In Real Time (Cadence Cougars #3)

1. Grady

1

GRADY

I always thought my career would end with a retirement speech—lights, cameras, reporters hanging on my every word—but I can’t say I’m surprised it’s my own bad decisions that landed me here.

“You’re free to go once they walk you through the sling.”

“Thanks, Doc.” Perry gives the doctor a grateful smile, as if the woman hasn’t just given my career a death sentence. “How are you doing, Grady?”

“Fine.”

Perry raises one dark eyebrow as he crosses his arms, settling in for what I can only imagine will be a what the fuck were you thinking lecture. “You sure?”

“Yep.”

“Grady—”

“I’m sure, Perry.”

“You’re not being at all convincing right now.”

My head thumps against the paper-thin mattress. St. Thomas’ is clean, well-organized, and the staff are all extremely kind, but it’s still a hospital. I would rather be anywhere else. “I don’t really have it in me to be convincing at present.”

“Then how about you be honest?”

Because honesty gets people killed. Because honesty is the one thing I can’t ever offer anyone. Because the honest answer is that my life just ended, and I have nothing left. “I’ll be fine, Perry.”

“It’s only twelve weeks.”

“Which is the rest of the season,” I counter, shifting carefully against the mattress. Pain explodes across my back and down my side, causing me to hiss out a long breath. “I shouldn’t have gone for that fucking ball.”

Perry huffs his agreement, leaning casually against the wall opposite the end of my bed. It annoys me how calm he’s acting. “Miller said you were going to beat yourself up about this.”

That’s nearly enough to make me laugh. Mills is one of my best friends, but he and Perry have a longstanding rivalry. Only the end of the world could get Perry Quinn to admit he agrees with Nathaniel Miller, but I suppose that tracks. This is, in fact, the end of the world—my world, at the very least.

“Miller’s rarely wrong about these things.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Perry grumbles, rubbing a hand across his eyes. I try to imagine how I look to our head athletic trainer right now with my shoulders crushed between the bed guard rails, feet hanging off the end of the mattress, and entire left side covered in bruises. My hair is green where my head bounced off the field, and my left arm is all but useless as it rests against my bare chest. I’m surprised the man isn’t screaming at me for making hasty decisions. “It’s just a partial tear, Grady.”

“I know,” I nod. He wants me to put on a brave face and acknowledge this is something I can come back from. Except, I’m not convinced it is. The doctor seemed to think it would heal clean, but that doesn’t mean anything if I can’t get back on the field this season. We have ten weeks left before the World Series, if we make it that far. A plan starts to form in the back of my mind, the barest spark of hope in the darkness I’ve allowed to take over my thoughts. “Four weeks no use, then four weeks PT.”

“Six to eight weeks PT,” Perry corrects, giving me a look that tells me he sees right through my bullshit. “You cannot rush your recovery, Grady.”

We’ll see about that.

“Fuck off, Mills.”

“No.”

Miller’s instant reply makes me smile as I push through the door into the weight room. Most of the team are spread across the gym today, trying to avoid the rain. It’s been gloomy all week, the weather seeming to unconsciously mirror my mood.

Four weeks without my left arm has proven to be more of a pain than anticipated, but that wasn’t even the worst part. Four weeks on the sideline, watching game after game from the dugout, has nearly killed me.

More than one voice shouts my name, and I do my best to acknowledge each of the guys as I pass. The air pulses with energy, everyone still riding the high of our shutout win last night.

“Grady!”

Hoax smiles as I approach the spot where my friends are crowded around the squat rack. He looks comfortable leaning against the weight bench Miller is sprawled over. Mills is lazily throwing peanut M I was just hoping to go to Cincinnati with the guys this week. Thought it might be better to start my PT before we leave.”

We watch one another for so long that I start to wonder if he’ll ever say anything. Finally, he nods once.

“Thank you, Perry.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he grumbles, waving a hand toward the door in a clear dismissal. He turns his attention to the computer again, and I think that’s all he’s going to say until he opens his mouth when I’m halfway to the door. “I’m giving you to the new kid.”

I stop with my hand stretched toward the doorknob, turning slowly to face Perry. “When you say the new kid,” I start, praying to every imaginable deity that I’m wrong.

“The one Miller brought in,” Perry confirms as he begins tapping his fingers against his keyboard without looking in my direction. “Elliot Bennett.”

Fuck me.