Intentional Walk: Dating Mr. Baseball Book 3 Read online

  She couldn’t hold him back if she tried. He attacked the climb, moving fast, anxious to get to her. The higher he got, the more adrenaline pumped through his veins. The team doctor would freak out at his heart rate. It wasn’t the muscles he was using; it was the thrill of being so close to proposing—to seeing the look of love in Tilly’s eyes as he declared himself utterly lost for her. Not that he would ever say that in the locker room …

  He hooked up to the next anchor, leaning heavily into the warm rock. This rock face was to the north, so it was cooler than the west-facing side. Which was good, because his hands were coated in sweat. He wiped one on his shirt and then the other, changing handholds. He’d gained some ground on Tilly as she worked sideways towards her next anchor point.

  He wipe his head with his left hand, and his right hand slipped. He grunted, scrambling for the handhold, his calves suddenly straining as they took the full weight of his 6-foot-5-inch frame.

  Tilly’s head whipped his direction. “Bray?” she called.

  He lifted his head to look at her, and the world tilted. The skyline above spun around, and he couldn’t breathe in. “I—” His answer was ripped from his throat as he fell.

  Tilly screamed. And swore.

  He smiled even as he was falling. It took a lot to get that girl to curse. He pulled on his rope, bringing his fist to his butt cheek, and the anchor caught him.

  “Brayden?” Tilly called down to him.

  “I’m fine.” He lifted a hand. Dangling from the anchor was no big deal. He just needed to find a hold and get back on the wall. He grabbed once at a small ledge, the sound of his fingers scraping dirt off the rock loud in his ears. His grip wasn’t firm and he jerked again, his shoulder feeling the pull. He kicked off to the left, his shoes slipping over the smooth rock face, trying to gain some inches on the climb. His harness clanked and the rope strained. The next thing he knew, he was falling through the air.

  The only sounds he heard were the rushing of air and then the cracking of bones when his body hit the ground. He gasped, needing oxygen. As his chest expanded, he moaned. The general numbness was a blessing; at the same time, he wanted to get past it and evaluate. But then, had he fallen that far? He lay on the rocks at the bottom of the cliff, staring up at Tilly as she scrambled back along the thin lifeline. He couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t feel. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

  Tilly slipped, fell, and slammed into the wall as the anchor caught and held. Her cry of pain broke through his barrier of silence. His mind spun over the last few seconds, trying to figure out what had happened. Tilly rappelled down, her feet landing with a soft thud that he swore he could feel.

  Her face filled the sky above him. Man, she was beautiful. He was the luckiest son of a gun on the planet.

  “I need an ambulance,” she said into her phone.

  Was she hurt? She’d hit the rocks pretty hard, and there was blood dripping from under her helmet. He should tell her it was all going to be okay. Today was going to be the best day of their lives.

  Darkness closed in. He needed to ask her to be his wife—before the sun eased out of the picture. That was the plan. He had a plan.

  The shadows suddenly grew longer. Strange how that happened. The sun dropped behind the mountain quickly. Or maybe it just felt fast because he was outside of time.

  His heart began to pick up speed. He was going to miss it. Miss his chance. Miss it all.

  Chapter Two

  Tilly

  There was a boulder on Tilly’s head. The heartbeat in her skull testified to the weight of it. She didn’t feel any other part of her body. It was almost as if the only part of her that existed was her head, and the only reason it existed was to pound.

  She mentally pushed against the pain and the rock, straining her muscles in the process. She needed to get out from under the weight, needed to see sunlight and feel the brush of the warm desert breeze on her arms.

  Suddenly, the weight was gone and her eyes fluttered open. A black-and-white clock on the wall read 3:18. Her eyes fluttered shut again and she wondered if she was in a dream. It shouldn’t be light at three in the morning. It had to be morning; she was too tired for it to be the middle of the day.

  Her body slowly came into existence, and with it the understanding that something was wrong. Her shoulder killed, and she couldn’t move her arm. Some sort of restraint kept her from lifting it to scratch at her nose.

  She slowly turned her head, afraid the boulder would return if she moved too fast, and opened her eyes to stare at the belly of a woman in blue scrubs.

  That wasn’t right.

  She and Brayden … Her eyes flew open and a shard of pain sliced through her skull. “Brayden?” she yelled. The sound that came out was too small for all the feelings that were screaming inside of her.

  The nurse bent over, grinning like Tilly had accomplished something difficult. “Well, look who decided to join us.”

  “Brayden?” Tilly begged. The last she’d seen of her boyfriend was an unconscious lump in a neck brace being hauled off in an ambulance. He’d breathed shallowly and they were saying something about his heartbeat fluctuating rapidly. With strength brought on by fear, she used her free hand to grab the woman’s scrub top and pull her closer. “Is he alive?”

  “Oh, honey.” The nurse pried Tilly’s hand off of her shirt. She bent closer, a deep line between her drawn-on eyebrows and a serious frown on her deeply colored lips. “He’s alive.” She reached for a syringe and began pumping a clear liquid into Tilly’s IV.

  Tilly fell back into the plastic-sounding pillows, unaware that she’d tensed so much she’d come halfway off the bed. She loved Brayden more than anything, more than chocolate or climbing or air.

  Her relief was short-lived as she remembered the way Brayden’s head had cocked to the side and his back was twisted. “Can he play ball?” Her arm grew cold as the new substance was introduced to her system. “Can he …” Her eyes grew heavy and her brain fogged over. “Has to play ball.”

  Baseball was life to Brayden. He was the game, and the game was him. Without baseball …

  The medication kicked in and her muscles relaxed all the way, becoming part of the bed. Sleep.

  * * *

  The next morning, Tilly awoke feeling like she’d been run over by a truck—or more like she’d been thrown against a cliff. She vaguely remembered her hands slipping on the rope and barely catching her loose line in time. The sudden stop had jerked her to the side, and she’d hit the wall with her shoulder, her head, and her hip. Her arm had gone slack from the blunt force. Her vision blurred. She’d managed to get down to Brayden, but the memory of how that had happened was fuzzy. The ache in her ankle testified that it wasn’t a pretty descent.

  She groaned and worked her mouth, trying to get the dryness out of there. Yuck, her teeth felt like they needed a lawn mower. A cool hand touched her forehead, and without opening her eyes, she sighed, “Mom.”

  “I’m here, sweetie,” came her mom’s honeyed voice.

  The tears came on sudden and strong, burning the backs of Tilly’s eyes and making her nose run. She pried her eyes open and her mom’s arms came around her, holding her up as she fell apart. “Have you seen him?” Tilly choked on the words. She was in bad shape, and she hadn’t fallen to the ground.

  Her mom pulled back, rubbing her non-sore shoulder. Then again, her pinkies were sore and the shoulder protested. Muscles below muscles resisted movement and complained.

  Tilly’s dad always said that her mom was a “stunner,” that she possessed the kind of beauty that stunned men into immobility. She was certainly beautiful today, with her shoulder-length straight hair framing her face, the highlights fresh and bright. Her hair had once been as golden brown as Tilly’s, but when the gray started to creep in, she went blonde for camouflage.

  “He was in surgery when I got here.”

  A fresh wave of tears spilled onto the blanket.

  “He’s going to
be okay, sweetie,” Mom cooed. “They told me as much as they could, but he’s going to be okay. He’ll walk. He’ll gain mobility back. He might be able to climb with you again—though that will take some time.”

  Tilly sniffed. She needed a tissue in a horrific way. “That’s not good enough. He needs to play ball.”

  Mom swallowed thickly, her dark eyes clouding over. “He won’t. And the sooner the two of you find a way to be okay with that, the better off you’ll be.”

  Tilly bit back her wail. She gripped the sheets, wanting to hurtle something against the wall. To scream and cry. The noise would split her already aching head in two, but she didn’t care. This was her fault. “I never should have taken him climbing.”

  “Well, now.” Mom scooted back a bit and loosened Tilly’s grip on the sheet. “I don’t know about all that.”

  “How can he ever forgive me?” She dropped her face in her hands. “I don’t know if I can see him. He must hate me.”

  “Hate you? Honey, that boy loves you! I’ve never seen a man so besotted before.” She fussed with the sheet. “Follows you around like a lovesick puppy dog.”

  A small lift of her shoulder was all Tilly could muster in response. How could she explain to her mom the way Brayden felt about baseball? His body was practically made up of leather and laces; the game was built into his soul. To rip that away …

  The doctor came in, followed by a nurse. He wore a white lab coat and a pair of khaki pants with a plaid button-up shirt. He looked too young to be a doctor, his face line free. As he got closer, Tilly could see the bump in his forehead from too much Botox. “I’m happy to see you’re up and moving. That head wound gave us something to worry about.”

  Tilly reached up and gently probed the bandage at her forehead and then her dreads. If they’d shaved one, she’d look weird. Nothing that headbands couldn’t cover up for a while. Meg from Little Women, the one who had her curl burned off by Jo, would have nothing on her. At least she didn’t have a dance to go to that night.

  Mom stepped back and let the doctor and nurse do their thing. They checked her vitals, discussed her meds, and made sure she could move joints not currently restricted by a sling.

  “Can I see Brayden?” Tilly asked at the first lull in conversation. “Is he okay? What surgery did he have to have?”

  The doctor—she’d forgotten his name—didn’t even look up from his tablet. “I’m not at liberty to discuss another patient. But I’m going to release you, and you can visit whomever you like.”

  She sagged. The need to make sure Brayden was alive, to feel his fingers caress her cheek once more, was too strong to ignore. There was a physical ache in her chest, a completely separate pain from the damage the fall had done to her, that only Brayden could heal.

  The doctor was talking. Tilly pulled herself out of her head to catch the last of his statement. “… didn’t break anything, but you’ll have some soreness for a couple of weeks. Your hip will be especially slow healing, as I believe you’ve partially crushed that muscle. I recommend physical therapy. I’ll have the nurse put a card in your file.”

  Elise, the assistant physical therapist for the Redrocks and one of Tilly’s best friends, would help her. “I have a physical therapist.”

  “Good.” He tapped the screen. “We’ll get those stitches out in a week or so, and you should feel like new.” He consulted his chart, pretending to be interested in what was there as he said, “You may want to check out room 304.” He winked and then swept out the door with the air of a man who had too much to do.

  Her life had become a bad dream. She couldn’t imagine what Brayden was feeling. She sat up, wincing as her stomach muscles protested. She told them to shush and scooted towards the edge of the bed.

  Her mom and the nurse were there, hands splayed out to keep her in place. “Where are you going?” asked the nurse. This was a different lady than the one Tilly hazily remembered from the night before.

  “I’m going to see Brayden.” She put both feet on the floor and immediately lifted the right one back up. Her ankle was tender, and there was a water balloon under her skin. At least, it looked that way. She stared at it.

  “We need to finish the discharge paperwork,” scolded the nurse.

  Tilly glared up at her. “The man I love almost died. If you think I’m going to wait around for paperwork, you’re nuts.”

  The nurse’s chin lowered in challenge. She wasn’t particularly large, but she had an iron grip on Tilly’s good wrist.

  Tilly rolled her shoulder. She would so take her on. Judging by the look of the woman’s skinny little arms, she’d win too—bum shoulder and all.

  Mom put herself between them. “I’ll find a wheelchair.” She turned to the nurse. “You grab the paperwork, and we will all get this done as fast as possible.” Her tone brokered no arguments from either side.

  Tilly nodded. Now that she was in an upright position, her bladder screamed that there was something she had to do before walking.

  The nurse spun on her heel, her nose in the air.

  Mom sagged with relief. “Do you need to use the facilities?”

  A half-hearted smile made its way to Tilly’s lips. “How’d you know?”

  “Mother’s intuition.”

  “I’m a little worried that you’re so in tune with my biological functions,” Tilly tried to joke.

  “I remember what it was like after my gallbladder surgery. I couldn’t walk fast enough.”

  Mom slipped her arm behind Tilly’s back and helped her stand fully. They made slow progress to the toilet. Tilly limped along, shaking her head at her sorry state. What a mess she’d gotten herself into. And Brayden? Oh, Brayden! She slumped under the knowledge of what she’d taken from him.

  Mom had brought a pair of pajama bottoms and a baggy T-shirt. Tilly put them on in the bathroom. She took a moment to glance at her reflection. She was a sight to behold. The side of her face was bruised black and yellow, making a striking contrast to the white bandage on her forehead. They hadn’t shaved her head, thank goodness.

  She had bags under her eyes and a cracked lip. Her shoulder was stiff and there were more bruises down that side of her body. Oddly, the more she moved her ankle, the better it felt. She’d call Elise as soon as she had her phone back. She patted her pockets out of habit. The phone wasn’t there. Oh well. Mom was here and Brayden was down the hall; everyone else could wait.

  She opened the bathroom door. The nurse handed Mom a plastic bag full of Tilly’s personal items. Mom nodded towards the wheelchair by the door, and Tilly sank carefully into the coal-blue leather seat. Mom stored the bag in the basket under the chair. Tilly signed papers until her eyes crossed, and then they were finally free.

  The hallway was brighter than her room had been, and her eyes were still dry. How it was possible to cry and have dry eyes at the same time, she didn’t know. But it was the least of her worries or her pains. The door to Brayden’s room was propped open. That didn’t seem right. He was as close to a legend in this town as they came, having played for the Redrocks for all four seasons the team had existed. His door should be shut to keep curious fans from poking their heads in while he was recovering.

  She prayed he was recovering.

  Tilly’s whole body tingled in anticipation of being with Brayden. She needed to see him, needed to hold him and be held by him—was dying to press a kiss to his lips.

  All the while, there was a portion of her gut that told her to run away. Seeing accusation and anger in his beautiful brown eyes might just turn her inside out.

  Tilly rolled through the door and found a nurse in pink scrubs that hugged her slim figure leaning over Brayden, brushing her fingers across his forehead. There was a glint in her eye that reminded Tilly of an illustration in a children’s book of the witch who had captured Hansel and Gretel.

  Brayden was asleep, oblivious to the ministrations of his day nurse. The monitors beeped and green lines rose and fell with his heartbeat.
r />   Tilly cleared her throat, and the nurse popped up, holding her hand behind her back like a child caught in the cookie jar. She made a mental note to ask the staff to keep his door shut and their hands off him.

  Tilly brushed off the woman’s obvious discomfort as she rolled to the side of the bed and took Brayden’s hand in hers. Her man was a beautiful specimen, and women had a hard time resisting him. Not only was his body amazing—he put on muscle as easily as eating a steak dinner—but he had this whole preppy scruff thing going on with a trimmed beard, thick, straight eyebrows, and eyelashes she’d give her climbing gear for.

  The release she felt, having his palm against her palm, sharing body heat, was enough to infuse her with strength. He was here, and he was still hers—if he wanted to keep her.

  “I’m Tilly, Brayden’s girlfriend.” She smiled carefully, waiting to see how the nurse would react. Fans usually divided into two camps: they either wanted to make her their best friend or claw her eyes out.

  “Nurse Natalie,” the woman replied, formally. She checked the monitors and IVs.

  Nurse Natalie had brushed Tilly’s friendly gesture off smoothly. Her girlfriend senses yelled out that she’d better watch out for this one. Tilly leaned farther out of her seat and more on the bed, wanting to be as close to Brayden as she could.

  Mom came in a second later, her hands full of files and papers. Her eyes took in Brayden’s form and the way Nurse Natalie stood close to the bed. Being the best mom in the world, she took action. “Excuse me.” She bumped her hip into Nurse Natalie’s and put herself between grabby hands and Brayden. Ignoring the scowling woman behind her, Mom leaned closer to him. “He has good color.”

  Tilly nodded. “He’s strong. I wonder how long he’ll be out.”

  “A couple hours or more. You should head home and get some rest.” Though the nurse said the right words, her tone was caustic.