Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
This pain comes close to what I felt when things ended with Shay, but nothing will ever touch the anguish of losing her.
Every nerve screams as Isla digs mercilessly into my left hip. The padded pillow under my head is the only thing keeping me from cracking my skull open against the treatment table.
Isla yanks an earbud out, and her attention swings from my hip to my face. “Is something wrong?”
Forcing my scowl into a smile, I shake my head. “No. All good. Sorry.”
Apprehensive eyes narrow, but she goes back to work.
Isla’s the Pilots’ assistant athletic trainer.
Within two weeks of signing her contract, the infielders claimed her as their own, and she secretly loves it.
Being tortured by an elf-like woman with large tortoiseshell glasses and tiny fingers isn’t fun, but her stellar reputation for being able to work out any knot is usually worth it.
Telling Shay about my hip yesterday wasn’t planned, but I can’t bring myself to keep secrets from her anymore.
Learning she doesn’t regret our kiss was icing on the cake.
After leaving her alone in her hotel room that night, I couldn’t sleep. I checked my phone every few seconds, waiting for an email saying that we could no longer work together, or asking me to come back and finish what we’d started.
I will follow her lead, but being with her is all I want.
As if shocked by lightning, my hips buck off the table and a scream claws its way out before I can stop it. There’s no chance I can play it off either, not with Isla and my teammates looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.
Wisps of agony crawl all the way to my toes as I prop myself up on my elbows.
“I need to go,” I rasp out.
Isla adjusts her glasses. “Cade. I think we should talk.”
Swinging my legs off the table, I plant my hands on the cushioned top. My breath catches on the edges of pain as my hip flares, white-hot and blinding, but I keep my expression neutral.
“I’m fine, Isla. Thanks though.”
With a little wave, I keep my gait steady and rush out of the training room. Once safely in the empty clubhouse, I fall onto the ground in front of my locker.
I almost told Rio the truth this morning, but my opportunity disappeared when Amber from PR rushed into his office with news.
People were lined up for tonight’s home game before the sun had risen.
The first thousand fans to enter the stadium will receive limited-edition T-shirts with Marcus’s and my signatures and miniature replica All-Star Game trophies. The stadium even sold out of my jersey.
Clawing my way to the majors was hard. Jon’s voice found its way into my head at every turn, always reminding me what was at stake.
“Everyone wants to be golden, but gold is tested in fire.”
“Worth equals output. Sometimes, you’ve got to put up with pain.”
“Missing a single game could be the end. Replacing you is easier than you think.”
“Golden boys don’t break. Even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.”
I corrected my gait, ice bathed until I was numb, slept on heating pads, took over-the-counter meds, and did all the treatment I could find. I pushed and pushed until offseason came, when I could recover and put myself back together, all to restart before spring training.
Tonight’s game matters. Everyone’s watching. This is the kind of night people will remember. The kind they’ll replay in highlight reels.
And if I’m not on the field, then what was the point?
Eyes stinging, I fumble for my phone. A distraction is needed, and the only message on the screen does exactly that.
Agent Shay
Not going to make it to tonight’s game but grab me a shirt, please!
And just be Cade
You don’t need to prove anything to anyone
I’ve got you
The screen shuts off, leaving only my reflection. Tired isn’t the word for what I see. My eyes are shattered, every line and shadow a testament to how broken I feel.
A single tear slides down my cheek, but I don’t look away.
Her words don’t make sense. I was built to play through pain. Built to perform. Built to keep quiet and smile. Built to prove myself over and over until there was no reason for anyone to doubt me.
But this message? It makes me question everything.
On autopilot, I haul myself up. Each step down the hall is a fight, but I don’t even try to hide the limp I’ve been concealing almost every day since the season started. I don’t care who sees it anymore.
Maybe Shay’s right. Maybe I don’t have to prove that I’m built to last.
I hook my fingers around the doorframe and step inside the room. Rio’s hulking figure slumps in his seat, as if he has been waiting for me to drag my ass down here for weeks and tell him the truth.
“Owens. What can I do for y—”
“My hip’s bothering me,” I blurt, clinging to the last thread of my confidence before it unravels. “It has been for a long time. I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, and I think it would be best if I skipped tonight’s game. I don’t think I can—I don’t think I should play.”
The fluorescent lights above flicker, casting shadows across Rio’s perpetually stoic features. A beat of silence stretches long enough for me to take it back, but I don’t.
“Oh.” Leather squeaks beneath Rio as he stands. “Finally.”
I blink hard. “What?”
“After you went off on Scott Butts, I told you to be honest with yourself. It took some time, but here you are finally doing that. Putting yourself first.” Rounding the desk, he leans against the edge with his arms crossed. “I didn’t think you heard me.”
The golden boy wouldn’t dare say this, but I do. “Didn’t think I was allowed to listen.”
A gentle weight lands on my shoulder. “I’m proud of you, rookie. Takes guts to take a step back when your whole life’s been about stepping up. I’m not sure who you’ve been talking to, but thank her for me.”
Her.
“Go get checked out by Isla,” he continues. “She will make sure you’re all fixed up. And when you’re ready and completely healthy, your spot will still be here. There’s no chance in hell I’m losing you.”
Placing my hand on top of his, I wish my throat wasn’t so tight. I need to thank him for saying everything I’ve needed to hear. For not making me feel replaceable. For letting me put myself first for once.
But mainly for proving Jon wrong.
Just like that, I’m walking away from the game, and I don’t feel like a failure. Tonight isn’t about being the guy who plays through it. Maybe it’s about being the guy who finally doesn’t have to.
And all I want to do is run to the woman who made this all feel real.