"PIII!" went the sound of the referee's whistle, putting an end to the match between the Royals and the Bulldogs.
But despite the crushing victory the Royals had achieved, their mood wasn't that of a team that had just won a game; instead, all the players and both coaches were in a tense silence, waiting for the responsible medic to give his verdict.
"How's it looking, doc?" Coach Arbitello suddenly asked, breaking the tense silence that hung over the team's atmosphere.
"Uhm," the doctor murmured, still focused on Aaron's wrist, evaluating it with extreme detail, not missing a single thing.
"Will he be okay?" Artie asked this time, wanting the doctor to finally tell them if the situation was serious or if everything would be fine for Aaron.
"Will he be able to keep playing?" Omar asked, equally worried, as he and the rest of the team crowded around the medic.
"Will he keep playing the season?" Corey asked this time, more concerned about the remainder of the season rather than the tournament, which would end tomorrow anyway.
After that, the other players didn't wait, bombarding the medic with one question after another. He was getting fed up, and a vein was growing larger on his forehead as a sign of frustration from all the questions being thrown at him.
"Silence!!!" the doctor shouted, silencing everyone while he refocused on Aaron's wrist, which was held out firmly toward him.
"Does it hurt if you close your fist?" the doctor asked Aaron this time, wanting him to perform the action he had requested.
At that moment, Aaron began to open and close his fist several times, trying to feel any abnormality or strange sensation, but feeling nothing after doing it several times, he shook his head toward the medic.
"Now I want you to slowly rotate your wrist." That was the doctor's next instruction to finish analyzing the condition of Aaron's wrist and finally give his verdict.
The moment Aaron tried to rotate his wrist even the slightest bit, he felt a sting, like a prick, that wouldn't let him move it. "Ugh," he made a face before placing the wrist back in its original position.
Seeing that, the doctor simply said, "It's just a sprain; it'll be fine in 1 or 2 weeks." The doctor then proceeded to put a cold compress on Aaron's wrist and told him to let it rest.
"But the game is tomorrow," Aaron countered, not wanting to miss the most important game in which the team could probably win the tournament.
"If you play with your wrist like that, you could go from a grade 1 sprain to a grade 2, and then you could be out for even more weeks without being able to play," the doctor told him more seriously, leaving him no way out and making it clear that he shouldn't play.
"Is there seriously nothing we can do so he can play tomorrow?" Coach Arbitello asked the doctor this time, wanting to know if there was any other option. Call him selfish, but for that game, he had already devised a strategy and plays that depended on Aaron's ball handling in the paint.
"Unless he shoots only with his right hand, I doubt he can do anything on the hardwood," was the doctor's simple response, letting them know that Aaron couldn't play in the slightest with his left hand if he didn't want the injury to worsen.
"That's enough for me," Aaron said suddenly, interrupting the doctor upon knowing he had a chance to play tomorrow.
"Are you sure?" Artie asked, not very convinced, knowing the limitations that come with playing with only one hand in a game, especially one as important as tomorrow's.
"Trust me, coach," Aaron said, addressing Coach Arbitello directly. Arbitello was totally quiet at that moment, as if weighing the pros and cons of putting Aaron in tomorrow's game despite the injury.
In Joe Arbitello's mind, a debate was taking place. His rational side told him it was a bad idea to put a player who couldn't use one of his hands into a game as important as tomorrow's, and that instead, he should trust Dominykas and the rest of the players at his disposal.
But a small part of his mind told him to trust the player in front of him, who was giving him a fierce and determined look, as if he hadn't yet given his best and could keep playing tomorrow despite the injury. Call him crazy, but he trusted his instincts and what they were telling him to do now.
After what seemed like several minutes, Coach Arbitello finally decided to speak, breaking the silence he had kept until then. "Alright." Those simple words released the tension in Aaron's shoulders, making him let out the breath he didn't know he had been holding while waiting for the coach's verdict.
"You're crazy!!" Artie shouted in disbelief at his friend, thinking he had misheard that his friend would send a player who had just suffered an injury to play a game tomorrow despite having a substitute center.
"You saw what I saw; we need that level of ball handling," was Coach Arbitello's clinical response to Artie, knowing that if he also got worked up at that moment, the situation could spiral out of control.
"His wrist is injured," Artie countered, making it clear he didn't agree with his friend's plan to send an injured player onto the court just to win a title.
"You heard the doc; as long as he doesn't make sudden movements with the wrist, he'll be fine," Coach Arbitello said, turning his head toward the doctor, who was also paying attention to the discussion between both coaches, as were the rest of the players. "Right, doc?" the coach asked.
"Theoretically, yes. As long as he doesn't make sudden movements and his wrist isn't swollen by tomorrow, with a wrap, he should be okay," the doctor replied, giving his professional opinion and emphasizing the limitations Aaron would suffer tomorrow.
At that moment, a silent duel of stares was taking place between Coach Arbitello and Artie, both staring fixedly at each other, trying to make the other back down in their unshakeable duel until some people interrupted.
"Are you okay?" came Melissa's worried voice. Everyone heard her; she had run as fast as she could onto the court the moment she saw Aaron knocked down and clutching his wrist.
"I'm fine, Mom," Aaron said with a smile while doing everything possible to distract his mother from the injury, but Melissa wasn't going to let it slide so easily.
Quickly, Melissa took Aaron's wrist in her hands, removing the ice pack and seeing the redness on her son's wrist.
"What does he have?" Melissa immediately asked the doctor, who began to explain everything about the sprain and that Aaron had decided to play in tomorrow's game.
"Absolutely not!!" Melissa shouted at her son upon hearing he planned to play despite the injured wrist. "Don't even think I'll let you play with your wrist like that," was the last thing Melissa said, giving Aaron a significant look.
"Could you leave us alone for a moment, please?" Aaron asked everyone present, and they didn't need to be told twice before leaving as quickly as possible, not wanting to be part of a mother-son argument.
"Good luck," Omar told him; he had been sitting next to Aaron. He stood up and gave Melissa a nod as he headed toward the tunnel with his teammates, leaving the two of them alone to talk.
"Mom, I—" Aaron started before being quickly cut off by Melissa.
"No, Aaron," Melissa said, more sharp and serious this time now that they were alone on the court. "Don't think I'll let you play with a wrist injury," Melissa stated, not giving an inch.
"But Mom, tomorrow is the last game," Aaron argued to his mother, trying to make her understand that tomorrow was the final and most important game, where it would be decided if their team took home the trophy or not.
"Your wrist is messed up!!" Melissa raised her voice at her stubborn son, who seemed not to fully grasp the gravity of the injury. "I know it's important, but there will be other tournaments," Melissa replied to Aaron's argument.
"It's only the left one, and the doc said I'd be fine," Aaron said, using the doctor's words in his favor while downplaying the injury, which at that moment was under a cold compress resting firmly on his lap.
Suddenly, Melissa quickly moved her hands to Aaron's left wrist, and before he could wonder what she was trying to do, she gave it a light squeeze, causing Aaron to hiss in pain. He quickly pulled his wrist away from his mother's hands.
"What are you doing?!" Aaron asked in disbelief at what his mother had done while putting the ice pack back on his wrist, quickly calming the pain she had caused.
"I'm proving a point," Melissa said, having confirmed with Aaron's reaction that he indeed had a wrist sprain and what he needed most right now was rest, not playing an intense 32-minute game where he could make the injury worse.
At that precise moment, Paola and Hector arrived. "How is he?" Paola asked as soon as she saw her nephew with his wrist under the compress, while listening to Melissa give her a summary of what the doctor had said and Aaron's plan to play injured.
"You're crazy!!" Paola exclaimed, taking her friend's side upon hearing Aaron's idea of playing despite being injured. "If you play like that, that injury could get even worse than it already is," Paola added, giving her nephew a meaningful look of reproach, not agreeing with what Aaron was thinking.
Facing the reproach of both women and seeing that he desperately needed an ally, Aaron fixed his gaze on the only man who could help him right now. "Hector, you understand me, right?" Aaron asked, making both women's gazes shift from him to the man who, until that moment, had stayed happily quiet, waiting for the situation to resolve itself.
"I..." Hector started to say, until seeing the looks the two women in front of him were giving him, he wisely decided to hold his words, returning the ball to Aaron. "I trust whatever Aaron does," he finally said, giving his support to the boy he had watched play for several years.
With a sigh, Aaron decided to continue his speech. "Look, I know you're worried about this," he said, slightly lifting his wrist. "But trust me, I know I can play. Besides, the coach wouldn't put me on the court if he didn't see that I could perform at my best," Aaron finished, waiting for the verdict of the two most important women in his life at that moment.
Both women stared at each other, just as Coach Arbitello and Artie had seconds before, having a silent debate in which every now and then they shook their heads and then nodded. While that was happening, both Hector and Aaron looked at each other with confusion on their faces as they waited for the verdict.
"Alright, you can play," Melissa said, bringing the smile back to Aaron's face. "But as soon as the coach takes you off the court, I don't want you doing anything to get him to put you back in unless he tells you to enter, understood?" Melissa finished, not willing to negotiate further.
"That's all I ask," Aaron said, then stood up and hugged both women.
"Go take a shower, you stink," Paola said, putting her hand to her nose at the smell coming off Aaron's body.
Laughing under his breath, Aaron immediately grabbed his things and headed toward the players' tunnel, ready to hit the showers and head back to the hotel with his teammates. While he mentally wondered how to play now that his use of his left hand was limited, despite the inconvenience that supposed, a smile appeared on his face—ready to accept that challenge with open arms without letting it limit him in tomorrow's game.
Authors thought's
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