Page 54 of Draft Pick
“So, I guess that means you’re still considering retirement?”
I nod. “More than ever. This will be my last season with the Strikers.”
“How do you feel about that?”
I’ve never had anyone ask me that. Most people just write it off in discussion, assuming it’s because I’ve aged myself out. Which might be true, but I’m in shape. I take care of my body and eat right. Playing the game has never been a struggle until my injury. I’m confident that with therapy, even that can be sustainable.
“I have mixed feelings. The game has always been who I am. Before Addie was born, it’s all I had. Since I was a kid, all I knew was that I wanted to play baseball. There was never any other plan than that.”
“I’m so happy you got to do that. Not everyone can say they fulfilled their dreams.”
I appreciate the way Juniper views life. Like it’s fragile. Short. Fleeting. Because it is. That’s something I’ve realized more than ever this past year.
My eyes roam across the delicate features of her face. She doesn’t wear much makeup, aside from red lipstick when I’ve seen her dressed up. She doesn’t need it. Her cute glasses make her look put together without even trying. I can’t look away.
“Is that what you’re doing now, Doc? Fulfilling your dreams? Owning your own practice seems like a pretty big deal.”
Juniper looks to the side for a moment, lost in thought, before averting her eyes back to me. “I like to think so. Moving to Atlanta wasn’t the plan. It wasn’t inmyplans. I wanted to graduate from med school, complete my fellowship in pediatrics, then move somewhere tropical. Hawaii or Bali. Maybe even the coast of Greece. All I knew was I wanted to help people somewhere other than my own backyard.”
So, she’s got the travel bug…
I smile. “Last I checked, Atlanta is pretty far off from Nashville. I’d say you accomplished that.”
She tilts her head in bemusement. “Thank you, MapQuest, for your guided assurance. But seriously…” Another pause. “Growing up, I never really felt like I belonged. It’s such a weird thing to say out loud, but it was almost as if the physician delivered me and handed me to the wrong mother.”
I cock a brow. “What do you mean?”
“My parents are hoarders. Have been my entire life.”
“Oh.” That was the last thing I expected. “Were they good to you?”
Juniper blinks, blue eyes penetrating into me with an unreadable look. “They were. The best, actually. Though some might disagree. Then my mom lost her sister, and everything fell apart. That’s when the hoarding really started. I was around nine. They loved me well, but the grief became too much for her, and the hoarding took over to mask it, I guess. I’ll never really understand it all. My dad just kind of went along with her, and the concern for the condition I was then living in was an afterthought. I know it’s an illness, it just sucks it was never one they overcame.”
“I’m sorry they hurt you in that way, but I’m glad you still felt love despite it. So, is that why you moved here? To escape it all? Seems like you really did need a fresh start.”
She takes a sip of coffee before exhaling softly. “Mostly. All of the lead pediatric physician roles I applied for didn’t work out. Either the position was filled, or they felt I wasn’t a good fit for the job. My friend, Val, who’s an OBGYN in town, told me about Dr. Wolk’s retirement and felt I’d be a good fit. I put an offer in on the practice, and the rest is history.”
“And here you are.”
There’s something unspoken happening here. “Here I am.”
I almost reach for her, but stop myself at the vibration of her phone on the table. I glance down quickly, not missing the name connected to the message across the screen.
Nick
Can’t wait to meet you Friday night. Let’s do dinner beforehand. Your pick.
Juniper reacts quickly, reaching for the phone in an attempt to hide it. But it’s too late. What’s done is done, and whatever this reaction that stirs inside of me feels carnal. And severely unwarranted.
But then again…she also shouldn’t have reacted like it would upset me to see it. We’re both fucked.
“Hot date?” I speculate, unable to help myself.
She covers the screen with her hand before pulling back to respond. “I don’t know if I’d call mini golf hot, but sure.” I know the moment she presses send because her screen locks and her eyes lift to mine. “I’m trying.”
I wonder what she sees? Does she see how unsettled I feel inside? Like I’m teetering on state lines, in two places at once, trying to figure out where I want to be. Where I want to be kept.
“Is it serious?”
