Bases Loaded Page 4

  “Well, we will fix this, yes? And until we do? Pancakes.” Jean winked and started sweeping up the bowl. “Does the gator-man eat late at night?”

  “Gator-man?” Benj chuckled. “Yeah. Midnight snack. Oh, and he missed last night! We, um… well, he missed it.”

  There was something about Jean that just invited confidences.

  “Uh-huh. A cocodrie, your man is. Bite and teeth. And see? His body knows and fights the mind.” A bit of egg had bounced onto the table, and Jean tasted it, obviously curious. “Oh, mon Dieu! That? Tastes as foul as the end of the chicken Mr. Egg slid from.”

  “It looked pretty nasty.” Benj reached for the pancakes Jean had made, putting three on his plate. Oh, he hadn’t had an appetite like this in a long time.

  “He has a temper. Always? Or just since the hurt?”

  “Oh, he’s always had a temper—he’s a very passionate man—but… well, since he got hurt… it’s more frequent.” Benj shrugged, trying not to feel like he was betraying Brett, talking about him like this.

  Jean nodded. “I? Can rage with the wind. Stomp and scream and fuss. And Ralph? He just watches and brings me back to ground.”

  Benj nodded. “I didn’t do too badly at that myself before Brett got hurt.” He shrugged, trying to articulate his frustrations, knowing they were tied in with Brett’s. “There’s not really anything I can do to make his arm better, though, and he knows it. I know it. Do you really believe that Ralph can get Brett back to playing baseball?” He needed that. Brett needed it. And he wanted to believe that here was where it could happen.

  Jean sat down, took his hand. “He’s not a babe, you know? His body won’t play the ball forever. I know we can help him play long enough to retire because he wants to, yeah? To leave because the time is right.”

  Benj was surprised by how much comfort holding Jean’s hand was giving him. He’d cut way back on his massage clients since Brett had gotten hurt and he hadn’t realized how much he’d been missing the casual touching, one human being to another. If he and Brett had been fucking like monkeys, like they used to, it probably wouldn’t even have mattered.

  “He was thinking about retiring, maybe getting into coaching once his current contract was up. But now, like this….” Brett felt unmanned. Benj wouldn’t say that, though, wouldn’t put Brett in the position of having that voiced, out there. He was still struggling with how anything he said felt like a betrayal, but it was so good to have someone to talk to, not to have to carry it all on his own.

  “One more good season, eh? One more run of glory and then he walks away proud, comme un homme, you know? Not crawling.” Jean’s eyes were warm, sympathetic, smiling. “And maybe some peace for you, then. Some quiet in your soul.”

  Benj nodded and squeezed Jean’s hand. “You understand.”

  “It is our life here—to understand, to heal. It is yours too, yes? You give the massage?”

  “I do massage, yeah. It’s not quite the same thing, but it does help people feel good.” He squeezed Jean’s hand again and then slid his away, started to eat. “Oh, these are great. Brett likes the really thin ones you put things in. Crepes? I’ve tried making them, but they always fall apart.”

  “I’ll show you how.” Jean poured more coffee, drinking deep. “Have you massaged the shoulder much?”

  “As much as Brett’ll let me.” Not nearly as much as he’d wanted to. If he’d had his way, he’d massage Brett all over every day, simply to keep the tension out of the beautiful muscles, but Brett was touchy, angry, frustrated, and the words “just leave me alone” had stung every time Benj heard them.

  “Talk to Ralph. He’ll have exercises and massages, you know? Why have the stranger do them when you can help him?”

  “Oh, that would be wonderful.” Benj nodded happily. Jean made him believe this place and these people could help Brett, could help them both. He only hoped that between Ralph and Jean they could convince Brett as well.

  JEAN STARTED gathering up the food, whistling as he put a plate together to take to Ralph at ten. Lord, lord, what a morning. Slamming and yelling and broken dishes and curses—it was enough to make a Cajun homesick, yes sir.

  Something easy and simple for lunch, he thought. Brett would be hurting, with the fury and the working. He knew Ralph. The afternoon would be in the pool, then the hot tub. So cool and refreshing for supper. Steak salad, maybe….

  Benj came in with his breakfast dishes. “Those were wonderful pancakes. Can I help you clean up?”

  “If you’d like, but you’re not required. I’d love the help.”

  “I have to make a trip into town before lunch, but aside from that I don’t really have anything to do. I’d love to feel useful.”

  Benj started bringing in the rest of the stuff from the dining room.

  The kitchen was huge, well put together, everything Jean wanted, and he hummed as he worked.

  Benj moved with a quiet grace and almost silently, as if he was used to being quiet, to tiptoeing about.

  Jean leaned over, nudging Benj gently. “I promise I won’t bite.”

  Benj’s eyes flew to his, surprise widening them. “What? Oh. I don’t want to be in your way.”

  “You, cheri? You’re not in anyone’s way.” Not at all. Pretty thing.

  Benj blushed slightly, smiling and pleased. “Good to know. Is there anything else I can do to help? This was the last of the dishes in the dining room.”

  “You can dump the old coffee and make fresh. Everything you need is in this cabinet.” His kitchen was balanced, everything where it belonged.

  “You’re really well-equipped.” Benj worked well with him, definitely not in the way, hands touching everything.

  “It’s something, yeah? All the things you need, right here.” He started showing off the place, cookbooks and gadgets, stores and dishes.

  “Wow, look at your spice shelves! I don’t even know what half that stuff is.” Benj leaned slightly against him, getting a closer look.

  “Spices are the secret to life, cheri. Filé for gumbo. Cayenne and onion and achiote. Good stuff.”

  “Do you match your meals to people’s ailments?” Benj reached for a bottle, opened it, felt and sniffed at the spice before moving on to another.

  “Sometimes.” Jean hopped onto the counter. “See, your man? He needs things to soothe, to cool the heat in his blood. Then, when he tires—and he will; they all do—then we heat the blood.”

  Benj giggled softly. “Oh, that sounds kinky.”

  Jean hooted. “Ah, oui. The sex? She is very healing.” Not to mention plain fun.

  “That’s what Ralph told Brett. Well, that we had to have more.” Benj was blushing again.

  “It’s good for you both. Makes you close. Happy. Relaxed.” And made for pretty fantasies.

  Benj nodded, smiling down at the ground. “I haven’t slept that well in a long while.”

  “Well, tonight? When he’s exhausted and growling? Push him down and do it again.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. He was pretty relaxed last night. He doesn’t like being crowded when he’s tired and growly.”

  “But maybe he needs it, yes? Needs to be crowded.”

  “I suppose I can tell him it’s doctor’s orders.” Benj looked up, eyes twinkling. “So far this is my favorite thing about this place.”

  “What’s that, cher? The kitchen or the prescription for fucking?”

  “The second one, although your kitchen is pretty cool.”

  He chuckled, nodded in agreement. “Indeed it is. Now. You said you were going to town? Can I ride on your tail, please? I have steak and romaine to buy.”

  Chapter Four

  RALPH WHISTLED as he opened up the barn, turning on the lights and firing up the heater. It was just cold enough overnight that the barn wasn’t comfortable if you were going to be sitting. Brett wasn’t only going to be sitting, he was going to have his shirt off for the acupuncture and ultrasound therapy.

  Ralph was pretty s
ure Brett was only a minute or two behind him, so he only took enough time to check for messages as he sat on the edge of his desk, letting his leg swing casually.

  Brett stormed in, eyes flashing, cheeks red as fire. “What first?”

  Ralph chuckled. “You strip.”

  “What? You didn’t get a good enough look this morning?” The T-shirt came off, exposing a solid, athletic body.

  “You can leave your underwear on,” he told Brett. Man looked good naked, looked good half-naked and dressed.

  “There’s nothing wrong with my legs.” No, no, there wasn’t, although the ropy surgical scars covering the man’s shoulder were out of place.

  “Brett, I need to take your weight, your measurements, watch how you walk, etc. We heal the whole body here.” Lord, lord, this one was going to fight him every damned step of the way.

  Brett dropped his jeans without drama, kicked them over to the side. “Next?”

  Ralph picked up his clipboard, patient form already waiting to be filled out. “Step on the scale, please.”

  Brett followed instructions, lips tight, muscles tense and vibrating.

  “Two ten. Is that up or down since your last weigh-in?”

  “Down by twenty.”

  “And when was that last weigh-in?”

  “Before the surgery and shit. June.”

  “All right. Let’s get your measurements and body-fat index.” He grabbed the reader and the tape measure.

  There wasn’t a lot of fat on the man, just miles of lean muscle. Seven percent was about half what a baseball player averaged—closer to a skier, a cycler. Ah. Body building.

  “You still working out a lot, Brett?” There was a lot of stuff Brett could do to keep fit without hurting his shoulder, and a few things that could help strengthen those muscles specifically.

  “There’s nothing else to do.”

  “Nothing?” Ralph could think of a whole lot of things himself….

  “Man can’t watch TV twenty-four hours a day.”

  “We don’t have TV here, Brett.” He grinned and shook his head. “There’s books, taking walks, talking with your man. Making love to him.”

  “I suggest you keep your mind on your work and off Benj.” That was a clear threat, complete with tensing arms. “What I do with my free time is no one’s business.”

  Ralph let his eyebrows go up. The man sure was touchy when it came to his pretty lover. “While you’re here, your free time is my business, Brett. This place is the total package, from how much you sleep and how much you eat to how often you work out.”

  “Whatever. Next?” Brett’s nostrils flared, teeth grinding, and Ralph knew it was pure will that kept him still.

  “Up on the exam chair. I’m going to manipulate the shoulder, check out the damage by hand. Then I’m going to set you up on the ultrasound, work the area.”

  Watching Brett hop up on the table was like watching a panther stalk, lean and furious. “Sitting up or lying down?”

  “Sitting is good.”

  Ralph examined Brett’s shoulder, feeling the bones and muscles, the sinews and tendons, beneath the skin. There was scar tissue that would need to be broken up, but he’d seen worse problems and seen them overcome.

  “You did a good job messing your shoulder up, Brett, but it’s not insurmountable.”

  For the first time, Brett closed his eyes, the slightest bit of relief easing the muscular body.

  “You’ll need to work hard, and I don’t think you’ll ever be able to stop the stretching and loosening exercises, but I’m guessing that’ll incorporate easily into your workout routine.”

  He ran his hand over the warm skin of Brett’s shoulder again. “Okay, I want to set up the ultrasound on here, start working on this scarring. You’ll need to lie down on your front now.”

  Brett turned, settled. His lean back was covered in ink. White ink, just barely visible. White tigers.

  Ralph could no more have stopped his fingers from sliding over the tigers than he could have stopped breathing. It was fucking stunning. “This is something else, Brett.”

  “Thanks. I have a good artist. We were in school together.”

  Ralph hooked up the ultrasound. “This’ll be warm after a bit, but it shouldn’t hurt.”

  “Okay. Do I have to just lie here?”

  “Yep.” He grinned and grabbed a chair, turning it around and sitting a few inches from Brett. “It’ll give us a chance to discuss anything that’s bothering you.”

  One blond eyebrow rose. “Bothering me?”

  “Yep. Bothering you.”

  “You’re not serious.”

  “I’m deadly serious, Brett. You bottle everything up and push it down, and then you explode in anger. It’s not good for you.”

  “You’ve known me how long?” Brett closed his eyes, deep lines on his face.

  “Less than a day.” He reached out and touched one of the lines. “But it’s written all over your face.”

  Bright eyes flashed open, almost pinning him to the wall. “Why do you care? Your job—unless the team owner told me wrong—is to either say I’m fucked so they can cancel my contract or make the shoulder well enough to play another season without blowing out again. I’m a bitter, angry, unpleasant drunk who plays ball. There’s really not much else to know.”

  “Really? Nothing? Is that how your man would describe you? And I can’t help anyone if I don’t care about them, Brett. You’re here, you need help; that makes me care, makes me want to help. I’ve met Benj. He’s a very sweet guy, and I don’t believe he’d be with someone who was nothing more than a bitter, angry, unpleasant drunk.”

  Ralph knew well how being hurt and scared and pissed off built a shell around people. He’d had to crack more than one in his time here, where honestly he wasn’t just a physical therapist. He knew people.

  “Okay, I’m a bitter, angry, unpleasant drunk who’s good in bed.”

  Ralph laughed. “Tell me one nice thing about yourself, Brett.”

  “I’m really good in bed.”

  “So you claim.” Not that Ralph would mind if the man wanted to prove it. Brett was a lovely specimen of male. “So tell me one other good thing about yourself.”

  “My stats are good.”

  Stubborn ass.

  “One good thing that isn’t about sex and isn’t about the game, Brett. One good thing about you.”

  Brett almost smiled. “I’m not a cannibal.”

  Ralph laughed. Oh, stubborn and teasing. He imagined that was a deadly combination when Brett wasn’t so busy being an asshole.

  “You want to try one more?”

  “I didn’t kill Benj when he made me sit through all the Lord of the Rings movies.”

  “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He winked. “Are you going to give the psychologist this much trouble?”

  “More. I don’t like being fucked with.” Brett shifted, shoulders rolling, a faint wince crossing his face.

  Ralph glared. “I’m not fucking with you, Brett. I’m trying to help you. We all are. We’re on your side here. Not the team’s—yours.”

  He checked the readouts on the ultrasound machine and made sure the leads weren’t too hot against Brett’s skin. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, just uncomfortable. How much longer?”

  “Another ten minutes or so, and then we’ll move on to the acupuncture. Jean’ll be bringing by a snack around then.” Yeah, he was getting a little hungry, for a kiss or two as well as food.

  “Are you going to bitch and expect me to eat before you stick pins in me?”

  “Whether or not you eat will be up to Jean, but I’ll back him up a hundred percent. What have you got against eating, anyway?”

  “Nothing. I eat when I’m hungry. I don’t eat because the clock turns a certain hour. I’m hungry at night.”

  “Well, I imagine Jean will take that into account when he puts together your schedule, but I know for a fact you can’t do a good job with
your exercises on an empty stomach. I’m sorry, but that’s just the way it’s going to be. It would be easier for everyone—you, Jean, me, Benj—if you tried to accept the fact with a little grace.”

  The tanned cheeks flushed dark again. “You know, I’ve been an athlete—a successful fucking athlete—for a long goddamn time. The least you could do is pretend that my body is just that. Mine. And that maybe, just maybe, I’m not an utter moron.” Brett sat up a little, growling. “You call Johnson down at the trainers. You ask him if I missed one training session. If I ever gave him less than 110 percent.”

  “Nobody thinks you’re a moron, Brett. Not one fucking person here thinks that—a stubborn asshole, yes. A moron, no. But tell me this—have you tried everything you know to do and still aren’t getting what you need out of your arm? Because maybe we aren’t trying to take control or play with your mind or any other thing you think we’re trying to do. Maybe we’re only trying to get you healthy and back on that ball field.” He stood, looming over Brett and putting his hand on the man’s back. “Now lie still and let the ultrasound do its job.”

  “You forgot drunk and bitter.” Brett sighed, settled.

  Ralph snorted. “No, I didn’t forget.”

  He took his clipboard back to his desk and took a few breaths. He usually didn’t let the clients get to him. He usually didn’t let much get to him at all. Brett had gotten under his skin.

  Brett relaxed, breath easing up, the sorry bastard going from pissed off to dozing just like that.

  Ralph shook his head and glanced at his watch, setting his little timer so he wouldn’t forget to move Brett from the ultrasound to the acupuncture. His poor Jean had to meet up with the man today. Ralph pursed his lips, telling himself he didn’t need to be there to loom. His Jean could more than take care of himself.

  And was even pushier than Ralph was, in his own way.