3. Grady
3
GRADY
Elliot is surprisingly thorough in his exam. He takes notes the entire time, asking questions about my pain levels and range of motion in multiple positions. It is by far the most I’ve ever heard him say, and I catch myself staring more than once. There’s something fascinating about his mouth when he speaks.
“Have you been icing your shoulder?”
“Not since it first happened.”
Elliot nods, making another note on his tablet. His eyes drift to my shoulder again, a worried pinch in his brow. “You can put your shirt back on,” he points to my shirt and sling, turning back toward his desk with the tablet. “Did your doctor clear you to start operating without the sling?”
I slip the shirt over my head, careful not to jostle my arm too much. “Yeah, he said I can start taking it off for small amounts of time.”
“I agree. Make sure you only take it off when you’re not in pain. You need to wear the sling if you have any muscle fatigue, so make sure you bring it to every therapy appointment. Keep doing everything the doctors told you, but plan to ice your shoulder after PT every day.”
“Every day?”
I try to keep the hope out of my voice, but the hard side eye Elliot’s giving me tells me I’m not successful. “Every other day. Then, if you’re doing well and meeting all the metrics I’ve set for you, we can talk about the occasional additional session to help push you forward.”
“Thank you, Elliot.”
He nods, and I watch the confident man who just completed my exam disappear as a frown pulls at Elliot’s lips. I can’t help but think the sudden change in his mood is because he’s just realized we will see each other every other day for the foreseeable future. Normally, I like to think a person would look forward to spending that much time with me, but Elliot doesn’t fall on the normal side in my experience.
Elliot doesn’t like me, and I have no idea what to do about it. I’ve tried everything to get him to be comfortable with me. I left him alone at first, then tried to have little conversations with him when that didn’t seem to help. Nothing major, just “How’s it going?” or “Did you see that movie?” or, the one and only time it ever worked, “How’d your date go the other night?”
The batting cages were the only place I’d ever successfully gotten Elliot to talk to me, until today that is. Most of the time, he bails out halfway through whatever conversation I’m trying to have with him, if he doesn’t walk away before I’ve even asked my opening question. I’m not the kind of person who does well with being disliked, but something about it being someone as kind and gentle as Elliot makes it ten times worse.
I just want Elliot to look at me the way he looks at Mills when he’s telling a story or how he smiles at Scott when they’re having one of their silent conversations. I would even settle for the narrow-eyed glares he shoots at Ellie whenever she tries to push us together. Anything is better than the blank mask he puts on any time I’m around.
“Do you have any questions?”
“When do we start?”
Elliot smiles. It’s just a small quirk of his lips, more of a twitch than anything else, but I’m mentally celebrating it as a step in the right direction. “Tomorrow.”
“And you said every other day?”
“I did,” he agrees, leaning back against his desk. It’s the first time I’ve really looked at him since stepping into his office. Elliot’s dressed in the standard Cougars polo and khakis that Perry makes the athletic trainers wear, but he has an oversized grey cardigan on that looks so fucking comfortable I almost ask where he got it from. His lean legs are stretched in front of him, long fingers are drumming a quick, nervous beat against the edge of his desk. The light catches on the edge of Elliot’s glasses when his head tilts to the side, drawing my attention to soft green eyes and dark blond hair.
When our eyes meet, I realize I’ve been standing here silently checking him out for the last thirty seconds. “I’m going on the road with the guys this week.”
“Are you telling me that so we can wait until you’re back to start your therapy?”
“No,” I almost shout the word, the idea of waiting another week causing panic to rise in my chest. “That’s not an option.”
Elliot hums, grabbing his tablet off the desk again. He presses a few buttons, his attention focused entirely on the screen. “I could give you some exercises, but with it still being early in your recovery, I would prefer to monitor your progress myself. Come in at nine tomorrow so we can get a session in before everyone leaves. I’ll talk to Perry about me joining the team on the road, if you’re comfortable with that.”
“Of course, I’m comfortable,” I try not to put too much exasperation in my voice. We both know I’m not the one who would be uncomfortable spending time together. “Are you?”
“Definitely,” Elliot continues to keep his attention on whatever he’s doing with the tablet. “I could use the time away.”
“Away from?” I’m fishing now, but I can’t help it. This is the most open he’s ever been with me, and it only makes me want more.
Something changes in Elliot’s demeanor, and he clears his throat before pushing off his desk. “I’ll let you know what Perry says.”
I nod, moving toward the door hesitantly. Elliot doesn’t stop me. In fact, he turns his back, moving around the far side of his desk without looking up from his tablet. I’m halfway down the hall before I release the sigh that’s been building in my chest.
He’s going to help me. Begrudgingly and with all kinds of caveats, but he still agreed. Now, I just have to make sure his efforts aren’t wasted.
Two hours later I’m chanting a reminder to put on a smile as I walk through the doors of Betty’s Diner. It’s rare for us to have dinner at Betty’s during the season, so I’m not surprised to hear the owner excitedly shouting my name the moment I step through the door.
“Grady!” Sarah’s smile spreads across her entire face as she pulls me into a hug.
The one thing about being over six and a half feet tall that I’ll never get used to is how tiny some women are. Sarah’s soft grey curls barely clear the bottom of my ribcage, but that doesn’t stop her from wrapping both arms around my chest in a warm embrace. Her usual admonishing expression is firmly back in place now that she’s gotten the hello’s out of the way. “None of your troublemaking friends have arrived yet.”
I glance at the back of the tiny diner where Hoax and Steal are already sitting at our usual table. “You mean Miller and King haven’t shown up yet.”
“That’s what I said,” she huffs, stepping behind the podium near the door. “The troublemakers.”
My laughter bounces around the room, competing with the sounds from the open kitchen along the right wall and a handful of patrons dotted around the diner. “I won’t tell them you said that.”
“You won’t have to. I’ll say it to their faces,” Sarah turns toward the front door as the bell chimes again. “You’re a bunch of troublemakers.”
“What the Hell?” Miller’s confusion is drowned out by his best friend’s bright laugh. I turn in time to see King affectionately slap Mills on the back of the head. “What was that for? Why am I getting picked on? I haven’t even had time to do anything wrong.”
King shrugs, throwing one tattooed arm around Sarah’s shoulders as he hugs her. “You’re always a shit, and you know it.”
Sarah pushes back from King’s chest, sharp eyes roaming over his face and arms before she huffs dramatically. “You’re one to talk. What’s all this?”
She gestures broadly to King’s right arm. He has several new tattoos in the previously vacant space, one of which I realize is wrapped in cellophane. “They’re just tattoos, Sar.”
“Mmhm,” she purses her lips, turning toward Miller to pull him into a hug. The thing about Sarah is that she isn’t any of our mothers, but she won’t hesitate to act like one. She doesn’t take our shit, but she always accepts us for who we are in that moment. It doesn’t matter who we used to be or who the rest of the world thinks we are; she loves us just the same.
I turn my attention away from the lecture she’s giving Miller about his hair being too long to point at the cellophane on King’s forearm. “Did you get a new one?”
“This afternoon, yeah.” King turns his arm so I can see the tattoo more clearly. A smile spreads across my face when I realize what I’m looking at. “You like it?”
“I love it.”
“Do you think Ellie will like it?”
King’s tone belays his nerves, and I gently bump my uninjured shoulder against his. “She’ll love it.”
“I hope so.”
“You haven’t told her about it?”
He shakes his head, rubbing one hand against the back of his neck. “It was kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing.”
“He lost a bet,” Mills cuts in, finally extracting himself from Sarah. He pushes past us, moving excitedly toward our table at the back of the diner. A quick glance in King’s direction tells me Miller’s excitement has to do with whatever unfortunate circumstances led to King’s new tattoo.
Mills is halfway through the story when we make it to the table, but I manage to piece together King bet that the Cadence Cobras, our local NHL team, wouldn’t trade their rookie defenseman in the offseason.
“And that led to…pie?” Steal asks the question we’re all thinking as I take my seat between him and Hoax.
“Tart,” King and I correct in unison, making Steal roll his eyes.
“Okay, so why a tart?”
“Ellie was making lemon tarts with lavender meringue the night we met.” That statement is met with resounding silence from everyone at the table. Eventually, King throws both hands in the air. “Say it.”
We all speak at once, our individual opinions being lost amongst each other’s comments. King lets us go on for longer than expected, until Miller says something that makes him reach out to slap the other man on the back of the head.
“Why is it that when I lose a bet, you all make fun of me for months, but when King loses, everyone is immediately on his side?”
“Because,” King huffs, shaking his head at his best friend. “When I make bets, I set parameters. You don’t, and that’s how you ended up with a barbell in your dick.”
“And on that lovely note,” Sarah’s voice cuts in, making us all jump. “Are you boys ready to order?”
We’re all quick to request our usuals, and Sarah gives us one more disapproving look before disappearing behind the counter into the kitchen.
“Moving away from my dick?—”
“Please,” Hoax chuckles, tossing a balled up napkin at Miller’s head. Mills flips him off before turning his attention to me.
“How did your convo with Perry go? Is that bastard going to let you back on the field?”
“Yes and no,” I sigh, playing with the corner of my napkin so I don’t have to look at any of my friends. “He said I can go back when my PT clears me.”
“When will that be?”
“I’m not sure,” I admit, still refusing to look at anyone. “I’m doing sessions every other day for now, then more often once I’ve got enough strength and mobility.”
Hoax nudges me in my right bicep, making me glance in his direction. “How long?”
“Four to six weeks,” I sigh, allowing them to do that math.
“That’s the rest of the season.”
“I know, but we’re optimistic I’ll be back on the field by postseason.”
“Who’s we ?” King asks, and I look up to see him watching me with an amused expression.
I’m not sure why I’m hesitant to admit Elliot is my trainer. It isn’t like the guys won’t figure it out, especially if Elliot ends up coming to Cincinnati and Philadelphia.
King wouldn’t see Elliot with us since he’s staying in Cadence to help Ellie at the bakery, but I’m sure she will tell him why her twin brother is on the road with the team. Ellie and Elliot always seem to know everything about each other’s life. It’s both incredibly sweet and a bit disturbing. Gun to my head, I couldn’t tell you what my older brother is doing these days. I haven’t heard from Theo since Christmas, when we had a somewhat stilted conversation that ended in two minutes of total silence before we mumbled our goodbyes.
The fact that the only way I know my brother is even alive is through regular phone calls with my friend Callum makes Ellie and Elliot’s intense bond all the more unsettling for me.
“Grady?”
“What?”
Hoax gives me a strange look, and I wonder how long the silence stretched while I was lost in my head. “King asked which trainer is doing your PT.”
“Oh, it’s, uh,” I wave a hand at King in a move I hope looks casual. “It’s Elliot.”
The silence that statement is met with might be the loudest I’ve ever heard. The moment lasts so long that sweat begins to collect along my spine. Finally, Hoax quietly asks, “And how do you feel about working with Elliot?”
I turn toward him, deciding Hoax is the easiest to focus on right now. “I’m fine with it.”
“Grady—”
“No, Conrad,” I cut Steal off before he can finish his sentence. “It’s fine. Elliot and I are coming to a sort of…I don’t know. An understanding? An agreement? Whatever. It’s fine. Really.”
I’m aware that saying so many words in this particular tone of voice makes it clear I am, in fact, not fine , but there’s no helping it.
“An understanding about what, exactly?”
Miller’s voice has a forced quality, almost as if he’s trying to keep the question light against his better judgment. The calluses on my palm scrape against my eyelids as I try to rub the tension out of my brow. “That it’s fine he doesn’t like me. Which it is.”
Someone clears their throat, but I can’t place them in the loud restaurant with my eyes closed. There’s another long moment of silence before King asks, “Did you actually talk to him about that?”
“No, and I’m not going to. He’s entitled to his opinion.”
No one says anything, but I see a few of them exchange loaded glances. I’m about to say something else, anything to get the conversation away from my shortcomings, when Mills comes to my rescue.
“Who are you texting?”
Hoax looks up from his phone at Miller’s question, a small smile on his face giving the answer away. “Scott.”
And just like that, the conversation pivots to Hoax and his boyfriend, giving me a moment to collect my thoughts. I hate that I’ve caused this tension in our friend group, and I would do anything to change it, but none of my attempts to get Elliot to warm up to me have worked. My only hope is that we can find a middle ground over the next few weeks.
Elliot might not ever want to be friends, but I will make sure he’s comfortable around me if it’s the last thing I do.