by Jill Shalvis
boxers and his splint, the personification of big, edgy, testosterone-fueled male. “I’m sorry, okay?” His voice was tense. “I don’t think you’d expose me in any way, any more than you’d bash my head in, even though I’m close to begging you to do just that.” He closed his eyes. “But you should really go because I’m an ass today.”
“Today?”
His lips actually quirked. “Yeah, yeah.”
Dammit, he was gorgeous and hurting so much, but she shook her head. Not going to be moved by that. “I think I’ll just grant your first request and leave you alone for your bath.”
One of these days, she told herself as she headed into his kitchen, someone was going to accept her at face value. Not for what she did for a living, but for the woman beneath, the one who maybe didn’t believe in love or happily ever afters, but secretly, desperately, wanted to.
She opened his fridge to get him something to drink to combat the tell-tale nausea that was making him green, and settled on toast and tea, which she brought back down the hall.
He emerged from the bathroom with a towel around his waist, pale, wan, shaking, and looking like death warmed over. He headed directly toward his bed, all dark eyes and stubbled strong jaw and edgy attitude, with droplets of water scattered over his long, tough body. She watched one fall from his hair to the tense muscles of his back, then run down the indention of his spine before vanishing into the towel. Her tongue would like to make the same trek.
“Thought you walked,” he said.
“Is that what you’d do? Walk away?”
“No, that’s what other people do to me.”
Her heart squeezed hard. “Well, I’ve never been very good at walking away, even when I should. Lie down, Pace, before you drop. I’ll go get the pills.”
He unhooked his towel and let it fall to the floor. Naked, he hit the bed, sprawling half facedown, half on his good side. He didn’t cover himself up—either because he didn’t care or because he couldn’t. Choosing to believe it was the latter, she pulled the covers over him, over those mile-long powerful legs, over the buns of steel she wanted to lean down and bite, over the sleek, smooth, sinewy expanse of his back.
“Thanks,” he muttered into his pillow. “Fair warning, my stomach is considering revolting.”
“Eat the toast.” She sat it down by him, then went back to the foyer for her purse, where she’d stuffed his pain pills.
There on the tile floor was the duffel bag Tucker had left. It’d opened a little when he’d tossed it down, and a foil pack was sticking out. Two of them, actually, one a vitamin packet, the other a powder labeled a long name she didn’t recognize.
She picked it up and flipped it over to read the ingredients, and recognized none. Grabbing Pace’s pills and the packet, she went back to his bedroom to ask him about it, but he was out like a light. She covered him with another blanket and went back to her bag, where she pulled out her laptop. With one ear cocked for Pace and anything he might need, she set about doing some research, while also doing the other thing she’d promised—not walking away.
Chapter 21
It’s no coincidence that female interest in the sport of baseball has increased greatly since the ballplay- ers swapped those wonderful old-time baggy flannel uniforms for leotards.
—Mike Royko
By early evening, Tucker had gone back to Pace’s place. Sam dropped by as well, and Gage’s sister, and a few other friends. With Pace still sleeping, showing no signs of waking until morning, Holly left him in good hands. She went home to call a contact of hers in LA, who worked at a pharmaceutical company and could identify just about any substance.
“Yeah,” he said, confirming her fears on the powder she’d found in Tucker’s bag. “Those ingredients are made to pour into a water bottle and be taken by mouth, like the vitamin pack. They’re natural, plant-based, with no manufactured derivatives, but it’s a stimulant, no way about it, and just as potent. They’ve been taking that stuff for several years in Europe now, and interestingly enough, it’s virtually undetectable unless looked for in the urine almost immediately after consumption. Going to be popular, that one is, once word gets out.”
Holly had a feeling that word was already out—at least on the Heat. And damn if she didn’t finally have her secret.
She just wasn’t sure she still wanted it.
She asked her contact to e-mail her the information so she’d have it in writing, and then, while she was doing things she shouldn’t be, early the next morning she used her press pass to get into the Heat facilities. There she sought out some of the support-team members and learned in casual conversation through two different trainers and an equipment manager that there were only two players Tucker was supplying with daily supplements on top of the vitamin enriched water everyone drank: Henry and Ty.
Which meant that the two players who’d had the DUI and disorderly conduct run-in, which had started this whole wave of bad press for the Heat, were the only two players being supplied by Tucker—a guy she’d just discovered carrying banned substances.
Coincidence? Maybe.
But Holly didn’t believe in coincidence. She called Pace. “How are you feeling?
“Like I was hit by a truck.”
“Can I come see you?”
“You’re asking? What happened to demanding and bossy?”
“I’m trying something new.”
“I’m in bed,” he said, his voice going silky. “You bringing TLC?”
“I am.” She sighed, knowing she had to break the mood and say something. “Pace?”
“Uh-oh. I know that tone. I’m not going to like this, am I?”
“Is Tucker still there?”
“Sleeping. Why?”
“I took a foil packet that was falling out of his bag in your foyer.”
“A vitamin pack?”
“No. Something else. The contents are basically the equivalent of a stimulant, which is the same stuff you tested positive for. The same stuff you didn’t knowingly ingest.”
“What?”
“Yeah, it’s an herbal, all-natural version, but still a stimulant.”
He was silent.
“Pace? Don’t you think it’s odd that Tucker has it in his bag? A known banned substance? When he deals vitamins and protein supplements to professional athletes?”
“How do you know what you found?”
“I went to a friend, a pharmaceutical expert.”
“Jesus, Holly.”
“It was off the record, Pace. He has no idea where I got it, or why. He says the stuff is undetectable after a few days in your system. Which means—”
“I know what you think it means.” He let out a long breath. “It means a player could certainly risk a few days without being tested, because we have that much warning, at least.”
“Yes. It also means that there’s going to be athletes who use it to cheat the system. Which in the long run means falsifying records, encouraging kids to—”
“Whoa, hold up. Tucker isn’t a professional athlete.”
“No, but he’s likely supplying them with this stuff.” And here’s what was bugging her. “Why don’t you sound surprised at this?”
“Holly.” He sounded tired. Frustrated. “You’re thinking you’re sniffing out a story, but you don’t have one.”
“Yes, I do.”
“You have no proof that he’s given the stimulants to anyone.”
“You tested positive, Pace. And you don’t know how.”
“So, what, you’re suggesting that a lifelong friend drugged me?” he asked incredulously. “Without my knowledge?”
“I don’t know what I think. All I’m saying is that you tested positive for a drug you don’t use, a drug he has in his possession.”
“Okay.” Pain was clear in his voice, and she knew it wasn’t all physical now—her fault. “I’ll get to the bottom of this, Holly. You—”
“Stay out of it?”
“Please.”
“What line?”
“My personal line of right and wrong. And hopefully yours, too.”
“Don’t, Holly. Don’t even try to line my morality up with yours, because I’m not sure I could measure up. I’m not sure anyone could measure up.”
“I have to do this,” she said quietly.
“So what was that line you fed me about not walking away? Because to do this, you aren’t just walking, you’re running.”
“No, I’m not. I’m just doing my job. It’s what I’m doing here, Pace. I have to. But I’m not walking away from you.”
He was quiet a moment. “I guess that’s a matter of opinion,” he finally said.
“Pace—”
“I’ve got to go.”
She shut her phone, throat so tight she could barely breathe. She’d been right to tell him, right to insist that she had to do this. She just hated that she did.
And that was very new.
And very unwelcome.
Pace tossed the phone aside. Swore. Then struggled out of bed and staggered to the spare bedroom, where he slapped on the light.
Tucker blinked like an owl and sat up. “Dude.”
“Wake up.”
“You okay? You need something?”
“You have anything to tell me?” Pace asked.
“What do you mean?”
He had fire burning through his entire body. He’d skipped the meds, on purpose. Now he wished he hadn’t as he had to grip the doorway through a wave of pain. “I need you to swear to me that the vitamins you’ve given me are just vitamins.”
Tucker scrubbed a hand over his face, squinting sleepily through the bright light. “What?”
“Is it possible I got the wrong packet from you, say a day or two before my surgery?”
“No.”
“Tuck—”
Tucker sat up and leaned back against the headboard. “The vitamins are pills, Pace.” He paused. “Anything else is a powder. You couldn’t have mistaken the two.”
Okay. So he had two pieces of news, one bad, one worse. One, he hadn’t accidentally ingested anything from Tucker. Two, Tucker did have the illegals. Shit. He turned off the light and went back to bed.
The news of Pace’s drug test hit the sports world and blew up. Gage had promised to try to keep it undisclosed until after the appeal and subsequent second testing, but he hadn’t succeeded.
Sam swore she had no idea how it’d gotten out of the Heat’s office, and though she didn’t bring it up, Pace knew everyone was thinking it’d been Holly.
He preferred to think someone in the testing office at the MLB commissioner’s office had gotten his pockets greased instead. Still, it was yet another betrayal, and already hurting and pissed, Pace went back to bed to try to sleep it all off.
He couldn’t.
Because he’d been hard on Holly, unfairly, and he knew it. He tried calling her, but she didn’t answer.
He wouldn’t have either.
The commissioner claimed innocence in putting out the test results. Pace’s agent and attorneys were on it, but it didn’t matter. The damage had been done.
The news was everywhere, and when Wade and the guys brought him a loaded pizza three days later, they ate in silence as they watched all the sport shows tear into him, until finally, Ty turned off the TV. “Assholes.”
Henry reached for his beer and thought better of it. “I’m driving,” he said glumly.
“I’ll drive you,” Wade said. “We’re not taking any more chances with anything. This is our year, goddamit.”
“Our year,” Ty repeated firmly, and they all toasted.
Then Pace slept for two more days, staggering to the door when someone knocked, staring bleary-eyed at the woman who’d woken him. He was hurting pretty good so he didn’t speak. Instead, he just soaked up the sight of Holly as though she were a balm for his abused senses. Her hair was in a ponytail, and she wore sweats—Heat sweats, with his number on them. He tried not to be moved by that but failed.
She appeared to be having the same trouble, staring at the only thing he wore, the only thing he could put on by himself—loose basketball shorts.
“Hi,” she said, sounding a little unsure of her reception.
“Hi. I thought you were on the job.”
“I’m more than the job, Pace.”
He didn’t say anything to that because her point slammed home hard. She was more than her job.
He was not.
“I know you have doctors and PTs and a million people looking out for you,” she said. “But I thought I’d come do some stretching with you, the ones your doctor recommended when I checked you out of the hospital.”
“There’s no point in rushing, not if I got suspended for twenty-five games. Or worse.”
“Don’t give up, Pace. We can get to the bottom of it, expose who did this to you, and—”
“And then what? Destroy someone else instead, someone I likely know and—” Care about.
“Yes,” she said softly, clearly understanding. “If that’s what it takes.”
Wishing he was still dead asleep because being awake hurt like hell, he moved aside for her to come in.
“I’ve been researching, writing,” she told him. “I just wanted you to know. I want to be upfront with you on this.”
Ah, hell. “Sounds argument inducing.”
She turned and looked him over. “It won’t be. I’m not here to argue. I’m here to help you stay in shape. Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle. And you’re already dressed for what I have in mind.”
Okay, that sounded a lot more promising than he’d thought. Especially when she put her hands on his belly and gently pushed him past the living room toward the hallway.
“Your doctor suggested a lower-body workout for circulation.”
He was game for a lower-body workout, only she didn’t go as far as his bedroom, pulling him into his home gym. She turned on the light and looked at him as she pulled off her sweatshirt and then her pants, leaving her in a pair of bicycle shorts and a sports bra. She pointed to the leg-press machine. “Sit.”
He did, only because she looked exceedingly hot. He put his legs up and pushed.
“Good,” she said, leaning over him. “Keep going.”
He liked her workout outfit. A lot. He reached out to touch, but she slapped his hand away. “Sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all, “but people who don’t trust me don’t get to touch me.”
