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“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. You’ve won six of your last starts. You’re playing better than you have in five years. Not to mention you have two years left on your contract after this season.”
“Everyone is for sale in this game.”
“They’re not going to trade you.”
“They told me they would.”
She dropped her hands to his lap, keeping herself up by holding on to his knees. “I can’t let you play. You wouldn’t be able to play even if I wanted to let you—which I don’t—because Omar is already in. That’s it for today. There are more games. The season isn’t over.”
“This might have been it for me.” He wasn’t looking at her now. Instead he stared at the ceiling, shaking his head. “I really thought I could make it happen.”
“You know they’re talking Cy Young for you this year?”
“Does it matter? Pitchers have been traded after winning it. I’ve won it before, and they still want me gone.”
“You’re only thirty-six.”
“I’m thirty-six in a sport full of twenty-three-year-olds. We both know I’m living on borrowed time. I just didn’t think my time was going to be up so soon.”
“Tucker, stand up.” When he didn’t move, she climbed to her feet and held out her hands to him. “Can you please stand up?”
He got out of the chair, and she didn’t try to help him stay standing. He wavered slightly but seemed to be okay.
“One game isn’t going to make or break your status with the club,” she told him, keeping her voice quiet but firm. “And you can’t ask me to make special exceptions for you. That’s not how this is going to work.” She pointed from herself to him and back. “I won’t ever do that.”
“This?” He had picked up one damn word from the middle of her speech and latched on to it. “If that’s not what this is, then what is this?”
A week was too soon to be asking or answering that question. Even though it was all she’d been thinking about since their first morning in bed together, she didn’t want to be the one to broach the subject. And now that Tucker had, she wanted to throw up. Not because she wasn’t ready to answer, but because the way he asked made her wonder what he was expecting her to say.
The wheels of her brain were spinning, and her mouth fell slack since she wasn’t sure where to start. “Uhh.”
“I’m sorry, that wasn’t fair. Of course you can’t go against your rules. I’m sorry. I never should have said anything.” He rubbed his temples and winced when his fingers brushed against the goose egg.
Emmy had barely heard anything he’d said. “What do you think this is?”
“What?” He looked confused, but his eyes remained clear, so she wasn’t worried about his brain fart being a result of massive head injury.
“What are we? To each other I mean.”
Tucker, who’d been the first one to ask the question, could no longer pretend to be unsure of what she was asking. After a longer-than-reasonable pause, he said, “You’re my good-luck charm.”
Emmy stared at him. “Your what?”
“Can I sit down?”
She wanted to say he couldn’t leave until he’d explained himself, but it was hard for a medical professional to say no to someone who might be concussed. Emmy guided him back to the training room and picked the ice pack up, pressing it firmly to his forehead. “I’m your good-luck charm?”
He smiled, but it wavered when she adjusted the pack.
“We’ve won every game since…well…” He grinned, and this time it held. The familiar twinkle returned to his eyes, and he was starting to regain some of his color.
“You think you’re winning because we’re having sex?”
Tucker winked and took the ice pack from her hand. “Six-game winning streak. Seven days of sex. You do the math.”
“Am I your new superstition?”
“No.” His eyes widened like he wasn’t sure if he’d said the wrong thing and had somehow offended her. “No?”
