Leo’s head swiveled toward me. “A bit disappointing, but maybe because the reason you love Middlebury isn’t here.”
He might as well have stabbed a fork straight into my chest. “Is that why you came? To meet Brenna?”
“It’s one of the reasons. I’ve known you for five years, man, and no woman has stuck around longer than a few months.”
“I could say the same for you.”
“But that’s allI want. You’re not like me. You want all the crap that comes with love.”
I did want it, but it wasn’t like Leo and I sat around talking about our feelings. He knew me better than I realized. Or maybe I was fucking obvious.
“I wanted to meet the woman who had locked up your heart. She must be special.”
I blew out a breath, as if I could rid myself of the emotion, but nope, still there, a vice around my heart. She was a seven-hour flight and three time zones away from me. All I knew was pain. “You have no fucking idea.”
Before I knew it, we pulled into the parking lot at the surgeon’s office, the drive passing in a blink. A generically bland building with dark tinted windows and tan brick. No one would think their life could change inside of it.
Leo patted me on the arm. “Whatever happens, I’ve got your back.”
I replied to Brenna’s text that her flight landed safely.
Nathan
I miss you so fucking much, Bren.
Then I sucked in a breath and climbed out of the car to meet my fate.
Dr. Martin’s office ran like a well-oiled machine, and I was invited into an exam room within a minute of my arrival. The fluorescent lights burned my eyes, forcing me to shut them as we waited for the doctor. Leo word-vomited into the silence while I counted in my head, something that steadied me on the mound when my body temperature spiked.
I’d reached one hundred and two when a knock sounded.
“Nathan Sharpe?” a man said as the door swung open. “I’m Dr. Martin.”
This renowned surgeon, who had served as the team doctor for the Palmer City Wolves for twenty years, looked way too young to have accomplished all that the website said he had. He was also too good-looking to be so brilliant, but no one ever said life was fair. His dark hair and mahogany-toned skin contrasted starkly with his white coat, the only color in his stitched name below his right shoulder. The singular sign of his age was a distinguished dusting of gray peppering his hair.
Deandra—and her employer, a professional hockey team, plus hundreds of reviewers online—said he was the best doctor in North Carolina to see about my injury, so I should stop being presumptuous.
“Good to meet you,” I said.
“I’m Leo McGinnis.” Leo immediately jumped in after me. I tossed him a look he pretended not to see. “His catcher.”
Dr. Martin took a seat on a stool with wheels, propelling himself forward until he was squarely in front of me. “I understand you’re having shoulder pain. When did it start?”
I looked up, trying to trace the pain through my memories. “Uh, maybe three years ago? I had a similar issue in high school,but I had physical therapy and was able to pitch again. This time around, it keeps getting worse.”
Dr. Martin nodded, intently focusing on my words. “Tell me what it feels like.”
I explained the pain as best I could and answered a litany of questions. After, he asked me to stand so he could physically test my shoulder. He put my right hand on my left shoulder so my pitching arm jutted out in front of me like a chicken wing, then he pressed down. My shoulder shuddered. Not the same pain I experienced while pitching, but it was still there.
He ordered an arthrography CT scan to confirm the labral tear. A fun procedure involving a long needle to inject a numbing agent followed by color-contrast material into my shoulder before imaging it.
Leo was asleep by the time I returned to the room. He jerked awake when the door closed behind me.
Dr. Martin entered moments later, taking a seat on his stool and wheeling himself in front of me. He pulled up the first image on his tablet and turned it to face me. “All right, you’ve got a clear labral tear, Nathan. You can see it right there.” He pointed to an obvious gap in the thin line surrounding the circular core of my shoulder. “So we’ve got two options—you can try physical therapy for a month to see if it helps, or we can go in and fix the tear arthroscopically.”
Dr. Martin’s words,You’ve got a clear labral tear,boomeranged around my mind. Leo took over the conversation, asking about recovery time and how the surgery would affect my ability to pitch. My mind whirled with each new piece of information and the decision I needed to make.
More than anything, I wanted to go home and talk to Brenna.
