Keeping Score

by Sara Rider

  The schedule she’d been given said she didn’t need to meet with Rebecca for her interview until seven p.m., which meant she had an hour and a half to get in an ocean swim and some much-needed relaxation. After dumping her small travel bag in her room, she changed into her own swimsuit and a breezy cover-up dress and headed to the beach to catch the waning afternoon sun.

  The water was delightful as she swam along the edge of the shore, working out some of the kinks and stiffness lingering after the shoot. She picked up her pace for a final lap when a small spasm of pain bit into her ankle. Salt water gushed into her mouth as she gasped for breath and clutched her ankle.

  Dammit! Dammit! Dammit! She was not going to let this stupid pain beat her, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to let it cause her to meet her tragic end in the middle of paradise.

  She managed to keep her panic to a minimum and dog-paddled to shore, coughing and sputtering with every breath. Logically, she knew none of the blissed-out beachgoers paid any attention to her. But she still felt the sting of embarrassment as she dropped onto her plastic lounger, shoving her oversize sunglasses onto her face to hide from the world.

  She sucked in a deep breath and slowly rotated her ankle. The spasm was gone, but an ache remained. Next, she flexed her hands. Still good. A heavy weight settled on her shoulders, and tears prickled at her eyes. She bit the insides of her cheeks to hold back the tears. She was not going to cry. She would bathe naked with a million jellyfish before she shed a tear over this.

  She was just so tired of fighting it all the time. So unbearably tired.

  She wished Alex were here.

  A shadow fell over her. She looked up to see Martin standing with a strawberry daiquiri in one hand and an ice water in the other. “Hey, up for some company?”

  “Depends. Is that for me?”

  He laughed and sat in the lounger next to her, handing over the frothy pink concoction. She wondered briefly if he was flirting with her. Or maybe he was just bored and looking for company. She didn’t really get a chance to find out because Rebecca was two steps behind him. The reporter pulled up another lounger in spite of not wearing anything resembling beach attire.

  “Martin, why don’t we get started with your interview?” Rebecca said, clicking her handheld recorder on before he had a chance to answer.

  “Uh, sure. What do you want to know?” Jaime started to get up, feeling like an interloper, but Martin reached back for her hand and stilled her. “Nah, stay.”

  Jaime resettled into her seat. Rebecca looked oddly miffed, probably having fallen into Martin’s charms, but she didn’t have to worry. Jaime got a kick out of Martin’s goofy sense of humor, but that’s as far as it went.

  “So, Martin, how did it feel to be a rising baseball star in the NCAA, heading into the MLB drafts, only to have everything you worked for ripped away without warning?”

  Ouch. Even Jaime felt the sting of that question.

  He took a long sip of water and shrugged his shoulder. “Sucked.”

  “There was a lot of mystery surrounding your injury. A lot of conjecture about how a supposed torn rotator cuff could’ve happened to a player in a Division 1 school with all the best medical resources at your disposal. A lot of rumors swirled about performance-enhancing drugs. Some even speculated about a cover-up. Was there more to that story than you were willing to let on?”

  The icy directness in the reporter’s questions made Jaime shiver. Martin shrugged again, but it was filled with the kind of tension that had no place at a five-star tropical resort.

  Rebecca’s face pinched tight. “Why don’t I grab some beers to loosen you up, and we can start again?”

  “I don’t dri—”

  Rebecca was up and off to the poolside bar before Martin finished his sentence.

  This was not how Jaime wanted to spend her only night in Kauai. She walked over to Rebecca’s lounger, picked up the recorder, and hit the little red button. “So, Martin, would you rather sit through the rest of this interview or have your rotting carcass picked over by a pack of hungry vultures? Be honest.”

  She knew she was going to piss Rebecca off by touching her toy, but it was worth it to hear the genuine laugh erupting from Martin’s chest.

  “Hey, Barrett,” Martin called out to the man who had caught up with Rebecca at the bar and was heading their way. “Can Jaime interview me instead?”

  “Huh,” Barrett said, looking like he was actually taking the request seriously. “You two had so much chemistry on set today that might actually be fun. What do you think, Rebecca?”

  She looked like she was about to spontaneously combust. “I’m a professional, Barrett. I know what I’m doing.”

  A twinge of guilt flickered in Jaime’s chest. She had just been trying to goof off, not undermine another woman’s career.

  Barrett placed his hands on Rebecca’s and Martin’s shoulders like a referee, full of patronizing nonchalance. “We’ll give them a chance, and you can do a follow-up piece. Now let’s have some fun.”

  Martin rubbed his palms. “Okay, Jaime Chen, two-time Olympic bronze medalist and current president of the five-foot-one athletes’ club, what’s it like being a professional soccer player?”

  Jaime snorted and angled up to sit at the side of her lounger. “Ah come on, Daniels. Is that the best you’ve got? If we’re going to interview each other, let’s do it right.”

  He arched a brow. “All right. Shoot.”

  “How big do one’s balls have to be to walk onto the open tryouts for one of the top Major League Baseball teams?” She had done a bit of research on him during her flight. A college ball player whose golden arm had paved his way right to the Major Leagues, only to suffer a freak injury right before the NCAA finals that forced him out of the sport seemingly forever. Then, with no warning, he turned up at the San Francisco open tryouts and earned himself a spot on the starting roster. It was the kind of story they made movies about.

  “Not as big as they had to be to walk away from baseball in the first place.”

  “How did you survive that?”

  “It was brutal at first, but then it kind of felt like a relief.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I always knew I had the talent to make it, but mentally? Emotionally? I was so young and struggling with the pressure of balancing everything. School. Ball. My son. I missed him so much.”

  “Son?” Jaime uttered with surprise. That revelation hadn’t figured into any of her cursory background reading.

  “Yeah. His name’s Patrick. He’s eight now. He was living with his mom back in North Carolina, where we grew up. Amy and I weren’t together for long. Just a mistake between two high school kids that turned out to be the greatest thing in the world. When Amy died, I didn’t know how I would keep it all going. My shoulder blew a week after her funeral. It was like fate, you know? So yeah, it was kind of a relief when it happened.”

  Jaime felt her heart break into a million pieces for him. Her problems seemed so trivial next to what he just revealed. She reached forward and squeezed Martin’s hand. “What made you decide to come back?”

  “It took a while, but I finally got custody of my son. And, most importantly, I had someone believe in me.” He stared down at his hand clasped in hers. “Someone who believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. That makes all the difference, you know?”

  She nodded, unsure how a conversation she meant to be light and breezy ended up so deep after just a few minutes.

  “How about you?” he asked. “Who is your support? Your rock?”

  She took her hand back and shrugged a shoulder. “I’ve got my teammates. We’re a family.” Except she’d pushed them all away after the game in Chicago. She just put on her headphones on the flight home and ignored the worried calls and emails since then. This photo shoot was the perfect, prearranged excuse to miss practice. She had no idea what
she was going to do when she got back to Seattle. The play-off game was just over a week away. She was scared she wouldn’t be able to play. Scared to disappoint her teammates.

  But she did have Alex. Only, he’d been pretty clear that he could no longer treat her in any way, not that she let him do much of that in the first place. And whatever feelings he did have for her came with a healthy dose of self-loathing.

  “All right. What’s the most important piece of advice you’d give to young players dreaming of making it as a pro?”

  “Believe in yourself. Always. And don’t let anyone tell you you can’t do it. You are the only one who can truly know yourself and what you are capable of.”

  “And who exactly are you, Jaime Chen?”

  She stilled, the straw of her drink poised awkwardly at her bottom lip. “I . . . I don’t know. I guess I’m still figuring that out.”

  By the time the sun had set into a haze of orange and pink along the horizon an hour later, they finally wrapped their interviews. The conversation seemed to bounce back and forth between deeply philosophical ponderings and silliness that would make a preteen boy proud. Jaime had intended to stay out late, but fatigue slammed into her so hard, she could barely keep her eyes open.

  Martin walked her to her room, entertaining her with more behind-the-scenes stories of the open tryouts.

  It took a moment to realize why he hovered behind her as she slotted the key card into the lock. His hand slipped down her shoulders, then tucked around her waist, pulling her back against his chest.

  Awkward.

  She untangled herself and gave him a sad smile. “Look, Martin, I’m not interested in going there with you, okay?”

  To his credit, he backed off immediately. “Sorry. But it’s just my luck that the one night I meet a beautiful woman I actually like and I don’t have a kid in the room next door, I’m getting a big, fat no.” He added an exaggerated pout.

  What was wrong with her? He was hot, rich, funny, and nice. Wasn’t that everything she wanted in a man? It definitely checked all the boxes for the perfect no-strings-attached night of fun. But she didn’t want any of that. She wanted the grumpy man who set her skin on fire with his touch.

  She wanted Alex.

  But after everything that had happened between them these last few weeks, she had no idea if he felt even remotely the same way anymore.

  16

  COMING BACK TO SEATTLE felt like stepping into a fog of stress and uncertainty. As the escalator rolled Jaime down to the baggage claim area, she toyed with the idea of turning right around and buying herself a ticket to anywhere.

  Running away from her problems sounded a lot more appealing than taking a city bus home to her dark basement suite apartment. But at the bottom of the escalator waited the one person who would have no problem dragging her kicking and screaming toward her responsibilities.

  Alex.

  Her heart went all warm and melty as she approached him, like someone had taken it out of her chest and popped it in the microwave for a few seconds. He grabbed her small carry-on bag from her like they were an old married couple doing this for the hundredth time, and escorted her toward the exit. “How was the photo shoot?”

  “Good, thanks. So, ah, what are you doing here?”

  He laughed. “I didn’t think you’d get my message in time, so I came to pick you up.”

  “What message?” She dug into her pocket for her phone without bothering to wait for his answer and turned the airplane mode off. The phone buzzed with text and voice mail notifications. She scrolled through until she found a single text from him. Tension pinched her shoulders as she read. “A specialist appointment? What kind of specialist appointment? You know what? Never mind, I don’t want to know.”

  “It’s in an hour. I figured you might need a ride to get there in time.”

  “Do I have to?”

  “No, but I promise to stop for a milk shake on the way home if you do,” he said with a mischievous gleam in his dark eyes.

  “That sounds like entrapment.”

  He placed his free hand on her lower back and ushered her forward. “It is.”

  “That’s got to be against the rules,” she said, trying to mask how much his touch affected her.

  “I think we’ve already established that I’ve got a bad habit of breaking rules when it comes to you. Come on, my truck’s this way.”

  All her brainpower syphoned out of her head, gathering like a fireball shooting straight down to her lady bits. She followed him in silence the rest of the way to the short-term parking garage, where he helped her into his truck and walked around to the driver’s side.

  “I already went to the doctor,” she grumbled futilely while he started the engine.

  “You did. And that doctor recommended you see this doctor.”

  She ran her suddenly sweaty palms along her jeans. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  He didn’t offer any platitudes or reassurances. He switched the radio on to her favorite station, cranked the volume, and then squeezed her hand, not letting go until they arrived.

  The clinic Alex brought her to was too sleek to be taken seriously. How was she supposed to trust the doctors here when the front-desk staff sat behind a shiny black counter that looked like it belonged in a nightclub? Even the walls were coated in some shiny plastic veneer. What was wrong with plain old white paint?

  Minutes ticked by as they sat in the waiting area. A few older people were scattered in the uncomfortable seats lining the room, but there were also younger people. Younger than her. A small blond girl sat in the far corner with her head in her mom’s lap. Even though there was little physical resemblance, the girl reminded Jaime of Chelsea. The vulnerable innocence. The brave grimace while fighting off the pain. Jaime’s throat tightened. She hated doctors.

  She didn’t realize how tense she was until Alex’s hand landed at the back of her neck, rubbing small circles into her nape. “Worrying won’t help anything,” Alex said.

  “I don’t worry,” she whispered back with a huff.

  “You just don’t admit it. But I can feel the tension in your shoulders. Try to relax.”

  She couldn’t help but notice he was telling her to relax, but he sure wasn’t telling her not to worry. He didn’t tell her it’d all be fine, either. A moment later, the receptionist called her name. Her weary legs barely lifted her from her seat. She only made it about two steps before turning back to look at Alex. Before she could ask, he was on his feet, slipping his hand in hers. His palm was warm against hers, giving her the burst of courage she needed.

  Jaime hopped up on the exam table and waited for the doctor, who walked in a moment later.

  “Hello, Jaime. I’m Dr. Magnusson,” he said, glancing up from the chart in his hands and offering her a firm handshake. She couldn’t pinpoint his age, but he had a wide, curling mustache that required years of wisdom and gusto to pull off. It probably made her a shallow person, but she decided it was a good enough reason to like the white coat. For now, at least. “I’ll get right to it. You have a positive rheumatoid factor, and your anti-CCP test is significant as well.”

  “Okay.” She didn’t follow what he was saying, but the words he used sounded more serious that her last visit to the doctor, when Jaime did most of the talking and explaining of her symptoms.

  Dr. Magnusson put the chart down and asked her to lie on her back. He slipped off her flip-flops and examined her ankles, pressing in the swollen skin. Next her knees. Then he had her sit up, and he examined her hands and elbows.

  “Rheumatoid arthritis typically presents symmetrically. We rarely see it begin in a singular joint, but it is possible. Given the test results and the symptoms you’ve been experiencing, I’m convinced my diagnosis is correct.”

  “Arthritis?” Jaime’s jaw dropped. “No way. I’m twenty-five. There’s no way I can
have arthritis.”

  “Rheumatoid arthritis isn’t a disease of old age. It’s an autoimmune disorder and can strike at any time. It causes chronic inflammation in the protective lining of the joints. If left untreated, it can lead to permanent damage.”

  She closed her eyes. The room was spinning so fast, she thought she was going to be sick. “How do I get rid of it?”

  “There’s no cure,” he answered matter-of-factly. “But I am going to prescribe you a mild disease-modifying antirheumatic drug to start. It should halt the progression of damage in your joints and allow you to return to a relatively normal quality of life.”

  “Normal?” She was a pro athlete. Normal was for people who liked to go to the gym twice a week, not people who ran ten miles as regularly as other people brushed their teeth. Normal wasn’t good enough. Normal meant her career was as good as over.

  “Relatively speaking.”

  The scratch of a pen tip at the pad of paper echoed in her ears like a portent. She couldn’t open her eyes yet. She couldn’t let any of this be real. “Why me?”

  She didn’t realize she had spoken out loud again until Dr. Magnusson responded. “No one knows what causes RA.” He placed a firm, kind hand on her shoulder. She finally opened her eyes, embarrassed by her childish reaction. “I know this is a hard diagnosis to accept, but you should consider yourself lucky that we caught it early before it progressed.”

  “Lucky?” The word tasted hollow and uncomfortable in her mouth. Rationally, she knew she was being given good news, but the only part her mind seemed to process was the fact that all the pain and fatigue and stress that had plagued her for months was just the beginning. It was going to get so much worse.

  “We caught this while the inflammation and damage are still mild. RA symptoms are often incredibly difficult to diagnose. For many people, it can take years, even decades to get a correct diagnosis. At that point, the degeneration can be severe and debilitating. It was fortunate your physiotherapist here followed his hunches or it might’ve taken much longer.”