Keeping Score

by Sara Rider

  He was the kind of man she could fall hard for.

  But he was also the man who was standing between her and her starting spot on the Falcons.

  She turned back around and crept quietly into her room and headed directly to the shower to rinse off the chlorine, careful not to wake Lainey. She stripped out of her soggy clothes and turned the hot water on full blast, giving herself over to the post-night-out catharsis.

  But she couldn’t get his kiss out of her mind. Heat pulsed against her core as the memory of his mouth against hers filled all her senses, begging to be touched. She had no trouble with a little self-relief now and again. It’s not like the unglamorous lifestyle of a professional female athlete gave her a lot of opportunities to meet the right person to do it for her, but getting herself off in a shared hotel room was too disrespectful and icky, even by her low standards of social etiquette. Cabin fever must be driving her crazy, because hooking up with Alex spelled disaster no matter how she looked at it.

  A niggling thought finally tugged its way to the forefront of her brain as she tipped her head back and rinsed the shampoo from her hair. Maybe Lainey was right. Maybe she needed to stop seeing Alex as her enemy. He proved to her tonight that he wasn’t a bad guy. Hell, if she was being honest, he’d proven that day after day for the last four months. He worked his ass off to allow the Falcons to walk the tightrope between pushing themselves to the limit without destroying their bodies in the process. No one could sustain the kind of effort he put in day in and day out to help them achieve their dreams if he didn’t want the best for them.

  She shut off the shower and wrapped a towel around herself. How bad would it be to trust him? She might be able to convince Alex there was no mystery ailment plaguing her. That she was fine to play. Because she was fine.

  A cold shiver ran up her spine, sucking out the air in her lungs. She clenched her eyes shut, as though that would keep the room from feeling claustrophobically small.

  Snap out of it, Jaime.

  She cleared a small circle in the foggy mirror with her palm. Scared, bloodshot eyes stared back at her. She knew her fear was irrational, like a straitjacket strapped over her mind and body, and she hated it. Hated being weak. Hated the lack of control. It reminded her too much of being eight years old, watching her sister get sicker every day, unable to do anything about it. She would have taken all the illness from her if she could, but that’s not what fate decided. Years of endless tests and doctor visits proved Jaime was the healthy twin.

  After finishing her nighttime routine, she tapped her phone to get enough light so she could find her way to her bed without face-planting over the pile of bags and clothes strewn across the floor. A text message notification blinked at her. Jaime had gotten so caught up in the evening, she hadn’t remembered to check it after Lainey had let her know that she and Alyssa had made it back to the hotel safely. The message was from Jillian.

  Lace up your cleats. I just worked my magic. You’re back on the starting lineup.

  9

  ALEX DIDN’T NEED X-RAY vision to see who was knocking at his door at seven in the morning. Only one person had the persistence to still be rapping away a full fifteen minutes after he’d been ignoring her. But Jaime was the last person he wanted to see. He shouldn’t have kissed her. He should never have put his hands anywhere near her perfect body. Not when it violated his professional code of ethics. Patients were off-limits, no exception. If anyone found out what happened last night, they could both face disciplinary action.

  He rearranged his field kit for the seventh time, and tried to ignore the sound of her muffled voice telling him they needed to talk. Maybe they did, but that wouldn’t get him any closer to a diagnosis, and right now that was the most important thing.

  Nothing made sense. He’d called his brother to talk through the case, hoping Ricky’s experience with non-sports-based injuries would shed some light on what was going on, but he drew a blank. He tried the Surge’s team physician next, since she also provided consults for the Falcons as needed. Dr. Sidhu had her hands full with the Surge, but agreed to a quick visit once Jaime was back in Seattle. Without running tests and doing an in-person consult, there wasn’t much she could add to this deepening mystery. Ankle injuries just did not come and go over and over again with this much acuity.

  Eventually, the knocking quit. God, he felt like an asshole, but he couldn’t trust himself if he opened the door. As long as she wasn’t furthering the damage by playing, he could keep his distance. It was the best thing for both of them.

  THERE WAS SOMETHING SPECIAL about the turf in Kansas City. Everything was fresher. Purer. Or maybe it was the fact that Jaime was standing on the field in full gear, seconds before kickoff. Who cared that Alex was glowering at her from the sidelines after ignoring her for the last two days. Sure, it was weird to lose her own personal shadow, and yeah, it made her wonder what had gone wrong. Maybe she was a bad kisser? She shook her head and stretched her quad. Nope, their kiss was freaking amazing.

  The most important thing was that Jillian had come through for her, leveraging the publicity from the Bodies of Sport cover with the team’s administration to convince them that getting Jaime back on the starting lineup was the best thing for everyone. And she wasn’t wrong. There were only two games left before play-offs, and after the last three losses, the Falcons were in danger of losing their spot in the semifinals if they didn’t win the next two games outright.

  Jaime jumped a few times, pulling her knees up to her chest, to keep the adrenaline moving in her limbs. The Velcro strap from her left shin guard bit into her calf, but she didn’t bother to fix it. A little discomfort often fueled her drive to run faster and play harder. It made her want to win that much more. She inhaled the rich odor of sod that permeated the dry air and scanned the pitch from her position in left midfield. The Kansas City Twisters were last in the league, with no hope of making the play-offs, but they were still talented. And more than that, they were playing for pride. Underestimating a team willing to lay it all on the line would be a huge mistake.

  The referee blew the whistle. Game on.

  JAIME’S CONFIDENCE HAD SOARED along with her ferocious desire to bury the Twisters by halftime. She’d taken a bad knock about twenty-five minutes in, which put the Falcons up one–nothing thanks to her rather spectacular free kick. But the look on Alex’s face as she jogged over to the players’ box and grabbed a water bottle startled her. She knew he wouldn’t be happy that she’d gone over his head to get back in the game; she’d expected him to be pissed. Maybe worried. What she didn’t expect was the coldness in his eyes, like she wasn’t even worthy of his attention. He was kneeling at the far edge of the bench, pulling a roll of tape out of his supply bag. His mouth was pulled into a taut, hard line. No warmth or recognition in his eyes when they briefly met hers. He looked away quickly, like he couldn’t even stand to look at her.

  She wanted to go up to him and explain that she wasn’t being reckless. She was perfectly fit and her team needed her, but Coach called the players back to the change room for their halftime talk. She straightened her shoulders and followed her teammates. Game time was no time to be distracted, especially when the Falcons only had the narrowest sliver of a lead.

  She forced herself to focus on Coach’s speech, but her eyes kept wandering to Alex as he rebandaged their starting goalkeeper’s wrist. He paused halfway through, as if he could feel Jaime’s gaze. He looked over his shoulder and leveled a glare so intense, she rocked back on her cleats.

  The second half picked up the pace from the first, with strong-attack plays coming from both sides. Lainey knocked in a spectacular breakaway goal after twenty minutes. This time Kansas responded with a shot that deflected off Camilla’s thigh and past Lynn’s hands.

  A lucky shot.

  Jaime sucked in a lungful of air and kicked out her left leg to stretch her hamstring while Lynn fished the b
all from the back of the net. The muscle was so damn tight, it felt like it was trying to curl up on itself. She’d been giving it her all for the last half hour, racing around the field like a madwoman, playing harder than she ever had before to prove her worth. On the last play, she sprinted at full speed down the field to help out the defense, only to watch the ball ricochet into the net. The defense had done their job, but luck wasn’t on their side.

  The game resumed with a bang. Both teams put everything on the line. It was turning into the kind of game that must have been incredible for the fans, but as a player, it felt like she was running along the edge of a cliff.

  With the final whistle looming, the Falcons were up two to one. They needed to shift the focus to keeping their defense strong. That was the only thought on Jaime’s mind as she sprinted after Jennifer Smith, a Twisters midfielder who intercepted the ball off an unlucky bounce and raced toward the net, weaving through the Falcons’ defense. Panic ratcheted inside Jaime. She was not going to let the game end in a tie.

  She pumped her legs furiously to make up the fifteen feet of distance. Smith swung her leg back to shoot. It was do or die.

  Using her speed for momentum, Jaime dropped her body for a slide tackle. Dry grass scraped the skin on her thighs like dozens of tiny fishhooks as she stretched to block the shot. Her foot connected with the ball at the same time as Smith’s, causing a cracking sound to pierce the air as leather met leather, popping the ball almost comically straight up above them and then out of play, and sending Smith tumbling to the ground.

  Jaime rolled to her back, disentangling herself from Smith’s sprawling limbs. She let herself sink into the moment. Her teammates’ cheering was like music to her ears, and though the fans in the stadium were not on the Falcons’ side, she could hear their appreciation for the beautiful play she’d just delivered. Hot damn, it felt good to take that woman down.

  Smith lumbered to her feet with a groan, but Jaime needed another moment to catch her breath before getting up to take the throw-in. Standing above her, Smith reached out a hand to help Jaime up. She hesitated for a moment, surprised at the act of sportsmanship, but accepted the offer. A dark smile contorted Smith’s features the moment Jaime clasped her hand. Smith stomped on Jaime’s bad ankle as she wrenched her upward by the arm. Jaime screamed in pain as the hard rubber cleats crunched through the thin protection of her shin guards.

  “Oops. My bad,” Smith drawled after letting go of Jaime’s other hand.

  Jaime rolled to her side, cradling and protecting her injured ankle, and stifled her cry into the ground. She barely heard the ref’s thunderous whistle over the blood pumping in her ears. All she could focus on was the jagged pain.

  With her eyes clenched tight, she felt a pair of strong hands reach beneath her and lift her up. She opened her eyes to find herself tucked into Alex’s chest and a serious-yet-reassuring look on his face as he stared down at her.

  “I’m fine,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “You need to stop saying that.”

  “And we need to stop meeting like this. Just let me back on. I already feel better. I need to finish the game.”

  “You need to heal properly so the other players stop thinking of you as an easy target.” He set her down on the grass just beyond the sideline, meaning Coach wasn’t prepared to sub her out just yet, and crouched down to assess her. She sucked in a deep breath and let her hands fall to her sides so Alex could remove her gear and take a closer look.

  “It’s just a bruise,” she said as she got sight of six blue cleat-shaped marks on the side of her calf. “Tell me the ref carded that wench.”

  “Yellow. Should’ve been a red.”

  Jaime smiled despite the pain, satisfied that Smith got her comeuppance. “Better than nothing.”

  Alex grimaced and handed her a water bottle, which she gratefully took. She squirted the tepid liquid into the back of her throat. He wasn’t looking at the bruises. He was pressing her fingers into the puffy skin around her ankle. “It’s just a bruise, but your ankle is swelling worse, and that concerns me.”

  She sat up on her elbows to get a better view of the damage. “I need to get back in the game, Alex. There’s only five minutes left and we have to win.”

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he gently brushed her sweat-soaked bangs off her forehead. Jaime grabbed his hand to stop him.

  “No. You don’t get to care about me only when I’m physically hurt.” She’d tried to burn off all the anger she’d felt earlier when he’d been cold to her, but one more dispassionate look from him brought it all rushing back.

  “I’m your physiotherapist. I have to care about your injuries.” The detached professionalism in his voice riled her more than Smith’s cheap shot.

  “You’re also my friend. My friend who kissed my brains out in a pool two nights ago, which means you have to care about more than just my ligaments. You don’t get to avoid me for two days and then act like nothing’s happened.”

  Alex winced, even though there was no one close enough to overhear. He strapped her shin guard back on, rolled up her sock, and handed her back her cleat. “The kiss was a mistake. I should never have crossed that line.”

  Too much adrenaline and emotion was running through her body. “Mistakes are the things you don’t do, not the things you do.”

  He met her eyes with his hard stare. “It was a mistake to not use good judgment that night. It was a mistake to not keep our relationship strictly professional.”

  She recoiled like his words had barbs. She shoved her foot back in her shoe. “Why can’t you understand that we’re a team? We eat together. We live together for weeks at a time. We share every heartbreak and victory. Everything is personal.”

  He rubbed his hand through his hair and rocked back on his feet. “Just don’t get hurt out there. And promise me you’ll ice down after the game.”

  She nodded and quickly laced up her shoe before running to get back in for the last few minutes of play.

  NORMALLY, ALEX DREADED THE rough games that left nearly every player with some kind of injury that needed tending to, but tonight he was just grateful to have an excuse not to think about Jaime. He’d been completely engrossed by the tense, close game, watching the Falcons finally play with the kind of skill and unity that made them unbeatable. Even he couldn’t deny that Jaime had been the missing link. But the cheap shot on her already weak ankle knocked sense back into him. She wasn’t ready to be back on the field, no matter how brilliantly she played.

  A few hours after the final whistle, he finished packing up his gear, knowing he was in for a long night of work back at the hotel. For now, he needed to join the team on the bus. Making his day even worse, a handful of reporters were huddled in the hallway outside the visitors’ locker room, blocking his exit.

  He slung his bag over his shoulder and marched toward them with his head down. Inevitably, the reporters peppered him with questions about the status of various players. Most of them figured out pretty quickly that they wouldn’t get an answer as he brushed past them with his mouth shut, but one reporter with a particular interest in Jaime’s ankle followed him all the way to the exit.

  “Hey, aren’t you the same Alex Martinez who worked with Martin Daniels in Oregon?” It was the one question that could make him stop in his tracks. The reporter took advantage of his shock to stick a small recorder in front of his face. “The Giants are playing in Kansas City tomorrow. What do you think of Daniels’s comeback? Can you shed any insider knowledge with us?”

  “It’s been years since I worked with Daniels. If you want to know about him, talk to the Giants.” He pushed the recorder out of his face and kept walking.

  He already had too much shit to deal with today. The last thing he needed was some overeager reporter digging into Daniels’s past.

  10

  ALEX WAS STILL PISSED off when he hea
ded to Victor’s room for the postgame meeting. It took a lot to set him off, but when it happened, it wasn’t pretty.

  Normally, he knocked before entering the room, even though Coach always flipped the security latch to keep the door open for him. It was a matter of respect. This time, he pushed his way in without any warning, letting the door slam shut. He marched into the room with fire in his heels, but stopped short of sitting in the chair set out for him. He’d already used up every shred of his willpower to keep from exploding the second Jaime Chen walked onto the field.

  “What the heck were you thinking? I told you she wasn’t fit to play.”

  Coach lowered his notepad to the table, taking time to fold it shut. “And I disagreed. Being the coach, the decision was mine to make.”

  From the corner of his eye, he could see Gina shaking her head, warning him off. Too bad he was beyond warnings. “You put a player as talented as Chen out there when she’s less than one hundred percent, and you make her a target for every jealous thug out there.”

  “You’ve got no diagnosis. Nothing but a hunch. And I can’t keep benching one of my best players based on a hunch.” Alex opened his mouth to respond, but Coach leveled a finger at him. “I know your hunches are never wrong, but that still gives me shit-all to work with.”

  Alex gripped the back of the chair in front of him with one hand and rubbed his brow with the other. Why did every conversation about Jaime make him feel so damn tired? “She needs to be seen by a physician before I can make a clear call.”

  Gina swore, leaning forward in her chair with her hands on her thighs.

  “I don’t have a goddamn physician on this road trip. I’ve got you, Martinez. And I’ve got Chen, who swears left and right that she’s fit to play. You want to know what else I’ve got? Carson Chester hounding my ass, wondering why we’ve lost three out of the last four games while Jaime Chen rode the bench.”