“Good. I don’t see any issues—are you having a lot of pain?”
“I am. I’m—” I paused, trying to find the right word. “I’m afraid to use it. Put pressure on it. The season doesn’t start for a while yet but I’m afraid. I’m worried I won’t be ready.”
“Gideon. ACL replacement surgery can take up to a year for rehab, or longer for competitive sports.” His eyebrows came together and I wanted to smack them off his face. I didn’t need his condescending bullshit.
He doesn’t get it. I’ll be a free agent after this year. I need to play well. Start to finish.“I’ll be ready.”
He gave a tight grin and bent my leg up and down, applying pressure on the tendon. I cringed. I’d overdone the physical therapy that morning. “How active are you?”
“I’m coaching. Light workouts in the gym.”
“Hm. I suggest going back to wearing the Defiance brace, every day. It’ll support you if you’re on your feet for long periods of time. How long would you say you’re on the leg a day?”
“Six hours, give or take.”
“Hm. Yeah. Wear a brace and ice in the morning and night. You have pain. I can see your face. Pain is part of the healing process. You’re, what…five months from the surgery? You should be able to jog by now if you can handle it. Forward motion only. No pivots or quirk turns just yet. Try to avoid downhill motions to avoid lateral pressure on the joint. Why don’t you try a ten-minute jog on a flat surface tomorrow?”
“Sure. I can try.” I grunted. I bade him farewell, feeling a little better. I’d been terrified I would have bad news, but instead it wasn’t awful. I needed to push myself more. My jaw ached with tension and each time I ground my teeth, a shock of pain went to my forehead. I drove to our game, thinking about every other place I wanted to be. It was just one game against a small team. We should win—and I wanted the guys to have their confidence back.
Fiona’s words had ingrained themselves in my mind and replayed all night. Baseball was a game. It would have ups and downs.Did I react poorly?No.Trust yourself.
I parked in the same spot I always did and looked around for Fiona’s car. Despite my sour temper at her annoying positive attitude, her comebacks always made me laugh. Her piece-of-shit car was nowhere to be found. A small twinge of disappointment hit me. I wanted to see her, pester her, annoy her…but no luck. I went through a rotation of stretches to pass the time. I’d barely gotten through ten reps before the obnoxious ringtone Cheryl had set for herself went off. It was an old girl band song and I was grateful no one heard. I wouldnotlive that down.
“What’s up, Cheryl? Everything okay?”
“Yes, worrywart. We are coming by to see the game!” she replied and Quinn’s loud squeal carried over the phone. Her high-pitched cry made me wince.
“Hell, yeah.” I clapped my hands together and part of the weight on my chest left. “That would be great. You can see the team. We’re really something.”
“Andsee Fiona.”
Cheryl ruined the moment. She didn’t know, but was smart enough to pick up that something was there. I remained silent and she spoke over her own question, as she often did. “I want to see my little brother coaching a bunch of teenagers. Of course, Quinn wants to be on the field and scream her little head off.”
“This’ll be great.” I meant it, too. It brought back a wave of memories.Mom and Dad bringing lunches to games, all four of us spending the day at the ball park, Dad overanalyzing the game with me.I coughed. “I’ll see you when you get here. I need to get ready.”
“Sure thing.”
She hung up and I kicked the ground for a second. The nostalgia had taken over my mood and the sight of Fiona’s car cheered me up. Thoughts of our parents had the power to slay me and right now was not the time.
I studied her as she slammed the bent door shut. Her makeup-free face stood out with her long hair pulled into a ponytail.God—has she always been this pretty?
She struggled with her bag from the truck. I moved toward her, planning to help her.Help her? Why?
“What’s up, Gid?”
“Gid?” I paused and met her eyes. Humor danced in them. “Or did you say Git?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She yanked the bag out of my hand and shouldered it. “You’re feelinggentlemanlytoday. Did last night mess with you? We can still dislike each other and have a good fuck. Don’t feel the need to be nice.”
My back went rigid. Surely she didn’t mean it? I searched her face for any indication she was trying to guilt me, but I came up empty. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m great.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Something went off in my chest—something resembling concern. I frowned, but fought the urge to ask her a million questions because I had a feeling it wouldn’t go well.
“Good.”
I followed her toward the dugout and thought about her words again.Do I really dislike her? No—but she does not like me.My chest felt heavy and I didn’t like it one bit. “How’s your day going?”
“Chatty Gid is here. Great.”
