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I shook my head, then stopped to think about it for a minute. The truth was, I wanted to help Holden. I wanted to help him heal. I wanted to remind him that he still had things in his life that could bring him joy. I just didn’t know if I was the right person for that job.
Sure, I had a unique skill set. Not only was I damn good at my job as a sports medicine doctor, I had seen what career-ending injuries could do to a spirit. But was Holden really in that same boat? No, he would never play ball again, but he was still in the prime of his life. He still had numerous opportunities ahead of him. He was the G.O.A.T., for goodness sake. How many didn’t have that? My dad, God rest his soul, didn’t. Dad didn’t know, with certainty, that he had anything beyond the game. Clearly, he felt like he didn’t have anything left, despite having my mother and me. I never wanted to see that utter look of despair and defeat in someone’s eyes again. Honestly, I wasn’t sure what I would do if I did.
Tate must have seen me working through some things, because he remained quiet for a moment before he said, “Please just think about it, Tamryn. Holden needs you. The next few weeks are going to be incredibly difficult for him. We’re not even sure that he’ll be able to travel for the big game. And if he can’t, someone’s going to need to be there for him. He’s not going to take that well. But I won’t pretend that this will be easy. It won’t be. Holden can be an ornery bastard. I love the guy like the brother I never had, but…yeah.”
I thought that over for a minute and realized it just made me more determined. Focused yet afraid, I looked into Tate’s green eyes and said the only thing I could.
“All right, okay. As long as everybody knows and is in agreement… Count me in. I’ll do what I can. I can reassign my other major cases for a bit. But I make no promises.”
Chapter Five
HOLDEN
Home sweet home. I was thrilled to be out of the hospital, and I had been home for nearly a week now, but my house had never felt so empty. And it was so still, the silence was deafening. I felt like I was coming out of my skin. I had no idea what to do with myself, and every time I thought about what I wanted to be doing, the reminder was like a dagger to the heart.
My incredible housekeeper, Mrs. Reyes—Yari—had gotten me settled in comfortably when I was discharged. The woman was a godsend. She’d answered the ad I’d placed when I moved from Washington to Maryland fifteen years ago, and I honestly didn’t know what I’d do without her. She cleaned, she ran errands when I was too busy with practice and traveling, and she cooked and left me incredible Cuban dishes in my freezer to heat up when I was home, and she was an amazing sounding board. A better mother than mine ever was.
As I wheeled myself into the kitchen to get something for breakfast, my motorized wheelchair whirring, I saw that she had already been by. I was surprised I hadn’t heard her. Especially when I snuck a peek at the clock on the microwave and saw that it was after eleven. I’d slept way later than usual, but my body clearly needed the rest.
Sitting on the island—amidst the mail and a perky bouquet of wildflowers she’d gotten from somewhere—were a dozen homemade cranberry walnut muffins, a pitcher of fresh-squeezed orange juice, and a note, propped against my pill bottles.
Holden.
Morning, mijo. I baked your favorite. Eat. Drink. Get your strength up. And for the love of the saints, take your medicine. I will know if you don’t. And I will tan your hide. I’ll be back later with groceries.
Yours,
Yari
P.S: Your phone was lighting up like a Christmas tree when I made your juice. Call your friends, you ornery cabro.
I smiled. I couldn’t help it. Even being chastised, I could feel the love. Especially in her nickname for me. She had heard the fans calling me the greatest of all time—shortened to simply: the G.O.A.T. Which, frankly, I found ridiculous. I mean I was no Roger Staubach or Johnny Unitas, but I guessed my numbers spoke for themselves. Anyway, once Yari heard the term, she took to calling me el cabro. Goat in her native tongue, though she always—as she had in the note—added some adjective to cut me down to size and make me remember my place. Just another reason to love the woman. She never treated me like a celebrity. More like her irritating nephew that she couldn’t help but love.
I poured a glass of juice, grabbed a muffin, and glanced at my phone where it sat plugged in on the counter by the fridge. I had seen the surgeon, the coaches, and my contracted caretaker as I was required to, but I wasn’t ready to talk to anybody else. Not yet. I was sure the other doctors were checking in, and likely most of my teammates, but I needed a little more time. We didn’t have practice today… My thoughts trailed off. No, not we. I didn’t have practice at all anymore. It was hard to know my place right now. I had been calling in for the team meetings as much as I could, but I wasn’t sure they really needed me. The team had won the divisional round as I’d assumed, even without me manning the helm, and were on their way to the big game. As expected, they were set to face an incredible Seattle team in two weeks, and I still didn’t even know if I’d be able to travel with the guys.
I glanced out the window at the harbor beyond. The view from this house was amazing. Even in the winter. When I left Seattle, I worried that I’d miss the city and its beauty, but Baltimore had a charm all its own, and I’d settled in pretty quickly. Even now, a walk down through the historic areas brought me a strange kind of peace, especially in the spring when the trees were in bloom.
I finished the decadent carbs that Yari had so lovingly baked and glanced at my phone once again. I should really check it. But doing just about anything else sounded like a better plan. So, instead of doing what I should be doing, I wheeled myself into the bedroom to find some clothes and get cleaned up as best I could.
Yet another blow to the ego. I couldn’t even shower by myself right now. I required the help of an incredibly stoic and stern-faced home nurse by the name of Osric. The caretaker was great, he really was, and fantastic at his job, but I always felt a bit like an invalid or a science experiment whenever he was around.
Thinking of him had my mind immediately going to Tate. He had called and texted several times, but I just couldn’t bring myself to reach out to my buddy. The man was a great friend, but every time I even thought of him, I recalled the look he’d given me on the field after the injury. The one that let me know how bad things were without words. He never could lie to me. And while part of me was glad of that, another part couldn’t help the association and thereby the animosity. In my gut I knew it was groundless, but sometimes you just couldn’t help the paths your brain took.
Another doctor flashed in my mind. Tamryn. I hadn’t been very nice to her when she came to check on me in the hospital, but she’d caught me at a very vulnerable moment, and the woman did strange things to me anyway.
My interests had been piqued since the moment she walked into camp and was introduced as our new injury management doctor. You’d have to be blind not to notice her beauty. That long, flowing blond hair and those dark blue eyes, so deep they reminded me of a stormy sky. And then there was her body. Any red-blooded American male would notice the way she filled out her jeans and those tight tees and tanks she loved to wear, but it was more than that. The woman had a kind of…aura. An old soul. Something intangible that you couldn’t pinpoint or explain but that was captivating, nonetheless. And when she smiled, and that dimple came out to play… Until the hospital, I hadn’t remembered seeing it before, but when I did, it took my breath.
I shook my head to clear it of my waxing poetic thoughts about the good doctor, and decided to buck up and check the device of doom. I was sure Tamryn had texted or called again, too. She’d been incredibly insistent since the hospital. But, again, I wasn’t told I had to talk to her, so I chose not to. She was right there with Tate in that column in my brain. The association was almost too much. She had seen me at my lowest, and it would likely take me a bit to get past those memories.
Rolling across the barnwood laminate in my dining room to the kitchen once more, I was just about at the counter when said device started buzzing. I felt my stomach drop and noticed a little head rush. Why was I so anxious?
I maneuvered the joystick with my good hand, trying to hurry, and steered myself right into the cabinet on my bad side, the jolt to my body stealing my breath and making me a little nauseous.
“Motherfucker.” I tipped back my head and swallowed another outburst, instead huffing a breath out my nose. “Christ on a cracker.” I blew out another breath, hoping the worst of the pain would ease and reached up to grab the phone, yanking it away from the charger. The cord ripped from the socket and smacked me in the face.
“Fucking hell.”
Glancing at the screen, I saw that I had a notification for a new Marco Polo video—from Tamryn. I brought up the app and watched as she came on screen in the parking lot of the stadium. She looked stunning in the late-afternoon sun. And pissed. Damn, she was hot when she was angry.
