Chapter 42

JOEY

"Did that hurt?" Nora asks, bringing my attention back to her.

"What?" I blink a few times before I notice her watching my face instead of my wrist.

Lynn's not here yet, and I'm unsure if I should take that as a good or bad sign. She did text me last night, but all it said was, We'll talk tomorrow.

"She's running an errand for the clinic," Nora says as if I asked a different question. I notice her biting back a smile. Great.

It's oddly fortuitous that I'm freaking out about Lynn today. Otherwise, I'd be stressing out of my mind about the meeting Coach finally scheduled with me following this afternoon's home game. I've been too worried about losing Lynn for good to think much about the potential demise of my baseball career.

"Oh. No, it doesn't hurt. The only time it hurts at all anymore is when I overdo it." Nora has me doing exercises twice a day now, one set at home and the other here on the days I come in.

"Gotta make sure you're at full strength and range of motion before we get you back out there." She pulls out her elastic bands and starts hooking me up. "You catch any balls with it yet?" When she sees my guilty expression, she laughs. "It's not like you're my first athlete, Martel. Y'all can't help yourselves."

"Yeah," I admit. Gunner and I have been playing a little catch to test things out. "Nothing too powerful—I mean, it was Nix throwing." She snickers before I continue. "But it feels pretty good."

"Excellent. Talk to me before you bat, though. You hear me?"

"Got it, boss." Oops.

Nora leaves me to do this set of exercises on my own, but I'm focused more on the door than my wrist, even though no one but Amy has entered it since I've been here. I'm halfway decided on ditching therapy and hunting Lynn down by the time the door finally opens and she sweeps through it. Damn, she looks good. Her hair is gathered to one side, and she's wearing her shiny lip gloss and black scrubs, same as always.

I can't tell anything from her expression, but the fact that she won't meet my eye speaks volumes. I let the black band fall to my lap, and my fingers squeeze the bridge of my nose as reality settles in. I crossed too many lines with Lynn. It's my own damn fault.

The sound of Lynn's voice has my eyes snapping to the other side of the room. "Nora, can I have a word with Joey out in the hall?"

Nora glances my way, but Lynn's eyes remain on her boss. I don't miss Amy's curious gaze bouncing between all of us. What is Lynn doing?

"Have at it," Nora says, causing Amy's eyes to widen.

Lynn finally faces me, one corner of her mouth lifting as she asks, "Joey, can I have a minute?"

I'm out of the chair so fast I almost crack my nuts on the corner of the treatment table. I go through the door and hold it open for Lynn as she passes through behind me. The second it latches, I open my mouth to ask her what she's doing, but I'm cut off by her lips connecting with mine so hard I might have a fat lip later. Totally worth it.

Being a relatively smart guy, I don't question Lynn's attack, instead, going all in on that kiss.

"I'm sorry," Lynn says a few seconds later, breathing heavily against my lips.

"No, I'm sorry." I kiss her again, so it's another minute before the conversation continues.

She tastes like mint and sunshine, and I don't think I'll ever get enough.

"There's so much to talk about, but I have to get back to work. I'm free after, though." There's a touch of doubt in her eyes that I need to nip in the bud.

"Come find me when you're done. I'm staying for the afternoon game, and then Coach wants a word. Should be done just after you."

We make plans to meet outside the clubhouse and then get distracted by kissing again before I shove her through the door. I take a minute to talk my boner down before I go in after her.

When I enter, though, I notice Amy whispering something at Lynn, who shakes her head a couple times before shrugging and walking away. Shit. Is she getting in trouble?

I keep my eye on Amy as I continue my exercises with Nora's occasional input. When it's time to ice, Amy snatches the pack from Lynn's hand and marches my way, lips in a thin line. This can't be good. But when I catch Lynn's eye from across the room, the woman winks at me. How I keep forgetting my girl has it all covered is beyond me.

Since I can only make so many excuses for hanging out in the therapy room, I eventually head up to watch the game with José, who's sitting out two games for an ugly-ass contusion Doc wanted to keep an eye on.

"How's the easy life treating you?" he asks. "Is it all beers and babes, or are you drowning your sorrows alone in your condo?"

We holler when Gunner hits a double and then settle back into our seats. "Mostly sorrows. A few beers. Lots of leg days. I can't wait to get off the IL, man." My mind is obviously on Lynn, but I'm not about to go there.

"I hear you." José takes a swig from his water bottle, and I decide to ask him a question I might regret.

"I'm meeting with Coach after the game. You think I have any reason to be nervous?"

José knows what I'm asking because he takes his eyes off the field to give me his full attention. "You asking if I've heard anything?"

I nod, trying my best to keep my heart from jumping out of my chest. Dickson, the kid they brought up from Triple A to fill in for me, is starting to hit his groove. At first, I wasn't as concerned, but now? It's why my ass is parked in this seat next to José to keep an eye out. Hell, I wasn't even on the IL when I got traded from Baltimore.

José watches me for another couple seconds before surprising the shit out of me by busting out laughing. When I just stare, he finally gathers himself enough to explain, "Dude, I'm telling you, when you showed up for training camp and hardly said a word that first month, I thought you were a colossal fuckwad. That you weren't talking because you thought your shit didn't stink and you weren't about to lower yourself to make chit chat with a bunch of palookas like us."

I'm so shocked I can't find the words to respond.

But José's not done. "By the end of training camp, it was clear to me and everybody else that you're just one humble-as-hell five-tool player who saves his words for when he's got something to say. Damn, if we don't wish we had a team full of guys like you. You don't talk the talk, but you sure as hell walk the walk. Unlike some people. I mean, it's been a minute since Paulie last got his lights knocked out, so we've got that to look forward to, I suppose."

I have no idea what to say, so I simply go with what I'm feeling. "Thanks, man. I appreciate it." I shrug. "I guess I'm more into observing than all the chatter."

"You're not the only one. And when I say that, I mean the entire coaching staff and everyone up to Bronte Hughes himself has got eyes in their heads. You ain't goin' anywhere, Martel."

I cough out a laugh. "Thanks, Riviera."

"Just get off the IL, would you? That bush league shortstop is driving me fuckin' nuts."

"On it."

Our attention goes back to the game, and my thoughts return to Lynn now that José's words have me feeling better about this meeting with Coach.

The Arrows end up losing, which sucks, but we've got a new series starting tomorrow. José and I head for the clubhouse, with him to shoot the shit with the guys and me to catch up with Coach Gibbs. I feel like an ass when it turns out he just wanted to feel me out about doing a little mentoring with Dickson to up his game. I quickly agree, anxious to do anything that'll get me back on the field and make me feel useful to the team again.

Our chat is short, so most of the boys are still in the clubhouse when I pass through on my way to hunt Lynn down. I shoot Gunner a chin lift and push through the door to access the hallway—where I literally run into Lynn.

"Shit!" I reach out to nab her around the waist before she bites it on the concrete.

Apparently, my exclamation grabs the attention of some of my teammates because several of them gather in the doorway. I send panicked eyes to Lynn but find her grinning up at me instead of shooting me the daggers I was anticipating. This is not the way to keep our relationship on the down-low.

She takes a step back out of my arms, and I'm about to tell the guys to move the hell along when I notice her shirt. Or jersey, I should say. Lynn's lips spread in a full-on, gorgeous smile as she throws her arms to the sides, showing off the Arrows jersey she's put on over her scrubs. The number eight emblazoned on the front has my inner caveman grunting in satisfaction. When she spins to show the name Martel across her back, all the assholes behind me start whistling and shouting like a bunch of idiots.

I turn back only for the millisecond it takes to yell, "Fuck off!" before I pull Lynn into my arms and lift her off her feet so I can kiss her properly. She laughs against my lips when we hear José say, "Sorrows and beers, my ass! Martel has been working his ass off on the IL."

But since none of these guys need to witness me grabbing my girlfriend's luscious backside, I stride down the hall away from the clubhouse, Lynn's legs dangling in front of mine until she thinks better of it and wraps them around my waist.

Life can be so fucking sweet sometimes.