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“What determines that is how fast I can get this surgery over with, heal, and get to training again.” Which I was hoping like hell would be lightning fast.
Her eyes were in awe as they took in my place—the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Chicago skyline, a flat screen that spanned one wall, black leather couch to fit half my team, the long dining room table that Brandy had told me to buy, which I never used.
Her eyes slid back my way. “Is that safe? Training so fast? Don’t you think your team is pushing you too hard?”
This was where she was wrong. She thought the team was pushing me to get back on the field faster.
“It’s not them. It’s me. I want to get back to doing what I do best.”
If I was out for the season, then I’d lose any chance of getting the Cy Young Award. I wasn’t getting any younger either. My career had a shelf life, and I was determined to milk it for all it was worth.
Her eyes widened. “Is it worth it? Worth risking your health?”
Wasn’t she cute, all worried about me?
“If I heal after surgery in the next four weeks that I’m supposed to and get to Los Angeles for rehab I have no doubt my body will be conditioned and ready to go by mid-season.”
I moved to the kitchen, and she followed. My stomach grumbled, and I pulled open a drawer, looking for an old takeout menu.
“Los Angeles?”
“That’s where Dr. Carringtime will be. He has a short window before he flies to Spain to help some famous soccer player with rehab. I need him to take me. My agent is working on getting me on his calendar. Dr. Carringtime is known worldwide for his holistic and modern techniques, which have gotten athletes in tip-top shape in record time.”
My plan was to heal within four weeks, start rehab with him, and continue with my team physical therapists.
I pulled out a local diner’s menu and shut the drawer. Turning to her, I noticed the frown was heavy on her face.
“Don’t worry.”
She was most definitely worrying.
“I have a plan. Hard work, rehab and training will get me back to shape.”
Her phone pinged with a text, and after she plucked her cell from her pocket, her eyebrows pulled together. “It’s the wedding planner.” Her shoulders slumped before she met my eyes. “I gotta text her back, and then I have to start making phone calls to family members.”
I swallowed and nodded. “Need help? I don’t know … with anything?”
“I got it handled. I’ve pretty much been in on the preparations with Brandy and the planner since day one. Plus, most of the guests at the wedding were my family. I’ll need to call all of them. I’m just sorry that …” Her voice trailed off. “That all that money will be wasted.”
It was less than two weeks till the wedding. I’d read the contracts. I’d signed them and made the down payments.
Nonrefundable. The limo. The reception. The flowers. All of it.
But none of that shit mattered. Not now, not when so many lives were affected by this implosion.
“It’s only money, Sydney.” I flipped on more lights in the kitchen and headed to the fridge, opening it and shutting it again. Besides a few bottles of water, it was empty. “I’m going to order some food. You go make your calls. You can use my office. It’s down the hall, to the right.”
She smiled briefly before throwing me a glance. “How big is this place?”
“It’s only three bedrooms.”
She chuckled. “Austin, there is only one of you.”
I shrugged. “Brandy …” I cleared my throat. “Brandy picked this place. In case she wanted to spend the night and have a girls’ night when I was out of town for a game.” I didn’t want to think of Brandy right now even though this place was infused with touches from her. From the drapes to the dining room table to the couch that I didn’t care for. “I’ll order dinner. I’m sure you’re starved. Anything in particular you want?”
“No. I’m not picky when it comes to food.”
When Sydney disappeared into the other room, I took my phone from my pocket—not without effort—placed it on the marble kitchen island, and dialed up the restaurant down the street. I ordered us steaks and chicken breasts and some salads. Just when I was about to press End, Logan’s face popped up, indicating an incoming call.
