Hardball (30 page)

Jake threw a ten on the table and started to get up, but Nate motioned him to sit back down. “You’re not abandoning ship yet, man, so call your wife and tell her you’ll be late. We’re going to drink some beer and figure this damn thing out.”

* * *

Holly sat in front of the teetering stack of patient files on her desk, trying as hard as she could to pull herself together. She’d woken up feeling as if she’d spent much of the night drinking and crying. That was hardly surprising, since that’s exactly what she’d done. And dawn hadn’t brought with it any more answers than the night. All the self-doubts, all the ugly self-recriminations remained.

Should she have backed Nate into a corner? Should she have shrugged off his refusal to give her a commitment? Should she have been willing to give it more time? The questions she threw out kept coming back at her like boomerangs, smacking her in the head.

At times, she felt her behavior had been righteous. Other times, it seemed like she’d been mostly a pushy bitch.

But she had come to one firm conclusion—she had no intention of groveling. No intention of running back to him. She wouldn’t be the one to make the first move. Obviously she’d caught him by surprise, but so what? He’d made a complete hash out of answering her question, a question she’d had every right to ask. In hindsight, her timing probably hadn’t been the best, but he should have respected her feelings and worries. Instead, she felt like he’d blown her off.

Why do women always want to make things more complicated than they need to be?

That moment had been so gut-wrenching and awful, and yet she hadn’t even given him a verbal slap for saying those words. She’d been so dumbfounded that her tongue had twisted up in her mouth. What she should have told him was that falling in love with someone
is
complicated. Loving another person creates expectations. Always. Things are only uncomplicated if you don’t give a damn.

When you ain’t got nothin’, you got nothin’ to lose.

Maybe Nate didn’t think he had anything to lose with her, and that was the worst thought of all.

Even so, she’d almost called him half a dozen times. And she never stopped wishing the phone would ring, and that it would be him on the line. In her mind, she could hear him saying how sorry he was, how she meant everything to him, how he could never let her go, how he’d never be with anyone else.

Stupid
,
stupid, stupid.

He hadn’t called. Why? Was it just his masculine pride? Or did he really not give a damn? Maybe he’d even called up one of his old girlfriends last night after he dropped her off. That recurring thought felt like an arrow through her chest. She didn’t want to believe he’d be that shallow, but most of all she couldn’t stand the idea of him in another woman’s arms.

But life always intervened and Holly had no choice but to get back to work. All the rescheduling she’d done to spring herself loose for the long weekend in Florida had resulted in a schedule even more crammed than normal. She’d just have to shake off the fuzzy brain, cover up the red eyes, and get herself organized for the long day ahead.

After all, some very sick children and their parents depended on her, and that’s what counted most. Always had, and probably always would. Nothing was more important than that. Not Nate, and not her foolish, broken heart.

Way too much beer
.

But at least he’d been forced to think outside his comfort zone. He’d wanted to wallow in cold beer and buddy-to-buddy sympathy, but Jake had made him snap out of it. Forced him to face up to the tangle of feelings he’d wanted to push right out of his head. Made him realize that things with Holly weren’t going to go back magically to where they were twenty-four hours ago. She’d made a decision, and he had to adapt if he wanted to be with her. Plain and simple.

And he did want. Very much. But whatever happened, he had to adapt.

Before he left the bar last night, he’d already decided that he’d have to be the one to make the call. Doctor Gorgeous was as proud as he was, and for sure too proud to make the first move. He’d call her right after his physiotherapy workout. Ask her to meet him somewhere, anywhere, anytime—whenever she could cut herself loose from the hospital. Then they’d talk it through. She probably missed him.

Women always did.

For the first time, that fact made him feel like a jerk.

Despite his sorry condition, he had to be at the clubhouse at nine. He’d pushed his luck by cajoling the doctor and trainer into agreeing that he could work out on his own down in Florida. If he tried to skip out today, they’d be all over him and he’d probably end up with a fat fine. He didn’t give a damn about that, but he gave a huge damn about getting healthy again and getting back out onto the field. So, he turned the shower onto hot and stripped out of his tee shirt and briefs.

Forty-five minutes later, he hurried into the Patriots’ clubhouse, only ten minutes late. Jed Jones tapped his watch with his index finger as Nate dropped his sports bag at his locker.

“I’m not your personal trainer, hotshot,” Jones said with a frown creasing his ruddy forehead. “Nine o’clock means nine o’clock.”

Nate shrugged. “Sorry, but it’s not a real good day to bust my balls, Jonesy.” He knew Jones was just ribbing him, but he was in no mood for kidding.

“No surprise,” the grizzled veteran shot back. “You look like a big sack of shit. If that’s what a Florida vacation does to you, stay the hell home next time.”

“Long story,” Nate muttered.

Jones ran a hand across the top of his bald dome. “Doc’s in the examination room. You’re keeping him waiting, too.”

Nate started down the hall, not wanting to keep Morehouse waiting any more than he already had been. “Didn’t know he was coming,” he said over his shoulder.

Morehouse eyed him suspiciously as Nate walked into the small examination room. “Whoa. I thought Florida was supposed to do you good?”

“Jesus, maybe I ought to just go back to bed,” Nate snapped.

The doctor’s grin indicated he was ribbing him. “Strip off the shirt, Grumpy.” He motioned to Nate to hoist himself onto the examination table. “Bad night?”

Morehouse’s grin disappeared and his body went stiff. Nate felt instantly guilty. “Sorry,” he said. “I know you’re just making conversation. I’m all screwed up. First the shoulder, now Holly…” He let it trail off.

Morehouse gently put both hands on the injured shoulder. “Well, I can’t help you with your love life, so let me see what I can do with the shoulder.”

He gave Nate a thorough examination, putting the shoulder through a full range of motions, pushing and probing for what seemed like an eternity.

The shoulder had felt better to Nate every day, and the pain was now fully under control. But he still worried about what the doctor would say. He especially dreaded the thought of hearing the words
we’re going to send you to Birmingham to see the specialist
. That was equivalent to saying:
see you at spring training next year
. Or even worse.

The doctor knew exactly what he meant. “I’d say four or five more days of physio and aquatherapy, and then we can get you out on the field for some soft tossing.”

Nate almost choked with relief. “Thank God.” There would be at least a couple of rehab starts in the minors after that, but it looked like he’d be able to pitch again for the Patriots in a couple of weeks.

It felt like a miracle.

But his elation subsided quickly as he returned to the clubhouse for his physio session with Jones. He should have been dancing on air. Instead, his mind had turned immediately back to Holly, and what he was going to say to her when he called. What
she
would say to him.

It felt like a drawbridge had gone up and an iron gate had slammed down on their relationship, leaving him standing on the wrong side of the moat.

Holly’s heart skipped a beat when Nate’s ID popped up on her call display. Several beats, actually, and she had to dig deep for a breath before she answered.

“Hello,” she said, struggling to hide her emotions. She’d thought endlessly about what to say if he called, but the reality sucked the words from her brain.

“Hi, Holly. Still hate me?” he said in a light-hearted voice that sounded totally fake.

“Of course I don’t hate you. Why would you even say something like that?” Holly winced at the harshness of her tone, but couldn’t believe that those were his first words.

He exhaled loudly, his frustration bleeding through over the phone. “Hey, don’t start off like this. I’ve got a lot of pride, too.”

Holly’s throat closed as she struggled to respond, to figure out the right thing to say. Her brain felt frozen, and she hated that. Never had she felt less in control over her emotions.

“It took a lot for me to pick up the phone,” he added.

“I know.” She sounded tight and unyielding, but that was because she was trying to keep her voice from quavering. She hated that, too.

“I know you think I let you down,” he said. “And I’m sorry about that. Really sorry. But the way I look at it, things have been way too good between us to throw everything over without giving it another try. Around twenty-four hours ago, everything was still aces between us. Don’t you think we should talk about it some more?”

Holly hesitated. Of course she wanted to talk to him. She was dying to see him again, to have him hold her again. But she couldn’t bear a rehash of yesterday’s horrible confrontation. “Not if it doesn’t accomplish anything. It’ll just hurt too much,” she said softly.

“Okay, I get that. But we can’t fix this situation if we don’t talk. I don’t want to lose you, Holly. Not like this. Let’s have dinner, okay? Just dinner. I promise.”

A fluttering of hope pulsed somewhere in the vicinity of her heart, easing the ache just a bit. At least he’d said he didn’t want to lose her. Maybe that was a start.

“All right,” she said. “Dinner.” She was terrified of being hurt again, but it wouldn’t be right to turn him down cold. Not when he seemed to be genuinely trying.

“Fantastic,” he said, relief evident in his tone.

“Just dinner,” she emphasized. They needed to talk, not get distracted by sexual chemistry.

“That’s what I said, right? We’ll eat and we’ll talk, that’s all. You love Japanese food, so why don’t I take you back to Takarazuka?”

She did love that restaurant. They’d shared a wildly romantic meal there early in their relationship, enjoying the wonderful Japanese cuisine but barely able to keep their hands off each other. Holly’s body started to respond as she recalled the memories.

“That’s fine,” she said, making sure her voice sounded crisp—detached, even. “You make the reservation and I’ll meet you there. I should be able to make it by seven-thirty. If not, I’ll call your cell.”

“Sure, I’ll take care of it. See you at seven-thirty.” He drew in a heavy breath. “I’m looking forward to it, babe. I miss you.”

Holly had to resist the urge to respond in kind. She didn’t trust that anything was really different—that he would take a different course with her now that he’d had time to reflect. Yes, she felt gratified that Nate had taken the initiative to call. That’s what she’d been hoping for. But would more talk actually lead to any change between them? Or would it bring on another painful fight, and a confirmation that she was just like every other woman who’d passed through Nate Carter’s life?

Fun while it lasted, but nothing more.

* * *

The restaurant was tucked behind a block of row houses in no-man’s land. Only fifteen minutes from Holly’s house, it was in a rough-looking area sandwiched between a trendy suburb and a stretch of urban blight along a noisy highway on the Jersey side. Looking at it from the outside, no one would guess it was one of the best Japanese restaurants in the Delaware Valley. Nate had discovered it years earlier and had become a loyal patron.