I felt my eyes widen. "Seriously? Me, too."
"Well," Chase said, standing up, "guess I better go before I cause another ruckus. I'll try to live up to my rep as the nice brother and be more polite next time."
"Don't overexert yourself," I said. "I know it can be hard for you jocks to be anything but cocky."
Chase gave me a small smile. "Say hi to Honor for me, will you?"
"Sure." I gestured to his arm. "And you might want to loosen your sling a bit. If it's too tight, it messes with the circulation and puts more stress on your neck."
"Thanks for the advice. See you around."
As Chase left the building with every female eye following him, I thought, yeah, I hope not. Hot, smart, and polite? That wasn't for me. Just keep walking, O'Brien, and we'll get along just fine.
CHAPTER 2: Chase
I wondered what it would take for them to throw me out.
The waiting room at Silver Springs Memorial Hospital was quiet. Too quiet. I wasn't a big fan of hospitals—actually, strike that. I hated them. Even the soft music filtering through the overhead speakers couldn't dispel the feeling of doom and gloom. The gray walls, the dim lighting, the cold tile floor. I'd been here ten minutes. And already, I wanted to escape.
It would be a lot easier, though, if the receptionist made me leave.
Then I wouldn't feel like a coward for missing my appointment. It would take the decision out of my hands. If only I knew the protocol. Was it like a library? If I got loud, would someone kick me out?
My mind flashed back to the other night.
To the girl who'd done just that.
Where was Charlie when you needed her?
A smile pulled at my lips. Charlie, my baby sister's roommate, had caught me totally by surprise. She'd seriously tried to evict me from the library. The memory made me want to laugh even now. All I'd been doing was reading for goodness sakes. Speaking of which…
Definitely should've brought a book, I thought.
It would've distracted me, made the wait go by faster. There was nothing I loved better than falling into a good story.
Well, except playing baseball.
Which was why I was here.
To get my arm better and get back in the game.
Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes.
Hospitals aren't terrifying.
The doctors don't want to ruin my life.
Everything's going to be fine.
Maybe if I repeated it enough, the words would finally sink in.
A nurse called my name and ushered me into one of the many rooms at Silver Springs Memorial. He took my temperature, blood pressure, and had me stand on a scale to get my weight. I didn't know why they'd need that again. As if I'd gained or lost more than a pound since I was here a week ago? I caught the guy staring and asked if something was wrong.
"No," he said quickly. "Just wondering if you'll be back on the mound any time soon."
I shrugged. "I hope so. You follow the games?"
"Oh yeah, I graduated from Southern U a few years back. Me and my family are big sports fans. We love baseball."
"Really?" I grinned. "My family does, too."
The guy laughed. "Don't I know it. The O'Briens changed the game. You and your brothers are amazing. You're the best pitcher the Wolves have ever seen."
"Thanks for saying that," I said.
"It's true. The team hasn't been the same without you."
The words made me tense, but I didn't let it show.
"I look forward to seeing you play again, Mr. O'Brien."
"Can't wait to get back to it."
As the RN left, I felt the air leave me in a whoosh. He hadn't meant anything by it. The team was doing fine. Better than fine, they were winning—for the most part. Maybe not as much as we had in the past, but it was all good. Every team lost a game now and then. You couldn't always have a perfect season. The Wolves were hanging in there, and hopefully, I'd get today's results and be able to join them.
The knock on the door was brisk, and a moment later Doctor Taggart stepped into the room. The man had salt-and-pepper hair, heavy on the salt. He was in his sixties, wore half-moon spectacles and was shorter than me by a good foot. Overall, the guy exuded a grandfatherly vibe, but he still scared the heck out of me. He had the power to decide my fate.
"Hello, Chase," he said. "Nice to see you again."
"You, too, Dr. T."
"How's the arm?"
"It feels great, sir," I said.
"Good." The doctor looked over my file and asked his next question. "What about PT? How's that going?"
"Awesome. I've been doing all the strengthening exercises, making sure not to over-exert, doing everything the therapists tell me."
He came over, had me take my shirt off, pressed and prodded a few areas of my shoulder. After that, he asked me to hold my arm straight out to the side.
"Resist when I press down," Dr. Taggart instructed, and I did.
My arm stayed strong, didn't lower an inch.
Taggart nodded as he made a note on his clipboard, and I figured that was a good sign. Next, he had me rotate my arm in circles, first a small one then medium and then finally one encompassing my full range of motion.
"Any pain or discomfort?" he asked.
"No, sir," I said.
"Any tightness?"
Only a little.
"No, sir," I repeated.
"What about when you throw?"
"Like you instructed, I've been easing back into it. Haven't tried throwing at full capacity yet, but the practice throws have felt good. Great really."
"On a scale of one to ten, how strong does your arm feel now?"
"I'd say it's at about a twelve."
"Chase," he said. "We've talked about this. It's natural to lose some muscle after an injury like yours. I know you've been doing PT, but it's okay if your arm isn't feeling one hundred percent yet."
"You're right," I said. "Now that I think about it, my arm feels more like a thirteen."
"I need you to be honest with me."
I made sure to meet his eyes, letting him see the truth in mine, as I said, "I feel strong, Dr. T. My arm feels strong. I'm ready to play baseball as soon as you give the word. That's the truth. I'm not sure what else you want me to say."
Doctor Taggart nodded. "Okay. Let's get some X-rays. I'll have to talk to your therapists, but if everything looks good and they agree, I'll give the go ahead."
The breath suddenly felt trapped inside my chest.
"Does that mean…I'll get to play again?" I asked.
"Yes, that's exactly what it means," he said, and my heart leapt.
Dr. Taggart kept talking, saying he wasn't making any promises, that the worst thing I could do now would be to re-injure myself, but I honestly wasn't listening.
I was going to play again.
Games with my team, my brothers.
It was the only thing going through my mind. After months of sitting still, going from a cast to a sling, doing nothing but physical therapy and more recently practicing on my own, it was finally almost time. I tried not to get my hopes up. I'd at least have to sit out one more game, the one tonight. But…
I could practically feel the dirt beneath my feet, my fingers on the laces as I set up the perfect pitch to take my opponent out.
It wasn't a possibility anymore.
It was a sure thing—or at least I felt the surest I had since my injury.
The season wasn't over yet. We still had a few regular games before the collegiate championship. My team was counting on me, and I couldn’t let them down. I didn't want to disappoint any of our diehard fans like the nurse I'd spoken with today.
And the truth was I missed baseball. I missed it like I'd lost a friend instead of breaking my arm in that bar fight all those nights ago. It was one of the dumbest things I'd ever done. I could admit that. But when a group of men had ganged up o
n this one smaller man, I hadn't been able to sit back and do nothing. My sister Emmy always said I had a hero complex. Maybe that was true. I'd thought I could talk them down, deescalate the situation—but I'd been wrong. My pitching arm was broken by the end of it, my shoulder badly bruised. The recovery time was difficult. Since I was young, I couldn't remember ever going more than a couple days without playing ball. No matter what, I had to play and come back better than ever.
After getting X-rayed and leaving the office, I walked outside, sat on a bench, and check my phone.
It was filled with texts.
Mom: I love you so much, Chase. Whatever the doctor says, we'll get through it together. I'm here for you always. Stay positive!
I smiled down at Mom's message.
Archer: How was the appt? I can come pick you up if you want. Just let me know. Love you, bro.
Emmy: Sending you hugs and good vibes today, big brother. You've got this!
Finn: I read somewhere that a large percentage of athletes come back even stronger after an injury. Hope everything goes well, C.
Dex: Good luck today. Don't die or anything.
Seriously? I thought, rolling my eyes at Dex's text. I guess it was as good a message as any. And at least it wasn't as off-topic as Baylor's. My twin's words made me laugh outright.
Baylor: Ran out of bodywash, had to borrow yours. Question: Why'd you change brands? And why do I suddenly smell like cherry blossoms???
I typed out a quick reply.
Me: Because I ran out, too (probably thanks to your thieving self) and had to use the kind Emmy got me for Christmas.
Baylor sent me a frowning emoji in return.
Baylor: 'Thief' is a little harsh.
Me: Hey, if it walks like a cherry blossom and talks like a cherry blossom…
Baylor: Ugggh. I'm giving off a distinctly flowery scent.
Me: Should've read the label.
Baylor: Yeah, whatever. Arm?
I rolled my shoulder.
Me: Doing fine. Dr. T said I might get to play soon.
His response was immediate.
Baylor: Oh, thank God! I know you love pitching, but I don't. Can't stand being compared to you all the time either. It sucks. I got enough of that when we were kids. TYVM.
I already knew he felt this way.
He'd said it several times in the past, and besides, I understood where he was coming from. Baylor was the wild child. I was more into school and books. He got the girls; I got the grades. We had sports in common and loved baseball down to our bones. Pitching was my strong suit whereas Baylor was a power hitter. But there'd always been talk about who was better at this or that. Baylor was one of the relief pitchers on our team who'd had to pick up the slack in my absence, so I knew it was probably even worse now. What Bay didn't get was that I hated the comparisons, too. Just because we were identical twins didn't mean we were the same person. You only had to speak with us for five minutes to know that.
Me: Sorry, Bay. You know I want to get back out there.
Baylor: Yeah, I know.
Me: I hate sitting on the bench when you're all out on the field.
Baylor: I know, bro. No worries, you'll be back soon, better than ever.
But what if I wasn't?
The little niggle of doubt weighed on me, but I shook it off. Dad always said pessimism was a self-fulfilling prophecy. I was determined not to go down that road—even if my fears remained right under the surface.
A new text from Bay jolted me out of my thoughts.
Baylor: Need a ride?
Me: No, I'm covered. Good luck at the game, and sorry about the soap.
Baylor: S'okay. Who knows? Maybe the girls will like it ;).
I sighed and shook my head.
Me: Just concentrate on the game, Bay. The team needs you.
Baylor: Not as much as we need YOU. Get better. See you soon.
Me: I will. Go get that W and kill it tonight.
I responded to the rest of the texts, including a few from my teammates and the Southern U coaching staff, then put my phone down, leaned my head back, and allowed my eyes to close. It had only been a few minutes when a shadow fell over me. Squinting, I looked up.
"Seriously?" I said to the guy above me. "'Don't die or anything.' That's the best you could come up with?"
Dex shrugged. "Hey, I also said good luck."
"Well, thanks."
"No problem," Dex said, completely ignoring my sarcasm. "Were you napping? Want me to come back later?"
Rolling my eyes, I stood. "Nah, I'm good. And for real, I appreciate the ride."
"Didn't realize I had a choice. I thought it was my brotherly and roommate-ly duty to come get you."
He grinned, the sun highlighting the scar running from his temple to his lips.
"Why did you walk here anyway?" he said. "They approved you for driving weeks ago."
"I know," I said. "The walk let me get some fresh air, clear my head."
Dex nodded. "Also let you escape the house before anyone else was up. Funny how that worked out. Isn't it?"
Wow, I thought. If Dex noticed, I knew someone else had.
"That's an interesting theory," was all I said.
Once we were in his truck and on our way, Dex turned down the radio.
"So…I'm guessing your visit with the doc wasn't a total fail."
"Nope," I said. "Dr. T took X-rays. He's going to talk to my therapists, but after that, I might get the green light."
Dex nodded. "Happy about that?"
I scoffed. "Of course, I am. Why?"
"You don't sound happy."
"Well, maybe you should get your ears checked, Dex."
"Maybe," he said. "I thought you might just be down because of the hospital thing."
"Could've been worse," I said. "The doctor was quick, and the RN was a Wolves fan."
"Doesn't sound too bad."
"Yeah."
"I noticed you're hanging out at library more often," he said. "You go there to clear your head, too?"
"Yeah actually, I do," I said slowly. "Since when did you get so perceptive?"
"Please," Dex said. "I may have tattoos and a facial scar, but I'm sensitive af."
I smiled. "Oh? Since when?"
"Since always, douchebag. Just because I don't read books all the time like you doesn't mean I'm stupid."
"I never said you were," I said, brow furrowed. "You've always been smart, Dex. I wish you wouldn't fight all the time, and I'm betting Archer and Mom share that view. But you've always been smart."
He grunted. "I like fighting. It gives me an outlet and some peace."
"That's the same with me and books."
Dex shot me a look then turned back to the road. "I know my demons. What's been getting under your skin?"
"Honestly," I said, running a hand over my neck, "the guys have been on me, asking constantly about my arm. Even though I'm thankful they care so much…it can be a lot. You know?"
"Yeah, I do. Sorry about that. They just want you to play ball."
"I want that, too. More than anything."
Dex nodded. "So serious question: How many girls at the library hit on you this time?"
"Why do you always ask this?"
"Because it's hilarious, and I'd pay money to see all that awkward."
I stayed silent.
"Well?" he coaxed.
"They don't hit on me. We just talk."
"Correction"—his brow raised—"they talk. You ignore them."
"I talk to girls," I retorted.
"Really, since when? Mom and Emmy don't count," he said. "Stop avoiding the question, Chase. How many was it?"
I sighed. "Like three or four, I don't know."
"Must be losing your touch. That's less than usual—but you did come home earlier. Something happen?"
"Yeah." I felt myself grin. "This one girl tried to throw me out of the library.
That was…unexpected."
Dex barked a laugh. "You're kidding?"
"Nope, it happened. She asked me a to leave multiple times, accused me of causing a ruckus."
"Classic," he said. "Did you get her name? Was she hot?"
"It was Charlie," I said, disregarding the 'hot' question. I'd met her a few times, but I hadn't really seen her before last night. Part of it was her looks—pretty women made me nervous, and Charlie wasn't pretty. She was drop-dead gorgeous—but the bigger part was how serious she'd been when she told me to leave. No one had ever spoken to me like that before. No one was that bold. Plus, people (girls and guys) just seemed to like me. Like she'd said, I was the 'nice' O'Brien brother. It'd been hard to stop thinking about her after that. Dex could make his own assessment of her hotness. "You know, the one who lives with Emmy and Honor?"
"Oh damn, the blonde? I would've paid to see that."
"You said that already."
"Well, I would," he repeated. "She must really hate your guts if she tried so hard to make you leave."
My grin slipped.
"What did you ever do to her?" Dex asked.
Good question, I thought but didn't say. Whether or not Charlie liked me shouldn't really matter. We didn't talk or interact much. I vaguely remembered her mistaking me for Baylor the first time we spoke, thinking I was the one who stole her panties. Thanks for that Bay. Maybe she just didn't like me? But no, that didn't sound right. If memory served, she called me "super-hot" the other night in the middle of insisting I leave. The whole interaction should've been odd, but I'd found it strangely intriguing.
Until Dex said she must hate me.
"Hope she doesn't try to throw you out of the game tonight," he said, laughing at himself.
I hoped so, too, I thought.
But regardless, I'd be there, cheering on my team. My injury had put me out of commission, but I hadn't missed a game. Southern U was my home. The Wolves were my family—some of them by blood, others not. Nothing would stop me from being at that baseball game.
Not even a bold, gorgeous blonde, who may or may not hate my guts.
CHAPTER 3: Charlie
"This is brutal," Honor muttered.
I sighed. "You mean having to sit here and watch this dumb game? I agree one hundred percent."
The Perfect Play (Southern U O'Brien Brothers) Page 2