Saving Maverick

by Debra Elise

  “Kelsey, haven’t you ever come across something, someone so indefinable that you’d do about anything to grab on and never let go? I can’t explain it better than that.” Maverick had picked up her hand and caressed the soft flesh at the base of her palm while he spoke, igniting an intense firestorm. Her nipples became rock hard. She couldn’t breathe.

  How was she supposed to respond? She’d always been a good judge of bullshit, and Maverick passed with flying colors. Why him, why now? The stakes were too high for both of them. Her friendship with T.S. in any other circumstance should be more than enough incentive to keep her from starting something physical with Maverick, no matter how short term. So why was she picturing them naked and in bed, her bed, and not feeling a shred of guilt for lusting over her client?

  “I see the wheels turning, Kelsey. Hopefully they’re turning in my favor.”

  “Maverick you have me so twisted around, I can’t think. Right now we need to focus on interviews, the press conference on Wednesday, and getting you back in the starting rotation. Beyond that . . .” Kelsey fell silent.

  “Beyond that is a whole world of possibilities, Kelsey. I’m not going to beg you. I’m going to leave it up to you if you want more than a professional relationship. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to play fair either.”

  He let go of her hand when the waitress appeared to take their order. She watched as he deflected the woman’s attempts at flirtation by ignoring her offer to attend a party at the club downstairs later.

  In her business, Kelsey dealt with fans all the time when she was out with her clients. So it didn’t bother her too much that the waitress totally ignored her until she touched Maverick on the shoulder.

  Fascinated, she saw Maverick turn red and watched as he fidgeted in his seat while he shot her a look. A look that said “do something.” She decided not to do anything. No, she sat back and enjoyed the show and his obvious embarrassment. Besides, the manager was on his way over to address the overeager waitress.

  It didn’t matter, much, that the woman had totally forgotten Kelsey was there or that she should be doing her job and taking their meal order, instead of trying to score with the hottest baseball player to ever walk through the club doors.

  No, what set her off the most were the twinges of jealousy in her gut because the man who’d proclaimed his desperate desire to get into her panties was autographing the inside forearm of their waitress as she was doing everything she could to push her breasts closer to his face.

  Dammit. Maybe she needed to make an appointment herself with Caris for a little in-depth analysis.

  Chapter 12

  Last night had been both frustrating and encouraging. The waitress had wrecked the mood he was trying to set, but when she shoved her boobs into his face he could have sworn he saw a flash of jealousy appear on Kelsey’s face.

  The dinner had not gone well. Their conversation had been all business after their meal was delivered. He realized he’d have to change up his normal tactics when he went after this woman because she was far from normal. She was . . . what was she? He couldn’t pin it down to only one thing. She was the whole package and he’d do whatever it took to convince her they could mix business and pleasure.

  That morning had dawned cold and bright. He loved the sun and drank his coffee out on his balcony, but north Idaho was something Maverick wasn’t sure he wanted to get used to. In the off-season he spent his time at his home in Florida, with no snow, and warm beach weather to laze in, girl watch, and recharge. But this year was different.

  Sure, Pineville had its charms. Easy access to the mountains if you wanted to ski (which he didn’t), and little to no traffic or crowds of fawning fans when he wanted to go out to a restaurant or bar. He liked the close feel of the area, but wondered if he’d miss the energy of Boston.

  And Pineville had the two things he wanted most. The Outlaws and Kelsey Sullivan. There hadn’t been a woman in his previous life who’d come close to her allure, her brains, and her quick wit.

  He needed to get over to the stadium for some pitch practice since the ballpark in Arizona wasn’t going to be ready in time. They were spending the first two weeks of practice in Pineville before the spring training games began in March. At least the new stadium had a retractable roof.

  His condo was so close to the stadium, he could have jogged. But thanks to the video, the paparazzi had staked him out, so he made a mad dash for his new toy, a black, three-quarter ton Ford F-350.

  A half hour later, he was suited up and on the mound. The roof had finally been finished, but it was still damn cold in the stadium. The trainers had brought out the heaters to little effect.

  “Dammit, Mav, get it in the pocket.” Ace Jefferson barked out the tired request—again. Ace was the best pitching coach in the division, and he shook his head nearly every time Mav threw a pitch.

  Maverick stepped back off the mound and took off his cap, wiped the sweat from his eyes and stared at the glove Luke was holding. It was poised to catch another pitch, but as soon as he saw Mav step off, he stood up to his full six-three height, and trotted out to the mound.

  “What do you need me to do, Mav? You want a more open target, what? Give me the word and we’ll get this,” Luke said.

  Maverick couldn’t quite look his friend in the eye. They’d been through it all together. Losing season after mediocre season until they’d finally made it to the division championships last year and lost it because Mav had lost his nerve. His go-to pitch. His goddamned mind.

  “No, Luke, you’re right on the money. I’m just not pulling the trigger. I must be overthinking it. Plus . . . ,” and he hated the lie he forced himself to tell, “. . . plus the elbow is stiffening up again. I think it needs ice.” Maverick handed the ball back to Luke and walked over to the fence, shoulders back, and faced his judge and jury.

  “Hey, Ace, I think the elbow needs some ice. I’ll hit the physical therapist up for a wrap and be back out in an hour to throw again. Sound good?” Maverick braced himself for an argument, but it never came.

  “Yeah, sure thing. But remember you only have the rest of the week to get the elbow tuned up, otherwise . . . well, you know the score.” The pitching coach didn’t quite look Mav in the eye as he spoke.

  Mav smiled, but on the inside felt like a piece of shit. “Thanks, Ace. I’m sure the ice will help. I’ve been working with the physical therapist and he seems to think I’m right there on the cusp of being a hundred percent by the end of the week.” He turned toward the dugout and made his way through the tunnel leading to the Outlaws’ locker room.

  His elbow wasn’t swollen, and there was no pain when he pitched either. He knew it. Ace knew it. Hell, the whole damn team knew it.

  He stripped out of his uniform and headed for the PT room when two rookies walked into the east end of the state-of-the-art locker-room and training facility. He was out of their line of vision, but had no trouble hearing their conversation. He paused, and took it all in. Every gut-wrenching word.

  “Yeah, I heard he was faking the injury so he could keep getting paid.” Not sure who that was, but he sounded young.

  “C’mon Reese, Mav wouldn’t do that to the team. He cares about us.” Sounded like Cameron, the phenom shortstop and power hitter the team had recently signed.

  “Screw that shit. Maverick’s only in it for himself and the endorsement money. He’s not going to ‘fess up’ to anything.”

  “You’re such an asshole, Reese. You don’t know him any better than I do. But I’ve watched him play since he started his career in Boston. He’s one of the good guys. Did I ever tell you I met him once before? It was after a game against the Mustangs when I was playing American Legion in Dallas,” Cameron said.

  Well, at least one of them seemed to like him, Maverick thought.

  “Whoop-d-shit. So he signed a ball for you. Big effing deal.”

  Cameron was right, Reese was an asshole. He never did like the leftfielder.

  �
�Look, man, all I know is that Maverick Jansen took time out to not only sign a ball, but he asked about me. If I played, what position. Who I wanted to play for in the Bigs. Not a lot of pros do that, yah know. And another thing, he’s the best damn pitcher there ever was as far as I’m concerned. He’ll get it back. I feel it. I see the determination on his face when he throws.”

  “Cameron, you’re living in a dream world as much as he is. If he hasn’t rehabbed by now, it’s not gonna happen. I’m putting my money on Yagasaki to throw out the first ball come opening day. Now there’s a pitcher,” Reese declared.

  Maverick was wrong. Reese wasn’t an asshole. He was a fucking asshole. The conversation faded as they made their way back out of the clubhouse.

  Hero worship. Damn rookie. Brock Cameron might be surprised to know Maverick actually remembered that encounter. He’d remembered it after Cameron was drafted and mentioned Mav by name when he was being interviewed by one of the TV networks a few weeks back. Yeah, hero worship was great—in theory, but it set his fans up for all types of disappointment.

  It would just be a matter of time now before he was called into the manager’s office. The only unknown was how he’d feel once they cut him loose. Would he feel relief and gratitude for the opportunity, for the years he did play? Or terror at becoming a washed-up pro athlete who was forced to leave the game he loved, not on a high note but on the bottom.

  He tried to push all the chatter out of his head and continued walking down the hallway to see one of the trainers and ask for the ice he told Ace he needed. After he was done here, he had an appointment with the shrink, Dr. Caris Sloane. Maybe she’d have some answers for him.

  Maverick arrived at the professional building that housed the doctor’s office and shut off his truck. He sat in the parking lot and stared out toward the sun-drenched city park. It seemed most of the downtown office buildings hugged the park and the neighboring resort.

  On the west side of a majestic hotel sat Independence Point, where the sun worshippers would be out in full force in a matter of months.

  He glanced down at his dashboard and checked the time. Five more minutes of procrastination and he would need to get himself in gear and enter the office of the one person who might be able to figure out what was keeping him from pitching at major league level.

  Right now he’d be lucky to play for a High-A ball club. Pretending was becoming more work than he could handle. And now he had the media on his back. Every day new headlines asked if he still had it in him, was team owner Thomas Scott wasting his money on a player who couldn’t control his temper off the field and pitch worth a damn on?

  Mav wanted to get back in the game and pitch like the Cy Young winner he was. He knew it was still in him to perform at the highest level. If talking to Dr. Sloane helped him trigger it, he no longer cared what it would look like to his fans or his teammates.

  He was all in. He knew he needed to get his priorities back on track and get the damn monkey off his back so he would be the Outlaws’ starting pitcher come opening day.

  At least his libido had kicked back into existence. He’d found a woman who made him itch like a teenager every time he was near her. Never had he wanted to impress a woman as he did Kelsey. Getting her into his bed at the next opportunity was his new number one priority.

  Lost in thought, he ignored the text tone on his smartphone. The second time it dinged, he glanced down at the passenger seat where he’d placed it, and opened up the message app.

  I saw you with her yesterday. She’s not good enough for you. I am.

  What the fuck? His mind raced to Kelsey’s face flushed with desire as his hands had roamed over her delectable body. Damn, someone had recognized him. Them.

  He wanted to respond and find out what kind of creep would mess with him. Whoever it was, he’d tear them a new asshole.

  Mav took a few deep breaths and he reread the text. He realized what he really needed to do was call Kelsey and let her know.

  He looked at the time again and swore. The last thing he needed was something else splashed all over the rag-mags and the Internet.

  Maybe if he ignored it, the person would go away? He brought it up again and looked at the number. He didn’t know every area code out here, so it could have been a local number or even an international phone. Pineville was a couple of hours away from Canada. It could have been a burner phone for all he knew.

  He banged his head on the seat rest a few times and turned the air inside the cab blue. He gave himself another minute to vent before he gripped the steering wheel and took one more deep breath. Kelsey would know how to handle this, but he didn’t want the ugly text to get in the way of convincing her she belonged in his bed. He’d call her after he was done getting his head examined.

  The secretary looked up from her computer as Maverick stepped into the hushed atmosphere of Dr. Sloane’s office on Front Street.

  “Hello. How can I help you?” she asked.

  Not the reaction he typically received from women. Especially young, attractive ones. He’d braced himself for a giggle or an “Oh, my God it’s you! Can I have your autograph?” But nothing like that.

  Mav closed the door with the doc’s name emblazoned in gold on the frosted glass and walked up to the reception desk. He offered a tight smile to the doctor’s secretary. “Um, yeah I have an appointment with Dr. Sloane at three thirty. My name’s Maverick.”

  She looked back at her computer screen and squinted. “I don’t see your name. Let me see if it’s supposed to be on a different day.” Her long nails clicked on the keyboard. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t see any appointments with the first or last name of Maverick. If you need to see someone right away I’m sure Dr. Sloane could recommend one of her colleagues.”

  Incredible. In all the years he played, he’d never not been recognized.

  The doctor appeared through a door behind the secretary’s desk. Petite, blond, and stacked, the doctor smiled at him. “Amber, it’s okay. He has an appointment. You’ll see him listed under Randall Jansen.”

  Well, at least the doctor recognized him, Maverick thought.

  “Mr. Jansen, my secretary has a few forms we need you to fill out before our session, and then we can get started.” Caris Sloane was a knockout, but she was no Kelsey and he could thankfully be in the same room with her and not think how to get her out of her short polyester-looking business suit. He grinned at his own ridiculous thought.

  “Nice to meet you, Doc. You can call me Maverick.”

  “And you can call me Dr. Sloane, and once we’ve had a session or two and I decide you’re ready, you may call me Caris.”

  She was a pistol and the doc ah, Dr. Sloane, wasn’t a pushover or succumbed easily to his charms. All the better. The last thing he needed was a sticky situation with Kelsey’s college pal.

  “As soon as you have the forms filled out, let Amber know and she’ll show you in.” Caris gave him a thin smile and turned back into her office. The door closed with a sharp click. Put neatly in his place, Maverick took the clipboard offered by Amber and took a seat next to a faux fireplace on the smallest couch he’d ever sat upon.

  Everything in the outer office screamed “Relax,” from the tinkling water feature to the light classical music piped in from ceiling speakers. However, after the irritating text and the awkward encounter with the secretary, he was anything but.

  Christ, his hands were sweating. He’d had a similar reaction when he’d been called into the vice-principal’s office for goofing off in science class while Mr. Lyons droned on about pig parts. That was in seventh grade, over fifteen years ago, and the memory still had a visceral effect on him. Poor pigs, they didn’t ask to be a part of a stupid science class.

  He finished his paperwork in record time and soon found himself in a slightly bigger chair than the couch. Dr. Sloane gave him a quick once-over before she began. Well, at least he knew now she wasn’t as immune to him as he’d thought. Might make this easier. He could have a qu
ick conversation and be on his way to see Kelsey.

  “So, Mr. Jansen, can you tell me why you agreed to see me?” She got right to the heart of the matter.

  “I need to save my job and made an agreement with the team owner to see you. I told him I would give therapy a try. Didn’t seem too big a deal. So here I am.” His killer smile faded as he noticed the narrowing of her eyes. “By the way, call me Maverick.”

  “Thank you. And while I think that’s not a bad reason to be here, I think you’re a pretty smart guy. I’ve seen you play. At the beginning of the season you were on fire. Then the championships arrived and something happened. Do you have any thoughts on why?” Her voice calmed him. He began to relax for the first time in months.

  He rolled his shoulders to release tension he didn’t know he was carrying. “Why?” he mimicked. “Yeah, I know why. My arm was injured in an accident and I didn’t have enough rehab time.”

  “Since we’re on a shortened time line here, I’d like to propose we get right to it. I typically like my patients to get to know me and I them before we dive into the heavy stuff, but well, I don’t think you have that kind of time—Maverick.”

  She leaned back in her chair and leveled him with a penetrating stare. All of a sudden he felt more exposed than when he’d appeared in his last Under Armour commercial.

  “I’m here to help. To listen and hopefully offer a different perspective on how you think, react to life, and your job. I can’t ‘fix’ you. Only you can do that. I’m a pathway, if you will, to the end of your journey. One where I hope you find answers. In return, you just might end up where you want to be. Back in the game, on the pitching mound, throwing strikes.”

  Damn. Maverick gripped the ends of the armrests and sat up a bit straighter. He had a moment where he thought he could BS his way through this session, but she proved she expected him to work for the prize.