Whatever his sister was saying made his jaw set.
“I never liked that guy to begin with. I didn’t like the way he looked at you. I didn’t like the way he’d leave you waiting to pick you up. I didn’t like the way he treated you period.”
Luke must have been cut off because he looked like he was all set to keep going. Instead, he shifted on the bench, his hand gripping his phone tightly enough it looked capable of crushing it.
“He did what?” Luke’s palm pounded the table, making our cups rattle. He mouthed a quick sorry at me. “I want his number, Alex. Give me his number, because I’m going to call him and have a little chat about ways to treat a girl and ways not to treat a girl. And then I’m going to tell him what I’m going to do to him for hurting my little sister—”
I had to purse my lips to keep from smiling because it was clear just how pissed off Luke was, but watching this grown man about to pummel some kid for hurting his little sister was possibly the sweetest thing I’d ever witnessed.
“Fine, fine. You’re right, I’ll relax. This way I can come up with a plan that will inflict maximum pain for minimum jail time.” Whatever his sister fired back made Luke chuckle. “Yeah, well, it’s like what I told you all. No one messes with my sisters, and if they do, they better make their peace with god.”
Luke took a drink of his coffee while his sister talked. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but she was saying a lot.
“What can I do? Name it. Anything.” He was quiet for a moment, but it sounded like she was too. His fingers snapped. “I know. How about if all of you girls fly out to my game next weekend in San Diego? We’ll hit the beach, down as much ice cream as we can eat, and I’ll take you all shopping.”
There wasn’t silence on the other end anymore. There was squealing. From what sounded like multiple voices. Luke had to pull the phone back from his ear a ways.
“Let Anne know about the plan, and I’ll work out the details with her.” He paused until the shrieking had dialed down a few notches. “And don’t forget, kiddo, no guy is worth giving up your dreams. If you learn nothing else from me, remember that. Don’t let anyone take your dreams from you.” His eyes met mine—there was something purposeful in them. “What am I doing? I’m on a date.” Luke shrugged. “Yes, at five o’clock in the morning. Is there some dating rulebook I’m not aware of?”
Whatever his sister said made him roll his eyes. “No, not with anyone you know.”
Pause.
“Yes, with someone I like. Someone who’s sitting right across the table from me, hearing every word of this phone call.”
Another pause.
“Because you called. When have I ever not answered when one of you have called?” It sounded like he was getting an earful for a minute, then he sighed. “Yes, I promise to try not to mess this up—” He must have been interrupted. “Alexis . . .” His jaw set. “Thank you for the sisterly advice. Now if you don’t have any other boys who need a beating . . .”
I didn’t miss what she said. Not at present. I love you.
“I love you too. Tell your sisters I love them and I’ll check in with them after school.” Ending the call, he slid the silencer on before stuffing his phone back in his pocket. “Sorry about that. Great way to kick off a first date, right?”
“I didn’t mind a bit. Boy problems?”
Luke exhaled. “Always. It’s kind of the norm when I have three little sisters in their teens.”
I wrapped my hands around my coffee cup, debating my next question. Just because I didn’t know all things Luke Archer didn’t mean I hadn’t heard some things. “You’re their guardian now?”
If he felt conflicted about what my question was alluding to, he didn’t express it. “Guardian, mother, father, big brother, pretty much all of it.” He stared into his coffee cup, contemplation creeping into his expression. “Anne has been our saving grace though. She’s an old friend of the family, but now she’s kind of like a live-in nanny. However, if I call her that in front of the girls, they give me ‘the look.’”
“The look?”
“You know, The Look.” He waited for me to process that. “The one the female species has created to turn specimens of the male species into piles of ash. The Look.”
“Oh yes, that one,” I said, playing along.
Archer grinned, spinning his coffee cup in his hands. “Anyway, Anne takes care of everything when I’m on the road during the season, and I do my best to fit in visits during home games and occasionally fly them all out to an away game.”
“And take them shopping and out for junk food. The hardships.”
He chuckled a couple of notes before his expression became serious. “You know what happened to my parents?”
Inhaling slowly, I nodded. “Only what I read in the papers a few years ago.”
I might not have known much about Luke Archer’s life before a week ago, but I did know about his parents being carjacked and murdered on their way home from celebrating their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. The whole nation knew that story as that had happened right when Archer’s career was taking off. The media ate it up, printing headlines about The Slayed Parents of Luke Archer. Sensationalizing the whole tragedy by highlighting facts of that night that should have been respected and left alone. Details about how Mr. Archer had shielded his wife with his body while an entire magazine had been emptied into them. Or how their wedding bands had been ripped off their dead bodies. Or how their hands were found tangled together, even in death.
The media had bled that story dry, and I’d guessed it was part of the reason Archer had seemed as closed off as he had. At least as he had at first, because now he didn’t seem closed off at all.
Luke continued to stare into his coffee like he was seeing something in it no one else could see. “The girls were only ten, twelve, and fourteen at the time. We had family they could have gone to, but it would have meant relocating from Oceanside, and I wanted to keep as much normalcy in their lives as possible. I wanted them to stay at the same school, with the same friends, in the same activities, you know?” His forehead creased deeper for a moment, then his whole face cleared. Like he’d just come from the dark into the light.
Lifting his cup, he took a drink of his coffee. “I applied for guardianship, and we’ve done our best to put the pieces back together. That’s part of the reason my career is so important to me. I’m responsible for three human beings, and I want them to have any door they want open to them. I want them to be able to go to the best school in the country if they want to. I want them to be able to major in something that will pay them peanuts if it makes them happy. I want them to have a totally over-the-top wedding if that’s what makes them happy.” Almost looking vulnerable, he looked at me. I wasn’t used to seeing vulnerability on him—it was a look I doubted more than a few people were used to seeing on him. “I just want to take care of them the way our parents would have.”
My eyes were stinging from fighting tears. When I’d gotten up this morning and agreed to breakfast with Luke Archer, I hadn’t known he was going to open up like this.
Luke Archer was so much more than a player setting batting records. So much more than a skilled lover. So much more.
“You really are amazing,” I said.
Archer twisted his hat back around and leaned across the table a little. His expression was playful. “Well, I know that, but would you mind passing that on to this girl I’m really into? I’m not sure she’s aware of that yet. She kind of busts my balls. When she’s not icing them.”
That made me laugh. “I think she knows.”
“Good, and while you’ve got her on the line, would you mind asking her how I’m doing on our first date? I just spent the majority of it on the phone with a heartbroken sister and bringing up my dark past. I think I’m bombing it.”
Archer’s hand was resting on the table and I didn’t realize I’d reached for it until our fingers were tying together. “She says it’s the best
first date she’s ever been on.”
THE SHOCK WAS back in San Diego, and everyone was excited to be playing in front of a home group of fans. We’d all gotten in late last night, and Archer had headed back to his apartment to meet his sisters, who had gotten into the city earlier and were waiting for him, while I went home to my empty apartment. Homecomings like this reminded me why I loved being on the road so much—it made me forget about just how alone I was.
It wasn’t possible for me to go to his place with his sisters there. It wouldn’t have been possible even if they weren’t. While he was in Shock territory, cameras followed him everywhere short of the public restroom, and it wouldn’t take long for people to figure out that the petite blonde he was with was the same one in her first year as an athletic trainer on the team he played for. We’d be safer in other cities, not that safe was any way of putting it.
After spending a fitful night as a human cyclone in my bed, I decided to head to Shock Stadium a couple hours early for lack of anything else to occupy my time.
Opening the door to my apartment, I found a box on the stoop, wrapped in the Shock’s royal blue and white, along with a card with my name on it tucked under the bow. Kneeling, I opened the card:
Couldn’t sleep last night. Maybe I’ll sleep better tonight knowing you’re in this.
It was signed 'Archer' in big bold letters, which seemed like a strange way to sign a person’s name. Checking around to make sure I wasn’t about to lift a racy scrap of lingerie out of the box in front of any neighbors, I pulled the ribbon free and opened the box.
The same big, bold letters stared at me from within the box, right above the number eleven, stitched on a Shock jersey. Lingerie—Luke Archer style.
Pulling it out, I let the jersey unfold in front of me. I wanted to put it on now. I wanted to wear it for the game today, like thousands of other fans who would be wearing Archer’s number eleven on their backs.
I wanted what I couldn’t have.
Letting out a sigh, I folded the jersey back up and set the box inside my apartment before I locked the door and headed to the stadium. For now, I’d have to leave Luke Archer to the fans.
I was the first one in the locker room, not that that was a first. I knew who would be the second to arrive. Luke always showed up way before the rest of the players. He had his ritual and routine before a game, although today’s routine would include another ice bath.
The moment his eyes landed on me when I emerged from the room we kept the ice tubs in, his face fell.
“Nice to see you too,” I greeted, trying to ignore the way my stomach was knotting from seeing him.
“You’re not wearing my jersey.”
“Did you actually think I would? Or that I could?”
“I guess not.” His shoulders sagged. He was pouting. Luke Archer pouted.
“If it makes you feel any better, I’ll be sure to wear it to bed tonight.”
His eyes darkened. “You know what would make me feel even better?” He didn’t wait for me to respond. “If it’s all you wore to bed tonight.”
I had to remind myself where I was and who would be arriving soon—the entire Shock brigade of players and staff.
“Deal,” I said, waving into the room where the bath was ready for him. “The bath’s ready whenever you are. Fifteen minutes in there, then we’ll hit you with a heat treatment.”
When he dropped his sports bag at the foot of his locker, hanging his cap up before tugging off his tee, I backed up a few steps.
Space seemed like a good thing right then.
“How’s your leg doing?” I asked, diverting my gaze when his fingers dropped to his jeans.
“Fantastic, thanks to your tender loving care.” His words were dripping insinuation.
“No pain?” I lifted a brow, doubtful. The kind of pull he’d sustained didn’t just go away as suddenly as it had happened.
“None.”
“Comfortable putting your weight on it?”
“I’m comfortable putting my weight on it, supporting someone else’s weight on it . . .” He made sure I was looking before he dropped his jeans. And shit. He was commando. And at full staff. More space between us seemed like an even better idea.
“How are your sisters?” I gave an innocent smile and waited.
His face fell. Other parts of his anatomy, not so much. “You’re cruel.”
“And you’ve got a date with a tub full of ice. Let me know when you’re out.” Snagging the clipboard from outside Coach’s office, I pretended to be focused on the line-up for the day as I headed into the supply room.
“Hey, Doc?”
I paused.
“Are you going to clear me to play today?”
My teeth worked that out on my lip for a moment before I turned to face him. This was what I’d been worried about with us. Or one of the things I’d been worried about. That I’d let my feelings for him get in the way of doing my job. As Allie, the woman in a relationship with him, I knew he wanted to play and had the grit and stamina to do so. It was a home game after a long stretch on the road, and his sisters would be in the stands, hoping to cheer on their big brother. Allie wanted him to play. Allie knew he could play.
The athletic trainer knew playing today was pushing it. The kind of pull he’d sustained generally required more rest, and the risk of him reinjuring it and putting him in even worse shape was a very real possibility. The athletic trainer felt conflicted. Part of her felt like sitting out another game would mitigate the risk, and another part knew Luke Archer was capable of more than just any other player.
I was in a difficult position, knowing I’d upset him and the rest of the team if I advised him to sit this one out too. I was in a difficult situation if I gave him the green light to play and he really messed up his leg.
“Before you say anything, I just want you to know that I’ve been thinking about what you said to me a few days ago in the shower room.”
“We didn’t say much from what I remember.” I clutched the clipboard to my chest, trying to ignore the fact that the man who knew how to do wonderful things to my body with his body was naked and ready fifteen feet in front of me.
“No, but what you did say left an impression.”
“Good to know you were listening.”
Archer folded his jeans and stuffed them inside his locker. “I want you to know that I respect that you have a job to do and that you can’t let us get in the way of that.” He waved his finger between us. “It’s your call, Doc. I’m not going to pressure you either way, and I’m not going to sulk if you tell the coach to bench me.” He let those words hang between us for a moment before grabbing a towel and heading back toward the tubs. “I’ve said what I needed to. I’ll be turning my huevos into ice cubes if you need me.”
“Big baby,” I muttered after him.
His chuckle echoed from the back room.
After that, players and staff slowly filtered into the locker room, the buzz zapping in the air from the thrill of a home game. Archer took care of timing himself in the bath and the heat compress that followed, leaving me time to tend to some of the other players.
“Eden!” Coach Beckett’s deep voice boomed through the locker room.
“Yeah, Coach?” I replied as I finished taping Robinson’s shoulder.
“In my office,” he shouted before storming back in there.
Coach’s temperament had taken me a while to get used to, but now I barely flinched when he hollered at me. That was just the way he worked. I didn’t doubt he hollered good night to his wife every night before crawling under the covers.
Stretching the last piece of tape over Robert’s shoulder, I jogged into Coach’s office, guessing I already knew what he wanted to talk to me about.
“Close the door,” he said, spreading his hands on his desk as I entered.
After closing the door, I moved in front of his desk and remained standing. Usually my meetings with Coach were too short to sit.
“Archer. Is he playing tonight or not?”
My mind raced, as conflicted now as it had been earlier. I knew he’d be asking and I knew I’d be expected to give him an answer. I just wasn’t sure what that answer was yet.
“No bullshit either, Eden. If Archer can play, he plays. If he can’t, his ass will stay on that bench. I want it straight.” Coach’s cleats echoed through the office when he shifted his weight.
My mind undulated from one answer to the other. Could Archer play? Yes, he could. Should Archer play? That was a trickier answer.
“He can play.” My voice sounded smaller than I wanted to, so I gave it another try. “He can play.”
Coach was quiet for a minute, his eyes challenging me, giving me a chance to retract my statement. When I didn’t, his finger lifted at me. “If my star player reinjures himself and puts him out for the season, it’s going to be your ass on the line, Eden. You understand?”
I swallowed, nodding. “I understand.”
THE SHOCK HAD dominated all night long. Fielding, batting, running, scoring—they’d owned the game against the Seattle Sharks, proving why they were the favorite to win the Series this year.
After the loss to New Orleans, the team needed this win. The energy in the dugout had been overwhelming, largely due to one number eleven being elated he was back to playing the sport he loved.
When Coach had told Archer he was on for tonight, he’d run a circle around the locker room, high-fiving every member of the team and staff. He saved me for last, managing to give my hand a little squeeze in passing.
We were at the top of the ninth with only one out left to pretty much win the game since we were up eight runs, and I was thinking about finally relaxing. The whole night I’d been watching Archer’s every move, looking for any signs of him favoring his right leg, but all of the worry and vigilance had been for nothing.
Archer was moving just fine, clipping around the bases at his usual speed, fielding balls with no signs of pain or injury. I’d made the right call. He’d told me he was ready, I’d assessed he was, and I’d made a good call.