Home > Baseball Bride(3)

Baseball Bride(3)
Author: Penny Wylder

The Vulcan’s are one of those teams that plays off apparel and souvenirs, signed memorabilia and the franchise aspect of being an American league team. But the Silver Hawks focus more on the sport and the players, not just the money.

I send back a quick reply telling them I’d be interested in speaking about positions on their staff. Within minutes, I’m happily surprised to have a reply email with an interview request. They want to meet me as soon as possible.

Maybe my career isn’t over after all.

Dr. Benson was wrong. There are plenty of people out there can see what I’m capable of. I’m going to prove him wrong.

 

 

2

 

 

Gillian

 

 

“You start tomorrow.” Cal Bernstein, head director and lead doctor of Solum Rehabilitation Services, stands proudly from his seat, and reaches his arm across the desk to shake my hand.

“Thank you, sir,” I say, following his lead and standing. Taking a firm grip of his hand, I shake it.

“Wow, you’ve got quite the grip there,” he says, shaking his hand as if I hurt him. He’s smiling, and immediately I like the guy. He reminds me of my father.

My father always says a handshake is your first impression. Nothing else: not your clothes, not your smile, not the way you answer questions, but the way you grip a hand.

Setting his hands on his hips, he ticks his head towards the door. “How about I give you the tour? I can introduce you to some people, show you the different recovery rooms, help you get the lay of the land? Is that all right with you? You got time now?”

“Yeah, absolutely.” Running my hands down the front of my dress, I look down at my feet. “Heels okay? At the last facility I worked in, they didn’t allow any heels in the rooms, didn’t matter who you were or what you were there for.”

“You’re fine. Come on, I think you’re going to like it here. And let me say, we’re really happy to have you. I’ve seen your résumé, and I’ve spoken to some of the clients you’ve worked with, and I’m impressed, Ms. Sannow. It seems like this is perfect timing, for both of us.”

“Please, call me Gillian, or Gil.”

“All right, Gil.” Carl smiles, fanning his arm for me to walk out the door ahead of him.

He takes me through the front office and introduces me to some of the administrative staff who work there. Everyone seems really nice and relaxed; I notice the difference between this clinic and my old clinic immediately. It’s something I hadn’t noticed before, but here, looking at all the smiling faces, the easy manner in which Cal greets everyone, I realize my old clinic was bit stuffier, like people were always on guard. Everyone I meet seems to be truly happy to be here.

This is exactly what I’ve been looking for.

“Through here is our main gym where most of the rehabilitation takes place.” Carl pushes open one side of the double doors to a giant space. Every piece of athletic and physical therapy equipment you can imagine fills the room. There’s plenty of space for multiple clinicians to work with different patients in relative privacy. It makes my previous clinic look like a dump.

“Wow,” I say, in awe over the size and organization of the space.

“Yeah, I like this room too. And it’s not because I designed it.” He smiles teasingly as he crosses his arms over his chest proudly and looks out at the entire room. “We have a few private rooms in the back for more patients with more specific or intense injury recovery plans, or for the players who require more privacy. Obviously, everyone we treat here has different needs and our objective is to figure out the specific treatment for each patient. There’s no “one size fit all” approach at our clinic.”

“No, no, no,” a loud, deep voice cuts through air, and steals my attention. “You’re holding it all wrong. You need to choke up on the bat more, don’t puss out and grip it like it’s glass. Really get in there, hold it like it’s your cock. You ain’t afraid to squeeze that tight, are ya?”

“Fuck off, Daniels,” the young man says.

“Fine, do it your way, but you’d never hit one of my curve balls with a grip like that.”

The young player gives him a stink eye as the man he called Daniels moves around the room. He approaches another guy who’s currently throwing a ball at a target.

I’m watching him from the corner of my eye while Carl continues his tour, explaining each and every station we pass. I can’t look away from Daniels, but I’m trying like hell to stay focused and give Carl my full attention.

“Mm hm,” I casually say, half listening, catching only a word here or there. But that’s all right, it’s all I need. I already know what he’s going to say before he says it; I’m highly familiar with all the equipment here.

The man looks a little older than most of the players in here, maybe late twenties or early thirties. He’s currently adjusting the stance of a kid who was just pitching, and the kid doesn’t look happy about it.

And yet, as he gears up and throws his next pitch, he’s spot on. Daniels grins, flashing him a smirk. “See, told ya so,” he says as he turns his attention to—me.

He’s looking right at me. Shit, look away!

Too late.

He’s walking straight for us, his shark like stare causing my heart to jump in my chest. “Carl, what brings you out of your cave?” he asks, holding out his arms with a playful grin.

“Ryon Daniels, they finally gave you the okay start therapy?”

“Yes, sir, they did. And according to the doctor, my arm is bionic now, sooo. . .” He draws out the word as he flexes his bicep. Wincing, he rubs his shoulder and shakes his head. “Almost there, eighty percent I’d say.”

“Well, that’s where we come in, or more importantly, she comes in.” Carl holds out his hand in my direction. “Gillian Sannow, meet Ryon Daniels. Ryan Daniels, meet your new physical therapist, Gillian Sannow.”

Ryon Daniels. . . The name shoots around inside my head because it sounds familiar, and a few seconds of staring at his face, and it all clicks. I know exactly who he is. Hell, anybody who watches baseball would.

Ryon Daniels, number twelve, and the famous closer for the Silver Hawks. Well, he was the closer for the Silver Hawks. After back to back shut out games last season, he tore his rotator cuff in the ninth inning of the last playoff game to win the division series.

I honestly didn’t expect to ever see him back on a field, let alone this soon.

My eyes meet his and I instantly feel a shiver run up and down my body. His eye are even greener than they appear on television. His jaw is sharp, his cheekbones high, and the big almond shape of his eyes makes his pupils giant like pools.

I’m falling in, my entire body leaning slightly toward his as his eyes just pull on every fiber in my body.

“Gillian,” Ryon says, stretching out his hand. “I’ve actually heard a lot about you.”

Instantly, my defenses go up and I feel offended. “What is that supposed to mean?” I ask, my tone accusatory. After the accusations at my last job, I have no idea what sort of talk is floating around the rumor mill.

He looks at me oddly. “Uhm, nothing except that you know what you’re doing and you’ve helped out some buddies of mine.”

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