Fuck. Am I desperate enough to… yeah. I am. I punch the screen, my fingers telling my phone to call the number texting me. Conner picks up halfway through the first ring.
“Hey. You shouldn’t use your phone while driving.”
“I don’t. I’m not. My car won’t start.”
“Oh. Shit. You’re still at the farm?”
“Yes.” I sigh and give my head a shake. “I hate to ask this but, since you’re clearly awake at this hour, would you mind picking me up and driving me to the hospital?”
“I’m on my way.”
And less than ten minutes later Conner pulls up in his fancy, reliable Range Rover. I hop into the passenger seat and give him a grateful smile. “Thanks.”
“I owe you,” he replies and a guilty smile flashes across his tired face.
As I do up my seatbelt and he starts back down the drive, I note he’s in pajama bottoms and a big puffy coat in a bright yellow color that brings out the amber flecks in his hazel eyes.The eyes that have dark circles under them. “Have you even slept?”
“Not a wink,” Conner says as he turns onto the narrow rural road that leads away from the farm and to the hospital.
“So it went that well with your parents?”
He kind of shrugs. The radio is on. It’s loud and I know he’s using it as a distraction from his own thoughts and now probably to keep him from talking to me about this. So I reach over and turn it off. That gets his attention. He glances over, and our eyes connect. I raise one eyebrow. He sighs. “I’ve never seen my dad look so disappointed. Callie was full of unhelpful suggestions. My sisters both tried to console me, which made me want to crawl out of my own skin. I spent all night wracking my brain on how to stop this from happening but there isn’t a way.”
“Not everything can be fixed,” I tell him as buildings start to pepper the sides of the road. “You’re not used to having things not go your way so this is an… adjustment.”
“I’ve had things not go my way before,” he argues, like a reflex. It happens all the time. I see it with my patients. It’s a knee-jerk reaction.
“You’ve had a seamless career, and that is not to say you didn’t work for it. You did,” I assure him as I feel my butt getting warm. I glance at his dash and see a little orange light. He has heated seats because of course he does. It’s nice. “But you haven’t had a real struggle until now.”
“It’s not a struggle. It’s failure,” he corrects me as he turns onto the main drag of Silver Bay, which is still void of traffic because virtually no one is up at this hour. “My whole career is going up in smoke. And you’re right. I did work hard for it and that seems to mean nothing now.”
"You're catastrophizing," I say, and of course, he takes it the wrong way.
“I’m not a drama queen.” His voice is hard.
“Those words never left my mouth, Conner.” I keep my voice even and calm. He’s tired and he’s stressed and unraveling. I think I’m making it worse, which sucks. I don’t mean to. “I read up on this waiver process and you still have a shot at being picked up by another team. I know your brain is telling you that your contract is too big and your performance this year doesn’t show your worth. I get that, but I also know that you are Conner Garrison and that name alone makes you worth more than any other player in your situation. Do you want my advice?”
Conner frowns as he slows the car to turn into the parking lot of the hospital. “Isn’t that what you just gave me?”
“No. That was me giving you an outside opinion of your current predicament. For perspective,” I reply, ignoring his frown and attitude.
He doesn’t respond right away. He waits until he comes to a stop at the curb in front of the main entrance to the hospital. Then he puts the car in park and turns to look at me. Even tired and annoyed, Conner Garrison is the most attractive man I’ve ever seen in person. I shouldn’t admit that, even to myself, but it’s true. “Fine. Lay it on me. I know you’re a shrink so shrink me.”
“First of all, we don’t like that term,” I reply and undo my seatbelt. “Second of all, I’m not a full-fledged psychiatrist yet. Not for another few months. And lastly, I still think of you as a friend even though we irrationally went from not remembering each other to drunkenly sticking our tongues in each other’s mouths.”
He blinks rapidly at that and then, he kind of, almost, slightly smiles. And it’s…moltenso I look away to avoid him catching me blush. I take a deep breath and crack open the door so I can make my escape when I’m done talking. “You need to concentrate on the day-to-day. You aren’t on a farm team. You haven’t been waived, technically, yet. You haven’t not beenpicked up off waivers. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and keep training. Live in the present, like you’re still a professional athlete in the highest league in his field. Because you are. Oh, and be grateful for it. Thanks for the lift. Bye.”
I make it to the front doors, which start to swish open automatically as I approach, but then he hooks my arm. I spin around and look up at him. He looks even more tired out in the rising sun than he did in the car. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“You seem mad at me.”
I smile. “And you’re sorry. Even though you don’t know why I might be upset? What if you don’t agree with the reason I’m annoyed?”
"It doesn't matter what the reason is, I would always regret upsetting you, Mac," Conner says so simply and with such earnestness that I melt inside.
"We're good," I assure him because we will be. I just have to rein in the attraction that bubbled up like the champagne we were drinking yesterday. Because he and I are a bad idea. Clearly. "Thanks again for the lift."
