Keeping Score

by Sara Rider

  “Hey, Alex, can you double-check this for me?” Samantha, the new assistant physiotherapist, called out.

  “Sure.” He finished stretching Alyssa’s left calf and put on the same unsuspecting face he used whenever he played hide-and-seek with his nieces and nephews. He’d been watching Samantha like a hawk this last week, scrutinizing her every move. The decision to quit at the end of the season hung heavily inside him. He still cared about this team, and he wasn’t going to hand them over to a new staff member without making damn sure she was doing things right. And she was. The only thing he could say about the lanky redhead was that she could do with a bit more confidence, but her skills were top-notch and she had an eagerness to learn.

  He walked up to the black-padded treatment table where Tara Bilodeau lay with her eyes closed. Other than the heavy rock music cranking out of the young player’s earphones, the physio room had been unnaturally quiet that morning. Just as it had been since they got back from Chicago five days ago. Jaime was the missing piece. Despite her joke that morning about being late, she was almost always one of the first ones through the doors for practice. Her clapping, cheering, bad dance music, and infectious energy could usually be heard throughout the halls of the stadium. She was the kind of person who brought color into every room, making the white walls of the physio room seem like the inside of a rainbow. Her absence was visceral, but she said she was coming back today, so he tried to put it out of his mind.

  “I think Tara has a grade-one sprain in the calcaneofibular ligament, but I wanted a second opinion before taping,” Samantha said, glancing briefly at her chart as she spoke. “She had a slight inversion at the end of yesterday’s practice, but the swelling is minimal.”

  He lifted Tara’s ankle and performed a quick analysis. He’d already suspected as much and had been watching the midfielder’s gait when she came into the physio room this morning, but he wanted to give Samantha the chance to figure it out before he stepped in. “Yep, a CFL sprain sounds right to me. What’s your management plan?”

  “I think she’s fine to practice if she ices after. I was going to tape it, but your notes mentioned she’s allergic to most adhesives, so I did an inventory last night after practice and we’re out of the self-sticking tape.”

  Alex had to admit he was impressed. Not just that she’d read his notes thoroughly, but also the fact she’d taken the initiative to do the inventory after his offhand comment the other day about potentially handing that unenviable task over to her. “I’ll check the Surge’s supply to see if we can borrow some.”

  “Great. Maybe this afternoon you can walk me through the process of ordering new supplies.” Her earnestness, combined with the full face of freckles, made her seem younger than she was. He remembered being that eager and naive at one point in his career, but it was a long, long time ago.

  He sighed. “The process is you tell me what you need, and I’ll buy it.”

  “Oh. I don’t mind picking it up, but I don’t know where the expense reimbursement sheets are.”

  Alex rubbed his hand through his hair. “There aren’t any. We have no supply budget. Just write up a list of what you need and send it to me.”

  Samantha’s mouth dropped. “There’s no budget? How is that even possible? Are you saying you pay for everything?”

  Alex nodded uncomfortably. “Mostly. But since we need that tape today, I’ll see if I can find some in the Surge’s supply room.” Even though the Falcons shared a stadium and physio room with the Surge, the supplies were kept in separately locked storage areas. Fortunately, the Surge’s head physio hadn’t asked Alex for the key back when he’d transferred to the Falcons.

  Samantha shifted her attention to Tara’s other leg, stretching and warming up the muscles. “I guess I should’ve asked these kinds of questions before I signed the new contract for next year, but I was so excited to work with you that I didn’t care what the conditions or the pay was.”

  Alex’s stomach turned over on itself. There were a lot of reasons why he didn’t want the news of his resignation getting out yet, but he felt bad for not being up front with Sam. She had no idea what she was in for next year. Even though it killed him to think about leaving the Falcons, he’d had no choice. His pride wouldn’t let him cling to a dying career while he waited for his past screw ups to blow up in his face. He’d rather leave on his own accord with a shred of dignity intact. Especially if leaving meant he could actually pursue a real relationship with Jaime. Because, for the first time in his life, there was something—someone—he wanted more than being a pro sports physio.

  And it might just come to that. He didn’t have a new job lined up yet. Ricky was still pushing him to join his clinic, where he would spend the rest of his life tending to an endless stream of carpal tunnel injuries. He wasn’t ready to go down that path yet, but there was no guarantee he could find another sports physio job that kept him in Seattle. One that would keep him close to Jaime.

  And then what would happen? Their time together would already be limited enough. She was a fixture of the Canadian national team. Once she got her rheumatoid arthritis under control, she’d be traveling throughout most of the off-season for training camps and international competitions. What relationship could endure that?

  Hell, they hadn’t even talked about whether they had a relationship yet. And now wasn’t the time. She needed to focus on getting back in shape and getting back in the game. No distractions.

  After almost an hour of taping, manipulating, and stretching, Alex and Samantha headed to the field, where the rest of the players trickled in for practice. Everyone but Jaime. Ten minutes into the first drill, Alex still wasn’t ready to accept she wasn’t coming, but his phone beeped with a text.

  Can’t face the team yet. Pls tell them I’m still sick, ok? Thx.

  “If the lass is still sick, how did she manage to hop on a plane for that photo shoot in Hawaii two days ago?” Alex almost jumped as Victor’s voice floated over his shoulders. The head coach might not be as spry as he once was, but he still moved like a damn cat. Two seconds ago, he was halfway across the field and blue in the face from screaming at the players to get their asses in gear. “Did that fancy doctor have anything to say about that mystery ailment of hers?”

  Alex didn’t answer right away, choosing instead to shove his phone back into his jeans. He stood at the edge of the field with his jaw locked tight like a muzzle, watching the drill Gina was now running with the players while Victor patiently chewed on a handful of sunflower seeds with his sharp gray eyes fixed on the action in front of them. He forced himself to unclench his fists. How could Jaime ask him to lie for her? He didn’t want to betray her, but he couldn’t lie to the coach.

  “I want a status update as soon as you have anything.” Victor spit out the last of the shells. “You’re not the only one who cares about them, Martinez.”

  Alex swallowed his frustration and occupied himself by organizing the water bottles littered across the byline while Victor walked back onto the field. He swore he wouldn’t lie for a player again, no matter the circumstances. The lying hadn’t helped Daniels, and it sure wasn’t going to help Jaime in the long run. His head knew that, but his heart was having trouble accepting it.

  He was falling so goddamn deeply in love with her, he was drowning in it. He couldn’t think or see straight.

  He stopped fussing with the gear and took a moment to watch the players work through a set-play drill. As Alyssa took the free kick, it almost blew him away to see how much more stability she had in her core after months of working with him on a strengthening regime. The ball landed perfectly at Lainey’s head. She redirected the ball to the net, where Lynn dove for the save, unfettered by the old rotator cuff injury that had plagued her for ten years. Alex had been working with her all season to prevent any kind of aggravation.

  The next few weeks would be the last he worked with these
athletes. Maybe with any top athletes. The realization hit him straight in the gut. In spite of the bullshit he’d had to put up with over the last few months, this team meant everything to him. They were winners in every sense. No team could match their drive, their sportsmanship, or the sheer beauty of their victories culminating from countless hours of hard work and dedication.

  Once practice ended, he and Samantha dove into the usual process of stretching, icing, and charting. The Falcons had done remarkably well after a long season. No major injuries. Jaime was the only player on the roster not currently active. The more he thought about her, the more his frustration grew.

  It was his own fault that the career he’d worked so hard for, the career he loved, was as good as over. But it was also up to him how he was going to walk away. He still had a job to do as the head physiotherapist for the next two weeks. Jaime, like every other member of the team, had signed away most of her rights to privacy when she went pro. The team physician’s report, including all the blood tests taken, were already on record, and the specialist’s consult would eventually be forwarded on. Even if he ignored his professional and legal obligation of adding it to her chart, Dr. Sidhu would be getting a copy as well.

  It was well after six p.m. by the time the last of the players left the stadium. He sent Samantha home, then finished wiping down the benches and counters, drained the ice baths, and put away the rest of the gear. Afterward, he lugged his gear bag to his truck, the last vehicle in the lot. The warm evening air surrounding the stadium was quiet, but the downtown core was already thumping just a few miles away. He turned the ignition, gripped the smooth leather steering wheel, and hesitated.

  His dick wanted him to drive straight to Jaime’s and spend another night in her bed, but his head needed some space to stew over her text today. It probably wasn’t a good idea to see her right now with this much anger swirling around inside him.

  He wasn’t sure if his growing anger with Jaime’s text was merited, or if he was taking his long-suppressed bitterness at Daniels out on her. Which would make him an asshole.

  Fuck.

  He leaned his head against the wheel and exhaled roughly. Martin Daniels had been a shadow hanging over him for too long. He took out his phone and opened the email folder with Daniels’s messages and looked at the one from today. All it said was “1,147 days” in the subject line. The body of the email was blank. For the first time in almost four years, Alex hit the reply button.

  Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back to the majors?

  To his surprise, a reply popped up a few seconds later.

  I’m better now. Clean for a long time. I owe it to myself to follow my dreams, and I owe it to my son to give him a better life.

  Alex wanted to respond that the second baseman owed it to his son to make sacrifices to keep him safe. That he owed it to Alex to keep his ass out of the goddamn spotlight. Hell, he wanted to throw his phone through the bloody windshield. But he didn’t do any of that.

  He just put the truck in reverse and pulled out of the parking lot.

  19

  JAIME SAT CROSS-LEGGED ON her couch, grateful the arthritis hadn’t affected her hips yet, and tried to emulate the curling-iron technique from the YouTube tutorial currently running on her laptop. It was supposed to be a guaranteed way to give her stick-straight hair some extra oomph. If she was going to spend the day mired in her own misery, she was going to look good doing it.

  She wrapped a lock next to her left ear around the hot metal barrel and did the twisty-rotating thing just as the video instructed. Her hands seemed to respond to the new meds and the cortisone shot. It was almost miraculous. The swelling in her ankle was down, but it was still tender. Probably because she’d already done permanent damage to it. Maybe this was her new normal. From now on, she’d have to learn how to keep playing through the excruciating pain tormenting her every step.

  What would’ve happened if Alex hadn’t pushed so hard to get her to see a specialist? The thought of taking meds every day—of being reminded every day for the rest of her life that she was living with a disease—freaked her out, but not as much as the idea of not being able to play again.

  She was so consumed by that thought that she didn’t remember the curling iron in her hand until she heard the disturbing sizzling sound, following by the unmistakable stench of charred hair.

  “Shit!” She unraveled the curling iron just as a loud rap sounded at the door, causing her to jump. In her surprise, she dropped the curling iron on her coffee table, narrowly missing her MacBook and leaving a scorch mark on the cheap veneer.

  The knocking grew more intense as Jaime righted the curling iron and yanked the cord out of the nearby socket. When she was finally convinced she wasn’t going to set her apartment on fire, she straightened her tank top and walked to the door. She hadn’t expected Alex to show up today after she’d lied to him about coming to practice. She knew him well enough to know he hated dishonesty. It really wasn’t her intention to lie. She meant to come today. Disappointing her team was the last thing she wanted to do, but the panic that had been eating at her all week finally snowballed until she was crushed under its weight. The worried looks and sympathetic utterances would make her feel like a freak all over again.

  But if Alex was here, then maybe he’d forgiven her. Maybe she could forget about all of that for one more night.

  She swung her door open, apology poised at the tip of her tongue, then hesitated.

  “Huh. I guess we know now why you haven’t been coming to practice,” Lainey said from the doorway.

  “No kidding,” Alyssa added. “Hiding away like a hermit is a perfectly reasonable reaction to a hair disaster like that.”

  Jaime touched her hair and felt the crispy, fried strand. “Please tell me you have a hot oil treatment in that bag.”

  “No,” Lainey said, opening up the cloth grocery bag for Jaime to peer into. “But I do have frozen yogurt, so you better let us in.”

  Jaime shrugged and let her friends in. She didn’t want company, but she didn’t want to be alone, either. Frozen yogurt was a pretty indisputable tiebreaker. “I’ll accept the frozen yogurt, but I’m not going to talk about why I haven’t been at practice.” She headed to her kitchenette to grab some bowls.

  “That’s fine. We’re not here to talk about your problems. We’re here to talk about Lainey’s,” Alyssa said, heading straight for the fridge where she knew Jaime had a stash of chocolate syrup. “Although we may need to talk about your lack of groceries.”

  Good thing I didn’t bust that syrup out last night with Alex, she thought while digging around her cutlery drawer for some spoons.

  The three women snuggled into Jaime’s couch just as they had done dozens of times over the season. The three of them couldn’t be more different. Lainey was the tightly wound soccer goddess. Alyssa was the sweet optimist with an abundance of skill who was still trying to muster the grit needed to make it as a pro athlete. And then there was Jaime, the wild child. Somehow they managed to bring out the best in one another. Lainey was slowly learning that she could have a little fun in her life and still be that baddest bitch on the pitch. Alyssa’s burgeoning confidence was growing into an awe-inspiring ferociousness, even if she did still have that bad habit of apologizing too much.

  And Jaime was the biggest damn Hallmark movie of them all. What she wanted most was to find her place in the world. People who would accept her for who she was. She thought she’d found that with these women squashed next to her, but what would happen when they found out she had RA? Would it be the first thing they thought of when they looked at her? People always denied thinking that way, but just as her sister’s death followed her until the day she graduated high school, once someone looked through that lens, it was impossible to see anything else.

  “So, what’s this problem so epically terrible that even you will consume frozen yogurt?
” Jaime asked Lainey while Alyssa scooped out the black cherry goodness.

  “I need a wedding dress,” Lainey answered with an exaggerated sigh.

  “Well, it’s a good thing you came to me, young padawan, because I happen to be in the know about this wonderful, underground trend in the retail world. It’s called bridal shops. I think the idea might really take off one of these days.”

  Her sarcasm earned her a soft punch to the shoulder, causing a drop of chocolate to spill on her leg. Given that she was pretty much at rock bottom anyway, she wiped the dribble with her finger and licked it clean.

  “I don’t want a bridal gown. I just want a nice dress.” Lainey’s eyes drifted to Jaime’s bedroom.

  Alyssa gasped. Jaime took advantage of the moment to get a little revenge and smack Lainey in the shoulder. “You have got to be kidding me. You are not borrowing one of my old dresses for your wedding.”

  “A wedding is the ultimate declaration of love and commitment,” Alyssa said, throwing her hands in the air. “The dress should be special. It should be magical. It should—”

  “It should actually fit the bride,” Jaime interrupted. Considering Lainey had seven inches on her and only a third of her bust line, it was extra bizarre that she’d developed a habit of borrowing her clothes whenever she needed something fancier than clothing made from “performance-enhancing” materials. Jaime loved having that kind of sisterly relationship with her teammates, but she drew the line at bridal attire. “It’s bad enough that I can no longer wear my favorite LBD without thinking about the fact you wore it to consummate your relationship with Gabe.”

  “I wasn’t wearing it at the exact moment we—”

  Jaime covered Lainey’s mouth with her hand. “Nope, don’t need to hear the details.”

  Alyssa tugged Jaime’s arm. “Speak for yourself. Vicarious action is the only kind I can get these days. Geez. You of all people should understand that.”