Page 7 of Houston, We Have a Problem
Familiar laughter fills the room at the same time the curtains open, flooding the space with blinding sunlight.
“Jordan?” I gasp, scrambling to free myself. “What the hell, man?”
“Language,” he says brightly.
Sitting up, I groan and rub the elbow that took the brunt of my fall. “Not you too.” It’s frustrating enough to have to be reminded by both my agent and my sister; I don’t need my best friend joining in the game. Why does he even care? He never has before.
He’s lounging in my armchair with a bag of Salsa Verde Doritos, grinning at me like he didn’t just break into my house.“You gave me a key,” he reminds me, as if my confusion is written all over my face. It probably is.
“I don’t care how you’re here,” I grumble, getting to my feet and heading to the closet to grab some clothes. “I care aboutwhy.”
“I’m here because I haven’t seen my best friend in weeks, and he just helped the Red-tails win the World Series. By the way, I am so glad to learn you don’t sleep in the nude now. That is not something I need to see.”
“You would have deserved it.” I glower at him as I come back out in sweatpants and a t-shirt, and then I snatch the chips out of his hands. “No eating in the bedroom. What are you, a caveman?”
“Your sister doesn’t have the same aversion to food in the bedroom.”
I freeze, a sickening feeling pooling in my gut. “How in the world do you know that?”
“Wow, would you relax? She ate some snacks in her bed after she got that concussion last weekend.”
If that was supposed to make me feel better, it didn’t. I pretty much forgot the call I got from my twin sister right before Game Three after she fell and hit her head, and now I feel like a jerk for only checking in with her once. I let out a groan, muscles tensing in a way that only aggravates the inflammation in my shoulder. The last couple of weeks have been awful, and I don’t anticipate things getting better anytime soon.
“I’m the worst,” I mutter.
Jordan smirks. “You’re fine. I’ve been keeping an eye on her.”
“Still? It’s been a week since…” I cut myself off, staring at Jordan and trying to catch any sign that he didn’t heed my warning when I told him to keep his hands to himself last week after I asked him to keep an eye on Brook. Even when we werein high school, he was a ladies’ man through and through. I don’t know a better man than Jordan Torres, but that doesn’t mean I think letting him play with my sister’s heart is a great idea. She hasn’t dated anyone in forever, and she’s always had bad luck with love. I don’t want my best friend adding to that bad luck by being his usual, charming self.
If he hasn’t been interested in her before now, why would that have changed?
Pointing at me, Jordan shakes his head. “I know what you’re thinking, but I’ve been trying to help her make a move on her teacher crush, so would you stop glaring at me?”
I think he’s telling the truth. Jordan is nothing if not genuine to a fault. But I also think he’s holding something back because he doesn’t seem all that happy about Brooklyn finally making a move on the man she’s been pining over for years. I would push for more if I had the energy for it, but I don’t. I’m dealing with enough change right now as it is.
“Thanks for looking out for her,” I say, leading the way down to the kitchen to see if I have anything in the fridge that isn’t rotten. Odds are low. I genuinely don’t remember the last time I bought groceries. I don’t even think it was the last time I was home, before the Series started. It might be safer to buy a new fridge rather than open the door and find out what’s growing inside this one.
“I don’t know why I’m so tense,” I mutter, rubbing my jaw as I move to the cupboard to see what I can find.
Jordan chuckles. “Sure you do. You’ve been off since your interview with Tamlin Park.”
Does that mean he’s been watching all my interviews? “Roundy said the same thing,” I admit, though I don’t think Tamlin can take all the credit. I went to the team PT after the game because the pain in my shoulder was too much to ignore, and he nearly strangled me when he realized how bad it is. Ibegged him to keep it between us for now, but that’s only going to last for so long.
There’s a chance I’ll get enough rest before training starts up next year, but there’s no guarantee my arm will last through another season. If I get surgery to repair the tears—yep, the team physician thinks there could be multiple microtears now because I’ve been ignoring the problem for months—I’ll be out most of next season anyway. At that point, I’ll be twenty-nine and basically starting over, and that doesn’t exactly hold a lot of promise for a continuing career in the majors.
As he settles on a stool at the counter, Jordan keeps his eyes locked on me while I start a pot of coffee. “How bad is it?” he asks, reading my mind like he often does.
My half-sister, Micah, is so good at seeing the positive side of things, but I don’t think even she could see the good in this situation. Clenching my jaw, I shake my head as I try not to let my churning emotions get the better of me. I don’t think I could voice the damage in my shoulder even if I tried.
“I’m sorry, man.” And I know he means it. Jordan is the only person on the planet who truly knows what baseball means to me. How much I need it in my life. It’s more than just a game and a paycheck I don’t need, and even though I know I can’t keep playing, my chest aches thinking about what life will look like come spring.
I can’t abandon my team, but what good am I to them with a bum arm? This decision shouldn’t be a big deal—athletes retire all the time—but I’ve made sure no one has a clue it might be coming so soon. As soon as I make it all official, the sports world is going to go crazy. There won’t be any turning back. I’m not ready for that.
“So, what now?” Jordan speaks out loud the question I’ve been asking myself for months now. One I don’t have an answer for.
Swallowing my fears, I stand up straight and square my shoulders. Dwelling on the future isn’t going to do me any good; I need to focus on now. “Got any jobs today?”
“Ha!” He gives me a dirty look. “You know full well I don’t. And if I lose any business because you decided to cancel—”
