Getting Lucky (The Portland Pioneers Book 2) (42 page)

The doctor the Pioneers brought in reminded Noah a little of Dr. Singh, but not enough to make him feel even remotely comfortable. Dr. Thomas Bolton was tall and lean, with a hawk-like nose and eyes that focused so steadily on Noah that he couldn’t stop shifting in his seat as he answered each question put to him.

Noah didn’t know much about fashion, mostly because he preferred spending his time in jeans and t-shirts, but he could tell from the doctor’s suit that he had more money than he knew what to do with. And while Dr. Singh wasn’t exactly
poor
, his simply appointed office and straightforward gaze had always made Noah believe he was more than just a dollar sign.

On the other hand, Noah was fairly certain Dr. Bolton took one look at him and only saw the check the Pioneers would probably write the moment he cleared Noah. Nausea bloomed in his stomach and if he hadn’t had a headache before now, he could feel one developing now, pounding sickly behind his eyes.

“Mr. Fox, let’s be honest with each other,” Dr. Bolton said, leaning back in his chair and giving Noah an assessing once-over after he’d finished the actual concussion protocol. “Do you even know how rare it is for a baseball player who isn’t a catcher to experience concussion symptoms?”

Noah actually did
know. He and Dr. Singh had had this almost exact same conversation when he’d first flown down to San Francisco. Noah had come prepared with facts and studies and all the research he could glean from exhaustive google searches, in a pointless attempt to convince Dr. Singh that the chances of him ever experiencing another concussion were next to nothing. Baseball being a non-contact sport meant concussions themselves were fairly rare, and almost every reported case involved a catcher who’d attempted to block home plate to prevent a run scoring.

Noah was an outfielder. His only chances of a concussion were if he ran into another player or into the wall behind him. Or, in some massively ironic twist of fate, he was hit in the head by
another
pitch.

“You shouldn’t have ever had a concussion to begin with,” Dr. Bolton said, answering his own question when it seemed as if Noah wasn’t inclined to—and he
wasn’t
. He didn’t even want to be in this room at all.

“Right,” Noah finally said, his voice weighted with sarcasm. “I shouldn’t have. But I
do
.”

“Since we’re being completely honest with each other”—Noah barely refrained from making a face at this statement—”I will point out, probably similar to your other neurologist, that the chances of you passing the concussion protocol at this point are very slim. But I’m not sure you have to, to play again.”

“I thought there were rules,” Noah objected. “I thought I had to pass it to play.”

“Of course there are,” Dr. Bolton smoothly backtracked, “but you’re in a unique position, Mr. Fox. Your symptoms have all but disappeared. You’re on the cusp of passing the protocol.”

“I’m not sure what you’re trying to say.”

“I’m saying that if you want to play, you can play.”

Noah tried to take this statement and not be really fucking pissed off. Tried to see just how much the Pioneers organization
valued
him and didn’t want to lose him, but it was impossible when there was one remaining fact that Dr. Bolton had very conveniently forgotten to mention. A factor that Dr. Singh had told him when Noah had brought all his research in and had passionately argued to be activated despite the risk.

“Why don’t you tell me about the risks first,” Noah said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Tell me what happens if I ever receive another concussion or even a minor head injury. Tell me what happens to me then.”

“A head injury could happen at
any
time, not just when you’re playing baseball,” Dr. Bolton demurred, clearly understanding the point Noah was trying to make.

“That’s true. But then, I get to weigh those risks. It’s my life. If I continue to play for the Pioneers, I’m not really controlling my environment, am I?”

Dr. Bolton sighed. “You know the chances of you receiving another concussion on the baseball field are almost none. You
know
that. I know you argued with Dr. Singh and tried to insist he clear you with that idea in mind.”

Noah didn’t like that at all. “You talked to Dr. Singh?” he demanded.

Dr. Bolton seemed completely unruffled by Noah’s sudden outrage. “Dr. Singh sent monthly progress reports to the Pioneers organization. They chose to share them with me.” He paused and Noah felt him refocus all that intelligence and gravity back on him, twice as intense as before. “But that’s beside the point, Mr. Fox. The point is that you
want
to play. You don’t want to retire. And I’m giving you an opportunity to do that.”

Noah remembered how tense he’d felt before that appointment with Dr. Singh. How desperate he’d been to convince the neurologist that he would be fine if he could only just play baseball again. His entire life had ground to a miserable halt and he wasn’t sure how to even keep moving without it. He’d been going through the motions, depressed and hopeless.

Baseball had been the only light in the darkness, then.

In some ways it still
was. Noah knew he’d mourn losing the sport he loved for a long time. He’d pushed aside the grief when he’d begun to consider retiring mostly because if he embraced it, he knew he would never be able to make any kind of logical decision. But Dr. Bolton
was
right about one thing—of course
he still wanted to play. He loved playing. Maybe not as much as Jack did, but he still had the desire and the ability and the skill and the drive; none of those things had magically evaporated during over the last few months.

For a moment, Noah wondered. Wondered if maybe Dr. Singh had been too hesitant, too careful, not as aggressive as Noah needed him to be. Not as aggressive as Noah himself was.

“So you’re saying that if I wanted to play again, the Pioneers would let me. I would be okay playing.” Noah tried thinking of all this as a hypothetical, but he knew from the gleam in Dr. Bolton’s eyes that he believed that he’d convinced Noah.

“If you want to play,” Dr. Bolton repeated, “you can play. There won’t be anything to stop you after I file my recommendation with the Pioneers.”

Two months ago, there wouldn’t have been anything to stop him. That wasn’t exactly true today. Noah pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Are we done?” he asked. “I’d like a minute to think about this. Maybe make a phone call.”

Maggie had insisted he not call her, that he make the decision on his own, but Noah wasn’t sure he could if he didn’t hear her voice first.

Dr. Bolton smiled—the smile of a perennial winner who believed he’d just won again. “Of course, Mr. Fox. I’ll be right outside. Management will be so happy with your decision.”

Noah didn’t correct him as he left the room.

Maggie picked up on the third ring. “Hey Noah,” she said, voice pitched louder above the noisy chaos he could hear on the line. She was clearly in the Café, cooking in the kitchen. He had the worst timing. But this wasn’t the kind of thing he could put off.

“I need to talk to you,” he confessed. “Could you. . .could you step away for a moment?”

She didn’t say anything for a long moment and Noah worried she wasn’t just contemplating the logistics of leaving the kitchen in Rosa’s capable hands. “Okay, sure,” she said and he hated the little tremble in her voice. It was stupid to think that she already knew what he had to say, but he couldn’t help but wonder.

The noise faded as she walked away from the kitchen and he heard the door shut behind her as she barricaded herself in her office. “I’m alone,” she said. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I just. . .I wanted to hear your voice.”

“Oh. I was just surprised by your call. I thought you wanted space.”

“No,” Noah corrected her gently. “You wanted to make sure I had the space so you wouldn’t influence my decision.”

“Right,” Maggie said, letting out an unsteady breath. “And how was it?”

“This other doctor. . .” Noah swallowed hard. He hadn’t anticipated how difficult this conversation was going to be. “This other doctor, he isn’t as cautious as Dr. Singh was. He thinks I could still play baseball. If I want to, he’ll make sure I play baseball again.”

For one moment, then two, then three, Noah held his breath and Maggie said nothing.

“Is that what you what to do?” she asked finally, her voice completely casual, completely devoid of any emotion.

“I don’t know what I want to do,” he confessed. “I mean, I
do
want to retire. I do. I want to do the things we talked about. I want to stay in Sand Point. I want to stay with you.”

He didn’t even need to finish his thought. Maggie was already there. “But you love to play,” she said softly.

“I love to play,” he could only repeat. She was right. He
did
love to play. And shouldn’t he play as long as he could? This wasn’t the kind of opportunity most people got—the chance to do what they loved. He shouldn’t just throw it away because he was scared or he could potentially,
maybe,
get injured.

“Noah,” Maggie said, and he hated how careful she sounded. “If you want to do this, it’s your decision.”

“But it isn’t. Not anymore.” And he knew as soon as he said it, phone gripped hard in his fist, that she wouldn’t agree with him. She would never presume to help him make this choice, even if he insisted.

“Do you really think I would take a chance that in ten years you might wake up one morning and realize you picked wrong?” Maggie said, and suddenly she wasn’t distant; her voice was ragged at the edges with emotion. “I won’t lose you that way. Not when you decide you hate me.”

“That wouldn’t happen,” he tried to insist but it was a foolish promise to make and she was smart enough to know it.

“You can’t promise that,” she said flatly.

“So you want me to just decide,” he finally said.

“It was always
your
decision to make,” she replied softly.

He heard the echo of a knock on Maggie’s end and heard her open the office door, quietly consulting with whoever was on the other side.

“Listen, Noah, I have to go,” Maggie said and as much as he’d hated the pain in her tone, the emptiness was even worse.

“Okay.” It wasn’t really okay at all, but Noah didn’t know how to persuade her otherwise.

“Text me later, okay?” she said and then she was gone.

Noah shoved his phone in his pocket and leaned over, resting his forehead in his hands. He’d felt alone when Tabitha left him. He’d felt alone when he’d been told he couldn’t play baseball. But he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt as alone as this.

Just him and his mind and his body and this impossible decision.

“Are you okay?” Rosa asked when Maggie returned to the kitchen. Maggie knew from the single glance at the mirror hung up in her office that her complexion had gone pasty white and her hands were trembling from emotion and that Rosa could look over and see both in a split second.

But Maggie lied because she wasn’t ready to even speak about what had just happened on the phone without actually bursting into tears. “I’m okay.”

“Was that Noah?” Rosa asked again, more insistently this time.

Maggie just nodded, barely even trusting her voice right now. She turned back to the row of hanging orders and forced herself to focus on them, on the business she still had, instead of the relationship she was afraid she was losing.

It was so hard not to beg him to come back, Maggie thought hopelessly, as she dished up soup and plated salads and built sandwiches and tried to keep her fingers busy when all her mind could do was repeat endlessly the conversation she’d just had with Noah.

Lunch service ended and Maggie sank into a clean booth after Janice and Hannah cleared out the dining room. Her mind was still racing and her hands were still trembling a little and she thought she might actually go crazy if she couldn’t figure out a way to calm down.

The back door opened and closed and Maggie heard Cal’s heavy work boots tromping all over her nice clean kitchen tile. “Maggie?” he called out.

“I’m in here,” she answered, trying to disguise the pain in her voice.

“What’s going on?” Cal said, sliding on the other side of the booth. “Did you hear from Noah?”

“This morning,” Maggie admitted. “He’d just seen the doctor. Apparently they could clear him.”

Cal’s expression grew troubled. “Is that all he said?”

“Pretty much.”

“I can’t believe he’d leave you hanging like this.” Cal sounded angry and Maggie wasn’t sure if she wanted to join in or defend Noah. She kind of wanted to do both.

“It’s not just me he’s leaving hanging. This isn’t really about me,” Maggie finally said softly.

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. You’re too good for him,” Cal ground out.

“It’s a big decision.” Maggie tried to keep her voice light, but she knew Cal would catch the melancholy hiding in it. “He’s right to take his time to make the best choice for him.”

“What about for you?” Cal demanded.