Page 16

Eyes closed, head leaning against the back of the couch, I try to slow my thoughts. The heating pad on my shoulder is helping my muscles relax after a particularly intense workout today. I just need a heating pad for my brain.

As we creep closer to spring training, the burden of success weighs heavier and heavier on my shoulders. And not only because of the injured one. The Crowns could have a real shot at a World Series run this year, and I certainly don’t want to be the weak link that messes that up.

Which leads back to the injured shoulder. I know the baseball world is going to compare my every move this season to my previous success. Watching for any indication that I’m not what I used to be. Ready to over-analyze and dissect any sign of weakness, even though they already had that shot in the month I played for the Crowns’ farm team at the end of last season.

I want to be the post-injury success story. I want to beeverysuccess story. It’s what the sports world expects of me and what I expect from myself. I’ve trained everyone to expect success from me.

Except maybe Danae Collins.

She’s kept my thoughts running almost as much as the upcoming season. Sam came home from their lunch raving about how incredible Danae is, how thoughtful she was in getting to know Sam while alsobeing loving and attentive to Jason. Sam’s comments only added fuel to the fire—probably intentional on her part.

Sighing, I adjust the heating pad to center lower on my shoulder blade. I drop my head back again, pressing my thumb and forefinger to my closed eyes.

“Oh Griffie, I need you to drive me somewhere!” Sam singsongs.

“Do not call me that. You know this,” I rebuke her. She comes waltzing into my line of sight in the spacious living room. “Why do you need me to drive you? Is something wrong with your car? I can call Phil if we need to get it into the shop tomorrow.”

“No, no, don’t call your repair guy. My car’s fine. I just want the pleasure of your company,” Sam says.

“Okaaay, that’s suspicious,” I respond as I switch off the heating pad and stand up from the couch. “Where am I driving you, exactly?”

“You’re dropping me off at Danae’s house, so I can babysit Jason while she goes to book club,” Sam states, like this was obvious information.

I shoot her a look. She smirks.

“What if I have other things to do tonight?” I ask.

“I plan your calendar, dummy. I know you don’t have anything going on tonight other than brooding on the couch with your heating pad,” she retorts. “Let’s go!”

I start to protest. “Sam, don’t you think you’re being a little—”

“Are you going to stand there and honestly tell me that you’re not itching to talk to her again?” Sam cuts in. She sharpens her stare. “Honestly?”

I lose the staring contest. “At least give me a second to change,” I say, motioning to my joggers and Crowns t-shirt.

“You have ten minutes.”

I utilize all ten of those minutes. After changing into jeans and a long-sleeved Henley shirt, I head to the bathroom to touch up my hair. Giving my reflection a once-over in the mirror, I change my mind and throw on a plain ball cap. The downside of having a very recognizable haircut is that I tend to get, well, recognized. But it’s part of my image now, my brand as a player, so I’ve kept the same hairstyle for the pastfour years.

Maybe it’s time for a change?

I leave the question unanswered in my mind and join Sam in the entryway. “Ready?” I ask.

She scoffs. “Areyouready is the real question.”

Sam punches the address into my GPS and then proceeds to yammer the entire drive to Danae’s house. “I took one for the team and talked to Joe—AKA the world’s most annoying agent—this morning to double check your promotional schedule. Tomorrow you’re shooting that cereal commercial, and next week you have the photo shoot for the grocery store. A trainer will come over to our house for your sessions on the day of the photo shoot, but otherwise you’ll be at the training facility with the other guys.”

“And what exactly will you be doing with all your free time while I’m back in training full time? Trips to the spa?” I tease.

“Har har,” Sam fake laughs. “Just for that snide remark, maybe I will schedule daily trips to the spa instead of fielding all of your media inquiries, coordinating meals with your chef, and scheduling your appointments like usual. Itwouldsave me from any further phone calls with Joe.”

I reach over to flick her arm.

The GPS instructs me to pull into the parking lot of a large complex of townhomes. I slow the car to a crawl as I peer around looking for the right house number. “Do you see which one is hers?” I ask Sam. She eventually spots it and points me to a visitor parking space. I quickly scope out the area, relieved that the sidewalks are empty at the moment.

“You sure Danae isn’t going to think it’s totally weird that I came along to drop you off here?” I ask uncertainly as we walk up to the door.

“Oh, she’s definitely going to think it’s weird,” Sam states. I groan. “Just play it off with all your Griff charm,” she adds, ambiguously waving her hand in my general direction.