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“Yeah, coach now. Florida Fury.”

Shayna looks uncomfortable and hesitant to talk to me about whatever she was waiting on me for.

“Everything okay?”

She nods toward an empty room to her right. “Can we talk in there?”

My forehead wrinkles. “Sure… everything okay?”

I follow her into the room. She closes the door then turns to face me.

“I’m hoping that’s what you’ll tell me,” she says.

I tilt my head.

“Your throwing arm shoulder? How long has it been bothering you?” She crosses her arms, and I sense that this conversation will be more like an interrogation than a conversation.

And here I thought maybe she wanted to shove her tongue down my throat in congratulations for the win. But no, that remains my fantasy.

Sixteen

Shayna

“What are you talking about?” he asks with a scowl he’s never faced me with.

I’m not imagining the way the corner of his mouth turned up, just for a moment, almost like a grimace, with every long pass.

“Don’t bullshit me, Lee. I heard Randy ask you if anything else was bothering you. Why didn’t you mention your shoulder?” I cross my arms.

“Because there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“You’re lying to me.”

My words seem to hit him like a slap in the face. Maybe because his lying is what caused problems between us all those years ago.

“I know my body, Shayna, and I’m fine.” He moves to push past me, and I instinctively step in his path, putting my hand on his chest to prevent him from leaving.

He’s back in the suit he wore to the game—dark navy with a white shirt, collar open—and damn if he doesn’t look delectable. His hot, hard chest under my palm causes me to step closer. We stand, eyes locked with my hand still on his chest, almost breathing each other in before I clear my throat and retract my hand.

“You can trust me. Tell me what’s going on.”

He heaves out a pained sigh and turmoil swirls in his eyes. “Please don’t press this, Shayna.” His voice is begging and quiet as if the walls have ears.

“If something is bothering you, you need to let the medical staff help.” I lower my voice, hoping he’ll notice that I understand how confidential this issue needs to be.

He shakes his head before I’m even done speaking. “No. I’ve seen them pull guys for less on a just-in-case basis. We’re at the beginning of the season. My contract ends this year. The team needs me. I’m fine.”

“Lee—”

“Just drop it, okay?” This time, he does push past me. I turn, hoping he changes his mind. He stops with his hand on the door, back still facing me. “You have my word that if it becomes something, I’ll tell someone, but please, Shayna, this stays here.”

Frowning, I stare at the closed door long after he’s left. I don’t know what to think. Or what to do for that matter.

Protocol dictates that I report my suspicions to the team doctor, but some sort of weird loyalty to Lee keeps me quiet, because instead of turning left to head back to the team area to find Dr. Carlisle, I turn right to leave and head back to the hotel.

Two weeks have passed since my confrontation with Lee in Chicago, and he’s studiously avoided me as much as possible. I don’t know why. I’m not the enemy. In fact, it’s the opposite—I’m trying to look out for him.

I’m not wrong, something is going on with his shoulder. Even if he hadn’t basically admitted as much to me, I see every grimace.

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