by Andrew Grey
“Yes, I do.” His dad finished his coffee. “Call if anything happens, and I’ll let you know if we have anything concrete.” He stood, and Obie walked him to the door, saying goodbye and locking it after him.
“I don’t feel like I’m being brushed off, but I get the feeling that there isn’t much they can do right now. It’s as if we’re waiting around for him to do something else. He wants something, but never says exactly what it is.”
“Maybe the next time he calls, you should ask. We’ve been avoiding him, but why not ask him why he’s doing this and what he wants? His answer, if he gives one, could be a clue to his motivation and ultimate identity. In police situations, Dad says the number-one thing to do is to try to get the perp talking. It often defuses the situation, and gives the police a chance to gather more evidence and catch the guy or get him to surrender.” Obie wasn’t sure how Bri would take that suggestion, but he figured he could give it a try.
“He seems to want to get his message across, whatever it is, so maybe he’ll talk about it.” Bri leaned back in the chair. “Of course, nothing is going to happen now until I get my phone back.” He wasn’t sure how he felt about being without it. Part of him felt naked and cut off from the world. Another part of him was glad he wouldn’t have to worry about getting more calls. “I should get dressed and out of your hair.”
Obie shook his head. “You should go back upstairs and try to get some sleep. I have a client, but you should keep that knee elevated. Let it rest, because we have an appointment tomorrow and you’re going to need your strength.” Obie winked and wished he could go back to bed too. But he had obligations and he wasn’t going to let his other clients down. “It’s also best if you stay out of sight.”
“Okay.” Bri got up, and Obie followed him up the stairs. He climbed back into bed, and Obie used the bathroom, shaved, and took care of business. By the time he came in to dress, Bri was sound asleep, snoring softly. Obie was quiet and got his things before returning to the bathroom, where he dressed, and then went downstairs, made a light breakfast, and got the therapy area set up and ready for his client. He yawned at least a dozen times during the process and drank another mug of coffee, knowing it was going to be a very long day. But the thought of Bri upstairs in his bed kept him going, as did the knowledge that neither of them knew where the inevitable next escalation would come.
“GOOD MORNING,” Obie said to his new client as Clarice hobbled inside, half bent over and stiff. “Oh my goodness. Are you able to sit?” He grabbed a chair and brought it closer, adding a pillow. Clarice sat down, the pillow behind her back, a look of extreme relief washing over her. “Well, I think I have an idea of what’s going on, but why don’t you tell me?”
She sighed loudly, pain still evident around the edges of her face. “Business trip to the West Coast. Terrible plane seat, then a hotel bed from hell, sitting on terrible chairs in meetings, and by the time I could go home, I got off the plane like this. I’ve been given massage therapy and steroids that made me sick. I went to one of those large clinics where the therapist was much more interested in flirting with a coworker on the other side of the room than he was in me.” Clarice winced in discomfort. “One of your former clients recommended you. He said you could help me and that you were a true professional. I don’t expect to be the center of my therapist’s world, but I do think I deserve his attention when I’m in an appointment, not to be treated as a distraction between phone calls.” She shifted slightly, and a little more of the tension drained from her expression.
Obie handed Clarice the standard set of release and consent forms, as well as a medical history form, and let her fill them out, the entire time trying not to yawn and think about Bri upstairs in his bed. He had to keep his mind on his job and his client. Clarice deserved his entire attention. Once she was done, Obie reviewed the forms, made a few notes, and helped her onto the massage table so he could do whatever it took to enable Clarice to walk out of his session a little straighter and in less discomfort, than she’d come in. Too bad he couldn’t say the same thing for himself.
Chapter 9
BRI FELT better after sleeping some more, but he had the strangest feeling that something wasn’t right. He dressed as quickly as he could and got his brace on before grabbing his crutches and heading for the stairs. Voices drifted through from the back of the house, tickling the edges of his consciousness. “A woman…?” He couldn’t quite hear what they were saying, but it bothered him. He went as far as the kitchen, poured himself a mug of coffee, and managed to make it to the table without spilling it.
He checked the time and wondered when Obie would be done. For the first time in weeks, he was surprisingly content. Sure, all this crap was happening, but he felt reasonably safe just knowing that Obie was here and that he wasn’t alone. The worry was there, most definitely, but he could deal with it.
The door to the therapy room opened and closed and Obie dragged himself into the kitchen, pouring another cup of coffee before padding on through to the living room. Bri finished his drink and got the mug to the sink as the television flipped on and he heard the theme to The Nanny. God, he loved that show. It was on one of those rerun channels, and was his secret guilty pleasure. Especially the later episodes, where Maggie was dating the model and they had him shirtless a few times.
He went in, intending to join Obie on the sofa, but instead, he found him in the chair, half asleep, curled up almost into a ball. Bri stretched out on the sofa, half watching the television and keeping an eye on Obie, who wasn’t watching him back. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” Obie answered quietly as the commercial ended and the show began again. “I’m fine. Just tired.” He said no more through the rest of the episode and into the next one.
“Okay. Something is bothering you.” Bri sat up, carefully positioning his leg, wary and slightly on edge. “What’s the deal?”
“I’m just thinking,” Obie snapped. “Look, okay….” He unwound his legs. “What happened last night can’t happen again, okay? I’m your therapist. I can’t be your lover too. I know we’ve talked about this before, and last night I let my little head overrule my big head. But until you’re on your feet again, we can’t….” He waved his hand.
“So you want me to leave?” Bri asked. “I can go to a hotel, that’s no problem.” He used his crutches to get to his feet. “As long as I can use your phone… or is that unprofessional too?” He was pissed. Yeah, maybe he sounded like a kid, but this whole thing hurt. “You know I could just fire you.” That was sounding more and more like a good idea.
“Yes, you could, but then who would be able to get you back to playing form? Remember, I’m, like, therapist number four.” Obie sneered and then softened his expression. “Look, we just have to step back and remember that getting you healthy is what counts. You’re getting stronger all the time, and soon you’re not going to need that brace any longer. That’s what we have to keep our eyes on. When you can play again.”
Bri shook his head. “Are you really that selfless? Or just uncaring?”
“They say it in old movies all the time. If things are going to work out, then a few weeks of keeping our hands to ourselves isn’t going to hurt us.” He cocked his eyebrows, and Bri had to agree. But after last night, he wasn’t sure he could do it, where Obie was concerned. He was like a drug and Bri was already addicted. “Just be patient so this doesn’t feel like it’s hanging over my head, that’s all I’m asking. How would you feel if I wanted you to… I don’t know, break some basketball player code of ethics? Like I wanted you to sleep with the center’s wife?” He giggled, and Bri rolled his eyes.
“That’s happened before—on my team, a few years ago. It was a mess.”
“Well, then that’s what I’m trying to avoid. I have to be professional and I’m already pushing it. So for now, we need to back away and let things cool down a little so I can do my job, and you can heal and get back to playing…. Then we can pick things up.” Obie shivere
d. “I already have a hard time thinking of anything else but you. And I need to be detached. So when we’re in the therapy room, it’s you and me, Obie and Bri. No innuendo or stuff like that. We have to work and be professional.” Obie sighed. “That doesn’t mean you need to leave, but you should move into the guest room.”
Bri nodded. He could see the conflict in Obie’s expression and he hated that he’d been the one to put it there. Bri should have been smarter and thought about Obie and the position he was putting him in. “Okay. I agree things maybe moved a little fast because of the attraction and….” Bri’s gaze caught Obie’s, and damned if he didn’t have to look away just because of the heat that sizzled right there. “I won’t say that last night was a mistake. Never.” Bri got to his feet. “I’m going to go get cleaned up and then make some calls, if I can use your phone.” He needed to call the team and his agent, keep them up to date, and maybe talk to his dad. At the moment, though, he needed to get out of this room and give himself a moment to breathe without having Obie nearby. “Do you have another appointment?”
“In fifteen minutes,” Obie said, and Bri nodded, leaving him to his work. “There’s a wired line in the last room upstairs. I don’t use it for much, but you can hook up the phone in there if you like. Go ahead and make all the calls you need.”
“Thanks.” Bri wanted to lean over Obie and kiss him breathless. The longer he stayed in the room, the better that idea sounded, so instead, he went upstairs and into a room that was lined with bookshelves and contained a single recliner and table. He plugged in the old rotary dial phone and sat still, realizing he didn’t have the numbers he needed and no way to find them.
“I thought you might need this,” Obie said, handing him a tablet. “We can have lunch when my appointment is over and then you and I can work for a while.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate it.” Bri called his father first, bringing him up to date, and then got in touch with the team manager.
“Are you okay?” Jack asked when Bri explained what had been going on. “I saw the news story. It’s been running with each and every report. Thankfully you were smart enough not to give any interviews or talk to reporters. Have you contacted the police?”
“Of course. The father of a friend of mine is the police commissioner. He’s been personally involved.” That ought to shut Jack up. He could be a brilliant manager, but he sometimes had all the people skills of a tree stump.
“Is this friend… a friend friend?” Jack’s attempt at subtlety was wasted. He was never subtle and most definitely out of practice.
“Look. I have decided that I am not going to talk about my personal life. If I want to have one, then it’s my business.” Bri sat back and prepared for battle. “I don’t intend to give any sort of interviews on my personal life or talk about it with the media. And I have decided that I’m not going to talk about it with you or the team either. I play—that’s what I get paid for, and I will be a part of this team again. My rehab is going well. But I will not answer those kinds of personal questions.” He kept his voice firm.
“Your contract—”
“My contract is for my skills on the court, nothing more. I will not have the team telling me who I can see and what I can do. As I said, I won’t answer any questions, so don’t bother asking.” He grinned as Jack began to sputter. He liked to know everything, and it was obviously getting under his skin big-time that Bri wasn’t going to talk about this.
“On a more pertinent subject, I’m really making progress,” Bri continued. “I can put weight on my leg and it’s getting stronger. I also have more movement, and that’s improving steadily too. In another month, I hope to be able to join the team for light workouts. I see the doctor in two weeks, and then we’ll go from there.” Keep it business. That was the one way to ensure that things remained professional.
“How is the pain?”
“Nonexistent right now. I get sore after therapy sessions, but that’s about it. Like I said, I’m getting stronger and stronger.” He paused. “Look, coach. I think I need to tell you that… the police will be looking into that incident on the court. Ever since then, I’ve been getting threats and… well, you know my house was set on fire, right? Someone has it in for me. Maybe the exhibition game was when it all started. It’s probably a good idea for you to take a look at the videos yourself.”
The other side of the line was silent for a long time. “You think it was deliberate?”
“It’s possible. The police are on it. My friend’s father, the police commissioner, thinks it’s a strong possibility, so they aren’t likely to let it go.” Bri needed to let him know. “This should have been investigated a long time ago.” He let the implication that this could hurt Jack professionally hang in the air.
“You know that’s hard to determine. It was an exhibition game that got a little out of hand. The players got….” Jack groaned. “Do you have any idea the kind of trouble something like this is going to stir up? This sort of thing isn’t done. What happens on the court stays there, and once the game is over, everyone shakes hands and goes home. It’s how the game is played. You never know when you’re going to end up on the same team as the guy who fouled you. That’s life in this business. You know that.” Bri had heard this lecture more than once. It was Jack’s Professionalism Talk 101.
“This has nothing to do with that. Jack, what if someone purposefully set out to injure me? What if the injury and the threats, and someone setting my garage and car on fire, are all related? I know it’s your job to think about the team, but part of my job is trying to stay alive and safe.” He sighed and doubt began to creep into the back of his mind. “Do you even want me to come back? Or is all this some ploy to get me to leave the team?” Head offices played games all the damned time.
“Of course not. You’re the heart of this team, and we need you back if we’re going to have a shot at the title this year. But if we start going after players because of things that happen on the court, then—”
“I’m not. The police are interested.” That was at least a way for him to stay one step removed. “I’m not pursuing it myself. But they have seen the footage and they’re planning to do some follow-up. They’ll probably want to talk to Young about what happened.”
Jack swore under his breath. “I don’t suppose that idiot will be smart enough to keep his mouth shut.” Bri could almost see Jack shaking his head and pursing his lips as though he’d just sucked a lemon.
“It’s not going to be easy, considering he’s in New York, but we’ll see what happens.” There was little else he could do about it. “All I want is to get to the bottom of this so I can feel safe in my own home again, Jack. It’s just getting to be too much. If there is some connection, then maybe once the police get to the bottom of it, I’ll be able to get my life back.” Damn it all, he hated sounding fucking whiny, and he knew that was exactly how it must seem. “Anyway, I wanted you to know what was going on. Don’t interfere, though. Let the police do their job.”
Jack was quiet once again. “All right. We’ll let the police do what they need to, and I’ll speak to management here and make sure the team is behind you.” He sounded reluctant, and Bri wondered just how much effort he was going to put into this supposed support.
“Jack,” Bri snapped. “I have never done anything to create trouble for the team. Never. I have played for years and always gave management the best I had. I’m the victim here, not the guy who burned down someone else’s garage. Remember that.” He was getting damned tired of this entire conversation. “I expected more support than this.” Maybe he’d talk to his agent next, to see what kind of pressure he could add.
“This has the potential to put the team in a difficult position,” Jack said.
“No, it doesn’t. Either the team supports its players or it doesn’t. Young isn’t on the Rockets, but a rival team. So you should be standing behind me, because you know damn well the owner in New York is going to stick behind Young. It’s on
e of the few things that Marv Kaufmann does right. He supports his people.” Bri was laying it on thick, knowing that the other coach and Jack had an old rivalry. There was no way Jack was going to allow Marv to get the better of him.
“Okay. I see your point. God, I’m glad we have to deal with your agent at contract time, instead of you. After a few hours, I swear you’d end up as the owner of the entire team.” He could see Jack rolling his eyes. “I’ll do my best. But please be careful, stay healthy, and don’t talk to the media. If it ever gets to that point, we’ll work through what we’re going to say.”
“I’m surprised the media hasn’t beaten a path to my door,” Bri said.
Jack laughed. “That’s because they don’t know where you are, and I suggest you keep it that way.” Bri breathed a sigh of relief. He had half expected to find a sea of reporters outside the house at any second. “You know what to do, and if there is any statement to be made—about anything—we will help you.” He sounded genuine, and Bri agreed.
“I need to go. I have a therapy session coming up and I need to get something to eat first. I’ll keep you in the loop.”
“Okay,” Jack agreed, and they ended the call. Bri set the phone in the cradle and stared at the picture of a vintage Mustang on the far wall without really seeing it. Even though Jack had said all the right things—well, he eventually had—Bri still wondered just how much Jack was on his side. Dammit, he needed to control his jitteriness. Not everyone was out to get him.
Footsteps outside the room, drawing closer, drew his attention. “I’m going to make some lunch. It’s just sandwiches, but you can come down when you’re done with your calls.” Obie leaned against the doorpost, his arms hanging at his sides. In his tan slacks and blue polo shirt, he looked every bit the professional therapist, but those eyes, bright and as blue as the summer sky, gave Bri ideas he shouldn’t be having after their earlier conversation.