its own type of injuries,” Obie continued. “I work with tennis players for arm and ankle injuries. They are really hard on themselves. Of course, I also do general work. I have a few patients who moved with me from the big practice. One lady had been seeing me for help with her back for years. There is nothing I can do to cure her, but I hope I make her life a little less pain-filled and help give her a better quality of life.”

  Obie was so different from most of the guys Bri knew. He got his pleasure from truly helping others, rather than from what they could do or how much money they made. And when he got excited, he waved his hands around and could barely sit still in his chair.

  A server took their empty plates and returned with two bowls of rice-based dishes. One had meat in it, while the other seemed to be vegetable-based. “I believe that’s a goat biriyani.” Mutasem brought a third dish, also vegetarian, and placed it in the center of the table. It was majorly aromatic and contained fresh strawberries as well as nuts, raisins, and vegetables. Each dish looked amazing.

  “I made some meat for your friend and vegetables for you,” he said to Obie. “I hope you enjoy.” He then made the rounds of the dining room, talking to the rest of his patrons while they filled their plates.