by Cari Quinn
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 really 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.
Chapter Three
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.
She pulled into the curved driveway and turned off the engine. Xavier snored softly and she considered giving herself a few more minutes of peace before waking the monster. She sighed as he snuffled. She couldn’t stall any longer.
Opening the door, she stepped out into the warm afternoon and went around to tug open his door. He looked so peaceful, his head bent back, his mouth hanging slightly open. She’d never realized how muscular his neck was. His face, relaxed in sleep, warmed her heart. He almost appeared innocent. She felt bad his solace wasn’t going to last.
At least she wouldn’t be around for his misery.
“Xavier?” She shook him gently. “X. We’re here.”
“Huh?” came his groggy reply. One hazel eye cracked open and he grinned crookedly. “Hey, sweet thang, I know you.”
“I know you, too.” She reached across to release his seatbelt and he rubbed her ass.
“Nice.” He growled low in his throat. “Just like I knew it’d be.”
“Come on, lover boy. Let’s get you settled inside.”
A white sling secured his arm tightly to his torso, making movement of his shoulder impossible. The immobility irritated him if the scowl was any indication. He shifted and moved, looking a bit like a beached whale, but couldn’t get momentum to get out by himself. She took his hand and helped him out of the car.
When he stumbled, she silently wished for a wheelchair. He flopped his left arm over her shoulders and tucked her against his body. Despite his current state of loopy, she allowed him to guide her toward the front door.
He nudged a rock with the tip of his flip-flop. “Key’s in there.”
“Um, X … that’s a rock.”
His laugh cracked louder than thunder. “For bein’ a doctor, you’re not very smart.” Before she could get offended, he laughed again. “It’s not a real rock, Doc. Trust me. Can you grab it? I’d get it myself, but I’m afraid I’d face plant.”
“Now look who’s talking like a rocket scientist.” She kept a hand on his waist while she fetched the rock in an attempt to humor him. But then she picked it up. It wasn’t very heavy. What the—? She turned it over in her hand and noticed the fake bottom. She slid it away with her thumb and viola! a key.
“Told ya.” He laughed again.
Inside, she stood in the entry and look around. His place was pretty close to what she’d expected. Wood floors were polished. A dark brown leather couch sat against the wall with an enormous flat screen taking up the opposing one with a coffee table in between.
Beyond the living room, Frankie saw a high, dark wood table with four matching chairs. Hallways branched out in different directions, but with no bedroom in sight, she worried the elaborate staircase meant Xavier would be making the hike.
He closed the door and wobbled.
“Easy there, big guy.” She held him until he steadied. “Let’s get you in bed. X, where’s the bedroom?”
He jerked his head toward the stairs. “Whoa! The room’s spinning. This is better than the teacups at Disneyland.”
“Come on, Cinderella.” She led him up the stairs and he didn’t complain about her assistance. Or claim he didn’t need her. Shouldering his two-hundred plus pounds wasn’t easy, but Frankie managed to get him to the top of the staircase.
Three open doors greeted them, a bedroom down a short hallway on the left, bathroom almost directly in front of them, and another bedroom on the right with another hallway off to the right. He started toward the bedroom on the right and she followed.
The enormous four-poster bed dominated the room, warring with the equally impressive dresser. Obviously Xavier liked pillows, since the bed had so many the black comforter barely peaked out from beneath them. A cream-colored rug contrasted beautifully with the dark walnut floors.
He stumbled to the side of the bed and kicked his flip-flops off. When he reached for his sweatpants, Frankie stopped him. Or tried to. And she’d never been so happy to see a pair of boxer-briefs in her life.
She yanked the comforter back, sending pillows flying. “That’s it. Slide in.”
He obeyed, struggling to get settled. He leaned back against the pillows and sighed. Then he sat up, huffed, groaned and plucked at his t-shirt. “This has got to go. I’ll never be able to sleep wearin’ this damn thing.”
“Xavier, the only way that’s coming off is to c
ut it off.”
“Then get the scissors.” He pointed toward the doorway. “Downstairs in the kitchen, drawer under the microwave.”
“Fine. I’ll be right back.” She headed for the door, but paused. Pointing a finger at him, she ordered, “Do not move. Not an inch, X. I mean it.”
With sloppy left-handed motions, he made an X over his heart. “I promise, Doc.”
She returned from the kitchen, scissors in hand, as quickly as she could. Even though he’d promised, she flew down the stairs and came back up by taking three steps at a time. He was out cold when she raced into his room, brandishing the scissors like a sword.
Her heart softened a bit in that moment. With his hair standing on end, each strand waving to the next, he looked more like a little boy than a grown man, and she wanted to take him in her arms and snuggle him. Instead she sank down into the leather recliner by the window and waited until he woke up. As soon as he did, she could find out who he’d lined up to take care of him, hand off his care and get back to her life.
* * *
“What do you mean you don’t have anybody to take care of you?” The question was simple enough, but the slight edge of hysteria in Frankie’s voice made Xavier want to laugh.
So he did. Which made her glare at him.
“I’m a big boy, Doc. I can take care of myself.”
“No. You can’t.”
“Oh, please. I’ve been doing it since I was fifteen years old.” Her brows pinched and he realized he’d given out information he hadn’t meant to divulge. Ever. “Really, Doc. I’ll be okay.”
She cursed and tugged her phone out of her back pocket. She swiped her finger across the screen, jabbed at it then held the phone up to her ear.
Her, “Hey,” introduced a whole bunch of “Blah, blah, blah. Blah, blah, blah.” until she finished with, “Yeah, I’ll let you know.”
Xavier’s head felt like a lead balloon, all floaty and unattached, yet too heavy to hold upright. His melon met the headboard with a thunk! Instead of clearing his thoughts, though, it muddled them even more. He couldn’t concentrate on a damn thing for longer than a few seconds.
