Chapter 207 Game Three: University Preparatory H.S. 6

"No, just let me see!" Noah reached for me.

I held on tightly, keeping my jersey close to my body so he couldn't pull it away. Not because I was afraid of the bruise that ball had definitely left, but because of the scars I had all over. Just last year I had a few broken ribs that needed a correction surgery so they wouldn't cut my lungs, plus all the times my mom had beat me hard enough to break the skin. She never took me to a hospital growing up so I never had stitches. Everything had to heal on its own.

"Is it that bad? Should I get the trainer?" Noah worriedly examined my extreme reaction to make sure he couldn't see.

"He's definitely going to go see the athletic trainer." Zeke appeared, with Coach right beside him. "You heard Dad yesterday. Trainer or doctor."

"I've already asked an official to bring the trainer here." Coach continued right after Zeke. "You took a hard hit."

"I'm okay." I mumbled. "It's just a bruise."

Coach frowned. "Even so. I'm taking you out. You see Zeke, don't you? He played with his bruise and now has to sit a week. Do you also want to sit a week?"

I glanced at Noah and saw him pouting still. I don't know if he was upset or not with me not showing him, but I didn't want to make it worse. We still had a game on Thursday and I don't want to upset Noah even more. "I'll rest. But really, I don't need to see the trainer."

Coach glanced around the dugout. "Roberts! Start stretching and warming up. You'll be going in for Jake." John jumped up and started to move around.

"The trainer is here." Zeke stated, waving over the man from yesterday, who had just walked in the dugout before the inning started. Daniel was up to bat with Kelvin and Bryce following behind.

The trainer walked over and nodded at Zeke. "I heard someone took a ball to the chest?"

"A harder grounder." Zeke pointed at me. "He also isn't very compliant."

"You better become compliant." Coach warned. "Or else you'll be sitting for the next month."

I looked down at my hands, holding my jersey to my chest. "Does everyone have to look? Can't it be private?"

"Jake is super shy." Noah sighed. "He doesn't even change in front of me in the bedroom. Nor does he change clothes in the dugout or clubroom back at our school."

"Hmmm." The trainer hummed. "Well, I can take you back to the tent where I examined your teammates yesterday."

I looked to Coach. "Can Mr. Atkins come with me?"

Coach nodded.

I slowly stood up. "Should I bring my bag?"

"Leave it. Kyle has nothing to do." Zeke replied. "He'll carry it. We'll meet up after the game. If you're quick, you can watch the ending from the stands like Dave, wherever he's hiding."

I glanced at Noah. "Sorry."

"Don't be silly." Noah brushed it off. "I'll do the comeback win so after you get the all clear, we'll be playing in the finals." Noah pumped his fist.

I smiled at his unending optimism. Then I followed the trainer out the far exit since the game was still going on. Some of the team shared their well wishes and pats on my back or even just a nod in my direction.

"You're quite popular on the team." The trainer commented as we walked to the stands.

I shook my head. "Not really." As we got close to the stands, I looked for the Atkins.

"Jake!" They were waiting in the front row. The two of them stood up and walked over to me and the trainer.

"Hello, nice to see you again. I'm Mason Washburn, the athletic trainer from yesterday." The man shook their hands. "I was asked to come look at Jake's injury from a hard hit ball."

Mrs. Atkins nodded immediately. "Please do. It looked awful from here. I couldn't imagine how it felt." She looked me over worriedly. "Are you feeling okay? Would you rather go to the doctor?"

"I'm okay." I mumbled.

"He won't let me see his injury in front of others so we're going back to the tent. He asked if someone else could be there and I said yes. I like when the parents are present just to make sure they understand what's going on as well."

"We're Jake's guardians." Mrs. Atkins claimed. "I can go with you, Jake."

I looked at Mr. Atkins in a hurry. He caught the look of panic I shot him. He gave a tight smile and patted his wife's hand. "Why don't you watch the rest of the game? To cheer for Noah. And to send us updates. I'll go with Jake."

Mrs. Atkins was about to disagree, but after a look down at me, she sighed. "Okay. Let me know if it's anything serious. Or if it's okay. Just give me a rundown too."

Mr. Atkins smiled and placated his wife. "Of course. Have your phone on you." He pecked her on the cheek and then went with us to the tent from yesterday.

I was asked to sit on the table and remove my jersey and shirt. I nervously looked at Mr. Atkins. "I'm-I-There's...uhhh." I stumbled trying to find the words. Mr. Atkins waited calmly as the trainer watched us in confusion. "I have-there are-um. Scars." I finally spat out. "I have scars."

Mr. Atkins nodded, understanding what I was getting to. "I have scars too. Both inside and out. Will it make you more comfortable if I turn away?"

"Just—don't stare, okay?" I took off my jersey. Then my long sleeve, revealing my upper body.

The trainer, Mason, took in a sudden deep breath of air. "My god." He let out as he got a good look of my chest and stomach. I had a over twenty scars, big and small, white and red, crisscrossing all over. The biggest scars were from emergency surgery last year, measuring the longest at four inches. The small scars were from when my mother would stab me with a pen or a box cutter knife. Whatever was convenient for her and within reach during one of her episodes.

I looked away, shy from the attention.

"I." The trainer stood up straight and cleared his throat. "This. I've never seen anything like this."

"They're old. From my mom." I spoke up, hoping he wouldn't think they were from Mr. Atkins. "Last year. Now I live with the Atkins."

Mason looked to Mr. Atkins for confirmation.

Mr. Atkins nodded. "We've recently been given guardianship. Jake has been with us for almost a month. How does the recent hit to the chest look?"

Mason came close and gingerly touched the ball mark forming on my chest. "It'll definitely bruise. Does this hurt when I push over here?" He pushed down beside the oncoming bruise. Then beside it. He had my lie down and pushed on other places. I answered all his questions and complied with all his requests. "No trouble breathing?"

I shook my head. "Only at first."

"That's common with hits to the chest." He glanced back at Mr. Atkins, who had patiently waited to the side and was sending updates to his wife. "I don't believe anything is broken or that it's anything more than a bruise. However, if breathing problems crop up, I suggest going to the emergency room immediately. Keep an eye on him. I'll set you up with some ice before you put your shirts back on." He said the last line to me.

He grabbed a bag, filled it with ice, then held it to the spot on my chest as he wrapped me up. He helped me put on my long sleeve, stretching it over my bulging chest of ice, and then I put my jersey back on.

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