“What was your best game?”
He thought about it for a second. “Against Chicago. Tied in the ninth. I had pitched the whole game. Grueling back and forth. Coach wanted to pull me several times, thought I was getting tired, but he relented and let me stay in.” He winced when she drew his arm back for a long stretch.
“Just take deep breaths,” she said, her voice soft and comforting. “You’re tied in the ninth. Home game?”
He breathed in and out, and she released the tension on his arm. “Yeah. So I face the first batter, who swung at a curve and hit a grounder to first. Second batter popped up to center. The third one was tougher, throwing off fouls on my fastballs, but I figured I could get him because his timing was off. Either that or he was gonna wallop a big one off me. But I dug in and nailed one right past him. He struck out swinging.”
She stopped and looked down at him. “Hard to have that kind of juice on your ball that late in the game.”
He smiled up at her. “Yeah. Our guys scored a run in the next inning, and we won the game.”
“Good game, then.”
“Yup.”
She held out her hand. “And good session. We’re done here.”
Relieved as hell, he sat up. “Thanks.”
She leaned him against the wall then put an ice pack on his shoulder.
“Ten minutes with the ice pack, then you’re all done.”
She’d distracted him during the toughest part of the stretch by making him talk to her.
He watched her while she typed into her notebook, part of him hating her for the wicked-hard stretch, the other part of him just not able to figure her out yet.
She looked up and met his gaze. “You’re giving me strange looks. Was it too hard for you?”
“It was fine.” His shoulder was still throbbing.
“Your jaw is clenched. You should try to relax.” She took the ice pack away and sat across from him. “It’s only going to get harder from here on out. Think you can handle it?”
For a split second, he pondered going back to the other trainers. He was used to their brand of therapy. This had been . . . different. It had been hard. But there was something about Alicia that clicked for him. And he’d asked for this, so he was going to take it. “You’re sure this is going to work.”
“Positive.”
“Then I can take whatever you dish out.”
“Good. If you’re sore later, I’ll rub you down.”
Later? He was sore now. “I thought you didn’t give massages.”
She gave him a look over her shoulder as she left the room. “I’ll make an exception for you since you look like you’re about to cry. But I warned you that working with me wasn’t going to be a vacation, didn’t I? I’m not going to go easy on you, Garrett. If you don’t want to work with me, say so now, and we’ll make adjustments.”
She waited, the challenge in her eyes really damn clear. He liked that about her, and no way in hell was he going to cave.
“If you can dish it out, I can take it. Let’s do this.”
FOUR
IT HAD BEEN A WEEK AND A HALF. TEN HORRIBLE DAYS of therapy that Alicia thought might kill her.
Physically, Garrett was doing all right. He was taking a toll on her emotional state, though, because his constant griping was a pain in her butt.
She either worked him too hard or not hard enough. Nothing she did was right. No wonder the team coddled him. They obviously did whatever he asked to shut him the hell up. He might be pretty on the outside, but she had thoughts of running for the duct tape to slap over his mouth whenever he showed up for therapy.
Even worse, everyone else had left at the beginning of the week for spring training in Florida, which left her alone with Garrett. The first few days she’d had the other therapists to talk to when things had gotten rough. And they’d commiserated, because they’d all worked with him.
Now she was alone, though both Phil and Max had told her she could call them if an emergency came up related to Garrett’s condition or if she had a question. Annamarie, one of the other therapists and a good friend, said to call her if she just needed to vent.
She’d likely have to call Annamarie just to whine at her. Probably every day.
Like today, because Garrett was an hour late. She used the time to update her notes and work on her upcoming treatment plan for him, but when another half hour ticked off, she dialed his cell.
He answered with a sleepy, “Yeah.”
“You were supposed to be here over an hour ago.”
“Who is this?”
Alicia sucked in a hard breath. “Your therapist.”
“Oh.” He paused, and she heard a yawn. “Sorry, Alicia. I must have overslept.”
“No kidding. How about you get your ass in here?”
Another yawn. She tapped her foot.
“How about we just skip today? My arm’s kind of sore anyway.”
“I don’t think so. Grab some coffee and get dressed.”
She could have sworn she heard a snore.
“Garrett. Are you there?”