Hard Ball

by Heather Stone

  She clears her throat.

  “Are you checking out my boobs?”

  “Wh—no. It’s just. When did they get so big?” I stammer.

  “Seriously? They are the same size they’ve always been. Are you having a drought? Missing Lana?”

  “Fuck no.” Her eyes roll.

  “Manwhore.”

  “Hey! We don’t use that word. We like to refer to it as ‘sexually privileged.’”

  “Yeah, well, ‘sexually privileged’ in my book means herpes positive.”

  I cringe. “I’m tested often. I’m as clean as a whistle.”

  She raises a brow. “That’s disgusting, Cole. Anyone who needs to be checked that often should probably just go ahead and bleach it every night.”

  I groan in mock pain.

  “You’re the devil.”

  “You’re dirty.” She frowns.

  “Do you really think that about me?” I ask.

  “Come on, Cole! You know how I feel about the revolving door of women. It’s kinda gross.”

  “You’re on some high horse over there. Just because my cock isn’t covered in cobwebs doesn’t mean I’m dirty.” Her eyes widen and go straight to my dick. I chuckle. She shakes it off.

  “Cole. Come on. I’ve never hid my disgust for your lifestyle. It’s just not for me. It works for you. And my lady parts are not covered in cobwebs by the way.”

  “Unless something has drastically changed from last time, cobwebs abound down there.” I nod to her pussy. She straightens and a flush of pink brightens her cheeks. I grin.

  “You know I’ve been dating Dawson. I’m perfectly cobweb-free.”

  I frown at the mention of the douche. The thought of him or anyone touching her makes me violent. The wind has effectively been blown out of my sails.

  It’s just brotherly protection I’m feeling. I do not want to fuck my best friend.

  The fact that I have to convince myself of that isn’t lost on me. I need to change the subject.

  “Thanks for coming, Kenz. It means a lot.” I smile.

  “Someone has to. Jude mentioned your parents are in Switzerland. They clearly aren’t hopping a plane to come check on you.”

  My parents piss her off.

  “I talked to my mom,” I lie.

  “No, you didn’t. I called her.” I roll my eyes yet again. Of course she did. “And…”

  “She isn’t concerned.”

  She scowls. “Your parents have turned into some real douche bags.”

  “We should introduce them to Dawson,” I say offhandedly.

  She smacks my chest. “I really like him, Cole. Can you give him a break?” Her eyes are pleading and it makes my chest tighten. When the fuck did someone sneak into her life and root themselves into her heart? I can see it. She really likes this one.

  My head is screaming at me to pull her into my arms and show her why no guy will ever get a break from me, but I don’t. I know myself. This is some sickass game because she’s the one girl in the world I can’t have, for a number of reasons. One night is not worth the fallout and she deserves to be happy. I can’t be that guy. So I do the one thing that makes me sick.

  “Okay. I’ll give him a break.”

  That fucking stings.

  6

  Makenzie

  Cole steps away from me and shakes his head a little. “Okay, let me get dressed, then we can grab a bite in the hotel restaurant and head to get the tests.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I call after his retreating form.

  As Cole gets ready, I freshen up, making myself look presentable after my drive. I’m kind of a hot mess, but no one cares, especially not Cole.

  “Okay, I’m ready. Let’s do this,” he says as he ducks his head into the bathroom where I’m applying foundation for the first time since yesterday.

  “Are you kidding me? That took all of two seconds,” I whine. “I need like one more minute.”

  “You don’t even need to wear that shit. You look better without it.”

  “Let’s go. I need food. I’m dying over here.” His dramatics have me rolling my eyes, but ultimately hurrying me up. I’m hungry too.

  An hour and three pancakes, four strips of bacon, and two eggs later and Cole announces he’s full. You think? That man ate enough food to feed a small country. I had yogurt and granola—and he stole half of it.

  We head up to the doctor and unlike when a normal person needs a test, Cole is ushered right in. They really do treat star athletes like royalty.

  Cole might not admit it, but he’s nervous about this. A small line has been present between his brows since they started. To be honest, I’m nervous for him, too. These tests can go a number of ways and God willing the results come back that this isn’t career ending. I don’t know what Cole will do if that’s the case. I have faith that he will be successful regardless, but Cole doesn’t have as much faith in himself as I do.

  For the next few minutes, I try to keep his mind occupied as we wait together. No matter what joke I try to tell him, it’s obvious it’s doing nothing to calm his nerves. He’s like a little boy fidgeting around. His leg is jolting up and down and I want to tell him it will be all right but I don’t. Instead, I hold his hand.

  Just as I think Cole might wear a hole in the carpet, the door behind us creaks and we both turn toward it. The doctor pops in.

  “The results are ready.” My stomach flip-flops. I can only imagine how Cole must feel. I think I’m going to pass out from nerves.

  “Cole, here are your X-rays. After further testing, we can confirm that flexor tendinitis is what’s ailing you. It’s something we see often with pitchers.” He goes on to explain in great detail. I don’t need to listen. I am well versed in these types of injuries.

  “The best course of treatment is to rest,” the specialist concludes. “I want you to get home and rest for the next two days. No workouts and very little use of that hand.” He raises his eyebrow as he turns to look at me, as though he knows this will be hard for me. “I’m sure your own team doctors will want to take a look and retest, so I’ll forward these over to them.”

  “So I’ll be able to throw soon?” Cole asks.

  “Rest and follow the directions on this printout, and you should be up and running soon. Anywhere from two to four weeks.” He smiles.

  Cole lets out a sigh and his shoulders loosen. Not career ending. Thank God.

  Once we are back at the hotel, Cole leaves me in the room to talk to his pitching coach. I must have drifted off to sleep when I hear the door open and Cole reappears.

  “They’re sending me back home to see the team doctor and get some follow-up tests.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  “Nah, I’ll be fine.” He reaches for my hand. “Thanks for coming here.”

  “Like I would be anywhere else.”

  “I know, and that’s why I love you.”

  By the time I make it back home later that night, I’m fucking tired. I can barely function. I still have all my clothes on and I’m laying facedown in my bed. I don’t even think I can muster up the energy to change before going to sleep. God, I’m pathetic.

  My phone vibrates next to me and I swear my arm is lead as I grab it.

  Dawson: Are you home?

  Me: Just got here

  Dawson: Can I call you?

  Me: Totally

  Within a few seconds the phone vibrates again and I swipe my finger along the screen to answer.

  “Hey.” My voice cracks as I answer.

  “Hi. Are you okay?” There’s no mistaking the concern in his voice. My lips part at the thought.

  “I’m just exhausted. It’s been a long day.”

  “I can only imagine. How’s he doing?”

  “I think he’s going to be okay. He has to meet with his team doctor, but hopefully nothing extensive. I wanted to be there, but he said no.”

  “I’m sure it’s fine and he’s cool. You did what you could, plus
you do have to study.”

  “I know, but I would rather…I don’t know. I guess it’s hard to explain.” I roll over and flop onto my back.

  “Try me,” he says.

  “It’s just been him and me for so long. His parents, well…let’s just say they aren’t the most supportive and I’m all he has.”

  “I hope he knows how lucky he is,” he whispers.

  “He does,” I say as I try to hold back a large yawn. Despite my best attempts, it escapes and Dawson responds.

  “Listen, I’m going to let you go to sleep. Want to grab dinner tomorrow night?”

  “Yeah. I’d like that.”

  “Great. I’ll pick you up at 8 p.m. ‘Night.”

  “‘Night,” I mumble sleepily as my eyes flutter shut.

  7

  Cole

  It’s been two weeks since New York. I’ve been following all of the protocols. Rest, light workout, more rest, and cold compressions. Maybe not completely as directed, but mostly. The pain is still agonizing and my trainer is no closer to letting me back in the game. I’m going fucking crazy.

  “Jude. What the fuck, man? When are you going to give me the okay to play?” I walk into his office. He raises his hand in the air, signaling for me to shut up for a minute while he finishes up his phone call. When he’s done, he lifts his brow.

  “Can I help you?”

  “What the hell do I need to do to get this fixed? I need to be back in the game, Jude.”

  “Are you resting your hand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you applying cold compressions for ten to fifteen minutes every hour, two to three times a day?” His brow rises when I narrow my eyes.

  “Yes. I’m doing it all.”

  “We might need to up the frequency. Also I want to start taping your foot. Your muscles are connected and often we overcompensate in other areas of the body. Your tendons in general need a break. It may take longer for your body to recover. Give it time and be patient. If you push it, you could do serious damage and create more scar tissue.”

  I groan. “So that’s it?”

  “Yeah, unless you want to have surgery and be out the rest of the season.” He shrugs.

  Without another word I exit, pushing through the front entrance and slamming the door open.

  “Fuck!” I yell to the near-empty parking lot.

  The vibration of my phone in my pocket has me stopping my tirade. I pull it out and see Makenzie’s face lighting up the screen. The photo is of her sticking her tongue out at me. Her big beautiful eyes sparkle with laughter at something I said. I smile, feeling my entire body relax at seeing her. I accept the call.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey yourself.” She pauses. “Everything okay? You don’t sound like yourself.”

  “Fine. This fucking hand isn’t getting any better,” I say, pacing. “They want me doing compressions more often and massage and tape my foot. I’m in over my head with all of this shit. Can’t they fucking assign me my own goddamn trainer?” I yell. “Nope. So I’ll have to find one on my own. This has to get better, and soon.”

  “I definitely called at a bad time.” She chuckles. “Dude, this injury is very common and very treatable. You just have to actually follow directions.

  “‘Dude’? Are you a stoner now?”

  “Don’t change the subject, Callahan. I guarantee you haven’t been resting that hand and you absolutely have not been doing cold compresses as often as you are supposed to.” I groan at her berating. “So be real. Your hand still hurts because you don’t follow directions.”

  “Know any good physical therapists in the area?” I ask to steer her away from lecture hour. She doesn’t say anything.

  “Makenzie. You there?”

  “Yeah. I’ll do it.”

  “You’ll do what?”

  “I’ll come there and help get you ready to pitch again. I might not be certified yet, but I’ve graduated. An exam is the only thing standing between me and the title of DPT.” Her cocky tone has me grinning ear to ear. Makenzie is a lot of things, but arrogant is not typically one of them. This is a different side to her, and I kinda love it.

  “Is that so? You’re big time, then.”

  “I’m serious, Cole. You need me.”

  “You can’t just drop everything and come do this. I need someone who can live here, Kenz. I need help every day and I don’t know for how long.”

  “I can study for my test anywhere. Plus, being with you will get me away from Dawson and the distractions that come with him.” My stomach plummets. “I need to focus, and if I’m with you applying these methods it can only help.”

  “If you come here, you stay with me. Will Dawson have a problem with that?” My words come out harsher than I intend.

  “No. It’s not like he’s my official boyfriend or anything. He’ll be bummed, but he will understand.”

  I grunt. “I’ll pay you for your services. You’ll have to devote all day to me and you can have in between my cold therapy and massages. At night you’ll have time to study. Does that work?”

  “You aren’t paying me. I’m not officially a DPT.” Her voice rises.

  “I don’t give a fuck. You work for me, I pay you. End of. Are we clear with the details?”

  “Okay. But I only want $200 each week.”

  I roll my eyes. “Five hundred.”

  She gasps.

  “That’s more than double.”

  “I can afford it.”

  “Five hundred, or you stay with pretty boy and study.”

  “Deal.”

  I might’ve just made a huge mistake inviting the one person I care about most, who happens to be female, to virtually live with me. It’s not like we haven’t basically lived together before, but this time it feels different. Most likely because of the weird thoughts I’ve had about her. Okay, scratch that. It’s definitely due to those. I need her. I wouldn’t want anyone else to handle my care, and if I’m being honest I want her the fuck away from Dawson.

  8

  Makenzie

  My foot taps nervously on the hardwood floors of the more or less empty restaurant. The sound is echoing off the walls, but I’m too nervous to stop fidgeting. I’m not sure why I’m so freaked about telling Dawson. I guess it’s because I like him and don’t want things to go south. We’re not dating, but I can’t imagine if I say I’m staying with Cole he’ll be okay with that. It’s one thing for me to be moving to the same city…but same place. Different story.

  “What’s going on with you? You’ve barely touched your food. Are you feeling all right?” These are the moments I wish it was Cole sitting across the table from me. I wouldn’t have to say anything—somehow he’d just know what was wrong. Maybe he wouldn’t know the specifics, but I have “tells,” he says. When I’m depressed, when I’m nervous, and apparently when I’m on the “rag.”

  “I just have to tell you something.”

  “Okay.” He places his hand under his jaw and his eyes lock on to mine. “What’s going on?”

  “So you know how Cole is hurt?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So I agreed to help him.”

  “But how are you going to do that when you’re here and he’s…” His brow furrows. “Are you going there?”

  “That’s what I wanted to tell you. I’m going to be moving to Milwaukee to help rehabilitate his hand.”

  “But you haven’t even passed the test yet.”

  “You and I both know we’re ready, but yes, I haven’t passed the test yet. So I’m just going to be working one on one with him. Not formally, though.”

  “What about studying? Don’t you think this is a pretty bad time? You need to put yourself first right now—”

  “I understand all the objections. But he needs me and it’s important to me to be there for him.” He nods and I let out the breath I was holding. I don’t know what I was expecting him to say, but I’m happy I don’t have to defend my position.

  “So
what does this mean for us?”

  My eyes widen at his question.

  “I wasn’t really sure there was…”

  “Makenzie, I like you, and I want to see where this goes.”

  “I like you too, Dawson, a lot. For the next few weeks, though, I’m going to have my hands full and I’m not sure it’s fair to you to—”

  “Let me decide what’s fair,” he says, laughing. “You’ll only be gone a little bit anyway. You go help Cole and I’ll use the time to study.” He smiles. “When you get back, we’ll grab dinner.”

  An hour later and still full from the bananas foster we split, Dawson and I parted ways with a peck on the lips. It was short and sweet and just the right amount to make me look forward to coming home. It wasn’t earth-shattering, but who needs earth-shattering? That kind of kiss is like playing with fire. Hot as hell but will surely burn. I’m scheduled to fly out tomorrow morning and my room looks like a hot mess. Clothes are scattered across every surface of the room. How I’m supposed to pack for at least three weeks is crazy. What the hell do I need, anyway? Leggings, workout clothes, do I need anything fancy? Will Cole drag me along to events and parties…nah. Okay, nothing for going out.

  Toothbrush...check.

  Crappy clothes…check.

  Books. I should remember to pack my books. I do have to pass a test in order to actually practice legally. Apparently, packing my brain is debatable.

  An hour later and still knee-deep in clothes, my phone rings.

  “What ya doing?”

  “Coley, I’m busy,” I mutter into the speaker as I hold up a pajama top that is way too sexy to pack. Nope, won’t be needing that.

  “You suck. I’m bored.” His voice is whiny and it makes me groan.

  “I’ll be there tomorrow. Tonight is my last night of peace…can’t you wait until tomorrow to annoy me?”