Tiny hearts, flowers, and beads in the prettiest shades of pink and orange are pressed against my palm. My clients occasionally surprise me with small tokens of appreciation. Holly fuels my caffeine addiction with mugs. Brett gifts me a stress ball every time we meet to counteract the chaos. Lionel loves personalizing office supplies for me. Victoria buys me books about badass women in sports. Delilah sends postcards from whatever country she’s in.
Still, it’s hard to accept a gift from the client I kissed last week.
Regretfully, I hand it back. “I can’t accept agift—”
“Don’t think of it as a gift.” Strong hands carefully fold my fingers around the beads. “Think of it as a reminder to do it scared.”
Our eyes meet, and I wonder if he knows how hard I’m struggling to stay in my seat.
Pulling my hand back, I hold on tight to the not-gift and swing open the door. “Thanks for the ride, Cade. And the reminder.”
His lips lift into that small smile I’ve always loved. “Anytime, Agent Shay. And take a breather sometime. In the words of my genius agent, you’re more than your job.”
That gets a real laugh out of me, and I close the door before he hears.
Our conversation follows me through the parking lot, up the stairs, and into my office. Trevor’s demands can wait for a little bit longer.
It’s time to write my letter of intent.
Chapter Twenty-Five
This pain comes closeto what I felt when things ended with Shay, but nothing will ever touch the anguish of losing her.
Every nerve screams as Isla digs mercilessly into my left hip. The padded pillow under my head is the only thing keeping me from cracking my skull open against the treatment table.
Isla yanks an earbud out, and her attention swings from my hip to my face. “Is something wrong?”
Forcing my scowl into a smile, I shake my head. “No. All good. Sorry.”
Apprehensive eyes narrow, but she goes back to work. Isla’s the Pilots’ assistant athletic trainer. Within two weeks of signing her contract, the infielders claimed her as their own, and she secretly loves it. Being tortured by an elf-like woman with large tortoiseshell glasses and tiny fingers isn’t fun, but her stellar reputation for being able to work out any knot is usually worth it.
Telling Shay about my hip yesterday wasn’t planned, but I can’t bring myself to keep secrets from her anymore.
Learning she doesn’t regret our kiss was icing on the cake.
After leaving her alone in her hotel room that night, I couldn’t sleep. I checked my phone every few seconds, waiting for an email saying thatwe could no longer work together, or asking me to come back and finish what we’d started.
I will follow her lead, but being with her is all I want.
As if shocked by lightning, my hips buck off the table and a scream claws its way out before I can stop it. There’s no chance I can play it off either, not with Isla and my teammates looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.
Wisps of agony crawl all the way to my toes as I prop myself up on my elbows.
“I need to go,” I rasp out.
Isla adjusts her glasses. “Cade. I think we should talk.”
Swinging my legs off the table, I plant my hands on the cushioned top. My breath catches on the edges of pain as my hip flares, white-hot and blinding, but I keep my expression neutral.
“I’m fine, Isla. Thanks though.”
With a little wave, I keep my gait steady and rush out of the training room. Once safely in the empty clubhouse, I fall onto the ground in front of my locker.
I almost told Rio the truth this morning, but my opportunity disappeared when Amber from PR rushed into his office with news. People were lined up for tonight’s home game before the sun had risen. The first thousand fans to enter the stadium will receive limited-edition T-shirts with Marcus’s and my signatures and miniature replica All-Star Game trophies. The stadium even sold out of my jersey.
Clawing my way to the majors was hard. Jon’s voice found its way into my head at every turn, always reminding me what was at stake.
“Everyone wants to be golden, but gold is tested in fire.”
