8. Elliot
8
ELLIOT
Grady opens the hotel room door wearing nothing but dark jeans and a surprised smile. I make a noise like I’ve been hit with a fastball when my eyes land on his bare chest. So much for getting over my crush.
“Elliot, hey!”
“Hi,” I mumble, awkwardly trying to recover from my complete malfunction. I train my eyes on the shitty motel art on the wall next to Grady’s shoulder so I can get the words out. “I was wondering if you were hungry? I was gonna walk to a taco truck down the street.”
“Oh, yeah, definitely. Let me just,” he makes a sound that might be a laugh, but I can’t tell when I’m pointedly not looking at him. “Let me get some clothes on. You can come in.”
I catch the door as Grady turns away in search of clothes. He clearly didn’t think I would go through with this ridiculous meal our first night in Philadelphia, and now I feel like an asshole for showing up and asking him to come with me.
“It’s totally fine if you’re busy.”
“Nah, I was just thinking about food,” he turns to look at me over his shoulder, and I try to pretend I wasn’t staring at the vast expanse of his back. “I’m glad you came over.”
“Food is always better with friends,” I joke, hating how it sounds. I do not want to be Grady’s friend. I want to ride his dick until my knees give out, but that isn’t really an option here, so I’m taking what I can get.
Grady hums his agreement, pulling on his shoes and grabbing his wallet on the way back toward me. “Let’s go.”
The walk to the taco truck is quiet but not uncomfortable. Neither of us seems to have much to say, and that doesn’t change once we’re in line. We stand, shoulder to significantly lower shoulder, staring at the menu and not fucking saying anything .
He has a hat pulled low over his eyes as if it will do anything to hide his identity. The man is a full head taller than anyone else, not to mention twice as broad through the shoulders. I revel at the feeling of being so much shorter than another person. I’m just under six feet tall, a respectable five-eleven and three-quarters, but you wouldn’t know it when I’m next to Grady.
What happened to the easy camaraderie from the plane? Maybe one of us just needs to start talking.
“So, uh,” I clear my throat, trying to think of anything to say. “What are you gonna get?”
Grady makes an amused sound in the back of his throat before looking up at the menu. “Tacos.”
“An excellent choice,” I bite my lip as I look down at my shoes. “Any particular toppings, or…?”
That’s the extent of my questions about tacos, and I think we both know it. Thankfully, the people in front of us move away from the register, and it’s our turn to order. Grady goes first, ordering one of everything. I immediately step up behind him to order three mushroom and spinach tacos before paying the bored-looking teenager.
“You don’t have to pay for mine, Elliot.”
“I know.”
“Seriously, if anyone should be paying, it’s?—”
“The person who suggested we go out to eat,” I cut him off, taking my card back from the kid and grabbing the two bottled sodas he hands me. I blindly pass one to Grady, who gives me a small smile.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I say directly to the ground, entirely unable to look at the mountain of a man at my side.
It isn’t long before our order is called, and Grady grabs the tower of to-go boxes before I have a chance to snag mine off the stack. He holds the boxes at his side, giving me an expectant look. “Should we eat here or back at the hotel?”
There isn’t a chance in Hell I’m sitting alone in a hotel room with Matthew fucking Grady, so I point to the area behind the taco truck. There are three wooden picnic tables, but only one is unoccupied. I make a beeline for it, grateful it’s the farthest away from the others. Grady isn’t far behind me, and we end up doing that uncomfortable thing where you’re both trying to figure out where to sit. Eventually, he settles on the bench facing the food truck, and I sit down opposite him.
I look around for anything to say and point at the mural behind him. “That’s pretty cool.”
Grady turns to look, and I use the moment to silently berate myself for not thinking of things to talk about ahead of time. It isn’t like keeping my mouth shut is a much better option. No matter what I do, if Grady is involved, I end up looking like a jackass.
“Yeah, it is.” Grady’s brow is furrowed when he turns back around. He slides the to-go box with my tacos toward me, his frown deepening. “I think my brother’s girlfriend is an artist.”
The fact that Grady even has a brother is news to me, but his word choice is what sticks out to me most. “You think she’s an artist?”
He nods, absentmindedly turning the drink in his hands a few times. “Yeah, I’m not really sure. I don’t talk to him much.”
“I can’t imagine not talking to my brothers.”
Grady smirks, his bright eyes locked on my face. “I had that thought the other day.”
“What thought?”
“That it’s odd how close you are to your siblings.”
I’m not sure if I should make a joke or take this seriously. Knowing how dark that conversation could end up being, I go for the joke. “You think about me often, big man?”
My timing is terrible, and Grady nearly chokes to death on a sip of his drink.
“Shit, sorry,” I laugh awkwardly, unsure if I should come around the table and slap him on the back or let him try to figure it out on his own. “I didn’t mean to almost kill you.”
“That was my own fault,” Grady rasps, clearing his throat a few times. “I wasn’t ready for you to be…you, I guess.”
“Me to be me?”
“Yeah, I just,” Grady shifts in his seat, an odd look in his eyes. “I’m not used to you making those kinds of jokes to me. I’ve heard you with Scott, so I knew you were funny, but I just…yeah. I like it.”
I don’t know how to respond to that, but my brain zeros in on the fact that he thinks I’m funny. We eat in companionable silence for a few minutes, neither of us trying to force a conversation. Eventually, Grady asks, “What made you want to be an athletic trainer?”
It’s a perfectly normal question, but it doesn’t have an easy answer. There’s no way he could know that, though. “I fucked my shoulder up in a car accident when I was seventeen. I had to have a few surgeries and lots of occupational and physical therapy appointments. In the middle of it all, my dad took me to a baseball game, and we talked about how many players end up in physical therapy at one point or another in their careers. It didn’t really register with me at the time. I had a lot of other, uh…life things happening, ya know?”
Grady nods as if he could possibly have any idea what I mean by that.
“But a few years later, I was considering going back to college, and I remembered that day. I wouldn’t be where I am without those physical therapy appointments, and I wanted to be able to be on the other side of that for someone else. And I’ve always loved baseball, so it made sense to merge the two.”
That’s easily the most words I have ever coherently said in front of Grady, and I mentally pat myself on the back for not putting my foot in my mouth at any point.
Grady doesn’t ask about the accident or the “life things”, which I appreciate. Instead, he asks a far easier question. “Do you remember when you fell in love with baseball?”
“2001, game seven of the World Series. Bottom of the ninth comeback win for the Diamondbacks against the Yankees.”
“Fuck, I remember that game,” Grady’s eyes light up, pointing half a taco in my direction. “Curt Schilling and Roger Clemens both pitched that game. One of the best in history.”
“And I watched it live.”
“Same,” he grabs his soda, tapping it against mine with a smile.
I take a drink, settling into the comfortable give-and-take of talking about baseball with someone who loves the game even more than I do. “What about you?”
“My love started on the field,” he leans back, reaching up to spin his hat around so it’s facing forward. The movement catches my attention, and I try to place why it makes me want to frown. “There was an old field next to my childhood home. My brother and I spent a lot of time outside, and he taught me to play using sticks and walnuts. It passed the time through the summers, and eventually, he scraped together enough money to buy me a used bat and a handful of balls. I’ve loved it ever since the first time I managed to hit one of those little walnuts.”
Grady laughs lightly, more to himself than anything else, and I can’t take my eyes off him. I had no idea he grew up poor, just like I didn’t know he had a brother. I’m starting to think I might not know Matthew Grady as well as I thought.
“I don’t think I could hit a walnut with a stick,” I admit, balling up the foil wrapper from the taco I’ve just finished and tossing it into the to-go box lid. “Actually, I don’t think most of the kids I grew up with could have done that.”
“That’s because I’m special .” He shoots me a smug grin, spinning his hat around again as he damn near eats a whole taco in one bite.
We fall into a companionable silence and finish eating at the same time. “You ready?”
“Yeah, definitely.”
We’re halfway back to the hotel when Grady breaks the silence between us. “This was fun.”
“Was it?” I don’t mean to sound as shocked as I am, but I had just been thinking the same thing.
Grady laughs, nudging me with his elbow. I almost nudge him back before realizing it’s his injured arm. “Where’s your sling?”
“I left it in the hotel.”
“You should be carrying it with you, Grady.”
“You said I could start using my arm without it.”
“But you need to wear it if your arm gets tired, and you wouldn’t have had it with you if that happened.”
“But it didn’t happen.”
“You’re being a little shit.”
“Oh, I’m not a little anything.”
That…that was flirting. Wasn’t that flirting? If anyone else had said those words in that tone, I would think they were flirting with me. But this is Grady, and there isn’t any universe in which he would be flirting with me.
“Regardless,” I mumble, trying to bring my mind back to the root of the conversation. “You’re off the hook today, but if I catch you without it tomorrow, I’ll have to fashion a permanent one out of athletic tape, and you won’t like it. Trust me.”
I try for a threatening tone, but Grady simply smiles back at me. “Sure thing, Elliot.”
He walks away without waiting for me to say anything else, and I find myself smiling after him. If this is what being friends with Matthew Grady is like, then I should have tried to do it a long time ago.
Grady wears his sling to our session the following day, which we do in the hotel gym because the Phillies training facilities are under construction.
“You don’t have to wear it before our sessions.”
“I’m covering all my bases,” Grady teases, but he removes the sling almost immediately.
We’re halfway through his exercises when a handful of guys from the team come barreling into the gym. I spot Shelby as he jumps onto one of the treadmills, and an idea pops into my head.
“I’ll be right back,” I tap Grady on the arm to get his attention as I say it, but my eyes are locked on the catcher across the room.
“Hey, Shelby,” I step around the front of the treadmill to get his attention before he starts running. He pulls one of his headphones out of his ear but doesn’t say anything in response to my greeting. “Uh,” I continue, trying to ignore the awkwardness. “I know you don’t know me, but I’m Elliot Bennett. I’m one of the athletic trainers for the Cougars.”
I have an intense desire to bow as I say that but manage to override the signals my brain is trying to send to my body. “I was talking to Hoax after you guys were warming up the other day, and, uh,” I realize I’m not sure what to say here. I don’t want to tell Shelby about the panic attack without getting the okay from Hoax, but I need something to explain what I’m about to ask Shelby to do.
“He’s a young kid, as you know, and I think he’s maybe nervous about talking to some of the other players who have been his heroes growing up.”
“He talks to Miller.”
It’s the first thing Shelby says, and it’s laced with annoyance. I’m no longer sure this is at all a good idea. “Yeah, but…have you met Miller? He probably decided Hoax was going to be his friend and then bugged the shit out of the kid until he agreed.”
Shelby actually smiles at that, and I feel hope bloom in my chest. “So, yeah, anyway, Hoax seems kind of nervous pitching with anyone but Mills behind the plate, so I thought maybe you could ask if he wanted to practice with you in the off-season.”
He gives me an odd look, and I don’t blame him. This is way out of my lane on all counts. “You want me to ask him to practice with me?”
“Yes,” I grab onto his clarification with both hands. “Because I think he will be too nervous to ask you himself, but getting to practice with you when it isn’t right before a game will help soothe some of his nervousness.”
Shelby watches me for a long time, his face a perfectly blank slate. “Alright.”
“Yeah?” He doesn’t respond, putting his headphone back in and hitting the start button on the treadmill. I take that as a yes and smile brightly up at him. He isn’t looking at me, so he doesn’t see it, but I keep smiling all the way back to where Grady is waiting for me on the bench near the mirrors.
“What was that about?”
“Oh, just,” I gesture in Shelby’s general direction, aware that the too-bright smile is still plastered across my face. “Making friends.”
Grady makes a noise in the back of his throat before turning away from me. “What’s next?”
“Lateral raises.”