His fingers touch my skin, and I nearly jerk away from the contact. Not because it hurts, though it does, but because the touch is so clinical. So fucking confident. Like my body is a problem he’s already halfway to solving. His hands are cool against my overheated skin, moving with steady pressure across my shoulder and upper back.
“How long has this been bothering you?” he asks, pressing into a spot that makes me see white.
“It doesn’t bother me.”
He presses again, harder this time. I hiss out a breath.
“Six months,” Renata answers for me. “I’ve forced him to see three different doctors. Had a CT scan done six weeks ago. They found nothing.”
Dr. Shepard makes a small sound in his throat. “A pain like this isn’t nothing.” His fingers probe deeper, tracing thecontours of muscle and bone. “Have you noticed any numbness in your arm or hand? Tingling? Weakness when gripping?”
I don’t answer. Because fuck him for asking. And fuck me for having every single one of those symptoms.
“Range of motion is severely limited,” he continues, speaking to Renata like I’m not even here. “It might be inflammation around the rotator cuff, and the way he’s compensating is creating secondary issues in the trapezius and cervical spine.”
“In English?” I snap.
His eyes meet mine. “Your shoulder is falling apart, and you’re making it worse by fighting through it. I suspect rotator cuff tendinopathy, maybe impingement, possibly nerve irritation. You need proper diagnosis and treatment before you do permanent damage.”
“You can tell all that from touching me for thirty seconds?”
“I can tell enough to know you need help.”
Renata steps forward. “I’ll have his medical records sent to your office. The CT scans, everything the other doctors did.”
That snaps me out of whatever trance I’ve been in. I step away from Dr. Shepard’s touch, putting distance between us. “No, you fucking won’t. I don’t need another doctor poking at me and telling me to take it easy. I have a fight in four weeks.”
“A fight you’ll lose if you can’t use your right arm,” Dr. Shepard says, dropping his hands to his sides. “Or worse, a fight that could end your career.”
I move into his space, using my size the way I always do. Towering over him, letting my presence fill the room until there’s no air left for anyone else. It works on everyone.Opponents, refs, other fighters. Everyone backs down when the Brickhouse steps up.
But Dr. Riley Shepard doesn’t. He doesn’t even blink. Just looks up at me with those steady green eyes, unflinching.
“You don’t know me,” I growl. “You don’t know what I can fight through.”
“I know anatomy,” he replies, voice quiet but firm. “And yours is telling me that you’re one bad move away from surgery.”
“Jacob,” Renata says, trying to play peacemaker. “Dr. Shepard is the best. He works with professional fighters all the time. If anyone can get you ready for the Reyes fight—”
“I’m already ready.” I grab my towel from the bench. “And I’m done with this conversation.”
I storm past both of them, heading for the showers at the back of the locker room. I don’t look back, don’t acknowledge the frustration in Renata’s sigh or the calm silence from Dr. Shepard. I just need space. Need water hot enough to burn away this weakness before it spreads.
The shower room is empty, thank fuck. I strip off my shorts and step under the nearest showerhead, cranking the handle until the water is just shy of scalding. It pounds against my skin, masking the throbbing in my shoulder for a few blissful seconds.
From the locker room, I can hear Renata’s voice, just barely audible over the spray.
“I’m sorry about this. I should have warned you it would be dramatic.”
“It’s fine,” Dr. Shepard’s voice is lower, harder to catch. “Our reunion was bound to be awkward, regardless of the circumstances.”
“Still,” Renata says, “I appreciate you coming on such short notice.”
I strain to hear more, but their voices drop too low, and then there’s the sound of the locker room door opening and closing. They’re gone, leaving me with nothing but questions I don’t want to ask and a shoulder that burns like it’s being torn apart from the inside.
I turn my face up into the spray, letting it hit me hard enough to feel like punishment. Whatever their history is, it doesn’t matter. Dr. Riley Shepard doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except getting through the next four weeks and destroying Reyes in that cage.
The pain will just have to wait.