“Oh.” She peeled her eyes off his chest and realization slapped her upside the head. “Oh!”
Everything else left the room. She didn’t care she’d sounded pathetically disappointed his striptease had been strictly professional. The only thing that mattered was he’d come to her.
She ushered him further into her office, yanking the blinds closed. “Before I touch you, I want to know what hurts. Where’s the pain? What happened last night to change your mind?”
He swallowed and breathed out in a gush. “So after I left here, I went home. I tried to watch some TV and fell asleep. I shifted and bumped it. My shoulder, I mean. The pain was so bad, Doc. An ice pick to the eyeball would’ve hurt less.”
“And you know that firsthand?”
That made him smile. His right eyelid dropped into a wink. “Absolutely.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. However her humor was short lived.
He lifted his left hand up to rub at his shoulder. The motion seemed subconscious, verified by the wistful look in his eyes. “I hate this.”
“I know.”
He cleared his throat. “So anyway, I had some Vicodin. It barely took the edge off, Doc.”
At his wince, she grimaced. “You’re self-medicating? Please tell me you didn’t add alcohol to the mix.”
“I may be a dumb ass, but I’m not stupid.”
“That’s good.” She nodded. “The Vicodin didn’t do much?”
“Nope.”
“How much is not much?”
He sighed and concentrated a little too hard on the toe of his cleat digging into the carpet. “I was in tears, Doc. Is that a good enough description? Does it make you happy to know I was in so much pain I couldn’t keep from crying?”
She smothered a gasp with her fist and approached him. He flinched when she laid her hand against his forearm, the cords of muscles jumping in protest. “Xavier, look at me.”
It took a few heartbeats until he lifted his eyes just enough to let their gazes meet.
“Yes, it is a good enough description. No, it most certainly does not make me happy to know you were in so much pain.” She slid her hand up his forearm to his bicep, slipping it over the tricep to the deltoid. The muscle in his jaw jumped and she could hear his teeth grinding together. “I’ll put together the paperwork for an MRI and let Coach know you’re out—”
“No.” He all but jumped away from her.
“What do you mean no?”
“I’m not backing out of today’s game, Doc. After the game, I’ll come clean with Coach, with the whole damn world, but only after the game.”
“You have got to be kidding me.” She shook her head at the pure, inexcusable idiocy. Athletes! “And how the hell do you expect to make it even one inning?”
“People are depending on me. I know I should’ve confessed earlier, but I … well, I didn’t want to let anyone down.”
“Or admit you were injured.”
“That, too. Will you help me?”
Instead of helping him, she wanted to slap him or shake him or drug him into a stupor before hog tying him and shoving him into the broom closet. At least then she might be able to protect him against himself.
She popped a hand on her hip and cocked her head. “What do you want me to do?”
“I want a Cortisone shot.”
“That’s not going to fix—”
“Please, Doc. I’ll beg. I’ll get down on my knees and everything.”
“I’m going to have to note our conversation and the injection in your file. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, but by the time anybody finds out about it, the game’ll be over and I’ll have come clean.”
She shook her head, a knot forming in her gut. “I don’t feel good about this.”
“But you’ll do it?” His tone was so hopeful, his expression so pleading, she knew she was about to become the biggest, stupid idiot of them all.
She sighed. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll do it. On two conditions.”
“Name them.”
“I want that shoulder examined. If it’s too injured, the deal’s off.”
His shrug looked more like a flinch than an actual shrug. “Fine. Whatever. What else?”
“As soon as the game’s over—”
“Yeah, no pro—”
“Let me finish, X.” She waited for his nod. “As soon as the game’s over, you go to Coach and come clean. I’m not even going to give you ten minutes. If he gets wind that I knew you were playing injured he could have my job. You want me to lose my job?”
“No! Hell, no.”
“Good to know.” She held out her hand. “Do we have a deal?”
He took her palm, but instead of shaking it, he pressed his lips to her knuckles. She pretended the flutters in her stomach were a touch of indigestion.
“Deal, sweet thang. Get your needle.”
She managed to keep the shiver to herself. “Examination first.”
His smile turned sultry. “Examine me, Doc.”
“Knock that off.” She stuck her head out the door and called for Jeff.
The trainer came into the office, looked from Frankie to Xavier and shrugged. “What’s up?”
“He wants a Cortisone shot. I want him examined first.”
“Uh, okay.” Jeff knew, as did everybody else in the room she could do the eval herself, but she really needed the little CYA buffer Jeff’s opinion would give her. “I guess we’ll have him sit on the edge of your desk, so I can reach him.”
Xavier moved without glancing her way. Yeah, she’d pulled a fast one, and she wouldn’t feel sorry for it. If her tactic meant he got the help he needed, so be it. Jeff stepped up next to Xavier and put the shoulder through its paces. Xavier stared straight ahead, jaw locked, completely emotionless.
Jeff stepped back. “Anything?”
“Nope.” Xavier shook his head.
Jeff looked at Frankie like she’d lost her mind then sauntered out of the room. When the door clicked closed, Xavier reached for his shoulder, bent at the waist, and gritted out a long, drawn-out string of curse words.
“What the hell, Doc? Are you trying to kill me?” When his eyes met hers, tears twinkled in the hazel depths along with a bone-penetrating hatred that had her taking a step backward.
“No, I’m trying to protect you.”
“How about protecting me a little less next time?” His eyes became slits. “Can I have the damned shot now?”
***
Prayers did come true apparently. Xavier stood in left field, praying the ball wouldn’t come his way. Top of the ninth and the thing had avoided him like he had the plague or some shit. Even better, there was an out. Two more and he could be done acting like he was a-okay.
The runner on third led off.
The crack of the bat made X’s blood curdle. The bastard runner tagged up on third and headed home.
Instinct took over. Xavier eyed the ball coming directly at him. He watched it fall from the sky like manna from heaven to land with a solid thump in his glove. Without thought, he cocked his arm back and sent the ball on a one-way ticket home.
His shoulder hollered.
So did he.
Pain ripped through his entire body. He clutched at his arm, checking to see if it was still attached, actually surprised when it was.
He dropped to his knees.
What a pussy!
His weakness would be all over every sports show nationwide by dinnertime. His rocking motion would surely be the cherry on top. He tried to get to his feet. His body swayed, but he managed to get upright. The stadium blurred. He blinked and a tear slipped down his cheek.
Oh, hell. He was crying.
Could it get any worse?
Yeah, but only if it was his balls in a vise.
He realized the field was almost clear. The other team had begun clearing the dugout. Well, whadyaknow. His throw had won the damn game. How ironic.
Grayson appeared at his side. “You rea
lly are a dumb shit, aren’t you, X?”
“That seems to be the consensus.” He groaned.
“They should fire her—”
“Ah, come on, don’t blame Doc.”
Grayson gripped Xavier by the left arm and escorted him through the dugout into the locker room.
Frankie stood with her back against the wall, arms folded across her chest. “Of all the idiotic things to do, X!”
He hoped his look voiced the disgust he couldn’t. The only response she gave him was a shake of her head and a roll of her blue eyes.
“I could say the same to you, Frankie.” Grayson did a head shake of his own.
“Grayson, I notated—”
She was cut off by a slamming door. All three of them gawked at Coach. The man was about ten years older than Xavier, but looked damn good for his age, if you ignored the red face and pulsing vein in his forehead.
“Would somebody like to explain what the hell is going on?”
Frankie opened her mouth, probably ready to take the hit for him, but Xavier cut off her explanation to substitute one of his own.
“My shoulder’s been bugging me. Before the game I asked Frankie to give me a shot of Cortisone. I was planning on coming to you—both of you—after the game.” He chanced a glance at Doc and hoped her report didn’t contradict his next statement. “I didn’t realize how bad it was.”
Both Coach and Grayson looked at her. Coach narrowed his eyes. “Did you examine him?”
“There wasn’t time to do a complete evaluation. But I did have Jeff do a quick once over. Everything seemed fine. I told X that after the game we would inform both of you of the injury and do a full medical exam.”
“She came to me after the seventh inning stretch and informed me of the situation,” Grayson confirmed. “She was really concerned the injury was more severe than he let on.”
Well, wasn’t that freakin’ perfect!
Coach huffed. Cursed. Threw his hat across the room. Slammed his fist into a locker. “Get an MRI on him. Yesterday. Geez, X, like I really need this shit the first game of the season.” His cursing continued, following him like a kite’s tail whipping in the wind.
Grayson unleashed an uncharacteristic string of curse words creative enough to make a sailor blush then glared at Frankie. “Take him to the PT suite. Get some ice on that shoulder. I’m gonna go schedule him an MRI. It shouldn’t be too difficult to get him in … yesterday.”
The door announced his retreat and for the first time, Frankie laid her baby blues on him. “You heard the man. Let’s get you some ice.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I really don’t want to hear it, Xavier.”
And that was the end of that.
***
Xavier held his glass up and stared through the dark liquid to watch the flames lick the fake logs in the fireplace. He certainly didn’t need the fire for heat, but needed the mesmerizing dance to keep his head from exploding.
He raised the squat glass to his lips and downed the contents. It burned and bubbled its way to his belly.
So … he could still feel something. He’d wondered.
Since collapsing in a pathetic heap smack dab in the middle of his favorite place on earth, Xavier’d been numb. He’d stood in the locker room, gotten his ass handed to him by Coach, and the world around him hadn’t quite seemed real. It’d been more like a foggy haze, one of those nightmares where no matter how hard he ran, the boogeyman stuck right on his heels.
But the cold sweats of this nightmare weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.
The situation sucked. Big time.
The silence of the house wore on him, but he couldn’t bear to turn the television on again. Just like he’d predicted, the most embarrassing moment of his life had become every sportscaster’s wet dream. They played it, rewound it, slowed it down so they could play it again.
He shook his head, filled the glass and downed every last drop again. He twisted the glass, watching the shades of red and gold play on the surface. Staring at the decorative gouges in the heavy crystal, he didn’t know why he kept the middleman.
With a quick cock of his elbow, he sent the go-between on a one-way then pressed the bottle to his lips.
Mixing alcohol with painkillers was a total dumbass move. He’d stood in front of the bottle of Jim Beam and decided dousing his pain with whiskey wasn’t worth waking up dead. Yeah, he’d told Frankie he wasn’t a dumbass. Go him!
Turned out, dumbass needed to be added to his resume, anyway. His shoulder ached like a bitch, clear down to the bone. The ice packs chilled his body and he wondered if he’d ever be warm again.
He’d experienced loss before. A lot. The concept wasn’t a new one, but this time it was different. Today he’d lost the one thing, the only thing, he’d had going for him. The only thing he cared about. His career was over.
Sure, he’d go under the knife.
But he saw the writing on the wall.
He knew.
He was done.
He took another sip from the two-liter bottle of Coke, leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. His body became heavy, warm and he knew sleep lingered just around the corner. Sighing, he relented, praying this rollercoaster ride would be a nightmare he could wake up from.
3
The worst part of surgery was waking up. Xavier felt like shit. Worse than that actually. What was worse than shit? His brain swam with the possibilities.
Raw sewage?
But wasn’t that just a lot of shit?
Okay, so he felt like a giant steaming river of raw sewage. And his tongue was so dry, he was pretty sure he could strike a match with the tip.
Was the room spinning? It had to be because he sure as hell wasn’t moving. He laid flat on his back in a sorry excuse for a bed, definitely … not moving. He hadn’t even opened his eyes and knew doing so now would only make him sick.
His stomach heaved. So much for that plan. It looked like he was gonna be sick anyway. He gagged and swallowed, forcing the bile back down his throat. Ridiculous. Pathetically ridiculous. He felt like shit and now he was going to throw up.
It was official. His life sucked.
“Xavier.” A soft hand touched his.
No, now his life sucked.
“Doc.” He cleared his throat, only to croak her name again.
Her fingers dug into the back of his head, sliding down his spine to help him sit up. He opened his eyes. The concern in her baby blues made the situation even worse. Using his left hand and arm, he tried to do the vertical thing all by himself, but the combination of drugged haze and no coordination had him falling against the bed. The stench of cleanliness made his stomach heave again.
“It’s okay, X. Let it out. You’ll feel better if you just let it out.” She started the whole assistance thing again. This time he let her.
When he got upright, she held a pink puke pan under his chin while he gagged and retched. She stroked his head tenderly, like he was a child and she his mother.
Oh, hell.
Another round of dry heaves made sweat blossom on his forehead. With gentle dabs, she wiped above his eyebrows. He hated her right now. Like he’d never hated anyone in his life, he hated Frankie Holden.
How dare she be tender with him? How dare she help him? How dare she … care!
He sagged against the bed and she flashed him a victorious smile. Curses of all vulgar kinds marched through his thoughts. That they didn’t make it past his lips, he chalked up to his sandpaper tongue and cotton ball brain.
She picked up a pink plastic pitcher and poured water into a matching sissy cup. As if the experience wasn’t enough of a ball basher, he had to drink out of a pansy ass pink cup. Out of a frickin’ straw!
But damn, the water tasted so good washing over his parched tongue. He sucked mouthful after mouthful, even swishing it around before swallowing.
“Whoa, not so fast.” She tugged the straw out of his mouth. Water flew out, drenching
him.
“Hey! Why’d you—” He didn’t get to finish his question. He understood fully why she’d told him to slow down. The cool water hit his hot rolling stomach and made a violent bid for liberation.
Once again she held the pink pan under his chin, and once again, he made a fool of himself by barfing. When his stomach was empty again, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“You can go now.” He wiped his mouth again. She didn’t move. He cursed. “Seriously, Doc, why don’t ya just get outta here? I’m not up for visitors.”
She smiled. “I’m not visiting.”
Then it dawned on him. “Oh, hell. You’re babysittin’.”
***
Frankie carefully loaded Xavier into the backseat of her SUV. If she’d thought he had attitude before, nothing compared to what he sported now. He snorted as she eased the seatbelt over him. He cursed when she brushed his arm.
“Oh! I’m sorry, X. You okay?”
“Yeah. It didn’t really hurt. They gave me pretty good drugs.” He looked around then his dazed eyes met hers. “I can totally feel the earth moving.” His sharp bark of laughter surprised her, but not as much as the next thing out of his mouth. “I feel the earth move under my feet…”
She joined in his amusement. This drugged-up side of his showed off a playfulness he wouldn’t convey otherwise. The emotion would be short-lived, though. When the heavy-duty stuff wore off, Xavier would be a force to be reckoned with.
During the short drive to his house, he dozed off again. She pulled up in front of the gate to his neighborhood and had no idea how to get inside. She could wake him, but would he remember his own name, let alone the code to get them past the secured gate? She doubted it. Just as she considered waking him and giving his memory a shot, a car approached the exit. With the gate closing on her, she forced the pedal to the floor and raced through.
She’d only been to his house once, and wasn’t sure she’d remember where it was. She drove down the street, passed one road, two…
She slammed on the brakes.
Xavier groaned as the seatbelt kept him from hitting the floor, but didn’t wake. She backed up and turned down his street. His house sat in the middle of the block, sandwiched between two other large and extravagant homes. Luscious green grass, perfectly manicured, rolled from one yard to the next and huge trees hung over the streets welcoming her. This kind of landscaping must cost them a fortune. The water bill alone, to keep it all green in the heat of a Vegas summer would be killer.
Out of Left Field Page 2
