2. Elliot
2
ELLIOT
Having your dream job shouldn’t be this boring, should it?
This is what I’ve been working toward. It’s why I busted my ass getting my master’s degree in athletic training while working full time at my sister’s bakery. I want to be here. I deserve to be here.
I also kind of want to go home.
Well, not to my home, because that place is a shit hole nightmare. Not only is the apartment itself a mess, but my roommates always seem to go out of their way to make my life a living hell. Whenever it gets really bad, I stay a few nights in New Heights with my dad, but that’s a forty-five-minute drive from the stadium in morning traffic and I don’t have the patience for that every day.
I scroll through the handful of emails in my inbox again, knowing I’ve responded to everything already. My eyes bounce around the room, taking in the perfectly organized bookcase with all my medical textbooks, the exam bed in the corner, and the single poster I hung on the wall across from my desk. It’s one of those terrible motivational posters with a bald eagle against a blue sky proclaiming, “ If you want something you’ve never had, you must do something you’ve never done ”. Scott gave it to me as a joke for my graduation and it makes me laugh every time I look at it.
As if he knows I’m thinking about him, my phone vibrates with an incoming text from my best friend.
SCOTT
What are you doing?
Working.
SCOTT
So, hiding in your office?
My eyes dart around the room, checking every shadow for hidden cameras. I wouldn’t put it past the nosy shit to have broken into my office to hide a camera or two. Scott is just like that . He doesn’t care about basic conventions like personal space or the law , he does whatever the fuck he wants.
Do you have cameras in my office?
SCOTT
I don’t need cameras. I know you, kid.
Don’t call me kid. I’m older than you, asshole.
SCOTT
Then start acting like the almost thirty year old man you are and go talk to the guys.
Who says I’m not talking to the guys?
SCOTT
You do remember I’m dating Hoax, right?
“Fuck.” The word dissipates into the silent room, reminding me just how lonely it is in here. I should at least go find King to say hello since Ellie told me he was coming to workout with the team today. I know Miller is here already because he stopped by this morning to ask if I wanted any M I wouldn’t want to spend time with the silent weirdo either.
In true Elliot Bennett fashion, I don’t say anything in response to his knock. I simply sit there, staring at him. Grady’s eyes trace over everything in my office, lingering on my shitty motivational poster before he shoots one of his brilliant grins in my direction.
“Nice office.”
I nod, unsure how to make the words “Thank you” come out of my mouth without accidentally word-vomiting all the wild thoughts in my brain.
“You want me over here?” Grady points toward the exam bed, raising a brow in question. He waits a beat, but when it becomes clear I’m not going to say anything, he takes it upon himself to move into the office. The door closes behind him, the audible click of the latch like a cannon blast in the silence of the room.
Oh, fuck, I can’t do this. I can’t be his PT! I’m not prepared to examine him . I’m not confident enough to examine anyone, but certainly not Matthew fucking Grady . I’m not?—
“I just came from the gym, and Steal can out-squat Miller now,” Grady smirks, looking at me over one shoulder on his way toward the exam bed. He doesn’t leave time for me to respond, which I appreciate because I have no idea what I would have said. “So, you’ll probably have Mills in here with a fucked hamstring before too long.”
He laughs quietly to himself, and I watch the way genuine laughter changes the planes of his face. Grady is always smiling, but this smile looks different than the one he had a moment before.
“Should I take off my shirt?”
“What?” I’m so taken aback by the change of subject that the word squeaks out of me without permission.
“My shirt.” Grady gives me a questioning look before reaching up to unstrap his sling. “They always make me take it off at the doctor’s office.”
He drops the sling onto the chair next to the exam bed before reaching for the back of his t-shirt collar with his right hand.
Oh, fuck me into the ground.
I knew Grady was a big man. Theoretically, I was very aware of that fact. Not only do I have functioning eyes, but—for reasons I’m not willing to admit to—I’ve also memorized his stats.
However, there is something very different about knowing he’s six foot six and two hundred and eighty pounds of muscle versus seeing that with my own eyes.
He’s saying something, but I have absolutely no idea what it is. Every part of my attention is focused on filing this moment into the core memories part of my brain so I never forget the way his muscles move beneath his skin. How is he that tan? I know it’s August, but most of the guys are rocking hardcore farmer’s tans, not gently glowing from their entire torsos.
Grady turns to throw his shirt on the chair next to his sling, and I catch sight of the bruising along his shoulder. It’s nothing compared to what it would have been four weeks ago, but it’s still enough to break me from my momentary drool fest just in time to hear him say, “—on the field in four weeks.”
“What?” I frown, trying to get my brain to recall the words he said leading up to that declaration. I think he was talking about his physical therapy schedule, but there’s no part of it that would get him back on the field in four weeks. “Six weeks, minimum.”
“Uh, no,” he shakes his head, reaching up to flip his hat around. My brain melts again but I try to tear my focus out of the gutter. It’s like he’s trying to fucking torture me, standing there shirtless with a backward baseball hat. “—which would only be four weeks.”
“What? Grady, no,” I drag my eyes away from his chest, scrolling through the documents from the email Perry sent until I get to the radiographs of Grady’s shoulder. “I’m looking at your x-rays and this is extensive damage. Didn’t they explain that to you at the hospital?”
“They said a lot of shit at the hospital,” he huffs, spinning his hat to the front again. It almost seems like a nervous tick, but that doesn’t fit with the Matthew Grady I know. “Bullshit timelines and doctor-y words, but none of that is accurate for someone like me.”
That catches my attention, making me frown. “For someone…like…you?”
“Someone in their prime,” Grady grins, gesturing at his bare torso with a wiggle of his brows. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m in peak physical condition.”
“As if I could notice anything else.” I hear the words, but it takes me a moment to realize they came from my mouth. Heat floods my entire body as a blush spreads from my face all the way down to my toes. Seriously, someone kill me.
Grady tilts his head to the side, almost like a dog who’s struggling to understand what they’ve just heard. He opens his mouth, but I don’t think I’ll survive whatever he’s about to say so I quickly cut him off.
“They were taking your physical condition into account, Grady. That six-week timeframe is already less than the standard amount for an injury like this. You won’t be cleared for full participation on the field for at least eight weeks.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Grady—”
“No, Elliot,” he shakes his head. “I can beat that.”
He sounds so certain, but there’s no way he fully understands the situation. “This isn’t something you ‘beat’, Grady. Look,” I grab the tablet off the corner of my desk on my way to the exam bed, pulling up his file from my email as I walk so he can see what I’m talking about. “Yours wasn’t a complete tear, which is good in some respects, but bad in others. It will heal without surgery, but it’ll take longer.”
Grady doesn’t even look at the x-rays, his eyes never leaving my face. “Agree to disagree.”
“This isn’t an agreement, it’s your body’s recovery time. It’s non-negotiable.”
“You’re not listening to me, Elliot.”
“You aren’t listening to me, Grady.”
“I can do it in four weeks.”
“Are you always this impossible?”
“Yes.”
I don’t know how to respond to that other than to laugh. “At least you’re honest.”
“I’m always honest,” Grady agrees, letting out a soft chuckle of his own. He takes a step forward, drawing my attention to the fact we’re now standing nearly chest to bare chest. “And I’m serious, Elliot. I can be back on the field in four weeks.”
Looking into his eyes feels impossible, but looking at his chest is a hard pass, so I end up staring awkwardly at his Adam’s apple. “I really don’t think?—”
“Elliot,” Grady’s deep voice draws my eyes up to his face. “Please. I need this to happen.”
Well, fuck . How am I supposed to argue with that? “It will put you at risk.”
“I understand.”
“You’ll have to do everything I tell you.” I force myself to hold his gaze, making sure he hears me. “I’m serious, Grady. You can’t slack on anything, or you could end up more injured than you are now. You have to listen to me.”
Grady nods at my words, holding my gaze the entire time. “Whatever you say, whenever you say it.”
“That’s…okay…yeah.” I need to move away from that sentence. There isn’t a chance in hell Matthew Grady would ever say that to me in the way my mind is currently twisting it, and allowing those thoughts to linger won’t lead to anything useful. “Get on the bed.”