by Sara Rider
His instincts kicked in, pushing aside the fear and worry seizing his veins. He rushed to her side and brushed the sticky, wet bangs from her clammy forehead. She wasn’t sending him away, either, which meant she was worse than he’d anticipated. “What’s the matter, Jaime? Talk to me.”
“I . . . I can’t move.” Her fingers were swollen and bright red, curled downward into her palms.
“Can you feel this?” He squeezed her palm, careful to avoid her tender fingers.
She nodded slightly, whimpering from her labored effort.
“Stiff?”
“Everything’s twisting the wrong way.” She winced as he gently pressed her now-swollen knee joint. “What’s happening to me?”
His heart sank into his gut. The persistent inflammation, the fatigue, and now this. The pieces clicked together, and he knew what was happening. He’d seen it a few times in his career. But he never thought it would happen to her. Not in someone who lived and breathed soccer.
Not Jaime.
“I think it’s a flare. It’ll go away eventually, I promise. What’s your pain level out of ten?”
She looked so vulnerable and afraid, like a young child. Nothing like the powerhouse woman who had blown into his life like a hurricane. “Twelve. Please don’t make me go to a doctor.”
He sank back on his heels. “Fine. Not today, but we’re going as soon as we get home. Nonnegotiable.” He looked back at Lainey and tossed her his room key. “Get my med kit and as much ice as you can.”
He jogged to the bathroom and set the tub to fill with cold water.
“Got the ice,” Lainey said a few minutes later, holding two full ice buckets.
“Thanks.” He took it out of her hands and dumped it into the already chilly bathtub. When he came back out a few seconds later, Lainey was standing in the same spot, wringing her hands. He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Hey. I’ve got this. She’ll be fine, I swear. Just tell the team she’s got the flu or food poisoning or something, and I’ll be there when I can.”
It was obvious she didn’t want to leave her friend, but he knew Jaime would be more stressed if Lainey and the rest of her teammates were fretting about her instead of getting ready for the game.
Lainey nodded, grabbed her gear bag, and headed out. He went back to Jaime’s side and scooped her up from the bed. She rested in his arms, curled up like a little ball, too weak to get her arms around his neck.
He carried her into the bathroom. “This isn’t going to be fun, but you need to trust me.”
“Okay. But how do I know this isn’t just your idea of sick payback for telling Coach about us?”
He laughed in spite of the situation. Even at her worst, she still managed to keep a sense of humor. It was one of things that made him crazy about her in the first place.
“This is how you know.” Holding her tight, he kicked off his shoes and stepped into the ice-filled tub, lowering them both down into the freezing water. He didn’t bother taking his clothes off. Getting her some quick relief was his only priority.
She let out a shrill cry as the water enveloped her. He didn’t blame her. The icy water stung like a bitch.
After a moment, she let herself lean back against his chest. “What is it with you wanting to get me cold and wet all the time?”
“I like the way it makes your nipples stand out.”
She let out a soft, throaty laugh. “Jerk.”
“Feeling better yet?”
“A little.”
He hadn’t realized how much tension had wrapped through his body until the humor returned to her voice. They stayed in the tub for a good fifteen minutes until it felt like his balls had turned to icicles. Jaime hadn’t complained the entire time, even though she had goose bumps along her skin.
“I think that’s as much cold as I can handle. Are you feeling any better?”
She flexed her hand in front of her and winced. “Kind of hard to tell considering I can’t feel anything.” Her teeth chattered as she spoke. “I still don’t think I have much range of motion.”
“I’m going to drain the water and run a warm shower to warm up your muscles. Heat isn’t ideal for this kind of inflammation, but it’ll help offset the pain until we can get you something stronger.”
He got out of the tub and drained the bath, leaving a puddle of water on the floor from his soaking wet clothes. He shucked off his jeans and shirt but left his boxers on and turned the shower hand to hot.
He stepped back into the tub and lifted her to her feet, keeping his arms wrapped around her waist. She had regained enough strength to stand up, but he wasn’t taking any chances with her.
“No fair. If you get to strip down, so do I.”
He pulled her closer to his chest, letting the hot water sluice over their bodies. How many times had he fantasized about getting her dripping wet and pressed up next to him? “That’s not what this is about.”
“Please? I could use a little dignity right now. Only drunks end up in the showers fully dressed.”
He knew better, but when it came to Jaime, that didn’t seem to matter much. He stripped the tank top off her quickly, trying to ignore the whimpers of pain and the fact she had no bra on. Her shorts came off next, leaving her in nothing but a pair of black cotton panties.
“Thanks.” She looked up at him like he was some kind of hero. But judging by his reaction to the site of her bare breasts plastered against his chest, he wasn’t anything more than the average red-blooded male. The fact he still felt that way about her after what she’d done made him a huge sucker. “Gina saw me kiss you.”
He stilled, heart coming to a crashing stop in his chest. “What?”
“Yesterday morning, when we got back to the hotel. That’s the only reason I said anything. I was trying to protect you, not hurt you.”
He dropped his forehead to hers. “You weren’t trying to prevent me from being able to treat you?”
“No, but even if I had, that plan kinda backfired now.” She placed her shaky palms on his chest, barely grazing his skin like she was still unable to make her fingers move properly. “I’m scared, Alex.”
He kissed her forehead, then reached behind her and shut off the tap and grabbed one of the fluffy white towels to wrap around her. He carried her to the bed, leaving a wet trail on the carpet from the water dripping off his body, then rushed back to the bathroom to dry himself off. For the first time in his life he saw the value of the papery white bathrobes provided by the hotel.
He took his acupuncture kit from his bag, unwrapped the towel from her body, and set to work. “What’s your pain level now?”
“Eight.”
Better. Much better. But not good enough. “Acupuncture probably won’t help much in the long run, but it might give you some relief. Are you open to letting me try it?”
“Yeah. I trust you.”
It felt good to finally hear her say that after fighting with her for months. Problem was, he wasn’t sure if he could trust himself anymore.
15
JAIME BOBBED HER HEAD along to the infectious music on the radio while the waves crashed along the Kauai coastline in her view from the courtesy van Sport Fitness had sent. It was impossible to not be mesmerized by the incredible beauty of Hawaii. Her first-class plane ride over the Pacific was infinitely better than the economy-class ride three days ago after the Falcons’ brutal loss in Chicago. Her teammates’ somber faces made it seem like they were headed to a funeral instead of a ten-day break before the play-offs. Not that she spent much time looking at their faces. It was too hard, knowing that they were all wondering what was wrong with her. Worrying. Judging.
And then there was Alex.
They hadn’t talked about what happened between them since that day he’d come to her rescue after her body decided to revolt against itself. They didn’t talk about it
on the plane ride home, or the next day when he picked her up and drove her to see the Surge’s team doctor. He was nothing but professional, like he wanted to ignore the fact anything had ever happened between them, which was fine with her, since she didn’t know how she felt about him anyway.
Not true. She knew exactly how she felt about him. Excited. Adored. And most importantly, he made her feel safe. At least, he made her feel that way when they weren’t at each other’s necks.
He hadn’t taken her to a hospital or even a clinic. He had the Seattle Surge’s doctor meet them at the treatment room in Chester Stadium. Doctor Sidhu ran a bunch of blood tests and discussed some possible diagnoses, all of which buzzed past Jaime’s ears without making any kind of permanent impression. She had also given Jaime some kind of steroid shot that had worked amazingly on her aching joints. For the first time in a long while, she was starting to feel human again.
The van pulled to the side of the road along a narrow strip of palm-tree-laced beach, filled with white canvas tents.
“Here’s your stop,” the driver said, craning his neck over the high-backed leather seat with a grin.
“Thanks for the ride and the awesome tunes,” she answered, fist-bumping her chauffeur. “Do you accept tips?”
“How about a signed copy of the photo you’re about to take?” He waggled his brows.
“Sure thing.” With a chuckle, she stepped out of the van, letting the rich warm sand seep between her exposed toes from her flip-flops. The intense, humid air enveloped her like a sauna. Before, she would’ve found this kind of heat oppressive, but now it felt like a caress against her joints.
Barrett Campbell greeted her immediately with a handshake. To no one’s surprise, he was clad entirely in white linen and a fake tan. “Welcome, Jaime. Let me introduce you to Rebecca Smith. She’ll be doing the interview with you after the shoot.” He gestured to a brunette woman next to him.
“Nice to meet you,” Rebecca said, shaking Jaime’s hand with a grip so firm, she had to struggle not to wince. The steroid shot was a miracle drug, but the lingering tenderness was still there.
“Everyone’s ready for you,” Barrett said. “We’ll start in the wardrobe tent, then makeup, and then the magic will really happen.”
“Sounds good,” she replied, following them down the sandy dune toward the first tent. Her phone beeped a second later, as if on cue. She glanced at it, prepared to ignore it just as she had the fifteen other texts from Lainey, Alyssa, and the rest of her teammates. She just wasn’t ready to face them yet.
The text wasn’t from any of her teammates, though. It was from Jillian.
Good luck today! Knock ’em dead and call me if ANYONE treats you poorly. My bitch voice works through the phone as well as in person.
Jaime smiled, feeling instantly better.
The tent Barrett led her to was lined with racks of swimsuits. One side was filled with variously patterned men’s board shorts, and the other with women’s bikinis. “Annie here can help you find something that should suit your tastes.” He motioned to a young-looking blond woman managing to wear a heavy brocade shift without drowning in sweat from the eighty-eight-degree heat.
“I’ve picked out a selection of different styles that should fit you perfectly. Why don’t you have a look and see if anything calls to you,” Annie said.
Jaime grabbed a plastic hanger at random, then another. It seemed like every suit was a variation of string bikini tops, coupled with thong bottoms that had only the most minuscule swath of fabric in the front. “Why does everyone assume that all women walk around with a full Brazilian wax at all times?”
Annie’s mouth dropped. She exchanged a nervous look with Barrett.
Jaime rolled her eyes. “Relax. We’re good. I was just making a point.”
“Ah, well then I’ll let you get to it,” Barrett said before making a quick exit.
Jaime riffled through the racks while the wardrobe assistant wisely steered clear. Not that Jaime minded the help, but she had a pretty distinct sense of what she liked when it came to her style, and it was clear she and Annie were not orbiting around the same sartorial vision for this shoot. Jaime was determined to look strong. Athletic. Not just sexy. And as long as the steroids didn’t wear off any time soon, she might pull it off.
After a few minutes, she managed to find a pair of black boy-cut bottoms and a hot-pink sports-bra-style top that cut down to a deep V but had adequate straps to rein in her chest. She ducked into a little curtained-off corner and tried her mismatched suit on, then stepped out to examine the results in the full-length mirror.
Perfect fit.
Sexy but not over-the-top. Sure, her cleavage was unavoidable, but her athleticism would be highlighted instead of overshadowed by an excessive amount of side boob. After a nod of approval, Annie led her to the next tent for hair and makeup where another stylist named Brenna instructed her to sit in one of the mirrored workstations.
Brenna got to work on a high ponytail, which was probably a disappointment considering there was zero challenge in brushing Jaime’s thick, poker-straight black hair back and strapping an elastic around it. She closed her eyes and relaxed into the canvas folding chair. It felt darn good to be pampered after the stress of the last few weeks.
The sound of someone entering the tent pried her eyes open. A man, whom she assumed to be Martin Daniels, wearing the brightest pair of floral-patterned trunks that mankind had ever created, sat down in the chair next to her. With his all-American blond hair, blue eyes, and lean, muscular body, he managed to pull off the trunks without looking completely ridiculous.
“Nice shorts,” Jaime said before introducing herself.
“Thanks,” he replied with a grin. “I’m Martin, and I’m guessing you’re Jaime. So, what are the chances they’ll be able to makeup on a six-pack for me?” He pushed out his belly to simulate a beer gut and admired himself in the mirror.
Jaime laughed. “I think you’ll be just fine.”
“If you say so,” he said, relaxing his gut and showing off his naturally chiseled abs. He leaned forward and plucked a bottle from the collection of potions and lotions in front of them. “I heard that as part of our pre-shoot bonding, we’re supposed to rub each other down with oil.” He waggled his eyebrows.
Brenna leaned over and snatched the bottle from his hands without missing a beat. “Actually, that’s my job.” Jaime caught her wink at Martin in the mirror.
“Natural-born flirt, huh?” His disarming charm wasn’t going to succeed in making her get all smitten with him, but it would probably make for a fun shoot.
Martin shrugged good-naturedly.
Brenna finished up their hair and makeup while they chatted about sports. Turned out they were both secret gymnastics fans. They exited the tent to head toward the beach where a dozen people were setting up the shoot. Tingles of excitement burst in her belly like mini fireworks. It was just as glamorous and amazing as the fantasies crafted by her and Chelsea when they were kids. I’ll do you proud, sis, as long as my body holds up a little longer.
She flexed her left hand a few times. A little stiff, like it had been for the last few months, but not nearly as bad as that morning in the hotel in Chicago when it felt like someone had shoved hot coals under her knuckles. She could do this.
She would do this.
Her right foot caught on a bit of driftwood as they approached the set, sending her stumbling forward. Martin caught her by the elbow before she face-planted into the sand.
“Whoa! You all right?”
“Fine,” she said, forcing a smile to mask the shot of pain climbing up her calf. “Just nervous, I guess.”
Martin’s grip on her elbow deepened sharply. She looked at him, wondering what was wrong. “What’s this?” He turned her arm over to expose the bluish bruise trailing down from the inner crook of her elbow.
&n
bsp; “That? My doctor just got a little overexcited at my last blood test. Nothing to worry about. Barrett said they could photoshop it out.” No need to mention the bruise was a direct result of her flinching like a baby, which made it a million times harder for the needle to find her vein. But she was still proud of herself. She had gone through with it, and that was what mattered.
“Oh, okay.” His easygoing smile returned.
Weird.
Also weird was the giant pink clamshell lying at the edge of the water next to a large black trident. Barrett, who stood next to the set, directed them toward the props.
“You both look great. The photographer has a few different ideas planned for you, but we thought we’d start with a reenactment of The Birth of Venus, with the mighty Poseidon defending her from the harsh sea.”
“Awesome,” Martin said, while Jaime’s face pinched tight.
“Sounds good,” she said through the tight line of her mouth. Don’t ruin this. But she couldn’t help herself. She marched to the set and picked up the trident, flexed her biceps, and looked expectantly at Martin.
Luckily, he laughed and played along, walking onto the clamshell and posing with over-the-top demureness while she hefted the trident like a warrior. The blank look on Barrett’s face alone was worth it, but Jaime kept up the mockery when the photographer started snapping.
Martin proved to be easy to work with, having a goofy sense of humor. They mostly came up with their own poses, with the production crew interjecting only when they needed to get certain angles and lighting right. Eventually, the crew brought out some thick, inflatable air mattresses, giving them the chance to show off their athleticism with some acrobatic tricks.
It was a freaking blast.
Jaime felt strong and beautiful and amazing. Not once over the two-hour shoot did she think about the fact that a few days ago she woke feeling like she’d been cast in cement. And most importantly, she knew deep in her heart that Chelsea would have been proud.
Once they wrapped, Jaime and Martin were driven to their hotel to shower off the sweat and sand that had gotten stuck in every nook and cranny of their bodies. They only had one night in the four-star luxury before being shipped back stateside at the ass crack of dawn, and she was determined to milk every minute of it.
