Page 102 of Off Court Fix

With a hand tightly grabbing the banister, I turn. “Sorry?”

Dave holds both of his arms out. “Why didn’t you tell me you were resigning?”

“Oh.” I relax my grip, realizing I’ve taken some of the finish off with even my short nails. “I... I didn’t think it mattered all that much.”

Thankfully, Dave isn’t on the stairs because if he were, he would’ve fallen backward. “You not umpiring anymore doesn’t matter?” His eyes bulge. “Since when?”

I shrug and head to my office. “I’ve got other... responsibilities that need my attention more than a hobby.”

“Like what?” Dave calls out from behind me, but all I do is hold up my ringing cell and shut my office door.

Without thinking or looking at the screen, I open the call. “How did it go?”

“Hi,” she says, and immediately my unease begins to lessen. “Landed in East Hampton. I’m on my way home.”

“And? How did it go?” I repeat, growing frustrated when she remains quiet. “Maxine?”

“I guess it depends on who you ask.”

“What does that mean?”

She sighs. “Inflammation. A lot of it. But no new damage.”

This sounds like nothing but positive news to me. “Did he say if you should play on it?”

“I have to rest it. If I don’t get the inflammation down... it’ll be for nothing, that’s what he said.”

I’m struck with an overwhelming need to be beside her. “How long do you need to get home?”

“Maybe forty-five minutes, a little more, I don’t know. There’s traffic.”

“I’m wrapping things up here. I’ll see you in an hour.”

Maxine sighs. “Crosby, you don’t—”

“I know I don’t. You know I don’t. We both know I will.”

“Okay,” she says softly. “I’ll see you soon.”

* * *

I find Maxine in the backyard, lying on the couch on the patio, her foot propped on a pillow with a bag of ice resting on it.

“Hi.” She turns her head when she hears me coming. Beckoning me with her hand, Maxine scoots over to make room, but instead of lying with her, I sit at the end of the couch and lift the ice. “I think it swelled more after the flight.”

Carefully, I lift Maxine’s foot into my lap, her skin cold and red from the ice. It’s undoubtedly less swollen, but I trace my finger carefully along puffy pockets at the base of her ankle.

“How does it feel?”

She flexes her foot against me, then rotates it. “It’s definitely been better.”

I drop a kiss to the top of her foot below her toes. “What else did the doctor say?”

“Well, I shouldn’t wear heels to the gala,” Maxine jokes with a shrug before tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “Playing is up to me. But he said I probably won’t be one hundred percent, not now or ever. But to get close to it, I’m going to need some help.”

I hear a gentle rattling sound when Maxine reaches between her and the pillows of the couch. She tosses me a pill bottle, warm from being pressed against her body.

“It’s ibuprofen. This is just prescription-strength Advil, Maxine,” I say, reading the label. “Not Valium or Oxy.”

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