The Lies We Tell Page 5

  I started heating up at the reminder of being alone in his room last night. He was fully dressed in his uniform, now, but he was no less sexy as he was in the towel. His uniform fit like a glove, tucked in showing off his trim waist that I knew led to a broad muscled chest underneath the jersey. The pants were tight on his thighs and cuffed at his knees, showing his high socks off—an old school look that I swooned over.

  I must have stared too long because a loud “ahem” from Chase brought my eyes back to his face and the smirk on his lips told me he knew where my head had gone. I turned away from him to hide my reddened face and took a deep breath.

  “I don’t know what to do,” I confessed. “Are you going to tell Gary I lied?”

  Chase scoffed, “Depends.”

  “On?”

  “On if you want to stay on the dark side with me.”

  The look of confusion on my face probably spoke volumes, but I asked for an explanation anyway. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

  “Well, my original plan was to fake it until I couldn’t. Now, my plan is to have you treat my knees off the record.”

  “I can’t do that!” I said, turning my back to him.

  “Sure, you can. Neither one of us wants to get busted. I want to play; you want this job. It’s perfect.”

  “I don’t even know what’s wrong, Chase. You need an MRI or an X-ray. That isn’t my job. I am not that person." I had started pacing again.

  He walked in closer, hands up in a placating manner, stopping my strides. “They fucking hurt. I don't need a cure; I just want to play. Make the pain bearable.”

  I took a deep breath. This man was certifiably insane. We had more in common than I thought. “I could just tell Gary that you also need to be seen.”

  “No, you can’t. Because then I will have to tell Gary you lied about Fernandez. And Gary’s reaction will be the least of your problems. Fernandez will be the issue.”

  Would he really throw me under the bus? Gary would fire me. But even if he didn't, Chase had a point. I didn’t want to stir anymore shit up with Manny, that was for damn sure.

  Ugh.

  I was going to do it.

  I knew I was.

  Not only because I dug my own grave, but because I wanted Chase to play, and I didn’t want to give Manny the satisfaction of calling me a bitch and then be proven he was right.

  “Manny had every right to call me whatever he wanted, I straight up lied about his health, Chase. I feel awful.”

  “Actually, Princess. That motherfucker deserved more than one punch to his face. He is a jackass. Maybe this is karma for some of the shit he pulls. You haven't even seen the real Manny Fernandez yet. And, for the record, no one ever has the right to call you a bitch.”

  “The whole team looked so mad at me for causing shit, though.” My mind drifted to the look on their faces. “The whole team doesn’t know you caused any shit. As far as they know, you were doing your job and Fernandez couldn’t handle it. They were mad at him for the way he talked to you. Trust me.”

  I took another deep breath. Talking this out was making my nerves ebb a little. Chase as right. He and I were the only ones that knew the whole story. And as long as I kept his pain a secret, he would keep mine.

  “Fine. Meet me here tonight and I will try to figure out what to do with your knees. But remember, Chase, I am not a doctor. I can only give you a band-aid, not an antidote.”

  “I know,” he said matter of fact.

  “And, if you are a no show, again, I get to send you to Gary, and you have to keep your mouth shut.”

  “Deal, Cupcake.”

  “And stop calling me that.”

  “Deal….. Princess.”

  Chapter 8

  Chase

  Get dad back to Atlanta. Check.

  Get Becca off my back. Check.

  The second one wasn’t actually a part of the day's plan. That was just dumb ass luck. For some reason, Becca didn’t appreciate Fernandez calling me old. Which, for the record, I didn’t either. But I was older than him, and I wasn’t a fucking pussy, so I let it go. I was too focused on what Becca was going to say to Gary.

  After she went running out of my room, I had to take a whole new shower, this time with cold water. I couldn't leave my room and go back to my dad until I was pieced back together.

  It took a solid hour, but eventually, I made it back over there and stayed until I got him on an early ass flight back to Atlanta.

  Then I came straight here and waited for Becca to deliver the news to Gary. No sense worrying about my lack of sleep when I would just be sent back to rest anyway.

  But Becca changed the whole game in the blink of an eye. When she told Fernandez that he was getting my knee scans, I wanted to marry that woman. And no motherfucker was going to talk about my future wife the way Fernandez did.

  So I hit him. And it felt good.

  Beyond talking to Becca the way he had, he was a dick. His mouth never stopped moving and always had some shit to say about someone else. He went beyond normal locker room banter and didn’t know when to stop.

  Well, now, maybe he did. Maybe he would shut the fuck up. I know every guy in that room that saw me hit him wished it was them. None of them blamed me for snapping when he talked to Becca like that—coaches included. We may be a bunch of jocks but none of us believed in demeaning anyone—especially women.

  I know I have given Becca shit, and I planned on giving her more, but I would never speak to her the way Fernandez did. So, moral of the story: Fernandez is a dick.

  Meanwhile, I had my very own personal physical therapist to get me through the season. I would be lying if I didn’t consider being a no-show to our meet up. A small part of me wanted her to show up at my door again, wild and unhinged. With her hair twisted up and eyes blazing with rage.

  I wanted that Becca again. I wanted to see her like that, on her knees, touching me….

  “Hello?”

  Shit, I was in la-la land again, sitting on the training table in the darkened training room waiting for her. She was standing in the doorway, probably wondering why I was staring at the wall like it held nuclear codes or some shit.

  “Hey, Prin…. Cupcake. Wait, I forgot which one you said I couldn't call you.” The lights had been turned off by a timed system because the stadium was technically closed, but with the small emergency lights we had, I could still see her roll her eyes at me.

  “You’re early.”

  “Making amends for being late last time.”

  “You weren’t late, you never showed.”

  “Eh, tomatoes tomahtoes.”

  “I cannot believe I am doing this,” she whispered as she set her bag on the table next to me. “Let’s get this over with.”

  I had worn athletic shorts and a t-shirt—my standard attire when I wasn’t in my uniform. She had safe access to my legs and knees, with my pants on, so I shouldn’t be in any danger of "flag poling" her again.

  Or so I thought.

  “Scoot back on the table so that your knees are straight.” I did as I was instructed. “I am going to feel around for any abnormalities, let me know where you feel the most pain.”

  She softly put her hands on each of my shins, pressing slightly as each one made its way up to my knees. I shuddered a bit under her touch. I guess it didn’t matter if I was wearing clothes or not, it was her delicate hands that were the factor in my libidinous situation.

  Because I instantly hard.

  Again.

  Fucking fuck.

  She paused but kept her eyes on my legs, “Ok?”

  “Yep,” I said curtly.

  She started again and got to just under my knee cap.

  Pain.

  I winced and pulled back a little. I was extra sore because we had our first full-squad practice today and we were short a player--Fernandez.

  So, I caught pitches all day. All. Damn. Day.

  And I had zero sleep the night before.

 
; “That’s the spot, Princess. It feels strained. I normally get a little pain at the beginning of each season, but this is the most severe.” No sense in lying about it now, she needed to know the details.

  “Did anything happen during the offseason?”

  “Noooo. I just didn’t work out the way I normally do.”

  “Why?” She asked.

  “I don’t know why,” I lied. “I just didn’t.”

  She huffed; a stray hair that had fallen in front of her face lifted as she breathed out. She continued to evaluate my legs, poking, and prodding and asking questions.

  After a few more minutes, she concluded. “Most likely, your cartilage through here as broken down through the years and has put more pressure on your tendons. It's a common injury for catchers but the pain is usually avoidable with a steady exercise regimen. I assume you've always had a routine to keep your body in shape, correct?"

  "Yeah," I blinked, looking at my knees like they betrayed me.

  "This is the type of thing that can lead to muscle damage and life-long mobility problems if not treated."

  “What if they’re torn?” I was panicking, a torn ligament scared the fuck out of me.

  “Honestly, there is a chance they could be separating from the bone, but that isn't something I can see with my eyes, I need scans for that, asshole.” I ignored her jab. Calling me an asshole was fair enough right now when I was asking her to use her nonexistent x-ray vision.

  “And that is not an option, so what now?”

  “Well, you need to do a stretching regimen every morning and most nights. Also, stretching properly after the game will be necessary as well to help the muscles wind down. I will help you in the mornings and at night to ensure a full range of motion and proper technique. Ice to decrease swelling and increase blood flow. Heat. Wraps. All of those will also be necessary. Your core looks strong and I know you have standard stretches before the games, but you cant limit your stretching to the knees. Quads, hips, and gluteus exercises will help balance your strength and take the pressure off your knees. After a couple of weeks, hopefully, the pain is tolerable."

  I just stared at her. She was in the zone, steadfast and confident as she spoke. She was so fucking hot like this, all studious but still flustered that we were even doing this.

  When she stopped talking, she held eye contact with me while waiting on my response.

  I just kept staring.

  Her beautiful face held only a hint of make-up, her lashes long, her eyes deep blue. She gave me a sense of familiarity, but I knew I had never seen someone this gorgeous before. Under the dim lights of the room and with her hands on me, I wanted to lean in and kiss her, touch her. But I knew despite how many lines she was crossing for me; she wouldn’t cross that line.

  “Ok, Princess,” I whispered. “Let’s do it.”

  My words broke the trance we had both been in. She nodded and backed up, putting distance between us. I wondered if she felt what I was feeling. Like for a fraction of a second, crossing another line would be worth it.

  We made a plan to meet in my room early before we had to report to work. She would do as much as she could there, away from the complex so there was no danger in someone realizing what we were doing. After the day was over and the complex cleared out, we would meet in the training room so she could use the equipment and supplies as needed.

  She made me promise that I would also come to her during practices and games if I needed something. Her point was valid. If I kept avoiding her, it looked obvious something was wrong. Gary would ultimately take notice, just like he did when she couldn’t get a check-up with me.

  Once we were done for the night, we shared an Uber to the hotel. If anyone asked, we could pass this session off as that check-up she promised Gary. But no one was around by the time we got back.

  We shared an elevator ride up to her floor and before she got off, I stopped the elevator and kept the doors closed. Breathing in and out as calmly as I could.

  “Thanks, Becca," I managed. My sincerity took her by surprise, or maybe it was the use of her real name. She didn’t respond, just hit the button again for the doors to open and walked out, leaving me reeling.

  Chapter 9

  Becca

  I barely slept again.

  I didn't eat. I couldn't.

  I was a zombie by the time I made it to Chase’s room the next morning. This earlier wakeup call was going to take some getting used to. But I was oddly kind of excited, as well.

  I didn’t even have to knock on Chase’s door before he opened it and ushered me in. He was wearing shorts but no shirt, his hair was a mess, and his feet were bare. I followed him into the space of the room that had a couch and chair near the sliding doors to his balcony, but they had been pushed toward the walls to make room on the floor.

  It was still dark outside, so his lamps were the only light we had, but it was enough. He turned around and asked me what I needed him to do so I fought my need to drool some more and started instructing him on where to lay and how to bend.

  I leaned in on him to push his legs the way I needed them to, to get the most out of each stretch. He groaned and breathed into each movement--which made the hairs on my neck stand up and my stomach flip with ardor. He was taking this extremely seriously and I was so thankful for this side of Chase. But he was inadvertently drawing me in more than he could realize.

  Once we were done, he stood and I notice him adjust himself, obviously trying to hide his erection, something only a blind person could miss. I turned quickly, trying to hide the fact that I saw him, but I was thanking the heavens I didn't hit my head on it this time.

  Of course, Chase noticed that I saw him and instead of letting it go, he had to bring it up.

  “Look, Princess, let’s just go ahead and clear the air here. I find you extremely attractive. And with you feeling my legs up and laying over the top of me while I stretch, I'm going to have more boners than you’re probably comfortable with. I am only human.”

  I laughed at his matter-of-fact vulgarity. I guess his statement was fair enough. My arousal wasn't as obvious, but I knew it was there. I would be a damn hypocrite if I scoffed at his honesty since I spent most of my time around him fighting off the electricity taking over in my entire body.

  “Just keeping it real,” he smiled.

  “Fair enough, Turner,” I conceded while stuffing my things back into the bag I carried. “I guess we are adults,” I added as what I hoped was an invisible wall. Adults could handle these kinds of things.

  I left and walked quickly back to my room to get my work clothes on and get down to the shuttle before anyone saw me.

  Luckily, it was still fairly early, so I had time to grab some coffee and text with Ali a bit—she always woke up early.

  Becca: This is harder than I thought it would be. Knowing how to do your job and making "pro" decisions are two different beasts.

  Ali: Ha. Bigger than high school, huh?

  Becca: These guys live for this game. It's everything to them. Something as dumb as knees can cause so much shit.

  Ali: Ohhhh you talking about Fernandez?

  Oh crap, of course, Kace told her what happened. Becca: Um, yeah. It was crazy.

  Ali: According to Kace, Fernandez lucked out.

  Becca: How so?

  Ali: Chase hit him before Kace could.

  Becca: Yeah, he was pretty mad.

  Ali: Cam said he owes Chase a beer when we get down there.

  Becca: Well he better come up with some other reason to suggest that to Chase. I am still on the down-low around here.

  Ali: But other than that, I take it you and Chase made up?

  What? Sorta. Shit, I couldn’t tell her that. I loved my best friend, but she would tell Kace everything; or worse, my brother. And something told me they wouldn’t take too kindly to the shit I caused among the catchers.

  Becca: Not really. He still hates me for some reason. But I guess even he draws the line at some things. />
  Ali: Sure. Sure. ;-)

  I rolled my eyes and closed the text out. I refused to be on the receiving end of a “The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” line.

  Chase and I had an understanding, a truce.

  That’s it.

  ◆◆◆

  When I first arrived at the complex, I was brought into Gary’s office, convinced he knew about Chase and the lies I told about Manny. Instead, he congratulated me on my instincts. Apparently, Manny had major fluid buildup and had to have it drained. He hadn't even been feeling the effects yet so I looked like a genius for figuring it out early.

  The irony had me laughing to myself the entire morning. Even now, I kept giggling under my breath until the announcers on the TV caught my attention.

  “He’s running!”

  “He’s out!”

  The team started jogging off the field after Chase threw out the runner, trying to steal second base, for out three.

  The game was in the 4th inning and I was in the locker room watching it on the TV. There wasn't much need for me during games since all the players were on the field or in the dugout. But once they started coming out of the game, they would trickle in needing this or that.

  Gary and his assistant were the only trainers in the dugout during games. I think that is Intern Rule number 7, or something.

  So, imagine my surprise when Gary’s assistant, Troy, came into the locker room and called for me.

  “Becca, Gary is asking for you.”

  “What? Where?”

  “In the dugout,” he said, rolling his eyes. He took off back down the hallway that lead to the field. I had been on the field numerous times in the past week, but never with a crowd of fans in the seats.

  Nerves started to rattle me as I made my way down the hall, but I found a little peace knowing I was only going to the dugout, not the field.

  “Becca, Turner is coming out of the game. He said he is feeling some tightness after that throw. Follow him down the field and help him stretch it out.” Gary barely spared me a glance, just nodded toward the other end of the dugout.