Shit. Shit. Shit.
Miss you would come across as too intense. Even if it was true.
Maybe he could blame auto-correct... But as a correction for what?
"MacInnes!" Dusty barked from the doorway. "Let's move it."
His teammates were leaving, headed onto the field for warm ups. He threw his phone into his locker. For the next few hours, he needed to put the text out of his mind and concentrate on the upcoming game.
But as he ran onto the field, he knew he'd probably get distracted wondering how she'd react.
LIAM
LIAM SAT ON THE EXAM table in the training room, staring at his ankle as Andy used a rotary saw to remove his cast. He couldn't wait to be free. The countdown to cast removal had begun the day he'd had the thing put on. Six long weeks of awkward mobility and limited abilities and inconveniencing those around him.
The cast and wrappings removed, his foot, ankle, and leg were swollen and blotchy. "Is it supposed to look like that?"
"Totally normal. No need to worry. In a few days, the color should return to normal and the swelling in your leg and toes should decrease, but your ankle and foot will be swollen for a while."
"All right." He grabbed his phone and sent a picture of his leg to Slade, Dom, and Adam. They'd been gone for a week and still had a week to go in the road trip. He missed his friends.
Slade's response was a series of emojis starting with a thumbs-up and happy face and ending with a puking one.
Andy held up a black boot constructed of a hard shell with a soft inner area and Velcro straps. "You can start putting partial pressure on your foot since the bones looked good but I want you to wear this for two weeks. It provides support to the healing ankle."
"By putting pressure on my foot, do you mean actual walking around?"
"Yes, start putting one foot in front of the other while using the crutches and wearing the boot." Andy narrowed his eyes. "I know you, Liam. Don't overdo it. If you push too hard, you're going to end up injuring the ankle again. You haven't used the muscles or tendons for a while, so it's going to ache and be swollen."
He could deal with achy and swollen. "When do you think I'll be back to my usual antics?"
"It depends. If the swelling decreases enough that you can put on a sneaker when I see you in two weeks, you can get started with physical therapy then. If not, it'll mean a few more weeks in the boot. I'll evaluate you again after six weeks of therapy to test your readiness to return to the job. But a return to full participation in sports and work activities generally occurs twelve to sixteen weeks after an ankle fracture, so don't get your hopes up if at the end of June, I still think you need another month or so of therapy."
"Got it, doc. But there's a good chance I could be back to normal by the All-Star break, right?"
Andy sighed. "Liam. I'm thrilled that you've been taking recovery so seriously, but you can't rush it. Doing so would be a mistake that you'd pay for a long time. Remember, when the injury happened, I cautioned that it could take months for you to regain full strength and range of motion."
"I know. I know." He didn't want to hear about that again. Any timetable greater than the All-Star game in mid-July was unacceptable. With the Riptide hosting the game, the team wanted to do everything possible to ensure a successful fan experience. And that included having Liam back and at his best.
"Some patients have weakness and mobility issues for up to two years after a bad break."
Stop, stop, stop. The very idea turned his stomach. "But this wasn't a bad break, Andy. I can't take two years to get back to normal. The team won't let me keep my job that long if I can't do it. They'd replace me."
"We don't know what's going to happen. The ankle is healing well, but you're not returning to a desk job. You're returning to a physically demanding one that will test your ankle with every move you make. All I'm saying is that we need to be cautious, but I hope you'll be back on the field by the middle of July."
"I'll do whatever it takes to make that happen."
"I know you will. My concern is that you'll overdo it." Andy set his foot in the boot and tightened the straps. "Take the boot off two or three times a day to ice the ankle."
"Yes, sir."
"Okay, let's see you stand on it."
Liam swallowed the fear that the ankle would snap again and he'd go down. Andy held out his crutches. He grabbed them and eased off the table. His ankle hurt. He took a tentative step. The sole and heel of his foot tingled, like little electrical pinpoints.
"Looking good. How does it feel?"
"Great." Liam pasted on a smile.
"So, in other words, it hurts." Andy shook his head. "Liam, I'm honest with you. You need to be honest with me. I'm on your side here."
"I know. And you're right, it's sore and my foot is tingly."
"That part will go away in a few days."
"Okay, cool." He walked carefully, using the crutches to support his weight. "Am I free to go now, Doc?"
"I'll see you in two weeks. Stop in or call if you need me."
Liam shook his hand and then began the slow journey down the hall.
If he didn't heal properly or fast enough, he wouldn't be able to keep his job. What the hell else was he going to do? For the first time, he regretted his theater degree. Maybe he should've chosen something as normal and boring as Claire had with accounting. Where else besides being a mascot would acrobatics and juggling be marketable skills? Maybe he'd have to end up running away and joining the circus after all.
Laughing at the thought, he climbed into the golf cart and headed to his office.
Claire was there, pulling on her costume when he arrived. "Hey, you got your cast off. Whoa, and you're walking. That's great."
"Yep. Andy says it's healing well." He picked up his costume from where she'd laid it on the couch. "A few weeks with the boot and crutches, and then we'll evaluate it again."
They filmed videos of Fin surprising Fiona with a huge bouquet of flowers in the clubhouse, one with them sitting in two seats in the stadium with his fin on top of hers and her head on his shoulder, and one with them at a table together for their first date, complete with candlelight.
They covered one end of the stadium to the other. By the time they finished the last video, Liam's ankle ached like someone had shoved a screwdriver into it. He needed pain meds, ice, and elevation.
Claire drove the golf cart back to the office. "Are you okay? You've been quiet."
Grimacing at the ache, he grabbed his crutches and climbed out of the cart. "We can't talk in the videos."
"I know that, silly." She unlocked the door and held it open for him to pass through. "But you were quiet in between filming too, and you're never quiet then."
He pulled off his mask. Sitting on the edge of his desk, he reached for his zipper. "I might have overdone it with the walking."
"Oh, Liam." Claire slipped out of her costume, then helped him remove his. "What can I do?"
"Nurse Fiona would probably yell at Fin. I'm hoping you won't do that."
Face pinched in concern, she ran her hands over his shoulders. "Do you need me to get you some pain meds?"
"Thanks, but I have everything I need at home. I'm glad we're done for the day."
Her capable hands massaged his shoulders. "I can go with you, help you get settled with ice and food so all you need to do is stay off your foot."
"That falls under work and not having fun. I can't ask you to take care of me."
"You're not asking. I'm offering."
He leaned down until their foreheads rested against each other. "You got stuck taking care of Lauren all of last weekend. You're supposed to be having fun with me, not playing Florence Nightingale."
"I'm sure you'll be less of a drama queen than my sister. And I always have fun with you. Tonight, we can watch the game together and you can show me how you evaluate mascots."
"That would be nice." Who was he kidding, it would be amazing.
"I'll
follow you to your place."
The drive to his apartment took longer than usual, but with seeing Claire in his rear view mirror the entire time, he didn't mind. He pointed out the restaurant while they waited for the elevator. "We can order something from there or get whatever you want."
"Do you have any food in your apartment?"
"Sure. But I don't think I can hobble around the kitchen, cooking tonight."
She guided him into the elevator. "I can. Which floor?"
"Seventeen."
When they stepped inside his apartment, she closed the door then inspected his space with a grin and a surprised nod. "Nice place."
He thought so or at least he used to. Since living a life on crutches, he'd started to consider the apartment too big. The rooms he used seem far apart when his arms ached from supporting most of his weight. Finally healing and returning to his old routine couldn't come fast enough. "Come in. Make yourself at home. Can I get you something to drink?"
"You need to get your foot elevated. As long as you don't mind my poking around your kitchen, you should get settled on the couch and I'll bring you some ice."
"Poke away." He made it into the living room then collapsed onto the couch before swinging his bum leg onto the ottoman for a full length stretch. Getting off his feet felt so good. Two decorative pillows were within reach. He shoved them under his foot, then reached down again and removed the boot.
His sock had grown snug and his foot more swollen that it had been in Andy's office. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back on the cushion. Though relieved to be cast-free, disappointment harshened his mood. He'd thought once the cast came off, he'd feel like his old self. He didn't. Not even close.
Soft footsteps announced Claire's entry. He opened his eyes. She looked like an angel with her shining hair and sympathetic gaze as she laid the ice pack across his ankle and adjusted his pillows. "I found fresh pasta in the fridge."
"Sounds good." He clasped her hand. "Thank you."
A few minutes later, she brought the bowl of pasta, a glass of water, and pain relievers. He waited until she'd joined him with her own meal, and then turned on the TV. Seeing his friends on the screen—Dom at center field, Slade at first base, and Adam on the pitcher's mound—made him smile. It was almost as good as having them in the room with him. When the camera panned to Dusty leaning against the dugout's fence, Liam launched into a few stories about the grumpy old man, his personal run-ins and stories the guys had shared over beers. Making Claire laugh was a small payment for all the kindness she'd shown him.
Claire set their empty bowls on the coffee table and then leaned against his shoulder. "How's your ankle feeling?"
"The ice is helping a lot." He slid his arm around her shoulders. "Having you here is helping a lot too."
She rewarded him with a smile. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Good." She snuggled into his side. "Now, show me what we should be looking for when evaluating the competition."
CHAPTER TWELVE
SAVANNA
MISS YOU.
The text had stayed on her mind for two weeks. Savanna washed the lunch dishes and brewed a pot of coffee for her parents, counting down the hours until Slade would arrive.
He hadn't mentioned the text either of the times they'd spoken during his road trip. Or when he'd called her last night to confirm plans for their date. She hadn't mentioned it either. But she'd missed him too. Three weeks was a long time to be apart.
She carried the cups and carafe into the living room and set the tray on her coffee table. "Here you go."
Her mom pointed to the TV, where the Riptide game was in the middle of the fifth inning. "You're going on a date with that man?"
"I've been on a few dates with him already."
"But how do you know he's a good man? You can't trust these superstars."
"You're generalizing, Mom. I've known him for three years. He does a lot of work with the kids in the foundation."
"Hmm." Mom poured coffee, then handed Savanna one of the steaming cups. "Careful, it's hot."
She bit back her response that yes, she could see the steam rising from the cup the same way she'd held in her retort when her mother had cautioned about the knife's sharpness while Savanna had sliced strawberries earlier.
Dad reached for the creamer. "Where is he taking you?"
"I don't know yet. It's a surprise." Again, Slade had told her to dress casually. Her shorts, blouse, and sandals fit that description.
On screen, the camera zoomed in to a close-up of Slade, his face lit in a grin, laughing at something one of his teammates said. His stats were displayed across the bottom of the screen.
Mom sighed. "Well, what is he like?"
"He's kind. Generous. Adventurous."
Dad frowned and held out his phone. Photos of Slade filled the screen. "He's a thrill-seeker. I typed in his name and there's as many photos of him doing something dangerous as there are of him on the baseball field."
"Savanna." Mom set her cup down. "You shouldn't get involved with a man like that. He'll end up getting you killed."
She huffed out a breath and stared at the ceiling, cursing herself for ever mentioning that she was dating Slade. "He's not reckless. He's very... careful with me. We've gone for a hot-air balloon ride and indoor rock climbing."
Mom squeezed her eyes closed and massaged her forehead with all ten fingers. "I'm going to worry about you tonight, not knowing where you are or what you're doing. You better call me when you get home."
"I'm not a kid. I can take care of myself."
"Not if you get injured. Look, there he is inside a race car. You can't take care of yourself if you hit a wall at two hundred miles an hour."
Oh. My. God. Shaking her head, she stalked to the window. "I wouldn't go zooming around a track at that speed. He knows that. You're being crazy and not giving me enough credit."
"I'm not crazy for caring about you. What do his parents think of him doing these things? Do they approve?" Mom matched her temper for temper.
But at the mention of his parents, Savanna's anger faded. "He doesn't have any. He was adopted as a baby and didn't have a good home life. I think it was actually pretty bad."
The fire sparking in her mother's eyes fizzled and her face creased in concern. "That poor boy."
"I know." She sighed and then gave her mom a hug. "You guys can stick around and meet him if that'll make you feel better, but don't say anything about what I told you."
The game ended at three-thirty, and at four-thirty, Slade knocked on her door. She didn't hear the motorcycle's roar, so he must have driven his car. Her dad let him in before she could and she inwardly cringed as introductions were made, but her parents refrained from saying anything about his "thrill-seeking."
Slade kissed her cheek, dressed just as casually in shorts, a T-shirt, and sneakers. "Are you ready to go? We have a half hour drive and we don't want to miss our reservation."
Mom stepped closer to Savanna and cast Slade a distrustful glance. "Where are you going?"
"Para-sailing in Marina del Rey."
Savanna opened her mouth, but her dad spoke first. "Isn't that a little dangerous?"
Slade met Savanna's gaze before turning to address her father. "Not at all. It's one of the safest water sports. The place we're going has highly trained, certified, licensed captains and crew members. I wouldn't take any risks with Savanna."
She slid her hand into his. "We should go. Mom and Dad, thanks for coming over. I'll call you this week."
"Call us tonight so we know you got home safe."
Heat flushed into Savanna's cheeks. "I can't promise I'll remember to call. I'll try to remember to text, okay? Don't worry so much."
She hugged them both, and then they shook hands with Slade. Her dad turned back once on his way to his car. "Be careful."
Slade nodded. "I'll always keep Savanna safe."
She waved him inside and closed the door. "I'll just be a minute. I need t
o get my—"
He pulled her into his arms and his mouth descended, hard and hungry, covering hers, coaxing it open. One hand fisted in her hair, and the other splayed wide across her low back. He drew her lower lip into his mouth, grazing it with his teeth before caressing it with his tongue.
Her right hand, trapped between them, clutched at his shirt. She slid her other hand around his back and held tight.
His fingers trailed up her spine, setting off a series of tingles. "Missed you."
She felt the murmur against her lips, tasted how much, and freed her mouth enough to whisper, "Me too" before drawing him to her once again. He smelled like soap and cologne and tasted like mint and magic.
With a low groan, he lifted his head. "We need to leave if we don't want to miss our reservation. But if you want to skip it and stay here..."
"Did you have to pay ahead of time?"
"Yeah. But don't worry about that."
"No. We'll go." Even as she drew away, happiness at seeing him burst out of her as bright as sunlight. She couldn't stop smiling. "I'll get my purse."
An hour later, fitted with life jackets and harnesses, they sat next to each other on the flight deck of a private boat in the ocean awaiting lift-off. Slade grasped her hand. "How are you doing?"
"Pretty good. A little nervous. I'm sure you can tell my palms are sweating. The harness is like being strapped into a swing, but I feel like we're waiting for a roller coaster to make its first big drop."
His eyebrows rose. "You like roller coasters?"
"Um, no. Not really."
"Why not?"
"The danger of falling out. I know it doesn't happen often, but it does happen."
His thumb stroked the back of her hand. "Well, this is nothing like that. Take off is very slow and gentle. The whole experience should be peaceful, like floating."
"Peaceful and floating sound good." The captain had assured her that the rope wouldn't break, that they were in good hands. He'd promised the views from the air were amazing, and she tried to concentrate on that and nothing else.
And then they were moving, lifted up as the boat pulled out in front of them. She tightened her grip on Slade's hand. They hovered close to the water and then gently rose, higher and higher, until the boat was as tiny as a toy. Her body dipped back and forth, swaying like she was on an actual swing.
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