Out of Left Field

by Morgan Kearns

  “Why not?”

  Another shrug.

  He grinned, feeling like his old self for the first time since blowing out his shoulder. He jumped to his feet, grabbed his bowl before crossing the kitchen to put it in the sink. “Give me ten minutes to change my pants.”

  Running up the stairs did wonders for his mood. The slight jostle of his shoulder ached a bit, but the brace held it tight against his torso, keeping it from moving too much. His legs thrived on the pumping of his muscles as his stride ate up two stairs at a time. His blood rushed through his veins and his lungs heaved with the breath racing through them. He missed this, missed working out. He could already feel himself going soft.

  And God help him, he would never be soft again.

  Quick change from pajama bottoms to nylon workout pants and he headed back downstairs. He’d need help with tying his shoes, and if it meant working out a bit, he’d accept Frankie’s help. Without argument. Just this once.

  He sank onto the couch and started to tug on his socks. Holy shit, the phrase easier said than done had become his theme song. The elastic part of his white tube sock caught on his big toe. He tugged. It stretched, then popped off, flying through the air to land on the silk decorative tree standing sentinel next to his fireplace.

  A few choice four-lettered words didn’t help the situation but sure as hell made him feel better. He picked up the other sock and tried again, tugging—carefully this time—inching, bunching the cotton up over his toes.

  Sweat beaded on his forehead and he yanked on one side, then the other, going back and forth until the sock snapped for the final time over his calf.

  The urge to jab his fist in the air and shout in victory nearly overwhelmed him. He was about to do just that when he realized he’d only accomplished half the mission. Deep sigh, a wipe of the brow, and Xavier stood.

  After plucking the sock from its perch, he went back to the chair and plopped down. When did putting a damned pair of socks on rank right up there with running a marathon? Hell, an inside the park homerun around the bases never winded him like this pitifully simple task.

  With a few quick breaths to psych himself up, he began the inch, scooch, bunch, and pull until the other sock snapped into place. He shoved one foot into his Nikes and was just about to do the same thing with the other one when Frankie strolled out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

  Her eyes widened. Her lips lifted at the corners. She nodded. Approval.

  That urge to jab his fists toward the heavens and roar simmered just below the surface again. Instead of making a fool of himself, he thrust his other foot into his shoe and stood.

  She dropped the towel on the coffee table and rounded the couch. She patted him on the chest. The light tap did wonders for his ego. “Would it be okay if I tied them for you?”

  In that moment, he wanted to gather her in a hug and hold her tight against him. That she hadn’t mentioned his socks, although she had to’ve known it hadn’t been easy, made him like her even more. She didn’t give kudos, laugh or act like he was a child, needing her to tie them. She’d simply asked his … permission.

  All he could do was nod. His throat tightened a bit and he coughed in an attempt to loosen it up.

  She sank to her knees and he studied the top of her head. He’d never noticed the strands of auburn running through the honey blond. He wondered what her hair looked like when it wasn’t pulled back in a stupid rubber band. He realized how badly he wanted to reach around and free her hair. His fingers balled into fists to make them behave.

  Ridiculous.

  She thumped his foot and he looked down just as she looked up. Their gazes locked, mingling, hazel devouring blue, and Xavier couldn’t breathe. Time seemed to stop. Except she moved closer, in a moment her lips would be…

  She blinked, and like sunlight hitting fog, the moment vanished.

  “Ready?” She turned and grabbed the dishtowel, disappearing into the kitchen. She returned in a flash, sans towel, her purse hanging from her arm, his keys dangling from her finger.

  “Sorry, big boy, but you can’t drive. I’ll be gentle with your car.” She laughed and headed off toward to garage.

  Her nonchalance bugged him. Obviously their moment hadn’t been anything special to her. Perfect. He’d gotten all sappy over a woman. It’d been years since he’d made that mistake. He’d be damned if he’d allow her to break his heart.

  And yet, like a lost puppy, he followed her.

  ***

  This sucked.

  When Frankie’d been surprised he’d wanted to go with her to the stadium, he wondered if she was smokin’ something to give her the munchies. Now, he got it.

  Weights clanking pinged off the cement walls. He’d loved that sound. Once. Now, it depressed him. A deep misery settled in his gut and made him want to plow his fist into the wall or puke.

  He should have just stayed home. He’d heard SpongeBob SquarePants was entertaining.

  “Lookin’ good, X!”

  Xavier looked up from the pine bench where he’d been hiding out in the hallway into the smiling, way-too-damn-cheerful face of Pierce. He wanted to deck him. All his happy-happy-joy-joy only intensified the assburn. It was a good thing he liked the guy, but liking him didn’t stop Xavier’s scowl.

  “Yeah, I’m a real looker.”

  Grayson laughed, plucked his hat off to run his fingers through his hair. He put the white and blue hat back on and repositioned the brim. “Seriously, man, it’s good to have you back in the gym.”

  Xavier wagged his arm, the brace making it more of a clipped chicken wing. The bone-deep bitterness seeped into his laughter. “A lot of good it’s doin’ me.”

  Pierce shook his head, laughing. “Don’t be such a baby about it.”

  Fury, white hot and consuming, spread through him fast as a match strike. Every muscle tightened, readying itself for combat.

  “X. Xavier, dude, you okay?”

  He blinked, shook his head and took a deep breath. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re definitely not fine. I thought for a second you were gonna leap off that bench and tear me apart. Or try to. Maybe Frankie needs to lower the dosage on your meds.” Another hat removal, hand through hair move.

  “I’m fine.” He was such a frickin’ liar.

  “Look at you. You’re huffin’ and puffin’ like you’re ready to go toe-to-toe and blow my house down.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Just then Frankie sauntered out of her office and down the hallway. She smiled at Grayson then winked at Xavier. His damned heart jumped.

  “How’s it going, Grayson?”

  Although Pierce was happily married with three beautiful little girls, when he smiled at Frankie, Xavier wanted to deck him. Again. Hell, maybe his meds did need to be adjusted.

  “Good. Real good. Last night’s win was a tough one. But a win is a win. I’ll take it. How’s my boy?”

  “Stubborn.” Frankie’s adorable smile twinkled in her eyes. The two shared a chuckle, spiking Xavier’s annoyance.

  “Ha ha. You two are a riot a minute. Would you like some popcorn to eat while you stand there and mock me?”

  “I like popcorn.” Frankie pursed her lips, but her laugh burst through.

  Xavier bit his lip, trying to stop it. Sank his teeth deep to keep it in. But damn him, he joined her. Chuckles melted into laughs dissolving into low belly bellows rumbling from his toes. His eyes watered, humor driven tears gathered in the corners. It wasn’t long before his abs ached. He crossed his good arm over himself and leaned over. It’d been a long time since he’d experienced honest-to-goodness amusement.

  Grayson laughed along with them. Or maybe it was at them. “Whatever you’re giving him, Doc, it must be pretty damned good.”

  “Screw you, man.” Xavier emphasized the words with a single finger.

  Grayson continued to laugh as he strode down the hallway and through the doorway leading into the gym.

  As soo
n as Grayson disappeared, Frankie asked, “You okay?” in a low, still humored voice.

  “I’m freakin’ awesome.” His sarcasm wasn’t lost on her and she smiled. He forced a lip tilt. “It’s good to be back.”

  “Would you like to spend a little time on the bike?”

  “I thought—”

  “A few minutes would be okay, I think.”

  He jumped off the bench, wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her against him. “Aw, Doc, I could kiss you!”

  Her eyes bugged out of her head as her jaw fell open. Yep, he’d definitely misread their moment earlier. And by holding her close, he’d crossed all kinds of lines. Even worse, he kinda liked the way she felt pressed up against him, small and soft and, oh hell, she smelled sweet.

  She stretched up on her tiptoes and turned her head, tilting her chin to present her cheek. He couldn’t fight the smile, and didn’t try too hard to keep his enjoyment to himself.

  The meeting of lips to cheek was quick and over before it even started.

  She eased out of his hold and smiled, patting his pectoral. “You can be quite charming when you’re not being an ass, you know that.”

  “Thanks for the compliment.”

  She grinned. “Now would you like to ride the bike?”

  “Hell yeah.” He’d never wanted anything more.

  Like a man possessed, he strode down the hall and rounded the corner. Six Flags had nothing on the sight before him. He had to remind himself spinning in a circle like some ridiculous parody of The Sound of Music was out of the question. He sensed Frankie loitering in the doorway, watching him closely. In slow, sure steps he crossed the gym and stood in front of the stationary bike. He paused, waiting for her to burst out in laughter, telling him she was just kidding. No laughing or mocking came though. He glanced over his shoulder and she nodded, her smile gentle and reassuring.

  Sliding onto the seat, he placed his feet on the pedals, feeling calm for the first time since he’d walked into Frankie’s office forever-and-a-day ago, begging for her help.

  The first full leg extension sent a shot of adrenaline through his bloodstream. The next, a shot of pain. It didn’t make sense. He’d barely moved his torso. Sending his left leg toward the floor didn’t bother him. His right nearly crippled him. He cursed.

  Frankie rushed to his side. “Stop!”

  He ground his teeth and ignored her. He could do this. He would do this, by damn. He hated feeling like an invalid.

  “Dammit, Matthias! Stop! Now!” She lowered herself into his line of vision just as it blurred. “I. Said. Stop!”

  He did. Breath raced out of his lungs in staggered bursts. And he hated her. He needed to get away from her before he did something he’d regret later.

  “Let me look at your shoulder.”

  “Don’t touch me!” Menace dripped from the gritted words.

  She backed away as he stood. It took every bit of control he possessed to keep from tearing the room apart on his way out. The deserted hallway was a blessing. He slammed his palm into the bar-release of the door and ignored the blaring alarm announcing his exit.

  Xavier has left the building.

  Sunlight stabbed his eyes and made it difficult to see for a moment. He rubbed a hand over his face, surprised when his palm became damp.

  What the hell? He wasn’t even sure he knew himself anymore. He thought he’d gotten over the cry-baby thing years ago. Like he had a choice.

  He stuck close to the building, following it up to the chain link fence that opened to the field. Most of the time it was padlocked. Today, though, the lock hung loose. Open.

  Xavier took a deep breath before removing the lock, flipping the latch, and opening the gate. The hard dirt of the bullpen felt strange under his tennis shoes. He missed his cleats.

  He surveyed the field. He scanned from home plate, right field, the mound, second base, short stop… His throat tightened again as he looked at left field. He shook his head. Man, he never thought he’d miss a bunch of green grass so much.

  ***

  Frankie leaned against the open gate and watched Xavier. She hadn’t realized just how much his injury affected him. She knew he wasn’t a big fan of playing patient, of needing her help, but she hadn’t understood just how miserable he was.

  Until now.

  His chest expanded then contracted. His head dropped, shook back and forth. When his shoulders quavered with an unheard sob, Frankie barely stopped herself from rushing to him and wrapping her arms around him.

  He didn’t want her comfort. He didn’t want her help. Truth be told, he didn’t want anything from her. She was okay with that. At least she kept trying to tell herself it didn’t matter. Too bad her heart didn’t believe it. Every time he snapped at her, every time he scowled or cursed, her heart broke a little.

  His injury was only temporary, but she wondered if he understood that. He’d recover. Watching him on the stationary bike, she wasn’t so sure.

  Slowly, very slowly, he wandered, head down, shoulders slumped, toward the position he’d dominated for years.

  Frankie heard footsteps and turned to see Ricky Santiago stroll around the corner of the building. She shot a quick glance over her shoulder to check Xavier’s status. He still looked broken, standing lost in the middle of left field. She hustled to Ricky, caught him by the arm and guided him in the direction he’d just come.

  Xavier seemed to be coming apart at the seams. She’d been surprised to hear him go off on Grayson. There was no way Frankie could allow X to come face to face with the guy who’d stepped into his cleats—and done a decent job of filling them.

  “Hey, can you give me a half hour or so?”

  Ricky’s dark brows pinched, before one rose with the question he didn’t voice.

  “Please.”

  One huge shoulder lifted and dropped. “Sure thing, Doc. I’ll be back in thirty.”

  “Thanks.” She patted the tattoo sleeving his forearm and he walked away.

  Her thoughts returned to Xavier. She didn’t know what to do for him. She’d been hesitant to bring him with her today. Turned out, setting foot within Rockets Field was the worst thing for his mental recovery she could have possibly done.

  8

  After the few hours at the gym last week, Xavier’s mood had plummeted faster than a skydiver without a parachute. The impact, it seemed, just as dramatic.

  His attitude toward Frankie consisted of bitter one-syllable, mostly four-lettered words and grunts. His attitude toward his treatment and the world tended to be even worse. To say she worried about him would constitute the understatement of the year. She’d lost sleep over the damned man.

  Dealing with surly athletes was nothing new, but Xavier… He had her in knots, turned inside out, unsure of what to do next. She cared about him. Not that she didn’t care about the others…

  Oh, good hell.

  She shook her head. She resorted to chalking her feelings up to her intense need to mother, to serve, to … care. The need burned deep in her bones. She’d come to earth that way, according to her mother.

  And her mother would know.

  “Frances, you okay, baby girl?”

  Frankie glanced up from her cereal bowl into the light gray eyes of her mother and smiled. “Yeah, just lost in my thoughts.”

  “Lost is the right word.” Her mother placed a hand on the table to steady herself, awkwardly pulled a chair out, and carefully lowered herself into it. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve lost your best friend. And I know you just talked to Christian this morning.”

  “It’s Xavier.”

  Her mother raised a pale blond brow and tipped her head to the side. Her gaze held accusation, but none crossed her lips.

  “I just worry more than I should.”

  “That’s who you are, baby girl.” Slightly gnarled knuckles stroked over Frankie’s perfectly straight ones, and she once again hated the disease that had stolen so much from Charlotte Holden.

 
; Polio had killed many people, crippled many more. And though Frankie should be grateful her mother was alive and well, she still felt cheated sometimes. Well, she hadn’t been cheated. She harbored the resentment her mother didn’t.

  Frankie loved her mother. Loved taking care of her, but sometimes—a lot of the time—she wished she didn’t have to. Only because she wanted her mother to know a life free of pain, of struggle, of doctors and needles and crutches.

  “Hey.” A light, loving pat on her hand brought Frankie out of her thoughts. Her mother smiled. “You disappeared on me again.”

  Frankie offered a tight, completely fake grin. “Sorry. I just have a lot on my mind.”

  Mom nodded. “You shouldn’t keep all that worry buried deep in your heart. It’ll give you an ulcer. If you don’t want to talk to me—” Her hands shot up when Frankie began to protest. “—that’s fine, but promise me you’ll talk to Christian. Or somebody. Anybody. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Frankie wasn’t sure she could keep the promise. Christian would let her vent, but his disapproving commentary wouldn’t offer the relief she so desperately sought.

  “Hello?”

  Speak of the devil.

  Christian sauntered into the kitchen with all the swagger of the beefcake he was. Dressed in jeans and a white wife beater, muscles flexing with each step, Frankie took the only comfort he’d give her.

  She stood and all but threw herself into his arms. He chuckled softly and wrapped her in a hug. As he held her tightly against his chest, she melted. Sobs bubbled up from her toes and rumbled out in pitiful explosions of emotions.

  “Hey, baby. What’s wrong?” Christian gripped her shoulders and tried to ease her away enough to look in her face. She couldn’t let him see the pain in her eyes. When she didn’t budge or release the grip she had on his waist, he tightened his hold. With a particularly hard blubbering snuffle, she threw her arms around his neck and held on for dear life.

  “She’s worried about Xavier,” she heard her mother say, adding, “Take care of her, okay?” before leaving the two of them alone.