Lucky 13 (Deadlines & Diamonds) (26 page)

28

May 13
th

Few things topped finding the perfect gift for the one you loved. Their home had been invaded by teenagers about two hours ago and
, between the shouting at the video games, the joke telling and the laughter,
Ricky thought his ear drums might burst before the motley crew retreated.

M
oments earlier
,
they’d done the song and candle combo. Shayne stood, knife in hand, at the cake.
She handed out pieces big as the plate. The boys gobbled it up.

Time for gifts. Ricky grinned while Matt tore through the wrapping paper. His audience
ooh
ed and
ahh
ed over the new video games, baseball glove—from Uncle X, of cour
se—cash, clothes. Graciously, his son
thanked everybody in attendance.

As mothers began to arrive—thank God!—Matt bid farewell to his buddies with a high-fiv
e, and a thank you
.

When the house finally contained only Santiagos and Xaviers, Ricky called Shayne and Matt over.
He led them into the living room and sat down on the couch.

“What the heck, man? We never go in here.” Matt hesitated. “It’s my birthday, it’s against the rules to be in trouble on a guy’s birthday.”

“What should you be in trouble for?” Shayne asked.

“Nothin’.” Matt flushed. “I’m just sayin’.”

“You’re not in trouble, kid. I want to give you my present.”

“Mom already—”

“This is from me.” Ricky’s heart skittered.

Matt glanced around the room as he sat on the couch, al
l stiff-backed and jittery
. Next to Matt, Shayne’s lip quivered. Her eyes shone with tears
. S
he blinked frantically
to keep them at bay
.

Ricky’s own eyes misted. He handed Matt the file folder.

He took in the plain manila and frowned. “I don’t get it.”

“Open it.”

He opened the file
. Fingers flipped through the paperwork. Brown brows crinkled. Hazel eyes glanced at Shayne then
shot to
Ricky. “I don’t get it.”

“What does it say,
son
?”

Matt looked back down at the file in his lap, flipped t
hrough the pages again. “I’m…you’re…w
e’re
…
?”

“A family,” Shayne said through her tears.

Ricky couldn’t tell if the kid’s expression was happy, sad or completely indifferent. He turned the pages of the adoption papers once again, then got to his feet. He sank down low, sprang into the air, both hands extended and shouted until the windows rattled.

“This is the best birthday ever!
There is something to being lucky thirteen, huh?”

“Yeah, kid, there is.”
Elation, pure and undiluted, coursed thr
ough his veins.

“I just have one question.” Matt’s shit-eatin’ grin warmed Ricky’s heart.

“What’s that?”

“When can I change my name to Santiago?”
 

Epilogue

Although Ricky had vowed never to set foot in Walgreens ever again, here he was. He just prayed all the little old ladies with the first name of Marge were off today.

The glass door opened. So far, so good.

He walked to the back of the store, past the condom display—which had been righted
long ago
—to where the girlie products with their bright colors greeted him. He quickly grabbed a box of what he needed and rushed to the check out.

That was where his luck ran out.

Marge smiled. Her eyes twinkled with mischief and he knew he was in trouble. “Hi. It’s been a while. How have you been?”

“Fine. Thank you.”

“Whatcha here for?” She leaned toward him, her rose-scented perfume gagging him. “Some more condoms?”

He slapped the pregnancy test onto the counter.

Her grin sliced her face in two. “Congratulations.”

Turn the page for an excerpt from:

Out of Left Field

(Deadlines & Diamonds, #3)

Xavier is a jerk with a capital A.S.S. and he offers no apologies. He’s not looking for commitment and the only diamond he’s interested in has three bases and a home plate.
As the Team Doct
or for the Las Vegas Rockets, Frances Holden
deals with stubborn ballplayers every day.

But nobody is more stubborn than Left Fielder Matthias Xavier III.
When a shoulder injury takes Xavier out of the game, it’s Frankie’s job to get him back on the diamond. His rehab turns out to be more than either of them bargained for, and when she promises to help him face his scarred past, neither of them are prepared for the fireworks that come
Out of Left Field
and threaten to scorch them both.

1

Snap, crackle, pop.

Matthias Xavier enjoyed that particular combination of sound when it came from a cereal bowl, but coming from his shoulder … not so much.

He ground his teeth, closed his eyes, and pushed the weight bar toward the sky. Focusing on the burn in his pecs, he relished the subtle pain telling him the exercise accomplished something. The pain in his shoulder accomplished nothing, except an assload of ache he’d sure as hell pay for tonight.

He knew he wouldn’t be able to hide his weakness for much longer, but exposing himself meant … well, exposing himself. He learned a long time ago someone was always ready, willing, and able to use any vulnerability against him.

He blew a breath out through gritted teeth, making a half-whistle noise. He huffed and puffed, but not from exertion as he set the bar in the cradle. He groaned and barely won the battle to keep from rubbing his shoulder. “I think that’s enough for now.”

From his position at Xavier’s head, his coach and best friend, Grayson Pierce, lifted a dark brow. “You didn’t finish the rep. You okay?”

No.
“Totally.”

Skepticism shone in Grayson’s eyes, but he didn’t question further. Thank heaven. Xavier knew all about denial. His shoulder, though, yelled with all the bells and whistles of a freakin’ marching band.

“You just takin’ a rest or you done for tonight?”

“I’m done.”

“Good deal.”
Grayson grabbed a towel off one of the weight benches and scrubbed his face. Folding it around his neck, he held an end in each fist. “I’m gonna hit the showers and take off.”

There was no doubt where Grayson would go after his shower. Home. The photo adorning the definition of
family man
in the dictionary belonged to Grayson Pierce.

Xavier waited until the door closed before rubbing at the deep ache in his shoulder.

Yeah, this sucked.

He straddled the weight bench and considered his options. If he mentioned the injury to one of the trainers or the PT crew or, even worse, Doc, he’d be replaced until he healed. Not out of spite, just reality. Cold, hard, unforgiving reality. Santiago would step into left field and Xavier knew he might never evict the guy.

He also knew if he didn’t say something, he’d face another sleepless night.

He stood. Decision made. Who needed sleep? He’d sleep when he was dead.

As long as he didn’t move his arm, he was fine. So he tucked it against his side and headed for the locker room. When only the echo of dripping water answered the call of his footsteps, he smiled. Alone. Alone with his thoughts. Alone with his shoulder. Alone with his pain.

He ducked into the shower, using the cold tiled wall as a support to keep his shoulder elevated. He scrubbed his hair and washed his face. Given his status as an athlete, he really should have been more coordinated. But using his left hand to do things made him feel like an idiot. Like a child. Like a freakin’ invalid!

“Xavier?”

“Shit!” He cupped himself and turned off the water. The quick motion of his arm brought back the rat-a-tat-tat of the drum cadence.

“I’m sorry to…um
…” The blush on Doc’s face made her almost adorable. Almost. She whirled around and he addressed her back.

“What the hell are you doing, bursting in here? Wasn’t the shower a dead giveaway I’d be naked?”

The short blond ponytail at the base of her neck wagged back and forth. “Sorry, X.”

He took the towel from the bar and rubbed at his hair and face. Left-handed. He was damned relieved she couldn’t see his struggle as he tried to secure it around his waist. After he’d tucked the edge against his hip, he stepped toward her.

“You can turn around, Doc, I’m decent.”

Her cheeks still sported a tinge of pink as she faced him, but her expression translated into all business. “A little bird mentioned you might need to talk to me.”

“Did this damn big stool pigeon look anything like Pierce?”

She rolled her eyes. “He only mentioned your shoulder might be bothering you. Is it?”

“I’m fine.”

Again with the eye roll. “I didn’t ask about your overall wellbeing, X. I asked about your shoulder.”

She reached out and stepped toward him. He stepped back, his eyes narrowing and his lips tightening into a scowl. “I said. I’m. Fine.”

Instead of looking threatened or offended, the annoying woman had the audacity to smile. She actually
smiled
… and laughed. He had the sudden urge to shake her. Didn’t she know he was a force to be reckoned with when he got good and pissed off?

She slowly dropped her hand and slipped it into the pocket of her navy blue scrubs. She shook her head and murmured, “I can’t fix stupid.”

He was about ready to tell her where she could stick her attitude when she sighed.

“I am here to help you, Xavier. If you have an issue with your shoulder, you know as well as I do it needs to be addressed. But if you’re too stupid to admit it, then I guess there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Like I said, I’m fine.”

“You’ll let me know when you’re not fine?” Her tenderness and gentle tone pissed him off. Not because she patronized him. Doc didn’t patronize. She was completely genuine. The damned woman cared about him. Or about his physical wellbeing, rather. But only because she got paid big bucks to care.

Still … the way she cared, the way she checked on him, made him feel special in a way he hadn’t experienced in years. Feeling anything around Doc—around any woman—didn’t work for him. Especially when said woman made every guy on the team feel like the most important man in her life while she worked her magic.

Wrapping an elbow or ankle, massaging a quad, or administering the physical therapy to put them back in the game, Doc was there, front and center, for all of them. More than one guy had faked a groin injury or extended an invite to join him in the whirlpool for a soak.

Doc took their suggestive comments in stride. Although Xavier prided himself on making inappropriate innuendos to women, Doc was different. Maybe he did have scruples. Hell, maybe he respected her. Imagine that.

“Doc, if I’m not fine, you’ll be the first to know.” Even as he made the statement, he knew damned well, she’d be the
last
to know.

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Bestselling Author, Morgan Kearns survived the intense and ever-changing insanity of television news before retiring to enter the jungle of raising four young children. Morgan believes Happily-Ever-After exists and is out to prove it one story at a time.

She lives in Northern Arizona with her wonderfully supportive husband, her four awesome kids, and her English Bulldog, Gus.

Morgan loves to hear from her readers and can be reached at
www.MorganKearns.com
.