Infinity(51)

I hold her for longer than I should. If Charlie were here, she’d admonish me that I’m spoiling her, and she shouldn’t be rocked to sleep. But, I’m her dad, right? Isn’t that what dads of baby girls are supposed to do—spoil them rotten?

My ribs scream in protest as I place her carefully in the crib, so as not to disturb my sleeping angel. Ignoring them, I lean over the bed railing to give her one more kiss.

By the time I hobble to the bottom of the stairs, I’m not sure that I can walk anymore. My leg is so swollen around the ankle that I can’t flex or point my foot. Instead of going to bed and snuggling with my wife, I make my way to the freezer and grab a package of frozen peas.

I limp back into our bedroom, and flop down on the sitting room couch that’s just recently been returned from storage. Propping my leg up on the armrest, I place the peas over the most tender part. I have to stifle a moan. The cold feels so good against the burning heat of my injury it borders on sexual. I grab the throw blanket from the arm of the couch, and cover myself with it as much as I can. Pancho makes himself comfortable on the ground next to me and begins to snore. It must be nice to feel that content.

As I drift off to sleep, I turn over in my head just how much more pain I can tolerate. I refuse to take the painkillers that they’ve prescribed to me for obvious reasons, but Aleve isn’t cutting it anymore. Blessedly, the ice dulls the pain enough that I can sleep, or maybe I’m just so worn out that I fall into a coma.





Chapter Eight




Charlie





“Put the baby down and let’s go,” I order Brad.

He’s holding Ainsley above his head and wiggling her back and forth.

“Guncle Brad loves you to pieces. Yes. He does. Yes he does.” Then he says it again. And again. And again.

I swear to God, if this baby’s first word is anywhere close to Guncle or Brad, I’ll smother him in his sleep, or Colin just might beat me to it.

He reluctantly hands Amy his goddaughter, and kisses her five more times on the head before he’ll even acknowledge my presence. He puts his hand on his hip, finally turning to me. “Come on, Doctor Buzz Kill. Let’s go fix bones.”

“If you can’t learn to leave in a timely manner, I’m going to stop letting you come over when we have to be somewhere.” I shrug my shoulders as I walk into the utility room to grab my purse.

“The patient’s unconscious. Don’t be such a Scrooge. It’s not my fault my goddaughter is ridiculously precious,” he hollers behind me.

I walk back through the living room and give Ainsley one more goodbye kiss. Amy works with her to wave “bye-bye” to us. It’s so cute because she opens and closes her hand in front of her face as if she’s waving to herself. My heart floods with love, and a strong desire not to leave her. I went back to work two months after she was born, but I’m still not used to telling her goodbye.

“Call me if you need me, Amy,” I instruct.

She kisses Ainsley’s cheek. “We’ll be just fine.”

Miguel and Jamie are waiting for us outside. The number of threats that Colin and I receive has gone up drastically since Dallas fell below a .500 record. Jamie started traveling with me exclusively at Colin’s request after we had the near kidnapping attempt. I shudder at the memory. I can’t believe how close some crazy got to our home. Our daughter. I was glad Colin waited until the guy had been arrested before he told me.

But, now that Colin has angry fans, Miguel has joined my security detail. When I demanded to see the specific threats, Colin’s face grew pale, and assured me that I did not need to. For once, I didn’t argue, and took his angst at face value. They’re bad, and probably directed toward Ainsley and me.

Brad and I slide into the back of the black Range Rover with limousine-tint on the back windows. Miguel drives, and Jamie takes the passenger seat. This has become such a part of my life that I no longer blink at being chauffeured, followed around my job, and not let out of the large mens’ sight.

Brad starts gushing about a new restaurant that he and Carter tried last night. Apparently, it’s the new place to go and be seen, so Colin and I will not touch it with a ten-foot pole.

“How’s Que Bee?” Brad asks as he turns towards me, adjusting his seat belt.

“Do you want to hear ‘fine,’ or do you want the real answer?” I ask, avoiding his gaze by looking out the window.

“Let’s go with the real answer for five hundred, Alex,” he quips, chuckling at his joke.

I look at him and decide to unload my worries on the best assistant in the world. “Physically, his ankle still swells after every game and most practices. He doesn’t complain, but I know that he’s hurting. He walks with a limp most nights.”