Page 41 of Force Play

When I get home from my doctor’s appointment, there’s a gravitational pull centering around my couch trying to drag my tired body towards it, but my mind just won’t quit. Unfortunately for me, it’s the worst possible circumstance. Mia and Poppy are traveling together for a book event. Lilah was alone at the store today and Willa is in class. The support system I moved here for is MIA and I don’t blame them, like at all. But I need to get out of this apartment and do something before I lose my shit.

It only takes me minutes to grab my gear and ride my bike to the nearby trailhead. Starting off slow I pick an easier trail since I’m unfamiliar with the terrain and do a few shorter loops.

The more miles I ride, the more I think. Rationally, I know the support group Dr. Smith referred me to is harmless. It certainly won’t change my mind, but maybe knowing I spoke to others in the same boat will dull the inevitable guilt that gnaws at me when I tell my dad and Poppy that I’m not getting tested this year.

With a renewed sense of resolution and pliant muscles, I veer off, following a fork to a more difficult loop. On my second time through, my confidence has me riding a little harder. Out of the saddle, with my weight back, I sail through a downhill section, letting the thrill of the ride push me harder. All the icky vibes from earlier drain from my body with each stroke of the pedal.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a blur of brown fur. The distraction is just enough for me to take my eyes off the trail for a split second.

“Shit!” I yell as my back tire skids across the dirt kicking up dust when I try to correct and make the corner. But it’s too late, or maybe it’s just too much. I can’t be sure with the trees whipping by and the ground getting closer.

Pain radiates through my whole body, but it’s the worst in my ankle. When I crack open an eye, two things are clear. I’m no longer on my bike, and I fucking hate squirrels. Especially that one. Slowly, I push up on my elbows, rocks digging sharply into my skin. Above me, the reason for my current situation is clinging to the tree looking at me upside down like I’m the problem here.

Where the hell is my bike?

Before I can figure that out, my watch is going off.

Dad.

“Double shit,” I groan out loud, laying back down and accepting the call. “I guess the crash detection works.”

“Please tell me you threw your watch against a wall to test it and not yourself.”

“It wasn’t my fault, it was that stupid squirrel. Do you think squirrels taste good in soup?”

With that, the little fucker scampers off, but not before dropping the spit covered acorn he was carrying right between my eyes.

“I’m going to eat you for lunch, you fucking menace.” Dirt stings my eyes when I reach up to rub my forehead.

“Indie, did you hit your head? You’re not making any sense.” Concern laces my dad’s deep voice.

“No, my head is fine.” I think. My ankle is fucked, but a quick check of all my limbs tells me everything else is okay.

“Where are you?” My dad’s voice borders on too loud for the pounding in my head.

“You’re probably not going to like the answer.”

“Indie, I swear I’ll get on a plane right now and scour the whole state.”

“That’s not necessary. I’ll call—” My mind runs through all the options as I sit on the ground, caked in dirt, my ankle throbbing. There’s no one to call. The girls are all gone or occupied. The Bandits flew home late last night from an away series and play again tonight. Hendrix naps with his phone off and even if I could get in touch with him, his first call would be to Poppy, who’d probably freak out and fly home. “I’ll call a friend.” I finally sigh, resigned to my fate. When I hang up with my dad, I swipe through my contact list and find him under, “Yours.”

Chapter 15

Dom

Trying to clear the sleep from my eyes I rub them again, certain that I’m still asleep and dreaming. If not, there’s something wrong with my eyes, because what I’m seeing isn’t making any sense.

Last summer Indie didn’t protest when I took her phone and held it in front of her face, unlocking it to add my contact. She was still a little sleepy and very blissed out from orgasms. Nothing like when the post-sex-high wore off and she flipped the switch, going back to not being able to stand me.

Fumbling with my phone, I yank it from the charger and answer, afraid she’s going to change her mind like she did then.

“It only took you a year to use this number. I’d have bet my signing bonus that you deleted it the second you walked out of my house.”

“The thought crossed my mind,” she says, her voice unsteady.

Something’s wrong. Indie doesn’t show weakness, not with me.

“Things must be pretty serious then. What do you need?”

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