Chapter 12

JOEY

This day is not going to plan at all.

"Here, take my shoulder," Diego Sanchez, our third-base coach, says as I favor one side on our walk through the tunnel to see the team doctor.

I brush him off and try not to wince each time I put pressure on my left foot. "I told you, I'm fine."

"Your opinion isn't the one I care about right now. We'll see what Doc has to say." His tone reminds me of my dad's when I used to forget to take out the trash as a teenager.

Taking the lessons I learned back then, I keep my mouth shut and slowly shuffle the rest of the way to a treatment room. Thank God we're only in warm-ups and the game hasn't started, because there's no way I'm missing a game.

"So, what do we have here?" Doc asks as soon as we clear the doorway.

"It's nothing," I reply. "Jackson's cleat caught me in the leg, and I went down a little wrong on my left foot. I can walk it off, but Coach is feeling maternal today."

Doc points to a padded table, and Sanchez hovers over me until I hoist myself up on it. He even insists on pulling off my cleat and sock for me, the mother hen.

I get poked and prodded for a couple minutes before Doc declares, "We'll get some ice on it and check your mobility and swelling in twenty." He walks to the door on the other side of the room and opens it. "Can we get some ice for a contusion?"

"Coach, I got it from here," I tell Sanchez, hoping he takes the hint and returns to the field.

He nods. "I'll send somebody back down to check on you in a few. Gotta go talk to Coach Gibbs about the lineup."

A surge of panic has my back straightening at the mention of our head coach. "Don't let him scratch me, man! I promise I'm fine."

"I got you," Sanchez reassures before exiting, but it does little to make me feel better.

I use my nervous energy to replay last night's game in my head. My control was a little off at the plate in the ninth, and I need to make sure my focus is on point all night tonight. Rice, the Rovers's star pitcher, has a nasty inside sinker, and if I swing at it again tonight, I'm screwed. We might have won last night, but it was no thanks to my batting in the last couple innings.

"Hello there," Amy, the PT assistant, says as she sweeps through the open door that leads to the adjoining therapy room. She's wearing the standard black scrubs the entire athletics and rehab staff wears, her tortoiseshell glasses perched on her nose.

"Hey, Amy." We've met a few times, and I've always found her efficient, if not overly friendly.

She props my foot up with a couple pillows to elevate it as she takes a look. "I've got ice on the way."

"Can you do me a favor and tell Doc I'm fine? Sanchez is making a big deal out of nothing."

Her warning glare has me giving her my palms and lying back down. "I'll shut up now."

"Smart man." She grins as she pokes the top of my bare foot. It barely hurts.

"Here you go, Amy." We both turn at the new voice, and I worry for a second that I've sustained a brain injury instead of a turned foot.

"Lynn?"

I can't believe the girl who's taken up rent-free residence in my mind for the last year is standing in front of me. In the flesh and looking so beautiful, it hurts. Her hair is a little shorter than last summer, but everything else about her is the same, from her tan skin and freckles to her long legs and white low-top Chucks.

Lynn's eyes flash from Amy to me, widening almost comically at the sight of me reclining on the treatment table.

"How do you two know each other?" Amy asks casually as she retrieves the ice pack from Lynn's hands and focuses her attention on arranging it over a towel around my foot.

"Um," Lynn recovers first. "I worked at the stadium last summer, and we ran into each other a couple times."

Apparently satisfied with her answer—or, more likely, not caring all that much—Amy gives the ice pack one more tuck before stepping back. "Just sit tight for twenty, and I'll be back to unwrap you."

With her usual efficiency, she quickly retreats through the doorway, calling out, "Come on, Lynn, I'll show you the paraffin bath."

Lynn opens her mouth, as if to report something urgent, but shuts it again without another word, following Amy through the door and leaving me to wonder if I dreamed the entire thing.

When Amy returns twenty minutes later, Lynn is nowhere to be seen. Doc gives my foot a once-over and declares me good to go, instructing me to keep an eye on it and let him know if the pain worsens.

I need to clear my mind and maintain one hundred percent focus on the game, not a pretty girl whose picture hangs in my mind under a plaque reading "The One That Got Away." This is about baseball. My job. So I do what I have to and brush all thoughts of Lynn aside as I jog up the tunnel and hit the dugout.

* * *

The hot waterrains down on my tired body, and I hang my head to keep it from my eyes as I prop a hand on the tiled shower wall in front of me for support. Damn, I am wiped. My foot is throbbing a little, but if I ice it at home tonight, I should be good to go tomorrow. We pulled out another win over the Rovers, and we'll be off to their neck of the woods tomorrow for the back end of the series. I managed to keep my head on my shoulders and not let Rice tempt me into swinging at his inside sinker, so I'm pleased.

"You coming out tonight?" Paulie asks from the shower next to mine. "Some cleat chasers are taking Riley and Finch dancing, if you can believe that." He laughs.

"Nah, I'm beat."

I'm also distracted now that the game is over and thoughts of Lynn have begun rushing back in like high tide.

Paulie shuts his water off and throws a towel around his neck. "Okay, man. See you in the a.m."

I nod my chin without turning. The pounding water feels way too good on my back to move, and the mental image of Lynn's wide eyes at seeing me earlier is too good to lose.

To be fair, I shouldn't have been all that surprised to run into Lynn in the athletics rooms, but I was preoccupied with my foot and my worry about being scratched from the starting lineup.

I kept my promise last summer not to go looking for Lynn again, but that doesn't mean I wasn't still cut up about the way we left things. I ended up talking to Gunner and asked him to pull a couple strings with Skye to get Lynn an invite for a walk-through of the treatment and training facilities. It was the least I could do after fucking things up with Anus, the hot dog heir. And, okay, maybe I followed up to ensure it happened and Lynn didn't lose her concession job too. But that was as far as I was willing to go. She clearly didn't want my interference in any aspect of her life, so I took it seriously.

In my book, getting her a meeting and making sure I didn't get her fired wasn't really interfering.

It wasn't my fault that when I went out for drinks with Gunner, Elizabeth, and Skye during spring training this year, Skye asked about my mystery girl and if she could do anything else to help me mend fences. From the little I know about Skye, it's clear she enjoys a good dose of drama when she can get it. I mean, I've never seen the woman in anything but stilettos and cleavage-baring dresses, so low-key is not a word in her vocabulary.

But I don't even know Lynn's last name, so it's not like I passed her resume to Skye or anything. I just said it could be cool if the rehab staff kept her in mind if they had anything going on she could participate in. With Lynn doggedly withstanding a summer under her horrible boss just for the chance to connect with rehab, I assume she took advantage of her conversations and tour to drop her contact info with them.

So, yeah, I knew Skye would probably whisper in some ears. Nobody at the table that night missed the fact that it had been seven months, and I was still into this girl who'd dumped me.

Either Skye followed through or Lynn hustled like a champ to get herself a gig following Amy around as she imparts her wisdom. Good for her.

I tilt my head back, letting the water pelt me in the face as my lips tip up. Lynn made me promise not to track her down, but it wasn't me seeking her out today. She was stepping on my home turf this time, and believe me, I'm more than happy to roll out the welcome mat next time she has the urge to stop by.