Intentional Walk: Dating Mr. Baseball Book 3

by McConnell, Lucy

She laughed through her tears. Trust him to want to make out with a neck brace on. Her body hunched over itself as she drew in a few deep breaths. Cupping his cheeks as best she could, she swore softly. “You make that brace look so good.”

  He chuckled, and she took courage from the fact that there wasn’t any evidence of pain on his face. She leaned in with practiced precision. If there was one thing they were accomplished in, it was kissing.

  When their lips met, a healing balm spread throughout her body. She prayed he felt it too, felt the strength they had when they were together, felt the love that flowed so easily from the depths of her being. She truly believed that she had loved him before she knew him and that their coming together was a completion of one of God’s greatest miracles.

  He moaned softly, and she pulled back. “No. Don’t.” His hand slid to her side, and he prodded her back to his lips. She went willingly, happy to give whatever he needed and getting so much more in return.

  Her tears dried, and the kiss became heated. Needy. She checked herself, not wanting to hurt him. When she pulled back, they were both gasping for breath. She splayed her hands on his chest, needing to feel his heartbeat beneath her skin. The rough hospital gown reminded her that they were not completely alone and the door was open. Hopefully there weren’t any families wandering the hallway.

  His brown eyes ran over her black eye, her cracked lip, and her bandaged forehead. “Are you okay?” His fingers traced her bruise so lightly she hardly felt it.

  “I will be.” She gulped. “What about you?” She ran her hands sideways, towards his shoulders and then down his arms, where she took his hands in hers and held them to her stomach.

  “I broke my neck.” He continued to explain the metal rods in place that wouldn’t go away. The fact that he couldn’t lift his arms or rotate his head even without the brace. His voice grew hoarse, his sentences halting. He used big medical words with Latin origins and five to six syllables. All the while, she watched him sink into himself, the light in his eyes dulling to storm-cloud gray. “They said I can go home in a couple days.”

  She cursed under her breath, the tears welling up once again. Brayden called her his desert gypsy, said she belonged out there like a blooming cactus. She certainly had a well of water in her today. “It’s my fault, Brayd. I shouldn’t have—”

  His grip tightened. “No one blames you.”

  She rounded over their hands and whispered the truth. “I do.”

  “Babe—”

  “You can’t upset the patient. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  Tilly turned to find the nurse with the long black hair standing in the doorway. Her eyes were hard and her shoulders back, thrusting her tiny chest forward.

  Tilly sniffed, swallowing against the block in her throat that made it hard to speak. “I didn’t—”

  “The monitors told me all I need to know.” She stepped into the room and turned off a blinking red light.

  Tilly glanced at Brayden. His face was contorted in pain, though she didn’t know if it was emotional or physical pain that put the look there. “Brayden?” She stood, wanting to give him room and wrap him in her arms at the same time.

  She wrung her hands with indecision. Her gut told her to cling to him; the beeping monitors said she was a danger to his well-being.

  “I—” Brayden started.

  “It’s time for another dose,” interrupted the overly efficient nurse. Her hands deftly took care of tasks Tilly had no idea needed to be done. A wave of uselessness washed over her.

  “You need to leave now.” The nurse smiled, but her words brokered no arguments as she put herself between Tilly and the bed and took a step forward, forcing Tilly back. “He needs rest—not drama.”

  Tilly’s jaw dropped open. Of all the girlfriends and wives of baseball players she knew, she was the least dramatic among them. If Brayden was held up at practice, she rolled with it. If the team was out of town when her family was going through a crisis, she told him to play his best and not worry because she had things covered. She never snooped through his phone, suspecting him of cheating on her. Nor did she pitch fits when women threw themselves at him. She was a freaking rock!

  Which was why she wasn’t about to let this nurse bait her into an argument. She pushed past her, planting a kiss on Brayden’s cheek and then lingering on his lips. “I will see you tomorrow.”

  His lids were heavy from the medication, and he mumbled an answer that sounded like “I love you.”

  “Love you too.” She kissed him once more before standing straight and walking out of the room with more poise than a stinking runway model. Her ankle protested with every step, but she wasn’t about to limp away.

  Nurse Ornery shut the door behind her with a wicked smile. A smile that said she may have won the moment, but the war was far from over. Whatever. Brayden would be out of here soon, and this woman would be a blip of a memory.

  Chapter Five

  Brayden

  “Thanks again for giving me a ride. You’re going above and beyond the call here.” Brayden sat stiffly in the passenger seat of Natalie’s Chevy something-or-other. His buddies were packing for a series, and the bus would leave the stadium in two hours. He couldn’t call one of them away when they had to focus. New York had won two of the three games they’d played here in St. George. They needed to win when they were away, which was always harder than winning in front of the home crowd. Worrying about bringing Brayden home from the hospital wouldn’t do them any favors.

  He hadn’t called Tilly either. He’d seen her bruises, the way she’d limped to his bedside for a visit, and how she’d had to drag herself home. Guilt blanketed him. She was in pain and she was sacrificing for him. He hadn’t told her he was being released today because he didn’t want to make her come get him.

  And his pride to get home on his own. There was no fooling himself. He was going to need a lot of care, but he felt bad automatically putting that responsibility on Tilly, like it was asking too much of her to be with him when he was almost helpless. Helpless enough to become emotional about it.

  Not that he’d cried. No. He wouldn’t cry about losing baseball or the ability to, you know—turn his head. The doc assured him he’d regain some mobility. He’d just have to work for it. Well, he was used to that. He’d worked hard to pitch in the majors. He knew what work was all about.

  The car was white with a gray interior, clean, and it smelled like vanilla, according to the tree hanging from the rearview mirror. He sniffed to see if it was working and didn’t notice any vanilla in the air. He could smell Natalie, though. Her perfume was dull and tangy, like a piece of fruit that had been left in the sun too long.

  “Of course. I couldn’t let my favorite patient take an Uber.” She smiled over at him. Her phone’s robotic voice told her to turn left, and she did. Brayden tried to relax in the seat, but he was worried about the speed bumps and dip in the road—worried that he’d jostle his neck. The fear of reinjury was at the forefront of his mind. He really, really didn’t want to go backwards. Vulnerability was not a comfortable companion, and that was all he’d had to hang out with lately.

  Man, he missed Tilly. They should be lounging on the couch, suffering together, although he wasn’t sure how that was going to happen, considering the location of their injuries. She’d been back to the doctor yesterday because she continued to have headaches—the kind that landed her in bed with a blanket over her face to block out the light.

  They pulled into the subdivision, and a moment later, three shiny vehicles pulled in behind them, following the turns and twists around the golf course that sat in the center of the development. Unable to turn around, he could only see them in the side mirror. He sent up a quick prayer that they weren’t media people looking for an image of him hobbling into his house with a neck brace. He’d had a hard time coming up with blessings to count, outside of Tilly, but at this moment, he was thankful his legs weren’t injured. Thankful that
he could walk himself into the house and wasn’t in a wheelchair.

  He was also thankful that the monitors weren’t attached to his heart, because it thundered. Sweat broke out on his forehead, soaking into the Redrocks ball hat Natalie had bought him from the hospital gift shop to celebrate his release. It didn’t fit like his team-issued gear, and there was a tag rubbing the top of his head. It was a nice gesture, though. After the initial flirty phase wore off, she’d been helpful and understanding throughout his stay and he’d come to trust her more than the other nurses, who were always in such a hurry.

  She pulled into his driveway, and the cars lined up along the curb like some security detail.

  Brayden managed to push the door open and swing his legs out. His gaze swung to Tilly’s house across the street and one house down. She hadn’t lived there more than a month, but the fact that she’d bought the house to be near him was pretty dang awesome.

  The curtains were drawn. He prayed she didn’t have a headache, and if she did, that she was able to sleep. Taking care of her would be difficult but he couldn’t tamp down on the protectiveness that rose up inside of him when it came to her. She was the toughest woman he knew, probably didn’t need his protection at all, and yet he felt like a giant when she was around. Not only because he dwarfed her in size, but because she brought out the best in him, made him feel like he was more than when he was alone.

  Car doors slammed and he pushed himself out of the low vehicle. Natalie rounded the front fender, scolding him. “You should have waited for me to help you.”

  He would have shaken his head at her, if he could have. “I have to start doing things on my own. You’re not always going to be here.”

  She opened her mouth, a protest already written in her eyes, but her words were caught off by Elise, who called out to him as she walked up the driveway. “That’s what I like to hear.” He moved his shoulders so he could see her. A happy grin split Elise’s freckled face. “It’s good to see you on your feet, big guy.” She reached up and gave him a quick hug.

  Brayden relaxed just a little knowing Elise was on his side. She was a friend and his buddy’s girl. She was also one of the best physical therapists he’d known in the majors. Her hug was followed closely by a pat on the back from Doc Burningham. Doc’s once auburn hair was now a dusty brown, but his eyes were as sharp as ever. The team physician looked him over as one would a car they wanted to buy—a used car with a few dents.

  Brayden’s smile grew. “I didn’t know you guys made house calls. And to think I’ve been driving over to the stadium like a schmuck all this time.”

  Doc cuffed him lightly on the arm. He was holding back, but Brayden didn’t mind. Vulnerability clung to him like a parasite.

  “They do when she calls them,” said Coach Wolfe as he pointed to his wife, Harper, who walked beside him.

  Brayden softened to see the team owner on his doorstep. Mrs. Wolfe was a busy woman, and for her and Coach to take time to visit him the moment he got home was a huge compliment—a testament to the value they placed on Brayden as a Redrock. Especially since they were due to fly out soon. Of course, Harper owned the jet, so it wouldn’t leave until she said it would.

  “We should …” Brayden cleared his throat. The injuries brought emotions closer to the surface. Like he’d snapped his man card when he landed or something. “We should head inside where it’s cooler.”

  “Who’s this?” asked Elise. She had her head cocked to the side and was staring at Natalie.

  Brayden had forgotten she was there. “Oh, I’m sorry. This is Natalie. She’s a nurse at the hospital and a friend. She offered to help me get home today.”

  Elise’s eyebrows sprang up. “I’ll bet she did.” She gave Natalie a cool smile and offered her hand. “I’m Elise Smith. This is Doctor Burningham. We’re going to take over Brayden’s post-op recovery.”

  Natalie’s eyes widened. “Oh, I’m not here as a nurse. I’m here as a friend. And as a friend, I’m going to take his bag inside and help him get settled.” She patted his duffel bag hanging over her shoulder.

  Mrs. Wolfe stepped forward. “Well, isn’t that kind of you. But don’t be silly. Let these guys be gentlemen.” She reached for the bag and took it out of Natalie’s hands, passing it to Coach before the woman had a chance to protest. “Brayden’s a Redrock, and we take care of our own.”

  Brayden swallowed the thickness in his throat. By all accounts, he should be on the short list for contract cancellation. Yet here was the owner, expressly stating that he was still a member of the team. Wait … He glanced at Doc. Did they know something he didn’t know? Was there hope for his arm? Would he be able to throw again? He stood a little taller at the idea. If he could just get back on the mound and be a contributing part of the team, then he’d be able to propose to Tilly and give her everything he’d promised.

  Brayden could swear Coach was trying not to laugh as he headed for the front door, keeping his face turned away from Natalie. Elise’s face was smooth with smugness. She flipped around so fast, her red ponytail whipped Natalie’s arm. It was almost as if she thought Natalie was after something more than the rewards of a kind deed.

  Brayden stared after them, trying to work out what was going on. They didn’t have a reason to dislike Natalie. She’d been a friend to him when he needed someone to lean on. She wasn’t doing any of this for money, and she hadn’t outright flirted with him in days. Then again, it was hard for athletes to trust people—there was always the question of whether they liked you or your fame more. Maybe there was a little of that going on here.

  Doc took Brayden’s arm. “Come on, son. Let’s get you inside and out of this heat.”

  Brayden wouldn’t have admitted it, but he was drained. He shouldn’t be. All he’d done was get dressed in shorts with an elastic waist and go for a car ride. He should be ready to hit the cages, run drills, throw a bullpen. He should be pacing like a caged animal. Instead, his feet were as heavy as a bucket of balls and just as coordinated.

  “Thanks for the ride,” he said to Natalie.

  She glanced at Mrs. Wolfe, a sliver of fear in her eyes. He didn’t know why; Mrs. Wolfe was one of the nicest owners on the planet.

  “I really appreciate it,” he added, hoping to dispel some of the mistrust. Natalie hadn’t once acted like a fangirl. She was professional with a dash of friendliness.

  Emboldened by his words, she stepped forward and handed him a slip of paper. “Call me if you need anything. I’d be happy to help you with some of the basics until you’re back into a routine.”

  He took the paper, and her other hand grasped his. His eyes darted to Tilly’s house. She wouldn’t blink at the interaction. Fans put their arms around him for pictures and touched his hands all the time. But this felt different, like he was letting Tilly down because he allowed the contact.

  Natalie leaned closer. “I’ve enjoyed getting to know you.”

  Doc cleared his throat, not relinquishing Brayden’s arm or backing away.

  Natalie dropped his hand like it was a metal bat that had been left outside in the August heat. Her cheeks flushed.

  Brayden tucked the card into his pocket. “Thanks. I’ll let you know.”

  The three of them—he, Doc, and Mrs. Wolfe—walked slowly into the house. It was strange not to be able to look down at his feet as he climbed the steps. He relied on muscle memory and was grateful for the familiar surroundings. His couch with the foldout bed. His one recliner, which was big enough for him and Tilly to cuddle in as long as Tilly was halfway on his lap. Man, he loved that chair.

  “Is she gone?” Elise asked Mrs. Wolfe.

  Mrs. Wolfe nodded sagely.

  “She’s a friend.” Brayden felt the need to clarify to defend himself.

  Elise lifted her nose in the air as she rearranged the throw pillows around on the couch. “Sit here. I’m going to work on your shoulders for a couple minutes, and then I’m headed over to see Tilly. She needs to move even if it doesn’t
feel good.”

  “That doesn’t make me want to sit there.”

  “Sit,” urged Doc. “She’s been ordered to take it easy on you.”

  Elise cracked her knuckles.

  Brayden eyed Doc, telling him that he was trusting him. Doc chuckled and took the seat next to the pillow throne. Coach took the recliner, and Mrs. Wolfe perched on the armrest. Coach’s arm floated around her. The movement was natural, like he had done it a thousand times and had no inclination of ever stopping.

  Elise laid a palm on his back to indicate that she was about to start the massage. He sucked in, tensing. The PT at the hospital had been … insistent. He had no idea what post-trauma massage was supposed to feel like, but the motto on the guy’s shirt was “No pain, no gain.” That pretty much summed up Brayden’s experience with him.

  Elise kept the pressure light, waiting for him to soften. When it clicked that she wasn’t a threat, he released his breath and his shoulders lowered. She moved to press deeper into his trapezius, and he felt days’ worth of pressure slipping away. “She deserves a raise,” he said to Mrs. Wolfe.

  “I’m open to a discussion.” She winked.

  “Speaking of discussing things.” Coach scooted forward on the chair. His posture was stiff, his eyes tight. “I don’t know what the doctors told you …”

  Brayden’s stomach filled with helium. He’d prayed so hard that he’d be able to play again. If anyone could make it happen, it was this group of people. “They said I’d have limited mobility.”

  Doc nodded. “That’s right. A full windup is not in your future.”

  “I’ll learn to throw sidearm. Like Alverez.” He mimicked the flick of the wrist as best he could.

  Doc’s eyes darkened. “You’re done pitching, Brayden. Sidearm isn’t an option with the pins in your neck. You’d never get the speed.”

  The helium soured and his body became heavy. Exhaustion, depression, whatever you wanted to call it, he sank under the confirmation that he was no longer an MLB pitcher. It was like swallowing a bat.