“I can’t do the lying thing, Shayne. I love you, but I can’t go through another thing like this again.”
“You think I can?” At his scowl, she wanted to bite off her tongue. “Look, I’m sorry. For everything. I don’t know what more I can say to you. I’m sorry. I love you. That’s all I got. You want something else, something more, just tell me what to say and I’ll say it.”
He carefully removed his hand from her grasp and started to gather her things. Which he soon would learn was pretty darned closed to nothing. Her clothes hadn’t made the trek upstairs and she had no idea where they were. Or, come to think of it, what she was going to wear home.
He paced around the cramped room a few times, stopping dead in the center. He tugged his phone out of back pocket, punched a few buttons and put it to his ear. “Hi. She has nothing to wear home. Uh-huh. Yeah. Okay. Will do. Thanks.” He hung up and went out into the hall.
Shayne stared at the closing door, wondering who the hell he’d talked to and where the hell he was going. She didn’t want to consider he might have left her again. The next ten minutes were the longest of her life. And given the time she’d spent in the bathtub, that was saying something.
Relief washed over her when he rushed back through the door. Although he smiled, the tilt of his lips didn’t quite fill his eyes with the twinkle she loved so much. He held up a pair of scrubs.
She pushed away the melancholy and grinned. “Thanks.”
His huge left shoulder jerked. “You can thank Frankie. They’re hers.”
“Thank you for making the arrangements for me to borrow them.”
His crackle of laughter burst from him making her jump. “It’s not like they’d let you strut outta here nekkid. Do you need help gettin’ changed?”
Deep sigh. “Yes, please.”
It didn’t take long to get changed, discharged and on the road. The task, though not a big deal, tired her to the point of exhaustion. The headrest supported her neck. The seatbelt kept her upright. Good thing, ‘cause she no longer had the energy to do either thing herself.
During the short ride home, she pretended to sleep. Ricky drove in silence. She had to admit to being concerned about what might greet her once getting there.
A slowing, an even slower turn and the truck crawled until it stopped. She opened her eyes just as he put the car into gear and cut the engine.
“It’s all been cleaned up. Only a few scratches that need to be buffed remain.”
“Thank you.”
“Again, you have Frankie to thank. And your brother, son and Kane and Mason.”
She might have stood a chance of fighting the tears if she’d had a clue that kind of love came at her. “Wow. They must really love you.”
“No, they love you, mujer bonita.”
“They love us.”
“Fair enough.” He yanked on his door, the overhead light popping on. “Wait right there, I’ll be around to get you.” Before the light went off, he’d opened her door. He reached over and unbuckled her seatbelt. His arms went under her knees and around her neck. He scooped her up, cradling her against his chest. “Come on, mujer bonita, let’s get you settled inside.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck—or tried to. She didn’t have the strength to hold on, but needed the contact. He kicked the door open and hit the garage door opener to seal up that entrance. He took her through the dark house, through their bedroom, right into the bathroom.
Panic had her seizing up. She put her hand to her chest and tugged at the scrubs.
He paused, tightened his hold. “I’m here. You’re safe.”
She closed her eyes and buried her nose in his neck. She breathed in deep, savoring his scent. “I’m okay.”
Inside the dark bathroom, he muttered, “You ready?”
“Yes.”
He flipped the light, exposing a whole bunch of nothing special. With the exception of the missing faucet in the tub, nobody would know anything happened here. “I don’t know if I can ever get in that tub again.”
“That’s okay. We can remodel.” He kissed her temple. “And if that isn’t enough, we can move. You just say the word.”
“Take me to bed.”
“You can barely keep your eyes open.” His genuine smile, in its sexiness, righted her world.
“I really need you to hold me.”
“I can do that.” He turned off the lights and took her to bed, holding her until they both fell asleep.
27
Ricky hadn’t liked leaving Shayne this afternoon. He’d been surprised they’d slept so late. Having Matt with X and Frankie sure helped with the sleeping-in side of things. He wouldn’t have left if Pierce hadn’t called him in for a meeting at the stadium.
A meeting, consisting of their freakin’ lonesome, where they discussed absolutely nothing important. Pierce said he wanted to make sure Ricky was tight in the head, since opening day wasn’t far off. He saw through the rouse. The whole thing had been crap. But damned if Ricky could figure out what the ulterior motive was.
In the short season and a half he’d known Pierce, the coach always shot straight, never tried to pull wool over anybody’s eyes.
Ricky rubbed at his eyes, making sure he didn’t have any stray strands. Pulling into his driveway, X was pulling out. Ricky put his foot on the brake, started to roll down his window. X raised a hand, but didn’t slow. Matt waved from the backseat, big, cheesy grin in place.
Just as he’d expected, something was up. And damn, Pierce posed as conspirator. Pissed or touched, he couldn’t decide. Depended on what met him when he got inside, he supposed.
As soon as he opened the door, his mouth began to salivate thanks to the smells coming from inside. “Shayne?”
“In here.”
He followed the sound of her voice into the dining room, the one room he had never used. Soft candlelight danced in the dusky darkness. Shayne sat in a chair, wearing a silky, nearly see-through robe.
She held up a hand. “Before you get mad, I didn’t do a thing. I sat right here and told them what to do.”
“Please tell me you weren’t wearing that.”
Her grin knocked him on his ass. “No. This is for you.” She loosened the lapels, showing off more of her cleavage.
“You’re killing me, mujer bonita.”
“As I was saying. I made you dinner.”
“It smells amazing, but we could have just ordered pizza or something.”
She shook her head, bit down on her lip. His groin took notice. She sat back in her chair. Her face grew serious. “I’m not very good with words, but I am good with food.”
“And the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach?”
She laughed softly. “Something like that.” She motioned toward the seat adjacent to hers. “Come on, this is better warm.”
He sat. Unable to help himself, he lifted his plate to his nose. The scents mingled in his nose, making his tastebuds jealous.
“I’ve never made this for anybody before. I hope it’s good.”
“What’s it called?”
“Shayne’s I-shoulda-told-you-the-truth-and-I’m-sorry Steak.”
“Sounds delicious.”
He cut into the steak, making sure to scoop up some mushrooms and onions into the bite. He nearly climaxed. Okay, maybe that was a bit dramatic. His inner bwahaha! came out on a groan as the flavors mingled.
“Shayne, that’s amazing.”
“Thanks.” Healthy color darkened in her cheeks and he thanked God for the blessing of that health. He’d always considered himself a lucky man, but sitting across the table from this beautiful woman, his wife, he couldn’t deny being the luckiest damn man in the whole world.
28
May 13th
Few things topped finding the perfect gift for the one you loved. Their home had been invaded by teenagers about two hours ago and, between the shouting at the video games, the joke telling and the laughter, Ricky thought his ear drums might
burst before the motley crew retreated.
Moments earlier, they’d done the song and candle combo. Shayne stood, knife in hand, at the cake. She handed out pieces big as the plate. The boys gobbled it up.
Time for gifts. Ricky grinned while Matt tore through the wrapping paper. His audience oohed and ahhed over the new video games, baseball glove—from Uncle X, of course—cash, clothes. Graciously, his son thanked everybody in attendance.
As mothers began to arrive—thank God!—Matt bid farewell to his buddies with a high-five, and a thank you.
When the house finally contained only Santiagos and Xaviers, Ricky called Shayne and Matt over. He led them into the living room and sat down on the couch.
“What the heck, man? We never go in here.” Matt hesitated. “It’s my birthday, it’s against the rules to be in trouble on a guy’s birthday.”
“What should you be in trouble for?” Shayne asked.
“Nothin’.” Matt flushed. “I’m just sayin’.”
“You’re not in trouble, kid. I want to give you my present.”
“Mom already—”
“This is from me.” Ricky’s heart skittered.
Matt glanced around the room as he sat on the couch, all stiff-backed and jittery. Next to Matt, Shayne’s lip quivered. Her eyes shone with tears. She blinked frantically to keep them at bay.
Ricky’s own eyes misted. He handed Matt the file folder.
He took in the plain manila and frowned. “I don’t get it.”
“Open it.”
He opened the file. Fingers flipped through the paperwork. Brown brows crinkled. Hazel eyes glanced at Shayne then shot to Ricky. “I don’t get it.”
“What does it say, son?”
Matt looked back down at the file in his lap, flipped through the pages again. “I’m…you’re…we’re…?”
“A family,” Shayne said through her tears.
Ricky couldn’t tell if the kid’s expression was happy, sad or completely indifferent. He turned the pages of the adoption papers once again, then got to his feet. He sank down low, sprang into the air, both hands extended and shouted until the windows rattled.
“This is the best birthday ever! There is something to being lucky thirteen, huh?”
“Yeah, kid, there is.” Elation, pure and undiluted, coursed through his veins.
“I just have one question.” Matt’s shit-eatin’ grin warmed Ricky’s heart.
“What’s that?”
“When can I change my name to Santiago?”
Epilogue
Although Ricky had vowed never to set foot in Walgreens ever again, here he was. He just prayed all the little old ladies with the first name of Marge were off today.
The glass door opened. So far, so good.
He walked to the back of the store, past the condom display—which had been righted long ago—to where the girlie products with their bright colors greeted him. He quickly grabbed a box of what he needed and rushed to the check out.
That was where his luck ran out.
Marge smiled. Her eyes twinkled with mischief and he knew he was in trouble. “Hi. It’s been a while. How have you been?”
“Fine. Thank you.”
“Whatcha here for?” She leaned toward him, her rose-scented perfume gagging him. “Some more condoms?”
He slapped the pregnancy test onto the counter.
Her grin sliced her face in two. “Congratulations.”
Turn the page for an excerpt from:
Out of Left Field
(Deadlines & Diamonds, #3)
Xavier is a jerk with a capital A.S.S. and he offers no apologies. He’s not looking for commitment and the only diamond he’s interested in has three bases and a home plate.
As the Team Doctor for the Las Vegas Rockets, Frances Holden deals with stubborn ballplayers every day.
But nobody is more stubborn than Left Fielder Matthias Xavier III.
When a shoulder injury takes Xavier out of the game, it’s Frankie’s job to get him back on the diamond. His rehab turns out to be more than either of them bargained for, and when she promises to help him face his scarred past, neither of them are prepared for the fireworks that come Out of Left Field and threaten to scorch them both.
1
Snap, crackle, pop.
Matthias Xavier enjoyed that particular combination of sound when it came from a cereal bowl, but coming from his shoulder … not so much.
He ground his teeth, closed his eyes, and pushed the weight bar toward the sky. Focusing on the burn in his pecs, he relished the subtle pain telling him the exercise accomplished something. The pain in his shoulder accomplished nothing, except an assload of ache he’d sure as hell pay for tonight.
He knew he wouldn’t be able to hide his weakness for much longer, but exposing himself meant … well, exposing himself. He learned a long time ago someone was always ready, willing, and able to use any vulnerability against him.
He blew a breath out through gritted teeth, making a half-whistle noise. He huffed and puffed, but not from exertion as he set the bar in the cradle. He groaned and barely won the battle to keep from rubbing his shoulder. “I think that’s enough for now.”
From his position at Xavier’s head, his coach and best friend, Grayson Pierce, lifted a dark brow. “You didn’t finish the rep. You okay?”
No. “Totally.”
Skepticism shone in Grayson’s eyes, but he didn’t question further. Thank heaven. Xavier knew all about denial. His shoulder, though, yelled with all the bells and whistles of a freakin’ marching band.
“You just takin’ a rest or you done for tonight?”
“I’m done.”
“Good deal.” Grayson grabbed a towel off one of the weight benches and scrubbed his face. Folding it around his neck, he held an end in each fist. “I’m gonna hit the showers and take off.”
There was no doubt where Grayson would go after his shower. Home. The photo adorning the definition of family man in the dictionary belonged to Grayson Pierce.
Xavier waited until the door closed before rubbing at the deep ache in his shoulder.
Yeah, this sucked.
He straddled the weight bench and considered his options. If he mentioned the injury to one of the trainers or the PT crew or, even worse, Doc, he’d be replaced until he healed. Not out of spite, just reality. Cold, hard, unforgiving reality. Santiago would step into left field and Xavier knew he might never evict the guy.
He also knew if he didn’t say something, he’d face another sleepless night.
He stood. Decision made. Who needed sleep? He’d sleep when he was dead.
As long as he didn’t move his arm, he was fine. So he tucked it against his side and headed for the locker room. When only the echo of dripping water answered the call of his footsteps, he smiled. Alone. Alone with his thoughts. Alone with his shoulder. Alone with his pain.
He ducked into the shower, using the cold tiled wall as a support to keep his shoulder elevated. He scrubbed his hair and washed his face. Given his status as an athlete, he really should have been more coordinated. But using his left hand to do things made him feel like an idiot. Like a child. Like a freakin’ invalid!
“Xavier?”
“Shit!” He cupped himself and turned off the water. The quick motion of his arm brought back the rat-a-tat-tat of the drum cadence.
“I’m sorry to…um…” The blush on Doc’s face made her almost adorable. Almost. She whirled around and he addressed her back.
“What the hell are you doing, bursting in here? Wasn’t the shower a dead giveaway I’d be naked?”
The short blond ponytail at the base of her neck wagged back and forth. “Sorry, X.”
He took the towel from the bar and rubbed at his hair and face. Left-handed. He was damned relieved she couldn’t see his struggle as he tried to secure it around his waist. After he’d tucked the edge against his hip, he stepped toward her.
“You can turn around, Doc, I’m decent.�
�
Her cheeks still sported a tinge of pink as she faced him, but her expression translated into all business. “A little bird mentioned you might need to talk to me.”
“Did this damn big stool pigeon look anything like Pierce?”
She rolled her eyes. “He only mentioned your shoulder might be bothering you. Is it?”
“I’m fine.”
Again with the eye roll. “I didn’t ask about your overall wellbeing, X. I asked about your shoulder.”
She reached out and stepped toward him. He stepped back, his eyes narrowing and his lips tightening into a scowl. “I said. I’m. Fine.”
Instead of looking threatened or offended, the annoying woman had the audacity to smile. She actually smiled … and laughed. He had the sudden urge to shake her. Didn’t she know he was a force to be reckoned with when he got good and pissed off?
She slowly dropped her hand and slipped it into the pocket of her navy blue scrubs. She shook her head and murmured, “I can’t fix stupid.”
He was about ready to tell her where she could stick her attitude when she sighed.
“I am here to help you, Xavier. If you have an issue with your shoulder, you know as well as I do it needs to be addressed. But if you’re too stupid to admit it, then I guess there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“Like I said, I’m fine.”
“You’ll let me know when you’re not fine?” Her tenderness and gentle tone pissed him off. Not because she patronized him. Doc didn’t patronize. She was completely genuine. The damned woman cared about him. Or about his physical wellbeing, rather. But only because she got paid big bucks to care.
Still … the way she cared, the way she checked on him, made him feel special in a way he hadn’t experienced in years. Feeling anything around Doc—around any woman—didn’t work for him. Especially when said woman made every guy on the team feel like the most important man in her life while she worked her magic.
Lucky 13 (Deadlines & Diamonds) Page 24