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I steeled myself and slid open the door. At the sound, he immediately turned his head, taking me in. I took a moment to take in the blue of his eyes, set off beautifully by the tartan button-down he wore.
“Hey,” I said, and took a seat on the lounger next to him. “Osric let me in.”
He quirked his lips. “Hey, yourself. Nice day.”
I couldn’t help but chuff a laugh. “That it is. So, now that we’ve covered the weather, what do you want to talk about next? The Orioles’ chances for the World Series?”
He tipped his head back and forth. “Nah, why waste our time? They’re terrible.”
I couldn’t help but laugh for real at that. They really were. “So…how are you feeling today?”
Holden scrubbed a hand through his spiky hair again. “I’m all right. Pain’s…meh. Going a little stir-crazy, though.”
I smoothed my ponytail. “Understandable. How was the session with Osric?”
He looked at me then, his crystalline gaze hitting me like a shot to the heart. “Fine,” he said, and then looked out across the yard again.
“Man of many words today, I see. I was hoping after all the times you ignored me, you’d have saved some up.” I smiled and saw the corner of his lip tip up. “Have you talked to anybody else from the team?”
He scratched at the scruff on his cheek, clearly uncomfortable. “No. Aside from those I was required to check in with. A bunch of the guys called and texted, but I haven’t gotten back to them yet. I did talk with my buddy Jayce, though.”
I placed a hand on his elbow on the arm of the wheelchair. “That’s great, Holden. But you need a bigger support system right now. Talk to your friends.”
“Why?” He turned his hot gaze back on me, a light flashing in his eyes now that hadn’t been there before. “It’s not like they can understand. And I don’t need it rubbed in my face that I’m not there with them right now. I need to get better. I need to get back on the field.”
“Holden—” Before I could even finish, he jerked his wheelchair around and buzzed back into the house, leaving me there staring at his back. I followed him in and met him near the kitchen island. “Holden. You know that playing again isn’t an option, right? And even if you aren’t on the field right now, you’re still part of the team.”
He spun to face me, a water bottle that I had seen on the counter in hand. “Yeah, so I keep hearing. Honestly, it just feels like bullshit.” He took a gulp of the water. “You know what? I don’t want to talk about this right now. What’s up for today, Doc?”
I’d let him change the subject this time. But we would have a more in-depth conversation about this. And soon. I’d said today was about having fun, though. Getting to know each other better. With that in mind, I let it go and figured I’d try to lighten the mood and get his mind off his misery. At least for a little while.
“When was the last time you had your meds?”
“Listen, Doc. If you’re going to hound me for hours, then maybe you should le—”
“Whoa,”—I held up my hands—“hold on there, Mr. Grumpypants. I’m asking for a very important reason.”
He checked his watch. “About four hours ago, give or take.”
I smiled. “Perfect. I asked because I brought over a variety six-pack of some local microbrews, and you couldn’t have any if you just had your meds. We’ll forgo your next dose for a bit, if you’re okay with that. I’m not being a very good doctor right now, but we won’t tell anyone, will we?”
A genuine light entered his expression, and I could almost see the ice cracking a bit. “Beer, huh? You don’t strike me as a brew kinda girl.”
I smirked and walked past him to the fridge. Brandishing two bottles, I said, “And that’s precisely why we’re having this day. So you can find out just what kind of person I am and maybe learn to trust me with some things. Until we have trust, the healing can’t completely happen, Holden. So…wings, beer, mac ‘n’ cheese, some other stuff that we probably shouldn’t have, and a surprise for later. Now, let’s eat. I’m starving. And since I’ll be stuffing my face, no more badgering. I promise.”
Chapter Nine
HOLDEN
The woman was a shark. Seriously, six games into Madden, and she was beating me four to two. For some ungodly reason, she’d decided to play as Miami. Originally, I’d given her shit that she only picked them because she liked the pretty uniforms and the cute mascot, but she’d quickly proven me wrong. With the personnel choices she made, using the team’s more mobile and versatile rookie QB—who wasn’t even a starter yet in real life—and her decisions with play-calling, she was kicking my ass. And I played as myself!
I groaned as her wide receiver high-stepped it in for yet another touchdown.
“Boom!” she yelled before exploding her hands and dropping her controller to the rug as if it were a microphone. “In your face.”
I could only shake my head. Not only was she freaking good, she was a smack-talker and loved to rub it in my face when she outplayed me. I had to admit, it was pretty hot. Made even hotter by the fact that she’d gotten warm while we played. She now wore only one of her signature form-fitting tank tops and skinny jeans, a sliver of skin peeking above her waistband. Her feet were bare, her purple painted toes curled into the shag. She had a tattoo of a football made up of a fingerprint on her left shoulder blade, and I made a mental note to ask her about it later.
I shook my head to clear my thoughts. “How about some humble pie for dessert, Doc?”
