XXX CHAPTER 19 XXX

The Yankees came and went, taking all three games with them. It had always struck Emmett how quickly and thoroughly a losing streak can infect a winning team. The mood in the locker room was as low as Emmett had seen all season, and he was the man on the mound tonight against the Rangers.

Having denied himself not only Edward's inspirational quote du jour but also his companionship that morning, Emmett was edgier than ever by the time he sat down for Trey's pre-game care. The man's hands read Emmett's body like a Braille novel spilling its secrets.

"You're tight."

"I'm aware."

"Pain?"

"Not yet," Emmett answered between firmly gritted teeth.

Trey dug deep into the tissue, fighting the tension from the outside in. Emmett braced for one of his trainer's famous lectures but instead, Trey shifted gears, delivering his message in a tone that belonged on a cooking show. "Let's go to your happy place, Mac. C'mon, close your eyes for me. We're walking on the beach. Feel the sand in your toes?"

The guy was trying so hard, Emmett didn't have the heart to shut him down. "Sure."

"The waves are crashing over our feet, and we're looking out . . . way out at the horizon, where the water disappears into the sky."

"Are we holding hands?" He couldn't help himself, and Trey played right along.

"Whatever you need. Sure, we're holding hands."

Emmett cracked up, his little chuckle turning into a full-blown belly laugh. Soon, Trey was doubled over along with him, laughing until their eyes watered.

"Thanks, man. I really fucking needed that."

Trey mock-slapped him on the back. "You ruined a perfectly good visualization."

"I didn't ruin it; I made it better!"

"You're gonna be fine, Mac. Just remember your patience. And for the love of all that is holy, please try to keep your arm loose, and when it gets bad, let us know. It's early June; we still have a lot of baseball left. Nobody wants to see your fat ass on the bench."

Emmett's head whipped around. "My ass is fat now? I think you've been looking at too many fitness magazines."

"Get out of my chair and go win a baseball game."

"I'll try my hardest."

"That's exactly what I'm afraid of."

Nobody would say he didn't try his hardest, but it was clear from the get-go that tonight was not Emmett's night. An early fast ball got away from him for a home run, and after that, Emmett was a man on a mission—harder, faster, trickier. During inning breaks, he took an earful from the coaching staff, leaving the dugout resolved to take his time and trust his arm. Then he'd step on that mound, and all was forgotten again. He was letting down his team, his fans, and himself; the harder he fought, the worse he played. Nobody was surprised when Emmett was relieved in the sixth inning, leaving his team in a four-one hole to climb out of.

Trey was kind—and wise—enough to work out Emmett's kinks with his mouth shut. After the game, the guys filed into the locker room and doled out their mandatory slaps on the ass but steered clear of Emmett after that, leaving him to lick his wounds. He drove home in silence and bypassed the computer to collapse on his bed.

XXX

Slapping his alarm clock the next morning at 7:45, Emmett cursed himself for not canceling on Edward earlier; it was too late now. Running was the last thing he felt like doing, but figuring Edward was probably already on his way, Emmett decided to suck it up and get his "fat ass" down to the beach.

Rolling out of bed, he clutched his shoulder and let out a pained groan. On second thought, maybe he wasn't gonna suck it up. Edward would understand.

Slogging over to his phone, Emmett texted Edward: Not feeling it today. Sorry to cancel last minute.

No problem. Take it easy.

No drama, just the way Emmett liked it. Thanks, Coach.

"Argh!" What the hell was he gonna do with himself now? The pain was too intense to try going back to sleep, but waking up early just to lie around seemed a waste, too. Moving on autopilot, Emmett dug out the ingredients for an extra-green smoothie and checked his phone while the blender crushed everything to a fine pulp.

I was almost here, so I'm running anyway. I won't disturb you.

A dark laugh escaped Emmett. You disturb me plenty, Edward Cullen, and I've got the stats to prove it. But you already know that, don't you?

Data doesn't lie. There was life before Edward—one lousy call short of a perfect game—and life after Edward—a slow, terrifying freefall off a jagged cliff.

With a heavy sigh, Emmett poured his drink into a tall glass, grabbed his shades and his phone, and stepped out onto his balcony. Between sips, he drew the ocean air into his lungs and absorbed as much of the visual expanse of the water as he could from his little slice of the sky.

All the usual excuses lined up and knocked on the door to Emmett's conscience, waiting for the invitation to placate him, but Emmett was having none of that. Tired arm, sloppy fielding, bad calls, wah, wah, wah . . . one by one, Emmett shoved them off his balcony.

The beach was humming with early-morning joggers and families with young kids. He checked the time—8:25. Edward would be down there now, tightening his laces and stretching his calves, getting ready to run alone because his running partner was acting like a pussy. If he only knew the real reason keeping me away.

Emmett rolled his shoulder a few times, testing out the socket to see how bad it was. A few Advil and an ice pack might help. Yes, that was definitely one option for the next hour of his life . . .

"Fuck it!" Emmett turned from the railing and marched his sorry ass inside. Enough with the pity party! Ten minutes later, he was dressed and out the door.

Praying that Spock hadn't suddenly become unpredictable, Emmett set off on their usual route, taking off at his pre-Edward clip. Emmett soon caught the bounce of Edward's telltale blondish-reddish-brownish hair jogging about fifty yards ahead of him. He turned on the steam, closing the distance between them in no time.

Running up alongside Edward, Emmett fell into stride. "Hey."

Edward's shocked expression quickly melted into a smile. "Hi. What are you doing down here? I thought you were nursing your wounds."

"I changed my mind."

"You're not doing this on my account, I hope!"

"Not at all," Emmett answered. "I decided a run was exactly what I needed to shake myself out of my pissy mood."

Edward grinned. "Usually works for me."

With nothing further to say, they jogged along in silence, with the exception of the few fans who shouted out to Emmett along the way. Emmett relaxed into Edward's pace, kicking out his legs in front of him and enjoying the simple companionship of a friend at his elbow. His mind flashed back to the close quarters of the elevator car, how anxious Edward had seemed compared to this carefree man running next to him.

As they reached their usual turnaround, Edward asked, "Ready to head back?"

"No, I mean, if you have time, I'd like to push out a little further today."

"Sure. Say when, okay?"

Emmett angled his head toward Edward. "You could go for miles, couldn't you?"

"Yep. The sand makes it a little more challenging, but as long as I stay loose, it's pretty much like breathing for me."

"Ahh, staying loose." Emmett huffed. "The secret to life."

"Don't forget pacing."

"Right."

They jogged on for what probably amounted to another mile before Emmett signaled to turn back. "I wish I had my swim trunks," he said. "The ocean looks so inviting right now."

"We should do that sometime."

Their little jaunt on the beach was starting to feel an awful lot like Trey's guided meditation. All that was missing was the hand-holding. Emmett allowed himself a split-second to imagine it . . . slowing to a walk, letting his arm drop to his side, casually bumping into Edward's, then sliding his palm into place and curling his fingers around Edward's . . .

Edward's voice broke his reverie. "Never thought I'd hear myself say this to you, but I think you need to pick it up a little. You lost your rhythm there for a minute. Or are you getting tired? I know you had a rough night—"

"I'm fine."

Reading Emmett's mood, Edward quickly shifted off the topic of last night's game. "So . . . swimming? Yes, no?"

An inspired parade of tight, wet bathing suits marched through Emmett's head, but with so many delicious unknowns about Edward's body, he couldn't properly fill in the blanks. And now he was curious as hell what style Edward wore—something conservative, he guessed—but finding out could be so much fun. "Sounds good, but just so you know, I can't swim any significant distance, for obvious reasons."

"Of course! I get it."

"The ocean's good for my shoulder though. Trey will love you even more when I tell him."

Edward's smile stretched across his face. "I don't suppose he happens to be gay."

Of course, the trainer fantasy would fit hand-in-hand with the locker room fetish! Emmett did his best to quell the green-eyed monster who'd just reared his ugly head. "Not unless he's cheating on his girlfriend."

"Oh well."

Tell me about it. Trey was a living, breathing Ken doll, an unfortunate circumstance Emmett tried not to think about while he was stretched out naked on the guy's table getting his deep tissue massaged. With the breeziest tone Emmett could muster, he said, "Yeah, probably best to let that one go."

"Story of my life." Edward had mumbled so softly, Emmett wasn't sure the words were meant for his ears.

That didn't stop his response from rushing out. "Pshh, tell me about it."

"What?" Edward's head jerked around toward Emmett. "You?"

Oops. Going for nonchalant, Emmett tossed out a generic, "Don't we all have that one-who-got-away story?"

Edward was still looking at Emmett as if he'd sprouted a second head. "I wouldn't think you would have that problem. You could get anyone you want."

A warm tingle filled Emmett's cheeks, and he prayed his heated blush would be mistaken for exertion. "I'll keep that in mind, thank you."

Edward shook his head and laughed. "Sorry, that was awkward, wasn't it? I just . . . ugh!"

Emmett's heart rate was jumping all over the place, and he was having a hell of a time keeping any kind of tempo. Figuring Edward wouldn't be comfortable having this conversation face-to-face—and despite any self-preservation instincts that should have kicked in, Emmett definitely wanted to have this conversation—he sucked it up and continued running and chattering. "You obviously don't know me well enough yet."

Edward chuckled. "You're probably right."

"Dude, you weren't supposed to agree with that!"

"I didn't mean it the way you think!" He shook his head and moaned. "Maybe I'll just bury myself in this sand right here. You can dig me out in a week when my face turns back to its normal shade."

Off-balance Edward was out in full force, and every inch of Emmett's body was standing up to take notice. He had no right to press, but that wasn't about to stop Emmett McCarty from getting what he wanted. "So, what did you mean?"

I'm just giving the lad a chance to explain himself.

Edward faced forward while he gathered his thoughts. When he started talking again, Emmett detected a note of reluctance, or maybe it was fear. "At the risk of completely humiliating myself yet again, what I meant was I still have trouble seeing you clearly, you know, as a mortal being without the whole 'Big Mac' aspect getting in the way."

A clipped snicker escaped Emmett. "My recent outings on the mound should help with that."

"That's a blip," Edward answered dismissively.

These high expectations of his were not gonna help Emmett snap out of his explosive tendencies on the mound. "I'm quite mortal. Trust me."

"I know. I'm sorry for the whole hero worship thing. I'm just being honest."

Guilt burrowed deep inside Emmett's gut. If only he could be so devastatingly honest. Must be nice. "You don't have to apologize for any of that. It's flattering as hell—as grossly distorted as it is."

Edward snorted. "I shouldn't admit this, but there's still a huge part of me that pinches myself every time you show up."

Emmett turned to look at the man beside him. Poor Edward, bright red to the tips of his ears, gaze fixed on his feet. "I'm glad I showed up today, then."

Finally, Edward found the courage to meet Emmett's gaze. "Yeah, me too."

Author's Note: Ah...showing up. Speaking of which, I've showed up at the Twific Meetup in Philadelphia, and I'm here prancing among readers, writers, betas, and a whole lot of crazy! I won't get to your reviews before Sunday, but I will read and relish each one-trust me.

Emmett's beating himself up pretty hard, and I have a feeling some of you might jump on the bandwagon, too...but let's not forget he has everything to lose. Ah...ain't love grand? *wink*
XXX ~BOH