Authors: Susan Scott Shelley
Rekindled (6 page)
Speculating on what could be wrong wouldn't help anything. He
needed to keep calm so he could develop a game plan for later. No matter what
happened with baseball, his family would come first. He'd make sure he provided
whatever his dad needed.
Jocelyn met them in the hall. "Dad seems to be okay. The
doctors are running tests."
Her voice was calm and even, but her hands twisted together and
her features pinched in worry. Grasping Gemma's hand tighter, Adam steeled
himself for the worst and entered the room.
His father lay propped up in the bed, watching the TV. His
coloring looked paler than normal. He gestured with the remote control.
"My ticker better not be acting up again. I have a business to run."
"We'll take care of things for you, Dad, don't worry. How are
you feeling?"
"The hospital doesn't carry a sports package. I'll miss the
Maine and Ohio game tonight." In other words, he felt fine.
Adam's muscles relaxed. The breath he'd held released. "I'll
bring you the game highlights tomorrow."
"I'd better be home by then."
One of the nurses came in, pushing a cart. Her yellow scrubs and
warm smile brightened the sterile, white room. "I'm sorry, but I'll have
to ask you all to wait in the hall for a minute."
Jocelyn glanced from Gemma to Adam. "I'm going on a coffee
run. We’ll be here a while."
Adam walked with Gemma to the empty waiting room at the end of the
hall. When her fingers shifted against his, he realized he hadn't let go of her
hand since they'd entered the hospital. She probably needed a break. With
monumental effort, he released his hold. And instantly felt the loss.
He needed her. Her touch. Her presence. Her support.
"I hate seeing him like this." Restlessness carried him
to the window. The gray, overcast sky fit his mood perfectly.
"I know. I do, too." Gemma's soft voice matched the
light touch she placed on his arm. "He'll be fine. He's a tough guy, like
you."
"You're pretty tough yourself."
"No, I'm not." She wrapped her arms around her middle
and walked to the center of the room. "This room reminds me too much of
when you were in the hospital. The colors are the same."
His brows knitted together. The team had released a few photos of
him smiling and holding a get-well card signed by the fans. But he'd been in
his hospital bed, not the waiting room.
Her chest rose and fell with a deep breath. She turned and paced a
few steps, then turned back to face him. "You don't know what it was like,
watching them cart you off the field on a stretcher. Or seeing you lying in
that hospital bed, with all of those machines beeping."
"You came to see me?" Breath caught in his lungs. As if
on cue, his scar itched. "That's almost a six-hour drive from L.A. to
Sacramento."
"I had to see you. I waited for the post-game report, but the
team didn't know the extent of your injuries. People were speculating about
brain damage. I was so worried. I drove up as soon as your coach ended his
press conference. I sat with you for a while, until the nurse came in to do
something and asked me to leave."
She sank into a chair. His heart beat uncomfortably. He crouched
in front of her and laced his fingers with hers. "I swore I smelled your
perfume in that hospital room. I thought I was hallucinating. Damn it. Why
didn't you stay until I woke up?"
"When I came back, a woman was sitting on the bed, holding
your hand, telling you everything would be okay." Her tone hesitant, she
shifted her gaze to the floor.
"The only women who came to see me were my sister and a few
of my teammates' wives. What did she look like?"
One delicate shoulder lifted in a half-shrug. "Tall and thin,
with short blonde hair. She said she'd take care of you and she wasn't wearing
a wedding ring, so I thought..."
He held up his hand to cut her off. "That's Pattie. She's the
catcher's wife. They lived next door to me. They helped me out a lot during my
recovery."
"Oh." She pressed her lips together and her chin dipped
down to her chest. Her hair fell forward, covering her face.
Heat radiated through his chest. She cared. His thumb stroked her
knuckles. "You know, that confusion could have been solved by asking a
simple question."
Her gaze shot to his. Pink flushed into her cheeks. "What was
I supposed to do, waltz in there and demand that she explain who she was and
her claim to you? We weren't dating. We hadn't even spoken since we'd broken
up. I didn't have any right to interfere in your life. It was clear to me that
you’d really moved on."
Before he could say anything, she pushed to her feet and walked a
few steps away. Turning to face him, she dragged her hands through her hair.
"All I could think was what a fool I'd been to drive up there to see
you."
He shook his head and closed the distance between them. "Not
a fool. If the situation were reversed, I'd have moved mountains to get to your
side."
Eyes widened, she blinked. "Even after all the time we spent
apart?"
They'd wasted four years because of pride. The thought irked him so
much he wanted to push her away and at the same time, pull her close.
"Even though we weren't together, I still kept tabs on you."
"Why?" She whispered, as though the question was too
important, and the answer too scary, to speak out loud.
His hand captured hers. Standing in the middle of waiting room, he
gave her the only thing he could—the truth. "You've always been the
one."
His gaze locked on hers. Intensity poured off him in waves.
“Ending things was a mistake.”
Emotions tangled together. Elation swamped her. Then fear niggled
in. They weren’t the same people they were back then. Who knew how much had
changed? What if they tried to get back together and failed? Or, one cared more
than the other? Plus, too much remained uncertain about both of their futures.
“I’ve missed you.” Adam’s chest rose and fell in steady
beats. Loose fists curled at his sides. Standing there, he looked so capable,
so solid, so
right
.
Her arms ached to wrap around him. Even knowing how badly a broken
heart had hurt, she couldn’t lie. “I’ve missed you, too.”
Relief flitted across his features. His hands clasped her
shoulders. She strained to reach his mouth with hers.
The sound of footsteps interrupted them. Gemma turned toward the
door. Jocelyn entered the room, holding a cardboard tray with three cups of
coffee. She tilted her head to the side. “Am I interrupting anything?”
“What do you think?” Adam relaxed his hold and shifted Gemma to
his side. He wrapped his arm around her waist.
She rested her hand against his chest and met Jocelyn’s owlish
gaze. Heat burned into her cheeks and cooled the happiness flooding her body.
Their surroundings came back into focus. “We were just…”
Jocelyn nodded toward the hall. Her expression suggested she’d
pump for details later. “The nurse said we can see Dad again.”
Adam took a step toward the door but kept his other arm snaked
around Gemma, as though he had to maintain contact. “We’re coming.”
She leaned into his solid warmth as they walked down the hall.
When they entered the room, Fred was talking to a doctor standing by his
bedside. He waved them over and then pointed, “My daughter, Jocelyn, my son,
Adam, and Gemma. She’s a family friend.”
After shaking hands with Jocelyn and Gemma, the doctor extended
his hand to Adam. “I’m originally from Sacramento, so I’m a huge Storm fan. Are
you ready for Spring Training?”
Beside her, Adam tensed. He didn’t want to talk about it. Gemma
curled her fingers around his waist and squeezed. She smiled at the doctor.
“Florida would be a nice change from the cold and snow up here. I’m sure the
teams can’t wait to get back to baseball. My parents have a condo down there.
They’ve become snowbirds.”
“They have the right idea. I spent the first two weeks of January
surfing in Hawaii. Hated coming back to the cold weather.” After making a
notation in the chart, he glanced at Fred. “I’ll be back to see you in the
morning.”
Her diversion had worked. Adam’s stance relaxed when the doctor left
the room. He grabbed a coffee from the tray and slid his other hand from her
waist to her neck and stroked her skin. Concentrating on the conversation
between Jocelyn, Fred and Adam took superhuman effort.
Being his support felt good. If only she could figure out how to
help him with his game.
After a night spent tossing and turning and thinking about Adam,
Gemma rose early, fed Bear and took him for a walk. The cold air bit through
her coat, but she didn't rush. If she kept walking, she might figure out a way
to help him fix his game. He was running out of time.
An hour later, clutching a newspaper, she knocked on the doorframe
of his father's hospital room. "How are you feeling?"
Fred waved her inside. "Much better now. One of my
medications needed to be adjusted, that's all. The doc said they'll discharge
me this morning."
The sun streaming in through the window seemed to brighten. The
wave of relief washed away her worry. "Thank goodness."
He nodded. "Adam will be back soon. He went home to grab a change
of clothes for me."
Thinking about Adam, thinking about his admission, she sank into
the bedside chair and handed his father the newspaper. "I brought the
Sports section so you can read about the Maine and Ohio game."
"You're a good kid." Instead of opening the paper to the
scoring recaps, he turned to the baseball section. "Spring training begins
soon."
A winter hat with the Storm's logo perched on the top of the
chair. She brushed her hand over the material. "I wonder what Adam will
do."
"I taught him how to pitch, you know." Fred's chin
lifted and his eyes gleamed. "Everyone said he had a major league arm. He
threw the ball hard but threw wild pitches in the beginning."
Like now. She leaned forward in her seat, her hands clasped
together. "How did you correct it?"
"I set up a tire in the old barn behind the house. Told him
to throw it through the circle in the middle. That's how he learned."
"Do you think it would work again?"
He rubbed his hand over his eyes and shrugged. "I brought it
up to him when he came home from Reno but he didn't want to talk about pitching
then. The problem was too new, too raw. Plus, he was focusing all his energy on
running my company while I recovered. My kids really took care of me."
"Of course they did." She patted his hand. "I know
how important you are to them. Getting you healthy was all that mattered."
She eyed the door and rose. Adam could return any minute, and she
needed time to put her plan in place. "Do you know where I can get a tire
and some rope?"
His father frowned. "It may not help him. His problem is
mental not mechanics."
"But it's worth a shot."
Gathering the materials took less time than she’d
anticipated. After picking up Bear from Jocelyn’s house, she headed to Adam's
home. Talking to the dog while she worked helped calm her nerves. An hour
later, she heard a car pull into the driveway. Stepping back from her
handiwork, she hurried into the front yard.
"Hey." Grinning, Adam climbed out of the car. He wrapped
his arms around her. Bear barked and nudged their legs. Adam dropped his hand
to the dog’s head and rubbed. "This is a nice surprise."
"I have a better one. Come with me." She tugged his hand
and moved a few steps toward the side of the house.
"What's going on?"
"You'll see." Her stomach clenched around a
baseball-sized ball of nerves. Hopefully, he wouldn't be angry she had
interfered. Before they reached the backyard, she paused and faced him.
"In your career, you've had about twenty-five starts per year, and about
one hundred pitches per game. You've played over ten years. So that's roughly
twenty-five-thousand pitches."
He nodded. "That's about right."
"Now think about all the other pitchers in the league, all of
the games they've pitched, all of the pitches they've thrown. How many times
have they been hit by a pitch? You have a greater chance of being eaten by a
shark, of being struck by lightning, than you do of getting hit by a
come-backer like that again."
His brows raised. "Someone's been doing some statistics
research."
"Just keep that in mind." She pulled him into the
backyard. Bear raced ahead of them. On the largest tree, the tire she'd hung
swayed from a bright red rope. "You learned to throw accurately this way
before, so maybe it will work again."
He stared at the tire but didn't say a word.
She squeezed his hand and then let go. "When you're out there
on the mound, you can picture the tire, not the catcher's mitt. Maybe that will
help you."
Still, he didn't say anything. A muscle jumped in his jaw. He
walked closer to the tree.
Staying rooted to her spot, she motioned for the dog to come to
her side. "You aren't angry, are you?"
"You really want to help me." The quiet wonder in his
voice pulled at something deep inside her.
"Of course I do. I…"
Still love you. Never
stopped loving you.
But she couldn't say it. Not yet. They’d never
spoken those words to each other. He might not believe it, or worse, he might
not say it back.
"You what?" He turned and faced her. His brows lifted,
and the intensity of his gaze kept her pinned to her spot.
"I believe in you." That much was true. She forced her
lips to curve. "Now let's go throw some baseballs."
Adam walked toward her, his long legs striding over the snow.
Gloved hands covered her shoulders. His head swooped down and warm lips pressed
against hers. A bolt of heat shot up her spine. Gemma slid her hands up his
chest and over his shoulders. He trailed kisses over her cheek. "Thank
you."
The words teased the strands of hair against the nape of her neck.
She shivered and snuggled in closer and returned her lips to his. Arms as
strong as steel beams banded around her back. Through his open coat, the hard
plane of his chest and torso pressed against her body.
Her limbs weakened with wanting. Breathing hard, she broke away.
"That was one heck of a warm up."
"I'm just getting started." His finger traced over her
lip. A shudder tore through her body. "Wait here."
He returned a minute later holding a baseball and two baseball
gloves. "Up for a little catch?"
She accepted the glove and slipped the soft leather over her hand.
"I haven't done this in years."
"It'll come back to you." He jogged a short distance
away, then lobbed the ball in her direction.
She raised her glove. Bear barked and tore across the yard. Knocking
into her, he leapt and captured the ball in his teeth. Her foot slipped on a
divot in the snow. She stumbled to the side but couldn’t capture her balance.
Cold, hard snow slammed into her elbow and hip.
“Whoa. Are you okay?” Adam’s hands circled around hers. He helped
her to her feet and brushed the snow off her jeans. His fingers lingered on her
hip. “Does anything hurt?”
She rubbed her elbow. “I’m fine. He doesn’t know his own
strength.”
Bear danced around them, tail wagging for more. He dropped the
ball at their feet. Adam knelt beside him. “You need to be more careful with
our girl, buddy.”
Our girl? Her pulse quickened. He sent her a smile, then threw the
ball across the yard. The dog took off after it.
Adam stood and cupped his hand around her jaw. “Sure you’re okay?”
“Absolutely.” She reached up and laid her hand over his. He looked
at her with such care. Her insides turned to jelly.
His lips descended and teased against hers. The warmth of his body
chased away the cold air. Too soon, he stepped back and pulled another baseball
from his jacket pocket. “Let’s try this again.”
His mechanics, the wind-up, the movement of his body, were
flawless. The ball flew out of his hand and arced in a straight path to her
glove. The leather didn't lessen the sting of the ball slamming into her palm.
She closed her other hand over the glove, capturing the ball. Smiling, she
fired a shot back at him.
"Nice." He nipped the ball out of the air, and then
hurled a fastball at the tire. It sailed through the hole and landed at the
edge of the yard.
"You did it." Squealing her cheer, she ran to him and
threw her arms around his waist.
He smiled and his hands grasped her waist. The pleasure lighting
his features nearly took her breath away. "One ball through the tire doesn't
mean anything."
"But it's a start."
Bear retrieved the ball and trotted to Adam. His tail wagged back
and forth. Adam threw another perfect pitch through the tire. Again, Bear
retrieved.
Adam continued to put ball after ball through the hole. Gemma stood
close to his side, smiling so hard her cheeks hurt. With every pitch, her
excitement grew. He looked like his old self—confident and happy.
He glanced at her. The serious concentration he’d focused on the
tire morphed into something she couldn’t name. “You’re my good luck charm.”
“No.” She shook her head. “But I am your biggest fan.”