28. Ronan

Ronan

Good thing I caught the fucking ball.

That's honestly the only thing going through my head as I limp off the field, trying to hide the grimace of pain. In all my years of playing, never once have I landed wrong after leaping up to catch a pop fly. Until today. I knew the instant my foot rolled underneath me that it wasn't good. I'm just hoping it's not that bad, either. It's only the fourth inning, and even though I'm smart enough to know I'm not likely to play anymore today, I'm holding out hope our team can beat these fuckers.

Lark is already waiting for me in her treatment room.

"Get me a cryotherapy boot." Her barked command has one of the assistant trainers hustling out of the room as I haul myself up onto her table. "Geez, Ronan, you went down hard. How does it feel?"

"Like I came down on it wrong with all two hundred and ten pounds of body weight." I wince as she removes my cleat and sock. There's no bruising yet, which has me sighing in relief. A sentiment Lark soon echoes.

"Well, there's no bruising and the immediate swelling is mild. I think you got away with just a —"

"Ronan? Are you okay?" Willow bursts through the door of Lark's room with the assistant trainer fast on her heels with the cryo machine. She comes up short just before reaching for me, but I'm guessing it would be obvious to anyone looking there's more to her reaction than simple professional concern.

"He's fine," Lark cuts back in, hip checking Willow away from my side with a pointed stare at her that tells me she at least suspects somethings going on. Willow steps back, and Lark starts to wrap my foot in the cryotherapy boot. "As I was just telling him, I think it's a mild sprain. There's no major bruising or swelling, so some good old rest and ice therapy for a couple of days will, hopefully, settle it down. But we'll reassess tomorrow."

She steps back after setting up the cold therapy and folds her arms across her chest, looking from Willow to me. Yeah, she knows something's up, that's very apparent, given the smirk she's fighting back.

"I'm going to step out and deal with the injury reports. Willow, I'm guessing you need to talk to Ronan to prepare his statement?" She's speaking loudly, and I quickly clue in it's for the benefit of the coach and other people milling around in the main trainer room. "Take a few minutes here to do that while I update everyone."

The second the door closes behind her, Willow rushes over and flings her arms around me. "Oh my God, I was so worried when I saw you limping."

"I'm fine, Cherry," I say gruffly, kissing the top of her head. "But if you wanted to keep this relationship a secret for longer than the past six weeks, you probably shouldn't look at me like you want to kiss my boo-boo and make it all better." I push her away slightly so she can see my smirk. "Unless you want to kiss Monty's and Maverick's boo-boos, too? I bet Kai's shoulder is sore…"

Exactly as I'd hoped she would, Willow laughs and smacks my arm. "Point taken. I will be a cold, unfeeling robot around you."

I tug her back into my arms. "Don't you dare." I kiss her softly, loving the feel of her relaxing against me. But voices from outside Lark's room remind me this isn't the time or place. Willow steps back and lifts her hands to her hair, smoothing it down, even though it's already perfect.

She's already perfect.

Even though my ankle sprain is mild, it still means I'm out for the rest of the game. Lark does let me go back to the dugout to watch, but I almost wish she hadn't. Our opponents are assholes, playing dirty. Unfortunately, they're also talented. They manage to get a lead on us, one we can't make up, and we lose.

After the game, I head back to the trainer's area to find Lark, who wants to give me some sort of compression sleeve to wear. By the time we're done, the stadium feels empty. It's always this way after a loss. No one wants to hang around, the energy is low, and we all just want to get home.

Willow had texted, saying she'd meet me in the parking lot. It's risky, there's still a chance of someone seeing us, so I can't help but hope her wanting to meet is a sign she's coming around to the idea of going public. Telling her uncle and everyone else about us.

I slowly walk down the hall that will converge with the one coming from the visiting team's locker room before opening into the player and staff parking lot. I'm hoping the other team has also cleared out, since the last thing I need when I'm not at my best is to run into any of those assholes. But no such luck. When I round the corner to where the corridors meet, there's at least half a dozen players and staff milling around talking. I scan the group, and when I find Willow, what I see has my blood boiling.

Some asshole from the other team is standing way too fucking close to her, and it's clear from her body language she's uncomfortable. She's leaning away, but her back is to the wall, so there's nowhere to go. Her arms are crossed tightly over the Tridents shirt she's wearing, and if I were him, I'd be withering away from the glare she's shooting this fucker.

Every fiber of my being wants to go over there and push the guy away. To protect my girl. It's physically painful to hold myself back, but causing a scene is the last thing she'd want.

Instead, I slowly move closer. Because if this piece of shit makes one wrong move, I won't hold back. I'm not a violent guy, but no way will I let anything happen to Willow when I'm around to stop it.

"Hey, Sin, how's the ankle?"

I ignore Monty, intent on reaching Willow's side. Then I see the asshole lift one hand up and place it on the wall next to her head, his other moving toward her arm. No fucking way is he going to touch my girl.

I reach them in an instant, grabbing his arm and shoving him away from her, inserting myself between them. "What the fuck do you think you're doing? Get your fucking hands away from her."

He lifts his hands, but then the asshole snickers. "Sorry, bro. Didn't know she was taken."

"Ronan, stop. I can handle this."

Willow's voice from behind me sounds angry, and I know she's probably worried about what anyone else might have seen or heard, but right now, all I care about is that she's okay. I start to turn around when the fuckhead decides he's not done pissing me off.

"It's too bad, though. I like 'em tall. Perfect height to bend over the couch, y'know what I'm sayin'?"

I'm spinning around, stepping forward, my fist plowing into his face before I can even stop to think about my actions. My punch lands with a crunch, his head snapping back. And now my right hand hurts almost as much as my ankle. Fuck.

"Holy shit!"

"Ronan, no!"

"Someone get security."

Voices hit me all at once as the other guy staggers back, clutching his jaw, shooting daggers my way. People rush up around us, and in the back of my mind, I wonder where the fuck they were earlier when he was harassing Willow. But my attention is solely focused on the woman still with her back against the wall, her expression guarded, arms wrapped around her middle.

I stalk back to her and without asking permission or saying a damn thing, I pull her into my arms, pressing my lips to the top of her head as I try to calm the rage inside of me. But she's stiff against me, making no move to hug me back.

I step back, my eyes searching her face for some sort of reaction, anything to tell me I haven't fucked everything up. But her expression is blank. And there's no chance to talk before I'm being led away.

"Come on, Sinclair, let's get that hand checked out and leave this piece of shit for someone else to deal with." Coach sounds angry, and that's when it all comes crashing down on me.

It's not just that I punched another player. It's that I have a sinking suspicion I just outed mine and Willow's relationship to the entire fucking team.