Bears of Burden: WYATT

by Candace Ayers

  "A girl doc?"

  "That's right," Coach yelled. "Female, and the best in sports medicine."

  Bolero called out, "You don't mean the one who saved Crick O'Malley's busted hamstring last season." The others looked at him. "Kept him in the game and got him picked up by Denver."

  "That's exactly who I mean," Coach said. "We're lucky to get her, so be nice."

  The others nodded. "Don't worry Coach," Tate said. He gave Derrick a wink. "We'll be on our best behavior."

  ***

  Practice went well, and Derrick was surprised to find how quickly he felt at home. Back in the locker room they were showering and getting ready to take Derrick out—a proper welcome to the team they said, which would undoubtedly include a night of drinking and women—when Coach came in and said the doctor was here.

  "Remember," Coach yelled. Coach always seemed to yell, Derrick supposed most did. "Best behavior." He opened the door and called, "Okay, Doc, we're ready for ya. Guys, meet Doctor Walker."

  Kristin stepped into the room with her head high and her face set like stone. Inside, she was bursting with excitement. Washington had been her number one pick since she'd been in med school. They'd told her she was too young for Washington then. Apparently a few years later and the new general manager thought reputation and know-how were more important than age. Besides, she was a damned good doctor. She'd always exceled at school, and when she'd gone to medical school she'd breezed through it and gotten fast tracked to her degree. Only a handful of people had their degrees before thirty. She was proud of her accomplishments, and the Peregrines were lucky to have her.

  She reminded herself of this as she faced the locker room of jocks.

  She'd dealt with the opening scene of locker rooms before, and the introduction was always—interesting. The players stood before her with towels wrapped around their waists. Someone tapped three times on a locker and two dozen towels dropped to the floor simultaneously. Kristin smiled. Flashing women in the locker room was a long held tradition. The guys wanted to see if you'd look.

  Coach dropped his head into his hands, embarrassed. "I’m a doctor, boys," Kristin said, making an obvious show of looking around the room at all the players, “I’ve seen teeny-weenies before. No need to be self-conscious. You can’t all be well-endowed.”

  The guys busted up like they'd done earlier with the Jell-O stunt. Kristin walked around the room and shook each player's hand with their towels still pooled at their feet. She didn't bat an eye. She was down to the last row of players when one of them frantically grabbed at their towel and pulled it up. She blinked, not believing her own eyes.

  "Derrick Wellborn?" she couldn't stop the shock from registering in her voice. He didn't belong in Washington, he was a New Yorker.

  He looked even better than she remembered. Even better than in the papers. His dark hair was the color of the night sky. His eyes as blue as the sea beyond the sand. He smiled at her with moist, pink lips and the muscles in his arms twitched, emphasizing the biceps that had only been starting to develop when she'd last seen him. Her lungs began to burn before she realized she’d forgotten to breathe.

  The team was watching them.

  "Hey," Derrick snapped his fingers in the air several times like he was summoning a waiter. "Uh... Kristy... Christine... no, Theresa, right?" He pulled the towel tight around him.

  "Kristin." She bit her lip.

  "Kristin. Right. Nice to see you. It's been, like, a while."

  The initial excitement Kristin felt at seeing Derrick fell apart. It's been, like, a while? Was he serious?

  "Yeah," she said. "Thirteen years. Or so." She didn't want him to think she'd been counting.

  "You look... nice. I guess. Welcome to the team. I'm gonna finish showering if we're all through here." Then Derrick breezed out of the locker room like seeing her was no big deal.

  Derrick got around the corner and leaned his back against the wall, taking deep breaths. He knew he was acting like a jerk, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He was freaking out. Kristin had never been far from his mind, but he'd never dreamt he'd see her again. His heart pounded in his chest.

  Athletes did not let girls get to them like this. It was bad news for winning streaks if you fell for one too hard. He wouldn't even have sex before a big game, let alone entertain some sort of school age crush. He still had to finish taking out Randy Wolfe's record—that was the number one priority in his life right now. There was no room for anything more than a casual fling, which meant lots of women, not one woman. He couldn't risk getting close to Kristin. Not now. There weren't that many more games left in the season. January inched closer every day.

  But man she looked good. Her skin was still as creamy as he remembered, and her hair fell around her in soft red waves that reminded him of the ocean they used to sit and watch at sunrise. Her breasts were already pretty full when they were fifteen, now, at twenty-eight, they were round and firm and the cleavage they made, even in her medical uniform, was enough to drive a man crazy. Her hips and waist had rounded out too, adding curves where most women didn't have them, but definitely could use them. Voluptuous. Sexy. Those were the first words he'd thought of when he saw her.

  He peeked around the corner from where he hid and watched as she left the room. Introductions were over.

  Chapter 3

  Kristin's mother was not as excited as she'd hoped.

  "Derrick Wellborn?" She heard the skepticism in her mom's voice and it bugged her.

  "Yes Mom, Derrick Wellborn."

  She didn't know what she'd expected her mom to say. Her family hadn't spoken to Derrick's in over a decade. But Kristin had never forgotten him. Now that they were both on the Peregrines, it would be impossible not to see each other. Derrick had acted like he hadn't remembered her, but she wasn't convinced. He'd pulled his towel up awfully fast when she came near him.

  "Well, if you have to see him for work, I guess you can't help that. But I don't think it's a good idea for you to see him socially."

  Kristin sighed. "Mom, why don't you just tell me what it was that happened? It was so long ago now, what can it possibly matter?” She could hear her mom breathing on the other end. “There must be a reason you hate Derrick’s family so much. But why? I mean, it's not like his dad hit on you or something." She paused, considering, "Did he?" Kristin's own good looks had come from somewhere, and it certainly wasn't her father's side.

  "No! Of course not," her mom shouted. Kristin let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

  "Then what is it?"

  Even after all these years, Kristin still knew virtually nothing about the falling out their families had had. All she knew was that it had acted as the kick off to some sort of mid-life crisis for her parents. Derrick's family had moved to New York. Hers had stayed in L.A., but both her parents had quit their jobs as lawyers to become private detectives and suddenly decided they were psychic. They'd moved Kristin from their posh Beverly Hills home to an old, broken down house in the Mid-Wilshire district she'd later found out was supposed to be haunted. Suddenly, overnight it seemed, everything in their lives revolved around the supernatural. Her parents became obsessed with it.

  Instead of their family picture over the fireplace, her parents had a portrait of Hans Holzer. Books on werewolves and ghosts lined every wall in their home. When Kristin turned 18 and moved into her dorm, her parents had insisted—much to her embarrassment and her roommate's amusement—on conducting a sage cleansing ritual before they'd allow her to move in. Her mom had attributed this sudden change to a documentary she and her father had watched on television late one night, but Kristin had always thought that sounded like a lame excuse.

  "Kristin, honey." Her mom paused and was silent for so long Kristin thought she'd hung up. "Just be careful."

  "Careful about wh—"

  But Kristin's mom was already gone.

  ***

  The team huddled together in the locker room. Coach had just finished
his pep talk and it was actually one of the best Derrick had ever heard. The team was jazzed, ready to kick some ass against the Cowboys.

  He tried not to notice Kristin in the corner, getting her bag of medical whatnot together for the impending injuries that were sure to occur. There was always something during a game like this. It had been a week since he and Kristin had joined the team, and he'd avoided her like the plague. Derrick had made the mistake of mentioning Kristin's sudden return into his life in an email to his parents, and they'd sent him back a frenzied reply telling him to stay away from her.

  He knew Kristin's family had freaked out all those years ago when his parents had revealed to them that they were shifters, but that didn't explain the almost desperate plea from his mother and father not to have anything to do with her. They made it sound as if his life depended upon his staying away from her. It was ridiculous and exaggerated, of course, but he'd vowed to keep his distance anyway. He didn't want anything to distract him from beating Wolfe's record. Besides, if he needed female companionship for a night or two, he could take his pick. Something told him that with Kristin there'd be no one-nighters. No, she would be all or nothing. He didn't have time for all right now.

  He looked up to realize the team was heading out to the field and hurried to catch up. The Cowboys were tough, but the Peregrines were better. At least, now that Derrick was on the team they were. And they were in Washington tonight—even better.

  The game started well enough for them. The first quarter flew by. Half time hit, and some band Derrick had never heard of played while the Cowboy's cheerleaders did their thing. That was one thing he liked about Dallas—they sure had some first class girls on the team. He wondered what the chances were that one of them wanted to hook up with the enemy. He thought the chances might be pretty high.

  It was third quarter where things went wrong. Tate tossed the ball to him and he caught it no problem, but some jerk on the Cowboys nailed him from behind before he'd even gotten his chance to run with the ball. He felt his knee crack and fell to the ground. The team signaled to Coach, and Kristin was hunched over him before he was even aware she'd stepped onto the field.

  They took him off in a stretcher. He felt like a jerk. He wanted to get back out there. He was close to beating Wolfe's record, but that was never gonna happen if he was stuck in a locker room with a busted knee. Panther shifters could heal faster than most, he just needed a few minutes alone. He couldn't heal a broken knee in front of a crowded stadium.

  "Just set him there," Kristin told the medical team that had helped carry him off the field. They put him on an exam table and Kristin started poking his knee. "Shit," she said. "It's broken."

  "No," Derrick said, smiling, trying to play it off like it was nothing. "It's fine. I just need a minute. Got the wind knocked out of me, that's all."

  Kristen looked at him with sympathetic eyes. Deep brown sympathetic eyes that made his heart race. "Derrick, I'm sorry, but your knee is broken."

  He shook his head and tried to pull his leg away from her. "Can you just get some ice?" he asked her.

  She was pulling something from her medical bag. "What is that?" he asked.

  "It's for the pain."

  She wanted to shoot him up with some kinda pain killer? That would only slow the healing process. He might end up missing the rest of the game if she stuck him with that now.

  "Kristin, don't. I'm fine, really."

  "Derek, you're not fine. With surgery and treatment, you might be able to play next season."

  Next season? Was she crazy? Derek asked himself.

  Kristin watched him try to swing his leg over the edge of the table and stand up. Was he crazy? Clearly he was in denial. It happened all the time with sports players. The thing was, he seemed like he was barely in pain. His knee was broken in at least two places. He should have been in agony.

  "Could you get me some water?" he asked, after she pushed him back on the table. "I don't feel very well."

  "Of course." She ran to get him some water and Derrick closed his eyes, concentrating. He felt the bones in his knee and willed them to shift back to the right place. He felt the pieces move together and begin to mold themselves. When Kristin came back with the water, he was standing.

  "See?" he said. "The wind got knocked out of me. That's all." He smiled at her, trying to melt her with his charm.

  Kristin dropped the water and ran to him, running her hand over his leg. Her touch sent shivers of electricity up his body. She pulled her hand away, in shock.

  "Derrick," she said. "That's not possible. It was broken. I'm sure of it."

  He looked at her and shrugged. "I better get back out there." It was all he could think to say. He ran onto the field, leaving Kristin with her mouth hanging open.

  Chapter 4

  Kristin was waiting for Derrick when he got out of the showers. They'd won against the Cowboys and the team was already celebrating. Derrick walked past her like she wasn't there. Why did he insist on treating her like an alien? She remembered the way her hand used to feel when he held it in his. How hot his skin used to be...

  "Way to go tonight, Doc," Coach said coming up to her and slapping her on the back. "You're some kind of miracle worker. I coulda sworn Wellborn was out for the season when they brought him back here. You're a goddamn genius." He slapped her back again and walked off.

  "Derrick," she said when he walked past her again. She grabbed his arm to stop him. "We need to talk."

  Derrick looked where her hand was clutching his arm. A steady stream of heat radiated from the spot. He looked at Kristin. Her eyes were round and full, almost as full as her breasts, and he saw the spark in them when he put his hand over hers and lifted her fingers off him, one by one. He took a deep breath. He had to calm this rush of energy that was coursing through his veins.

  Maybe it's better to just tell her. She already knows something's up...

  "Can you meet me at Palidio's in an hour?" he asked. Palidio's was the preferred pub for his new team. She nodded, reminding herself to breathe. When he'd touched her hand, her heart had stopped. Her brain couldn't think straight around him. If he'd asked her to be the stickup man in a bank heist he'd planned, she would've said yes. She would've done anything just to get him to touch her again.

  "One hour. See you there," he said, then hurried out before she could ask any more questions.

  ***

  Palidio's was crowded. The whole team was there. Kristin and Derrick sat in a back booth, as far from the team as they could get, which wasn't very far. Tate and the others saw them cozying up together and decided to leave them alone for now.

  "So?" Kristin said, waiting. She sipped at a scotch and soda, watching Derrick closely. His eyes were bright blue, almost too blue for the dim lighting of Palidio's. How could they shine in shadows?

  Derrick wasn't comfortable being so close to Kristin. She smelled like vanilla and every time he got near her, the hair on his arms stood up like soldiers at attention. He wasn't sure he could continue to keep his distance, and that worried him. He'd nearly dropped the ball earlier because he'd caught her scent on the wind when he turned for the catch. It could've cost them the game. Maybe once he told her the truth, she'd want nothing to do with him, like her parents. It was the best chance he had to get rid of her. Derrick took a deep breath. "You remember the last time we saw each other?"

  She nodded. "Of course."

  "I was holding your hand at Venice Beach, and you kept telling me how hot it was. You thought I had a fever, that I was sick. Then you said my eyes looked funny and you were afraid I was about to pass out."

  "That's a pretty detailed account for someone who couldn't remember my name a few days ago," she said, narrowing her eyes.

  He looked down at his own drink, his cheeks going pink. Kristin thought he was adorable when he was embarrassed. "I lied, okay?" he said. “Truth is I remember everything about you. Everything about you and me.”

  "Why lie?"

 
He shrugged. "I was just—I couldn't believe it was you. I didn't know what to do. I was afraid... you'd distract me."

  That wasn't the answer she was expecting. "Distract you from what?"

  "The game," he said, as if that should have been obvious. "From beating Randy Wolfe's record. I was afraid you might jinx me."

  Things were starting to make sense now. All sports guys were superstitious. She'd learned that long ago. "So you ignored me instead?"

  He nodded. This wasn't going well. The longer they talked, the less Derrick wanted her to leave. What if he did scare her away? What if, after all these years, he lost the only chance he'd have to be with her again? Was sacrificing Kristin more important that beating Wolfe's record? Two hours ago, he'd been certain it was. Now, as he stared into the butterscotch flecks of her eyes and admired the fullness of her waist as she slid into the booth, he wasn't so sure. As they'd been talking, their fingers had moved closer and closer together. They were almost touching now. A buzz began to grow between them, so strong Derrick thought he could almost see tendrils of energy shoot from her fingertips to his.

  "So, what does this have to do with your knee?" she asked, trying not to get distracted by the smell of Derrick's aftershave—like a woodsy forest—or the day’s growth of beard that gave him a rough, sexy look.

  Derrick took a deep breath and looked around the pub. "The last time you saw me... I was… going through a change."

  She lifted an eyebrow. "What sort of change?"

  He evaded the question. "My parents told yours what was going on with me. They figured they were obligated to what with you and I being so close. They thought your folks would understand," he shook his head. "They didn't."

  "What sort of change?" she asked again, more forcefully.

  She looked at him across the table and his eyes turned from the bright blue she'd been mesmerized by to a golden orange, to the color of a tree top, back to blue. The fingernails on his right hand, which were pressed against the table, extended towards her then shrunk back down. Something clicked. She hadn't grown up surrounded by books on the paranormal, with parents who thought they were psychic detectives, and not picked up a thing or two.