Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Breslin POV
I f my weekend trip to the ER hadn't been punishment enough, I won the free prize for an eval by the borrowed football trainer, some really short dude with a permanent scowl. I'd had to answer all the same questions we answered before baseball camp, underwent some basic balance exercises. My head ached a bit, but ibutab was still keeping most of the pain at bay. Angry-guy wouldn't talk to me, so I got to hang out in the comfy couch while waiting for Coach.
“Tests came out all right.” Coach glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “Still on rest, though. Light exercises tomorrow. Bands and jogging if you're up for it.”
I let out a breath. “Sure.”
“Any issues with pain, nausea, light sensitivity, you raise your hand, got it?”
I nodded.
“It's more important that you make a full recovery.” He clapped me on the shoulder as he walked beside me, following the path from the training facility to the locker room. He opened the door, stepped inside and leaned against it. “Go ahead and head out.”
“What?” I stopped short. Blinked. My forehead itched like a sonofabitch under the gauze and tape.
“You can't practice. Like I said, bands and jogging tomorrow. But for tonight, just rest.”
I shoved my hands in my pockets. “Yeah, sure.”
“Oh, you'll need to get checked by Doc Hamer, too. Part of your concussion protocol.” He nodded at me, like I was supposed to just go away.
“Is that it? If I'm off for the night . . . can I get caught up on my hours? I missed my weekend shift, and I?—”
“Oh, shoot.” He rifled his pants pockets, patting and pulling them inside out. “One sec, need a favor.” He inclined his neck toward the locker room. I followed him inside. He led the way to his office door, opened it, ducked through the opening, then handed me a plastic card. On a lanyard.
“A badge?” I flipped it over and saw her face. She smiled at the camera with perfect teeth and symmetrical features. Blue-green eyes . . .
“Can you give her this?” Coach extended a plastic badge clipped to a lanyard. “Her official Strikers Baseball press pass. She was here earlier, but it hadn't come in, yet. Or more likely, Ted's been sitting on it.”
The badge read: Van Weekly Reporter—Olivia Milline.
“She'll need it for the Exhibition game.”
I nodded slowly. Sure, why not? I could just deliver the pass to my fake girlfriend. I held my breath and tried to keep my expression neutral. “I'll give it to her when she drops by later.”
“Do not do anything an old married couple wouldn't do on a weeknight. You're on rest from any kind of physical activity.” He crossed his arms and fixed me with a no-nonsense glare.
Clearly needs more naked time with his spitfire of a wife . Maybe he'd stop trying to interfere in my non-existent naked time with my pretend—With Livvie .
It was fun watching her turn colors.
I reran that sentence in my brain, removing “non-existent” (and a few other words) from the statement for it to become: my naked time with Livvie. I said goodbye to Coach, tucked her badge into my back pocket, and headed out.
Geez, that concussion's really doing a number on me . I'd never had what felt like a permanent hard-on for a girl since, well, that part of me had started finding girls . . . interesting. And I sure as hell hadn't debugged my hard drive for a chick I didn't like. Eh, “didn't like” was probably too strong. I didn't dislike her. Never had. I just didn't want her around. Which was only personal in that it had to do with her . . . role. Not Milline herself.
But annoying reporter job aside, she seemed to have a thing for me. That was really the only explanation I could come up with for her helping me out.
I would not complain about that.
Although at some point, I probably needed to figure out why she was on my mind so often. But that could wait until after the “light thinking” portion of my concussion protocol had ended. I was fairly certain sorting out . . . whatever it was that had to do with that girl—would require thinking too hard.
Or, most likely, the whole situation would evaporate completely with the fog and perpetual, low-grade migraine once my brain went back to normal.
Maybe it'd let me keep some of the images, though.