Keeping Score

by Sara Rider

  Jaime nearly choked on her yogurt. Somehow in the craziness of the past week, she’d forgotten that there was yet another lie she needed to hold up like a wall between her and her friends. “Why don’t you tell us what kind of dress you’re thinking of, and we can do a little online browsing?”

  Lainey slumped into the corner of the couch. “I guess I want something pretty but practical. Comfortable. Not too fancy but still special. And it needs to be purple.”

  “Wait a second. When did you decide on purple?”

  “I didn’t decide on purple. Gabe’s mom wants purple.”

  “Yeah? So what? I’m sure Portland’s goalie wanted you to not blast that ball so hard through her hands that you broke her middle finger when you took that penalty shot against them last month, but you didn’t let that stop you,” Jaime said.

  A smug look briefly passed over Lainey’s face, quickly replaced by a more serious expression. “I want to make his mom happy. She’s been so good to me.”

  “Aw, you love his mom. That is so sweet. And romantic,” Alyssa said.

  “It’s also spineless. It’s your wedding day. You choose the color of your dress. Period.” Alyssa’s fingers dug into Jaime’s thigh. “With the help of your trusted bridal party, of course,” she added, catching on to Alyssa’s rather legitimate concern. Left to her own devices, Lainey would probably give up before setting foot in a single store and just wear her Falcons jersey. “You can give Gabe’s mom free range of all the decorations and food, since you don’t want to deal with that anyway, and promise her you’ll find a dress that doesn’t clash with the purple theme.”

  “You’re a genius! Why didn’t I think of that?’ Lainey launched herself across the couch in what could only be described as the world’s most awkward group hug, with Alyssa and Jaime holding their bowls above their heads to prevent a chocolate disaster.

  “As long as I still get to do your hair and makeup,” Jaime said with her cheeks smooshed between Alyssa’s and Lainey’s shoulders.

  Her two friends backed away slowly, exchanging a look over Jaime’s head.

  “What?” Lainey’s eyes zeroed in on the side of her head. Jaime reached to her hair and felt the fried lock. “Oh, come on. It’s one mistake in a lifetime of fabulous hair. You cannot hold this against me.” As long as she timed her next cortisone shot to coincide with the winter wedding, she’d still be able to work her magic.

  “Umm, I’m just going to put this away for you. Far, far away.” Alyssa picked up the curling iron still sitting on the coffee table and headed to Jaime’s bathroom. She came back to the living room and stopped in front of the couch, putting her hands on her hips. “Why do you have two toothbrushes in your bathroom?”

  “Uh, one brush for the top teeth and one for the bottom. Doesn’t everyone do it that way?” Alyssa narrowed her eyes while Jaime squirmed. She wanted more than anything to tell her two closest friends about the kind, smart, hot man who was amazing in bed, but Alex was going to be mad enough about her subterfuge this morning. The last thing she needed was to betray his trust further. She pulled her computer onto her lap and clicked on the Betsey Johnson website. “Come on, let’s find this bride-to-be a dress.”

  Another knock sounded at Jaime’s door, and her heart jumped into her throat. If it was Alex here to scold her for missing practice, their secret would be out. She passed the laptop to Alyssa and raced to the door, opening it up only a fraction of an inch.

  Not Alex. Jillian, her agent. “If you don’t let me in, I’m just going to blow the damn thing down like the big bad wolf that I am.”

  She swung the door open. “What are you doing here?”

  Jillian brushed past her into the living room. “Originally, I was taking a last-minute red-eye flight to rescue your mummified corpse from this basement and plan you an epic funeral, since I know there is no other reason I would be getting a call from your management asking why you’ve ditched out on practice this week and aren’t answering your phone. But now that I’m here and you’re actually alive, I suppose I’m looking for an explanation.”

  Jaime winced. “Um, you look fabulous for having taken an overnight flight.” It was true. There wasn’t a single wrinkle in Jillian’s cobalt blue shift dress or black blazer, and her blond hair looked like she just had a professional blowout.

  “It’s part of the job.” She paused, expression morphing from mild disappointment to a wide, professional grin when she noticed the other women in the living room. She marched to the couch in her black stilettos with her hand held out. “Nice to meet you. I’m Jillian Nichols, owner of Nichols Sports Management.”

  Lainey and Alyssa introduced themselves, gracefully accepting business cards.

  “So, you can see I’m not dead. We’re just having a bit of a girls’ night. Frozen yogurt?” Jaime gave her agent a pleading look, hoping the other woman would understand the hidden message in her pursed lips and wide eyes. She was going to have to tell Jillian everything, but not in front of her teammates. She needed one more night of normal.

  Jillian gave her a subtle head nod. “I’d love some, as long as you don’t mind me interrupting your evening.”

  “The more the merrier,” Alyssa said sweetly. “We were just looking at wedding dress options for Lainey.”

  Jillian’s eyes lit up and she wriggled into the couch. “Are you thinking bridal gown, cocktail dress, or something less formal? Do you have a venue and date yet?”

  “Late fall or early winter. We’re getting married at a cabin, then heading to a nearby hotel for the reception. I want something less casual than a bridal gown but still special.”

  Jaime watched Jillian take hold of the laptop. “Something like this?”

  “Oh wow, that’s beautiful,” Lainey said. “That’s the one!”

  Jaime abandoned the frozen yogurt she was scooping out in the kitchenette and peered over the back of the couch. The webpage displayed a half-dozen tasteful gowns, but it was a long silver column dress that had Lainey riveted.

  “This is the top designer in New York for nontraditional wedding dresses. I can hook you up.” Jillian was already on her phone texting someone. “There. Done.”

  “Uh, thank you,” Lainey said like she was in a daze.

  “No need to thank me. You’re a friend of Jaime’s. Just promise me that if you ever do part ways with your current agent, you’ll give me a call.”

  “Well, now that that’s settled, it’s time to talk about Jaime’s photo shoot in Hawaii. I want all the details,” Alyssa said cheerfully. She stole her laptop to bring up a photo of Martin Daniels.

  Relief spread like warm butter in Jaime’s chest. She’d spent so many days wrapped up in her own anxiety that she forgot how good it was to just relax with the people she loved most. With no space left on the couch, she dragged a chair out from her kitchen table.

  “Dear god, that man’s face is stupidly pretty,” Alyssa said, practically swooning at the picture of the blond hunk with a bat slung over his shoulder. “Please tell me you took advantage of the romantic getaway to get a little something-something.”

  “Nope. He made it clear that he wasn’t opposed to the idea, but I wasn’t in the mood, I guess.”

  Alyssa raised her eyebrows. Jaime didn’t blame her for the doubt. The two were equally boy crazy and spent many a long night on the road passing the time by playing “who would you rather.” “Martin is hot, I’ll give you that. But there was something not quite right about him. He had this strange energy, like a wire stretched so tight, it’d snap at any moment.”

  “Damn. After the bad luck I’ve had this year with men, I guess I’m not surprised to hear about another guy whose personality doesn’t live up.”

  Jaime leaned forward and patted Alyssa on the knee. “There are still some good ones out there.”

  “Like Gabe,” Lainey added.

  Like Alex,
Jaime thought. She cleared her throat as soon as she realized Jillian was looking at her with a curious expression, like she was using her laser vision to read Jaime’s mind.

  Alyssa launched the throw pillow at Lainey’s head. “Pretty sure that hunky fiancé of yours is taken.”

  “Oh right. Well, if it can happen for me, it’ll happen for you, too.”

  “Thanks, Lainey. Love you.”

  “Love you, too, Lys.”

  “Oh my god. Could you guys be sappier?” Jaime said, earning a chuckle from Jillian.

  “Better to be sappily in love with your friends than to fall miserably for the wrong guy,” the blond agent said with her trademark cynicism. “Trust me, male athletes are almost always the wrong guy. Though I’m told Gabe Havelak is the exception,” she added diplomatically.

  “I bet you have the best gossip about the big sports stars,” Alyssa prodded.

  For the next hour, Jillian entertained them with her inside knowledge of the sordid affairs of big-name professional athletes. Eventually Lainey yawned enough times for Alyssa to notice and suggest they hit the road to get a good night’s sleep before practice. Jaime walked them to the door, feeling more grateful for their friendship than she had the words to express.

  Alyssa slipped on her shoes, then gave her a hug that lasted a little longer than their normal good-bye squeeze. When she pulled back, she was biting her lip like she was fighting to hold back the words on her tongue.

  “Alyssa, we talked about this,” Lainey said with a low, warning voice.

  “I know we said we weren’t going to ask about it,” Alyssa said. “But I can’t help it. I’m worried sick. The whole team is. We miss you, Jaime. Please say you’re coming back to practice tomorrow.”

  Jaime sucked in a breath. Sharp, prickly tears battered her retinas. She might’ve let them spill if they were only tears of happiness from the love her friends were giving her. But they were tears of shame, too. Shame that she was letting her teammates down. Shame that she was lying to them. Shame that she wasn’t the strong, indomitable person she’d convinced them she was.

  “I’m fine,” she finally mustered. “I was just a little bit sick. Then tired from all the flights. I swear, there’s nothing wrong with me. I’ll see you tomorrow. I promise.”

  “Are they right to be worried?” Jillian asked with her arms crossed as soon as the door was shut.

  Jaime exhaled and told her everything. The RA, the new medications, the fear and panic that had been shrouding her for months. When she finished, Jillian did something completely out of character. She hugged her. Awkwardly, but it was still a hug.

  “I wish you’d told me sooner,” Jillian said after releasing Jaime.

  “I’m sorry. I know it made it ten times as hard for you to do your job.”

  “Not that. I mean, yes, it did make it harder, but that’s not the point. You shouldn’t have to go through that alone.”

  “Not completely alone.” Somehow talking about Alex was tougher than anything else, but their relationship was something that could impact her career, and Jillian had a right to know. “I decided to stop fighting with the team physiotherapist and start banging him instead.”

  Jillian’s mouth parted with surprise.

  Jaime twisted her hands together, trying to come up with the right words. “I mean, not just bang him. I think it’s more. A lot more.” At least she hoped so.

  “Good for you,” Jillian said after a long, heavy pause. “Look, I understand why you don’t want anyone else to know about this. Just because you’re an athlete, it doesn’t mean you give up your right to privacy. But you have good friends on this team. People who love you. It’s okay to open up sometimes and accept the support they want to give you.”

  “Easier said than done.”

  Jillian smiled. “Trust me, I know. I’m going to head back to my hotel and plan out how we’re going to handle it if this secret does come out. In the meantime, I want you to focus on keeping yourself strong, physically and mentally.”

  “I will. I promise,” she said, hoping that if she poured enough faith into the words, they would come true. Lord knew she’d broken more than enough promises lately.

  20

  JAIME DIDN’T HEAR FROM Alex that evening, and when the radio silence continued into the next morning, she started to worry that he was more upset with her than she’d realized. She rolled out of bed and fished around her dresser for clean underwear, fighting the urge to call him. He hadn’t replied to either of her texts yesterday, and she didn’t want to come off as desperate. If he wanted to call her, he would.

  Or maybe he was waiting for her to apologize.

  She grabbed her phone from the bedside table and pulled up his number from the contact list. Her thumb hesitated over the send button. Indecision seized her body like a straitjacket. Did she really need to apologize? It’s not like she’d run over his favorite pet. All she did was ask him to cover for her while she tried to process the second-worst news she’d ever received in her life. The fact that covering for her meant lying to his bosses and potentially jeopardizing his professional reputation wasn’t her fault.

  If she knew a real relationship would be this hard, she would’ve avoided it. Except she’d tried to avoid it and failed miserably, because the thought of not being with him made her heart ache.

  What if he didn’t feel the same way?

  She grabbed a pair of white athletic socks and stuffed her phone inside one sock, then the other. Next, she twisted a thick hair elastic around the opening to seal it shut. “There, that should do it.”

  Feeling rather proud of her ingenious method of self-control, she tossed her phone on the bed and resumed dressing. So far it had been a good morning. She woke up without much stiffness, and her ankle felt almost fine. She couldn’t remember the last time it felt that way. Maybe it was the meds. Maybe it was just the random split personality of the disease, but it sure as heck seemed like a sign she was supposed to get her butt to practice and beg Coach to let her play in tomorrow’s semifinal.

  She pulled a T-shirt over her head just as a muffled beat blared from her phone.

  “Shit!” She scrambled to get her head through the neck hole, then lunged for her phone. By the time she had wedged a fingernail between the rows of tightly wrapped elastics, the music abruptly quit.

  Probably for the best.

  A moment later, a knock sounded at the door. She ran out of her bedroom with her shirt half on. As she twisted the knob, the phone in her hand rang again. She swung the door open. Alex stood in the entrance with grocery bags at his feet, his phone at his ear. He raised his eyebrows, taking in the bizarre sight of her left arm sticking through the neck hole and sock-covered phone in the other hand.

  “Don’t ask,” she muttered, fixing her shirt.

  He lowered his phone, ending the muffled ringtone blasting from hers, and picked up the bags. “Thought you might need some breakfast.”

  Warmth spread through her belly. “You didn’t have to do that.” She helped him carry the bags to the kitchen, still unsure of where exactly she stood with him. He was here, which had to mean something—at least she hoped it did.

  “It’s my way of saying sorry for not calling you back yesterday.”

  “I’m sorry for asking you to lie for me yesterday.” She sucked in a shaky breath. “I was scared of everybody finding out.”

  His jaw tightened, hardening the planes of his face. “At some point it is going to come out. The rheumatologist is going to send the consult to Dr. Sidhu, and she’s going to pass it on to me. I have to bring it to Victor’s attention at that point.”

  “It’s so unfair. It’s my body. I shouldn’t have to tell everyone my business.” Her sister’s illness had been so visible and public. One day they were utterly identical, the next Chelsea’s hair had fallen out and her body became skin and bones. Panic
seized her spine at the thought of having to live through this in the public eye.

  “No, but if you want to play again, you need to tell the coaching staff and the administration. They need to know what’s going on with you, but we can keep this quiet from the other players if you want.”

  She nodded, feeling reassured for the first time since her diagnosis. The thought of keeping such a huge secret from her teammates—her friends—made her feel lower than dirt, but she couldn’t bear the thought of them knowing, either.

  Alex set to work in her kitchen, whipping together scrambled eggs in a bowl and popping a couple of slices of bread in her toaster. Watching him cook for her and take care of her like they were longtime lovers instead of two people fighting irrepressible sexual attraction made her feel warm and gooey. Remembering that he barely functioned in the morning without coffee, she dug around her cupboard for the canister of Maxwell House and started the ancient four-cup coffeemaker that the previous tenant had left behind. She kept it for the times her friends visited, since she rarely touched the stuff herself—she was hyper enough without the extra stimulant.

  Alex pulled a heavy skillet from one of the bags and put it on top of the burner.

  “I know my kitchen is a bit messy, but I do have pots and pans.” She paused, then added with a frown, “Somewhere.”

  “I know, but you need a cast iron. Your blood tests also indicated you were borderline anemic, which is very common in people with chronic inflammation. It’s why you’ve been so fatigued. A cast-iron pan is a good way to get more iron into your system. We can also look into adapting your diet to minimize inflammation triggers. From my research, there isn’t a lot of science behind that, but it might be worth a try.”

  Overwhelmed by the gesture, she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him. He slid his tongue past her lips and wrapped her in his warm, spicy scent. She lost herself in the moment, tracing the strong, sinewy muscles in his back. His arms felt so good around her, like a shield against the world. Even though his mouth and body did dangerous things to her libido, it was a sweet kiss, like they were teenagers making out.