Chapter 3

Slowly,I forced my eyelids open, but the piercing light that immediately assaulted me had me snapping them shut again. The groan I let out was met by the sound of curtains being pulled shut. I tried the simple task once more, this time finding myself in a dimly lit room.

My general manager's face came into view as I scanned my surroundings. High ceilings, hardwood floors, a stone fireplace, and thick molding. The place was old, probably built in the 1800s, but it had been restored to twenty-first-century perfection.

"Where am I?" I sat up on the oversized tan sectional, fighting a wave of dizziness as I did.

Cortney towered over me, crossing his arms over his Revs T-shirt. "My house."

"Why?" A year ago, it wouldn't have been weird to sleep on his couch. But a year ago, he was the team's catcher. He had retired at the end of last season so he could spend more time with his pregnant fiancée. And because he was smart as hell and knew every stat for every player in the league, the Langfields had hired him and put him in the role of general manager. Technically, he was my super boss and could easily cut or trade me.

He sighed. "Your family's across the country, and we couldn't send you back to your apartment alone."

Rubbing my aching head, I raised one brow at him. Because I couldn't be alone, his first thought was to bring me to his house?

"Don't look at me like that. I was at the hospital with you for hours." His blond man bun bobbed as he shook his head. "I might be stuck in a suit most days, but I'm still the guy who wears shamrock socks to every game."

When the memory of the day Cortney thought he'd lost his lucky socks floated into my mind, I couldn't help but smile. That moment of panic for him was what led him to Dylan. But I hadn't realized he still wore them so religiously. "Seriously?"

He shrugged. "Yep. They're lucky."

I chuckled and shook my head, but the moment I did, I wished I hadn't. Even the slight moment sent pain shooting between my temples. Wincing, I closed my eyes. Cortney was talking about the doctor, physical therapy, waking every three hours, and what I thought was a comment about not staying by myself. I was trying to keep up, but I was finding it hard to grasp what he was saying.

"And don't forget the sling for your arm." He nodded at the square coffee table in front of me.

I frowned at the blue and white piece of fabric. "Seriously? My shoulder feels—" I lifted it and rolled, but instantly regretted it when another shot of pain hit me.

"Yeah, not great," Cortney finished.

I slumped back, shutting my eyes again.

"Hey, Mason, you're riding with me to the stadium," a familiar female voice said.

I cracked one eye open, finding Cortney's fiancée, Dylan, standing in the middle of the room, holding their baby girl.

"I have to be there at nine, and you're meeting with Rory and the team doctor."

Rory? Hmm. Rory, Rory. Nope. The name didn't ring a bell.

Cortney sidled up beside Dylan and took the baby who had a full head of strawberry blond hair. She rested her cheek on her daddy's massive shoulder as he rubbed her back. "I don't know why I still have to ride with Beckett every day."

Dylan's laugh lit up the room so bright I had to close my eyes once again. "It's just what the universe wants."

"No. It's what Beckett wants."

Cortney and Beckett spent practically every waking minute together. Their wives were best friends, and their families lived in side-by-side brownstones. On top of all that, they worked together and carpooled to the office. I'd always assumed they got along, even if they bickered like an old married couple.

"Eh." With a shrug, she lifted onto her toes and kissed him on the side of his neck. "You humor him because you love me. And we both love that he's letting us open a branch of Little Fingers at Lang Field so Willow can be near you all day." She dropped back down and turned to me. "Grab sunglasses. It's bright out."

Then she was gone, spinning on her bare feet and bouncing out of the room, all red curls and flowing white dress.

Cortney watched her the entire way, and when he turned back to me, he was sporting the kind of sappy smile that belonged to a guy in love.

I didn't want to say I was jealous, but at twenty-nine, I was starting to realize I might be ready for something like what my former teammate had found.

Maybe not kids yet, but someone I could look at the way Cortney looked at his fiancée.

"You okay?" he asked as his daughter yanked on his blond man bun.

"Yeah," I muttered, even as I rested my head back on the sofa and closed my eyes. The conversation alone had left me exhausted.

It didn't compare to the level of exhaustion that overtook me twenty minutes later as I rode to the stadium with Dylan. The sling was uncomfortable, especially once I was strapped into the seat belt. The sunglasses were pointless, even inside the SUV with tinted windows. Currently, the light wasn't what was causing my head to pound. No, it was the two women up front and five loud-as-shit little people in the back seat. The baby girl had been crying on and off since Cortney had clicked her car seat in, and two of the other kids were fighting about who could spy more red things.

"You shouldn't sleep, Mr.…" a girl's voice called out, although I had no idea how she thought I could sleep.

"Mr. Dumpty, Collette," Liv Langfield, Beckett's wife, answered.

"Huh. Statistically, what are the chances that a man named Dumpty fell off a wall and broke his head?" another girl asked.

"Probably a lot, because he does the tricks," a young boy answered.

A Nerf bullet bounced off my ear.

"Fuck's sake," I muttered.

"Umm, excuse me?—"

"No, Phoebe." Dylan cut her off. "Bill Uncle Cortney."

"Yeah, or Uncle Beckett. We won't charge the invalid," Liv added.

Charge? What the hell?I rubbed my head.

If Cortney and Beckett had also headed to the stadium, then why was I in the circus car with five kids?

"Finn, Addy, Collette, Phoebe, remember: we need to use quiet voices because Mason has a concussion," Dylan said, her voice tranquil yet cheery.

"Why didn't Cortney and Beckett take him along with them?" Liv voiced what I had been asking myself since we left.

"Oh, you know Beckett. He doesn't leave until eight thirty, and if Mason had waited around for them, then he wouldn't have made it in time."

The crying baby finally quieted, easing the pounding in my head a fraction. I let out a long breath and shut my eyes. I wished they would stop talking too, but telling the wives of the owner and the GM to shut up would not make me any friends in the office.

"I could have convinced Beckett to leave earlier."

"Then that blackness that sometimes tinges his aura would have settled over him, and that would have stressed Cort out. If that happened, then all that negative energy would have been bad for Mason's brain bleed."

Before I could even fully understand what Dylan had just said, another Nerf bullet ricocheted off my head.

What the hell?

"Finn, he has a head injury. Let's not shoot the guy with the bleeding brain," Liv scolded her son.

Hold up. Maybe I needed to pay more attention to my head injury.

"Do I really have a brain bleed?"

"It's just a moderate concussion," the driver answered. "You'll be out for about ten days. At least that's the rumor."

My head throbbed, partially because I'd be out for ten days, but also because the baby was crying again.

It seemed strange that no one had filled me in on what was wrong with my head. Or maybe they had, and I couldn't remember. Cortney had mentioned a few things this morning, but when I reached for those memories, my brain was fuzzy. The last thing I remembered before I woke up on his couch was sitting on the bench and fucking around with the guys. Maybe I did have a brain bleed. But if that were the case, wouldn't they keep me in the hospital? I told myself I'd ask the team doc this morning.

Except by the time I was sitting in front of him, my brain was a jumbled mess again, and I couldn't remember what I wanted to ask.

"Beckett will be here in a minute," Cortney announced as he stepped into the exam room and shut the door behind him. "He's trying to get confirmation that we'll have Potters called up by tomorrow."

I nodded.

But why was he in here?

Heck, why was I in here? I had been trying hard to pay attention to what the doc was saying, but I was too focused on the trainer he'd introduced as Rory. Because Rory hadn't stopped glaring at me since the doc asked if I remembered her. She seemed familiar, but I couldn't place how. I'd never seen her around the stadium, I don't think, but apparently, she had been out on the field with me when I came to.

Like I said, the last twelve hours were really fuzzy.

"You can't be alone. Not for the next few days. Maybe longer," Doc said as Beckett stepped into the room, wearing his signature scowl.

The words registered. Was he shitting me? So I'd be stuck with a babysitter for the foreseeable future?

"You can come back to my house." Cortney took a step to the side as Beckett stepped up next to him.

Nope. That was not happening. I shook my head and was instantly hit with a stabbing pain in my temples. Shit. Grasping my head, I ducked and squeezed my eyes shut.

"No offense, but with all the shit going on in your house, it registered somewhere between a circus and an insane asylum."

"Dude—" Cortney started.

"He's not wrong." Beckett smirked.

"The car ride alone left my head pounding." I glanced up at Beckett. "I doubt your house is any better since half the people in the car live with you."

"Good thing I'm not offering, then." Beckett's scowl was back.

"I'll stay with one of the guys." I shrugged.

Neither Emerson nor Bosco would mind. Even Damiano would let me hang with him and Avery.

Beckett roughed a hand down his face. "We're all about to get on a plane, remember?"

"What? Why?" I blinked, searching my memory for plans I'd made to leave Boston. Was I going back to California to see my parents?

Beckett cocked his head to the side, and Cortney let out a loud sigh.

What was I forgetting?

When it finally dawned on me, my stomach sank. "We have a six-day road stretch."

They nodded in unison.

I lifted one shoulder. Even if I wasn't cleared to play, I could still tag along, right? "I'll just go with the team."

Beckett narrowed his eyes and lowered his chin. "You're not flying on day one of a concussion."

"Correct. The pressure changes could have negative effects on the swelling," Dr. Anderson agreed.

"Then what do you suggest I do?"

"Issues like this are one of the many reasons we have training staff." Beckett turned to Rory. "You're neck and shoulders, right? He can stay with you."

Her eyes widened, and her face went pale. For an instant, her attention snapped to me, but then she turned back to Beckett. "I—um…"

"You have to rehab his shoulder anyway. It makes sense."

Her mouth fell open, but that initial look of shock quickly morphed into one that screamed pissed off. What the hell had I done to this woman to warrant her animosity? Had I said something offensive in my stupor last night?

I assessed her again. Gorgeous tits, full hips. That hourglass shape that always drew my eye. Maybe I hit on her. Shit. Pretty eyes, pouty lips. She looked vaguely familiar, but my mind couldn't make the connection. I hadn't spent much time with the training staff since I'd played for the Revs, and she was new this year.

All the thinking and trying to connect the dots made my head throb again.

Closing my eyes and letting my shoulders slump, I rubbed at my forehead, willing the ache to dull. Damn, I was tired.

"I'm not guaranteeing ten days."

Dr. Anderson's words brought me back to the conversation. I lifted my head and focused on him again.

"Heads are funny sometimes. It can take longer to put them back together again."

"Right." Beckett gave a clipped nod. "So it makes sense for him to stay with Miss Humphreys while the team travels this week."

The second the name left his lips, images flashed through my mind, and everything clicked together.

Humphreys. That was why she seemed so familiar. And furious.

Aurora Humphreys had hated me since high school.