Switch Hitter (19 page)

“Siobhan! Get your ass back here!” Damn her hide. She didn’t even look back. He watched her disappear around the winding walk leading to the side-facing front door.

“Siobhan!” He jerked his door open, leaning out to yell at her again. A wall of heat slapped him in the face, and he cursed under his breath.

What the hell am I going to do now? Damn her meddling hide.

He sat, a helpless captive, trying to come up with a solution. If he’d taken the initiative and found a place to rent when he first arrived in Dallas, he wouldn’t be in his present situation. Hell, he’d had multiple opportunities to get a place but had passed on every one because he knew deep down he couldn’t live in the same city with Bentley for long. Dallas was a temporary stop or his last stop.

He’d never known which until he’d woken up in the hospital.

Last stop, Flannery. Toot! Toot! Everybody off! End of the line!

End of the line.

He scrubbed a palm over his face, looked at the red brick structure before him, and mentally catalogued his piss-poor options.

He could sit there until he died of heat stroke or he could honk the horn to get his sister back out there. Maybe once she was out of the house, he could convince her to take him somewhere else. Hell, even the rehab facility was an option now. Anything was better than Bentley’s pool house.

The horn grated on his ears, but he kept honking until Siobhan appeared. She looked like a pissed off teenager in her jeans and pink T-shirt with her long main of dark hair pulled into a high ponytail.

“Enough! I heard you,” she said, jerking his door open. With one hand on the top of the door, she leaned down to glare at him. “Have you come to your senses?”

“Take me to the rehab hellhole.”

“No.” She started to leave.

He grabbed her wrist to stop her. “Sis, please.”

“No.” Her tone was softer, but the single syllable held all the conciliation of a mules’ bray. She wasn’t going to back down.

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” she said. “I tried to find another place, Sean. You have some special needs right now, and I didn’t want to sign a long-term lease on anything. I didn’t have many choices. When it got right down to it, the pool house was the best thing I could find. Bentley swore to me he wouldn’t bother you.”

He stared through the windshield, unwelcome memories flooding back. “I don’t want to be here,” he said though his gut told him he didn’t have a choice.

“I know. I promise it’s just until you get on your feet. We’ll make other arrangements as soon as possible, but for now, this will have to do.”

“Fuck.”

“I’ll take your eloquent utterance as agreement. Hang on,” she said. “I’ll get the walker out of the trunk.”

She trailed along behind him, one excruciatingly slow step at a time until he crossed the pool house’s low threshold. It took a second to figure out what was different, but then the change registered. Someone had removed a few of the larger chairs in the living area and rearranged the furniture, to make it easier for him to get around.

“Where to?” his sister asked. “Here or the bedroom?”

“Here’s fine.” He propelled himself to the sofa. It took some doing, but he managed to sit without ending up on the floor.

“Can I get you anything?”

“No,” he grumbled, reaching for the television remote control.

“At least let me get you an ice pack. The doctor said—”

“I know what he said. I was there, remember?”

“Don’t yell at me!” She stalked to the kitchen. For the next few minutes, the rattle of ice cubes almost covered her pissed off mutterings.

He knew he shouldn’t take his frustrations out on his sister, but she was the only human around, so she had taken the brunt of it since his surgery.

“I’m sorry,” he said when she came back in the room, ice pack and a cold soda in hand.

“Here.” She handed him the pack wrapped in a dishtowel then set the soda on the end table where he could reach it. Without ceremony, she hauled an ottoman around the coffee table, placed it in front of him, and helped him raise his injured leg. He positioned the ice pack against his hip.

“Do you need anything else?”

She wasn’t ready to forgive him for being an ungrateful ass, but she would. Siobhan had never been able to hold a grudge where he was concerned.

“I’m fine. Thanks, sis.” He hoped she heard the apology in his tone.

“Okay.” She ignored his polite overture. He guessed he deserved her cold shoulder. “In that case,” she continued, “I’m going to leave you alone for a while. I’m behind on my manuscript. I could use a few hours of uninterrupted writing time.”

She slung her purse over her shoulder then grabbed a key ring off the table by the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Over to the main house. I’m staying there. Oh!” She dug around in her purse, coming up with his cell phone. “Here. If you need anything, call me. I’ll be here in a matter of minutes.”

He stared at the phone in his hand for a few seconds. “You aren’t staying here, with me?”

“No. There’s just one bedroom, and this way you’ll have some privacy. I’ll be back in a couple of hours to fix us some dinner, but in the meantime, call me if you need anything. Don’t be stupid, big brother. If you need help, ask for it. I don’t want to come back to find you in a heap on the floor and have to call 9-1-1 to get you back up.”

He didn’t know what to say.

“Promise me, Sean. Promise you won’t do anything stupid.”

“I promise,” he said, wondering what qualified as stupid and what didn’t. He wasn’t a stranger to hobbling around with a walker. He’d done it before and managed well enough. He didn’t care what his doctors said—give him a few days of PT then he’d be up on crutches, and walking with nothing more than a cane in a week—two at the most.

“Get some rest. You’re going to need it ‘cause the hard stuff begins tomorrow.”

He waved as she walked out the door.
So…she’s staying in Bentley’s house.
He wasn’t sure how he felt about her living there for the time being. He was grateful she had a nice place to stay, but shit, she didn’t need to be mixed up in his fucked up personal life, but what choice did he have?

The sad truth was, he had no choices. He’d screwed around, ignored the help offered from the relocation service, and now he had nowhere to go but Bentley’s pool house—the last place on earth he wanted to be.

Well, maybe not the last place. He was certain the accommodations beat the hell out of the rehab facility. Whoever had chosen the sofa knew what furniture was supposed to be.

It felt like heaven after almost two weeks lying on a hard hospital bed. Closing his eyes, he willed his muscles to relax. As the tension left his body, he realized how wonderful it was to have peace and quiet. No beeping monitors. No shoes squeaking on tile floors. No people shuffling past his door or worse, coming in to poke or prod him.

The remote slipped from his fingers as sleep claimed him.

Chapter Eighteen

“He’s getting better every day,” Siobhan said. “He still refuses to talk about his goals. I have no idea if he’s going to try to play again or not.”

“Bentley was afraid of that.” Ashley took a bite of her sandwich, chewed, and swallowed.

“What?”

“That he would shut everyone out. He says your brother can be an ass sometimes. I think he was referring to the four-legged kind.”

“He can be stubborn. It’s a Flannery family trait, but I think there’s something else going on.” She took a long sip of her soda then set it back down. In the two weeks since she’d brought her brother to live in the pool house, she and Ashley had become friends. It was also nice to have someone to visit with while Sean was at his PT sessions. The sandwich shop they met at was next door to where Ashley worked, which happened to be a few blocks from Sean’s physical therapist. As long as she didn’t think too hard about her new friend’s relationship with her brother and his lover, she was all right. She’d found even romance novelists had their limits.

“The doctors must have talked to him,” Ashley coaxed.

“I know they have, but he wouldn’t let me sit in on their meetings, and he isn’t talking.”

“You think they told him he wouldn’t play again?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. If they did, he’s keeping the information to himself.”

“But he’s doing the PT.”

“Yep. As I said, it seems to be going well.”

“Maybe Bentley should talk to him.”

“No!” She shook her head. “No, don’t ask him to. The only way Sean is still living in the pool house is because your fiancé has kept his word and left him alone. He doesn’t have the time or the energy to be moving to another place yet.”

“I won’t say anything to him then, if you’re sure. I know it gives him a little peace knowing Sean is close by, even if he’s hardly ever home.”

“The season is going to be over soon, and he’ll be home all the time. Is that going to be a problem?”

“I hope not. I’ll do my best to keep him busy. We’re getting married right after Christmas. He’s going to hate it, but I’ve got a million details for him to deal with, once he has the time.”

Siobhan laughed. “He doesn’t strike me as the type to be picking out flowers.”

“He’s not.” Ashley smiled. “But he’ll have more time than I will, so I’m not giving him any choice. Besides, I’ve already made most of the
girly
decisions. He’s getting the easy stuff like putting invitations into envelopes and making sure they get to the post office on time.”

“If he has trouble with it, let me know. I’m not much good at organizing, but I can stuff envelopes.”

“How long do you plan to be here? Can you stay for the wedding?”

“Oh, please…no. You don’t have to invite me!”

“We’d love to have you there. Please? Can you stay?”

“Truthfully? I have no idea how long I’m going to be here. As long as it takes Sean to get back on his feet, I guess. I don’t want to leave him until I know he can make it the rest of the way on his own.”

“Well, if you’re here through the end of the year, then you will come, won’t you?”

There was so much sincerity in her voice and in her eyes Siobhan couldn’t say no. “I’d love to.”

* * *

Fuck!

Sean clenched his jaw against the stabbing pain radiating out from his hip in all directions. Hell and damnation. Even his balls and dick shriveled away from the pain.

He forced his spine to straighten then tightened his hold on the handgrips. Two more reps on this machine would end today’s torture session.

“You can do it, Mr. Flannery.”

God, he hated her voice. Why couldn’t he have a physical therapist who wasn’t fresh out of the cradle? Someone who wasn’t so goddamn perky?

Closing his eyes, he forced the weighted machinery to move again. And again.

“Excellent! You’re all done, Mr. Flannery.” Perky came around to stand in front of him. The nametag on her baby pink polo shirt said, “Tiffany.” Why couldn’t he remember that? Probably because the name conjured up images of sweet young things without malice in their bones. Pixy or not, perky Tiffany was a sadist at heart. She loved pushing him to the breaking point, sometimes beyond, but he wouldn’t trade her for anyone else.

“Thank God.” He collapsed against the back support. “I hate you.”

Smiling, Tiffany handed him a towel. “No you don’t. You love me. Why else would you come to see me every day for the last two months?”

He wiped the sweat from his face and hands before easing to his feet. “Maybe I like to be punished,” he said with a wink.

“I don’t think so. If you did, you’d beg for more. I hear a lot of words come out of your mouth during our sessions, but
please
has never been one of them.”

“You have a point.”

“Never fear. Despite your lack of requests for longer sessions, you’ve come a long way.”

“I guess I have, but it doesn’t seem like it sometimes.”

“What did the Mustangs’ trainers say?”

They’d come to watch his workout the day before and talked to him afterward. He hadn’t told anyone what they’d discussed. “The same as before. Keep working.” The lie tripped off his tongue.

“Well, I’ve got good news for you,” his sadistic pixy said. “I met with your doctors yesterday. We agreed you’re ready for the pool. As of tomorrow, we’re adding swimming to your daily workout. Start with one lap tomorrow, then add a lap each day until you get to ten a day.”

He glanced in the direction of their pool. The idea of sharing the facilities with a bunch of people he didn’t know bothered him. “I have access to a pool where I’m…at home…. Would that be okay?”

They discussed dimensions, agreeing on one and a half laps in the smaller pool to one in the facilities larger one.

“Don’t push it, Sean,” she said, using his given name for the first time. “I know therapy is difficult, but you have to give the bones time to heal. You didn’t just crack your hip like before, you shattered it. The doctors put you back together like a jigsaw puzzle. It’s going to take time.”

He left with a promise to swim no more than the prescribed distance before coming in for his torture session. He didn’t care what the Mustangs’ trainers said, he was going to be on the field next season. If necessary, he’d bow to his Pixy of Pain every day until he made it happen.

* * *

Bentley stood at the kitchen window, sipping his coffee while he watched Sean’s sleek body slice through his pool. He was up to ten and a half laps. It seemed he was going to stay at that level for a while. Yesterday had been the third day in a row he stopped when he reached that number.

“He’s dedicated,” Siobhan said, joining him at the window.

“Seems so,” he offered, not taking his gaze off the man in the pool. “The question is—dedicated to what? He isn’t going to make it back. Not with the Mustangs, at least.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yeah.” He’d had to do some pretty underhanded things to get the information as it wasn’t the official stance of the team, but he’d long suspected it to be the case. The optimistic press releases had dwindled to nothing in the last few weeks, a sure sign Sean’s future with the Mustangs didn’t look bright. “He hasn’t said anything to you?”

“Not a thing,” his sister confirmed.

“How’s he doing?” Ashley asked as she entered the kitchen, dressed for work. She wrapped her arm around his waist then placed a kiss on his jaw. He turned his head, capturing her mouth for a more satisfying kiss. She tasted like mint toothpaste and smelled like an entire rose garden in bloom.

“Same as yesterday,” he said. “I don’t know what’s keeping him going. He has to know he isn’t going to play again.”

Ashley moved in front of him. “What? Are you positive? How do you know?” Her eyes mirrored the concern in her voice. They’d had plenty of time to discuss what they referred to as The Sean Situation over the previous weeks and come to the conclusion neither one of them wanted him to leave. They’d also agreed to give him all the time he needed to deal with his injury, observing him through shaded windows as he traversed the backyard walkways, first using a walker, then canes, and now one careful, independent step at a time.

Watching him climb from the pool, his body looking fit and sexy as hell had become one of their favorite morning pastimes over the last week. After seeing him the first day, she’d dragged Bentley back to their bedroom, confessing if the other man wasn’t gay, she’d want to jump his bones herself. She was as anxious as he was to invite him to join them as a sexual partner as soon as he was ready.

“I’m sure, and I’m sure he knows it, too,” he said in answer to her questions.

“What’s he going to do?” She turned to Siobhan for an answer when her fiancé shrugged.

“I have no idea.” Sean’s sister shook her head. “He hasn’t mentioned a thing to me about not playing again. Up until Bentley confirmed he wasn’t, I assumed he was planning to return next season.”

They all watched him swim the tenth lap then the eleventh.

“He added half a lap today,” Bent noted.

“I’m going to go talk to him.” Siobhan snapped.

“No,” Ashley said.

The younger woman stopped, turning to face them.

“Let me,” Ashley added.

“Why?”

“Well…he hasn’t talked to you, you said so yourself. He doesn’t want to talk to Bentley. Maybe he’ll talk to me.”

He watched the two women. Siobhan had looked ready to murder her brother before his fiancée stopped her. Now the women faced off across the kitchen, one not ready to relinquish her fratricidal rights, the other with a gleam of mischief in her eyes. The woman was up to something. His cock stirred as he imagined the things they’d talked about doing with Sean. Surely she had better sense than to approach the man about being their sex partner when he was trying to save a career he’d already lost.

“Ashley,” he warned.

She glanced at him. “I promise I won’t upset him. I have something he needs to hear.” The look in her eyes begged him to believe in her.

“Oh, go ahead,” Siobhan said. “I can kill him another time.” She refilled her coffee mug then left them alone in the kitchen.

“You think talking to him is wise?” he asked.

Ashley nodded. “I do. I think it might make all the difference for him personally and professionally. I promise I’ll tell you how it goes.”

“Okay then. You better catch him before he leaves for his PT session.”

* * *

He was going to have to find another place to live. There was no reason for him to stay in Bentley’s pool house any longer. He was ambulatory, and he was down to taking over-the-counter meds to control the lingering pain, which meant he was cleared to drive himself around. Siobhan could go home. If he rented a place with a pool, there would be the added bonus of not having an audience every morning while he swam.

He made the turn in the deep end, pushing off the wall with his good leg then headed in the other direction, adding another lap to the running total in his head. Halfway done.

They thought he didn’t know. It almost made him laugh, an activity he’d given up until his ribs healed. He felt like a lab rat, always being watched, his behavior catalogued then discussed. It would feel good to laugh again, but there wasn’t a goddamn thing in his life he found humorous.

He was a washed up ball player with enough savings and investments to provide him some security in his old age, but if he was fortunate, there were several decades in between in which he’d need to find a way to support himself. Unfortunately, the one thing he was good at was out of the question. His hip was mending, but not fast enough. The doctors couldn’t guarantee the bones would ever be strong enough to take the normal abuse of a game again. He had enough metal screws, plates, and rods in his left hip to make an airport metal detector light up like a Christmas tree.

He was better. Much better. He was certain his audience could see the improvement. He was beginning to feel normal in other ways, too. So knowing Bentley was watching him added another level of torture to his recovery. Yet another reason he needed to find another place to live. He might spend the rest of his life jacking himself off because he couldn’t have the man he loved, but he be damned if he’d do it on that man’s property while the bastard in question shared his bed with a woman.

Oh, hell no.

After his PT session today, he would ditch his sister then go look at some of the places the relocation team had sent over. The sooner he was out of there, the better.

He made the last turn, and feeling as if he was, if not taking his dick in hand, at least he was taking his life in hand, he swam to the end of the pool then added another lap. It felt good to make decisions again for himself—even if they were small ones.