Athletic Trainer Oblivion Novels & Stories

Through the dust, I watched the twin shapes of obsidian and gold grow smaller and smaller, effortlessly gliding toward the blinding white archway of the stadium entrance. They didn't look back. They didn't even drop a fraction of a second from their split times to see if I would get up. "Medical unit to the lower valley path," a spotter's voice called out from the tree line, echoing softly through the mist. "We have an athlete down. Harrison primary anchor." "Stay down, Caleb," a voice muttered.

The team filed in gradually, some still pulling their shirts over their heads, others carrying water bottles and the particular brand of easy confidence that came with being professional athletes. They ranged in age, the youngest barely twenty, the oldest closer to thirty-five, and every single one of them looked at me with the same polite skepticism. I had expected that. "Alright," I breathed, when the last of them had settled onto the benches. "I'll make this quick because I know you all have ice time after this. My name is Nymeria Kane. I'm your new physical trainer, and yes, Christopher is my brother, and no, that doesn't mean this is going to be easy."

Tom's voice brought me back from my task at hand, and I looked over at our school's athletic trainer with a small smile. "Hey Tom, please tell me that you don't mind if I use this," I begged as I continued to shovel the ice with the handheld shovel, assuming that he would say it was okay. I knew that because I wasn't a student-athlete, he had every right to say no. My arms continued to shovel as I asked, and I could almost hear the desperation in my voice as I looked up.

After all, even he could not understand how my mind worked. But fortunately, I did not disappoint him this time as I shook my head at them. "You aren't truly sorry. You're just scared of Theodore's retribution. You're only worried about yourselves. My obliviousness is just a way to protect myself. But now that I know you wanted to hurt me, I won't let this be." Only then did I understand why I had become so oblivious. Back at the orphanage, many adults had said we were children who had been abandoned. There had been plenty of bullying among the children too.

he said, voice deep. I stepped inside. He had cleared a big space in the living room with mats on the floor and some weights in the corner. The lights were dim. It didn’t feel like a normal training session. I set my bag down. “Ready to work out?” Chapter 9: The Live Stream

he said, his voice filled with a mix of pride and amusement, “I convinced them that I needed to come back home. Truth be told, when I got off the ice, my knee was killing me, and I guess it was the work of God.” He laughed, making me frown as I looked up at him because honestly, I didn’t understand what he was trying to tell me here. “Did you know one of the best athletic trainers lives in Florida?” Caleb asked me, his eyebrow playfully rising. “George Hallings.” He added, nodding at me.

She left an hour before midnight, saying that she's sleepy. I spent an hour training alone, thinking about how will this mission goes. I mean, in a mission, you don't know if it's going to succeed or not, you don't know if you're going to be killed or not, you don't know what obstacles will we have to face. I ended up ruining 2 good punch bags. I sighed, I think it's enough for the night. I pick up my towel and water bottle and turned off the light. Just as I was about to leave the training room, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

Then Trey, doesn't know this much, I was certain too. “Who told you that?” “No one had to.” Just when I thought that was all, he continued calmly “You’ve also been practicing alone lately while the rest of your team is on the ice.” That answer only made things worse. How many more people have been watching me and know this much about me? “Our organization has access to excellent medical resources; Specialists, Surgeons, Rehabilitation programs designed specifically for elite athletes.” I didn’t interrupt. “All expenses covered,” he added. The words hung in the air. For a moment I said nothing.

“Mobility is back. Power is there. But you’re holding back. Emotionally.” Martin exhaled sharply, staring at the ceiling tiles. “Habit.” The trainer paused, hands still. “The alley left more than bruises. You’re afraid to trust the body again. Afraid to trust the game. Afraid to trust him.” Martin closed his eyes. The trainer didn’t push. Just continued the work in silence, the only sound the rain tapping the window and the occasional creak of the treatment table. Every press, every stretch, every deep breath felt like peeling back layers he had kept buried for months—the fear of re-injury, the guilt of running, the terror that Damien would finally stop waiting.