by Roz Lee
“I didn’t get much sleep on the plane. None, in fact. Tony complained the whole way. You’ve never experienced pain until you’ve heard about it in three languages. Did you know he speaks Spanish and Italian?” Royce punched one of her throw pillows then rolled to his side facing away from her. “Wake me up when you’re ready to go.”
Not if. When. Did he really have so much confidence in her? That would make exactly one person who did since she was fresh out of the commodity herself.
She opened her mouth to say he might be more comfortable on her bed, but thought better of it before the words left her mouth. She’d never be able to sleep there again for imagining him naked in her bed. He might be snoring on her sofa, but he was doing it with his clothes on. She could live with those memories. Barely.
Ignoring his presence as much as she was capable of, she returned her attention to Tony’s situation. Crunching the new data took the most time. From there, it was fairly simple to compare and contrast the information with the previous readings.
A buzzing noise dragged her attention away from the computer screen. She searched around for her cell phone, found it in her purse by the door, and quickly concluded the sound had come from another device. The buzzing started up again. She followed the sound to Royce’s suit coat draped over a chair at her small dining set. Probably his new lover.
Retrieving the phone, she clutched it in her hand and crossed the room, debating whether to wake up its owner or not.
“What?” Royce rolled to his back. He looked confused and rumpled, but it took only a moment for his brain to put the pieces together. He sat up, running a hand over his face and through his hair.
“Your phone. Someone was calling you. I thought it might be important.”
He took the item in question from her outstretched hand, tapped the screen a few times then said, “Tony,” by way of explanation. He punched the screen again and a ring tone filled the room. After two rings, a man’s voice came over the line.
“Strikeout. How’s it going over there?”
Royce looked to her for the answer. “Hi, Tony. Dr. Reed here. I’ve been studying the data, and I can’t find anything wrong. I don’t know what to tell you.” She’d been going cross-eyed looking at the charts and graphs. She’d even created a new set, certain she had done something wrong the first time. The man’s pain was coming from somewhere, but the data revealed nothing. She felt less than useless.
“Look, they’re talking about surgery over here. They think something is torn. Please tell me you have something to keep me from going under the knife. I’d be out the rest of the season with no guarantee of coming back—ever.”
The desperation in Tony’s voice was evident. He was grasping at straws, and she couldn’t blame him. The graphs she had memorized flashed through her brain. “Tony. I can’t say for certain there isn’t a tear, but all my data suggests there isn’t one. So did the MRI you had yesterday. The only thing I’ve seen even remotely out of sync is a twitch below your right shoulder blade. It could be a pinched nerve. If that’s the case, I’d suggest you see a chiropractor instead of a surgeon.”
Silence reigned on both sides of the connection.
She shifted from one foot to the other. Royce’s steady gaze and quiet smile boosted her confidence. “What can it hurt? If it doesn’t work, surgery will still be an option.”
“We have a chiropractor here. He wants to talk to you. Can you come down?”
Royce nodded, already slipping his feet back into his shoes.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Thanks, Tricia. Tell Strikeout to drive careful. You’re the only thing standing between me and a scalpel.”
“I’m right here, Ramirez. I can hear you.”
“I meant for you to hear me. Get her here in one piece, or I’ll take you apart with my bare hands.”
“And I’ll help him.” Tricia smiled at Clare’s comment.
“On our way.” Royce ended the call. “What do you need to take with you?”
Tricia glanced at the papers scattered over her desk. “My computer and all the papers.” She powered down the computer while Royce gathered and stacked the reports she’d printed out.
“Looks like you’ve been busy.”
“You slept for nearly three hours.” He’d said he hadn’t slept much on the plane, and having seen him leave the stadium the previous night, she doubted he got much sleep then, either. Forcing those thoughts from her head, she took the stack from his hands and stuffed them in the bag with her computer. “Let me get some shoes. I’ll sort the paper on the way.”
Once they were in her car on the way to the stadium, she had a chance to think about what they were doing. “I’m not making any promises. There could be a glitch with the data.”
“Or not.” Royce glanced her way before returning his eyes to the road. “What do you think? Is there something wonky with the data?”
She shook her head. “No. I don’t think there is.”
“Then go in there and tell Dr. Stephens. He’s the chiropractor the team keeps on retainer. He consults on most injuries. I’ve always thought he seemed like a reasonable kind of guy.” He nodded toward the bag she held in her lap. “Get your ducks in a row, then. These people are all about facts.”
“The data doesn’t lie,” she told the assemblage of medical professionals gathered around to hear what she had to say. “As you can see by comparing two data sets, all the muscles in his arm and shoulder are functioning at relatively the same capacity they were three weeks ago when I took the baseline readings. His range of motion is limited at this time by the pain he’s experiencing, nothing more. Once the cause of the pain is removed, he should be one-hundred percent again.”
She wished she’d taken time to change her clothes. Nothing screamed airhead like a blonde in shorts and sandals. At least she had her fuck-you-I-have-more-advanced-degrees-than-you-do voice at her command at all times. If nothing else, using it made her feel more in control than she was.
Because of their numbers, they’d borrowed Doyle Walker’s office for their meeting. A couple of the men sat together at one of the conversation groupings, comparing the data sheets she’d brought. The rest watched her as if she might abscond with their would-be patient if they took their eyes off her for a second. The tension in the room was thicker than mucus and just as pleasant.
Tony, one arm in a sling and the other wrapped around his wife’s shoulders, gave her a weak smile from their place on the sofa. She smiled back, wishing for his sake she had more than a hunch to go on. She’d be more confident of her position if the medical professionals had consented to let her see the X-rays and MRI results, but no amount of pleading on her part or Tony’s had convinced them to open their tight fists. They didn’t trust her, and they sure as hell didn’t respect her.
To distract herself, Tricia let her gaze wander over the artifacts and treasures in the team manager’s office. Photographs and plaques covered the walls. A bookshelf doubled as a trophy case on the wall nearest the desk. A bowl filled with used baseballs sat front and center on the coffee table before her. She picked up one of the balls and examined the writing scribbled on one side.
“Jason Holder’s walk-off homer from the National League playoffs last year.” The last time she’d noted Royce’s location, he’d been looking out the massive window that formed the back wall of the office and provided a spectacular view of the field below. Having him so close made her nervous. She put the ball back in the bowl and picked up another.
“Let me see that.” He reached over her shoulder. She almost dropped the ball when their fingers brushed as they passed it between them. Maybe being disgraced as a researcher wouldn’t be so bad after all if it meant never having to be this close to Royce again. She didn’t know how much more torture she could take.
“Shit. What’s this doing in here?”
“What is it?” Tony asked.
Royce held the ball up. “It’s the ball Suzuki
hit off me two years ago.”
“The one that went into orbit?”
“It didn’t leave the atmosphere, asshole.”
Tony laughed at Royce’s piqued retort. “Close enough. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was recovered by a satellite.”
Royce came around her chair to place the ball back in the bowl. He picked up another and examined the writing on it. “Wonder if he has any of your hits in here?” He examined a few more. “Doesn’t appear so. Interesting, don’t you think?”
“Keep looking, Strikeout.” Everyone turned toward the booming voice. Doyle Walker stood in the open door, surveying the assembled group. “There’s at least one in there.” Advancing into the room, he shut the heavy wooden door behind him. “Someone want to tell me what’s going on?”
“The quacks want to cut me open in order to fix something they admit they aren’t sure is even there.” Tony got to his feet. “Dr. Reed thinks differently. I’m inclined to agree with her.”
Doyle listened—nodded—then directed his attention to the huddle of doctors. “Is that true?”
“We think exploratory surgery is the best option.” Tricia frowned at the famed doctor’s declaration.
The manager didn’t agree or disagree. Instead, he focused on her. “What do you recommend?”
Tricia stood, clasping her hands together in front of her to keep them from shaking. “Based on my research, I think it’s nothing more than a pinched nerve. Most likely, a session with a good chiropractor could alleviate the pain and get Mr. Ramirez back on the field for tomorrow’s game.”
“I opt for door number two, Tricia…I mean, Dr. Reed’s solution.”
“Your opinion is duly noted.” Doyle turned to Royce. “You’ve had ample time to assess Dr. Reed’s work. I guess now is as good a time as any for your report. What’s your opinion on Dr. Reed’s project? Should we listen to what she has to say or not?”
Tricia swayed, the blood draining from her head to pool in her feet. Report? What did he mean by that? Her eyes darted to Royce. The apologetic expression on his face confirmed his duplicity. He’d been sent to spy on her and report back to team management on the validity of her project. He’d have no choice but to throw her under the bus. She sank into the chair behind her and braced for the impact.
Fuck and double fuck!
The color drained from Tricia’s face and for a second Royce thought she might faint. God, he was an asshole for putting her through this. He’d hoped to find a time to speak with Doyle privately, to set the man straight. There was no reason for her to know he’d been gathering intelligence for team management regarding her research. No way was he going to give specifics about what had occurred between them, but he could be truthful without details. As she collapsed, obviously expecting the worst, he prayed he still had a chance with her once he said his piece.
“You all saw the game the other day. I think Dr. Reed’s research speaks for itself. I’ve been struggling for months. I don’t know how much of my problem was in my head and how much was physical, but Dr. Reed pointed out issues I was having with certain muscle groups. By paying attention to those, I was able to bring my game around. I don’t think I could have done it without her.”
“Besides,” he continued. “What’s the harm in trying what she suggests? It’s a chiropractor for Christ’s sake not a Voodoo ceremony. The way I see it, Ramirez hasn’t got anything to lose. If it doesn’t work, surgery would still be an option.”
“My thoughts, exactly.” Tony added his opinion. “It’s my body. I vote for the chiropractor.”
“But—”
“The chiropractor it is.” Doyle’s decision cut off the team doctor’s protest. “Everybody clear out.”
He made shooing motions, and they all made their way to the door. “Ramirez.” Everyone, including Tony, stopped and waited to hear what the man had to say. “Let me know how it goes.”
“Yes, sir.”
They turned as one and filed out the door. Royce breathed a sigh of relief. Doyle hadn’t pressed for a detailed explanation, and had still gone with Tricia’s recommendation. He hoped like hell she would give him time to explain. The first to arrive at the elevator filled the car, leaving Royce and Tricia, along with one of the trainers to wait for the next car to take them down to the bowels of the stadium.
“I hope you’re right.” The older man spoke. It was common knowledge Herschel Ford had been with the team ever since they moved to Dallas from Washington, D.C. decades ago. “I don’t want to see Tony out for the rest of the season, especially now that we’ve got Strikeout back in action. We might still have a shot at the pennant.”
“I wouldn’t be back if it weren’t for Dr. Reed.”
Tricia’s glare told him to keep his mouth shut, but he couldn’t. If there was anyone on the wellness staff with the ability to influence the opinions of the others, it was Herschel. “You should take a look at the research she’s doing. Even if this doesn’t work out with Tony, there’s no doubt in my mind it could one day change the way we do physical therapy.”
“Really?” The elevator dinged, and they all stepped inside. “You’re that confident in her research?”
He’d done what he wanted, planted a seed of interest in the man’s mind. “I am. When Doyle asked me to take part in the study, he had some concerns about the possible use of the information, so he asked me to be his ears and eyes on the program. I found nothing to be concerned about.” He glanced at Tricia. Facing forward, her gaze glued to the red numbers overhead, displaying the floor numbers as we descended from the uppermost level to the lowest, she appeared uninterested in the conversation. He hoped she was paying attention because he was sure he’d never get another chance to tell his side of the story. This was as good as it was going to get.
“I don’t know the full scope of what her program can do, but I feel this kind of technology is the future of rehab and physical therapy.” They’d reached the lower level. The elevator doors opened with a swoosh. Royce put his arm out to hold the door open while they exited the car.
“It’s interesting to hear your opinion, Strikeout,” Herschel spoke as he left the car. “I’ve been pushing for the team to look at new innovations to speed recovery times for injured players.”
The older man glanced down the hall where Tricia was making a rapid escape. “Dr. Reed. If you’ve got a minute, I’d like to talk to you about this research of yours.”
Seeing her stop on a dime and turn, a look of complete surprise on her face, Royce had to force his expression to remain neutral when what he wanted to do was smile.
“Why would you want to do that?” she asked.
“I’ve been in this business my entire adult life. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s if we don’t change with the times, the times will change without us. There’s a lot of stuff we take for granted today that didn’t exist when I first started out. I’d be a fool to think everything that’s ever going to be invented already exists.”
“Don’t you want to wait and see what happens with Mr. Ramirez?”
Herschel shrugged. “Does it matter what happens? Like Strikeout said, your program might not help him, but that doesn’t mean it won’t help the next guy who gets injured.”
“I don’t have much data yet. Not on the Mustangs, anyway. But I have the research I did with college athletes.”
“You must have seen something positive in those results or you wouldn’t be here now.”
“You’re correct…. I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”
“Herschel Ford, at your service.” He extended his hand. After they shook hands, they headed down the hall toward Tricia’s office, talking as they went.
Royce rubbed the back of his neck and watched them until they turned a corner. He hoped his efforts were received in the spirit he’d offered them. He really did believe in Tricia’s work, even if no one would ever know exactly how she’d helped him. Because she had, he believed her work needed to continue. One way or
the other, they’d find a way to make sure it was only used for the right purposes.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Tricia stared into the freezer. Neither one of the two frozen dinners staring back at her held any appeal. As she closed the door and opened the one below to peer at the meager contents of her refrigerator, she faced the facts. She wasn’t hungry. Reason stated she had to eat. It was going on 8:00 p.m., and she hadn’t eaten anything since nibbling at the breakfast Clare Ramirez had fixed for them in the wee hours of the morning.
She’d spent the better part of the afternoon explaining her research and the data she’d collected to Mr. Ford. He’d seemed interested, and they had an appointment to talk again soon. Talking with the older man, she hadn’t had time to worry about Tony, but alone in her apartment, she couldn’t think about anything else. The more time that passed without word about how his session with the chiropractor had gone, the more her spirits dimmed. Since no one had called her she assumed her solution hadn’t worked and he was still in pain. Most likely, they were prepping him for surgery already.
She’d purposely avoided thinking about Royce. He’d not only been her first test subject, but he’d been sent to spy on her, too. She knew there were plenty of people who were suspicious of her intentions, but she’d never thought anyone would stoop to espionage. All they’d needed to do was ask and she would have answered all their questions. Instead, they’d sent a mole in to get the goods on her.
She’d been nothing but honest with him, and the League, but neither one had given her the same courtesy.
Royce had come to her defense today, telling everyone to give her a chance. They had nothing to lose by going with her recommendation. They were just being pigheaded and chauvinistic. No woman was going to infiltrate their good ole boys club and start telling them how to do their jobs. Not even if it meant saving one of their star players from undergoing a surgery he might not need. Thank God Royce had spoken up when he did.
