Page 59 of Draft Pick
Right here and right now, it’s just Crew and me. Every thought about being seen or recognized together fails to exist. It has to when he admits the first real thing he’s ever felt about me. It was never just me who felt something different about him. He’s felt it all along, and I’m not sure what we do with that.
“Crew…”
“I know…bad idea, right?” he huffs, his confidence diminishing, and an uncanny shyness takes over.
“It’s probably not the best idea,” I admit, and it feels sour on my tongue. I’m his daughter’s doctor, and I’m elbow-deep in thedating scene while Crew works to figure out what’s next for him and Addie. MLB season is underway, along with traveling and his restaurant. His injury. It’s just all too much.
Starting something that would never last would be irresponsible for both of us.
He focuses on the brown ceramic mug in his hands, eyes tracking the swirling of the hot chocolate. “Yeah. Sorry for mentioning it. I just had to get it off my chest, I guess. I think these few days off are getting to me.” He attempts to laugh, but something inside me tells me it’s more than that.
I hope he isn’t embarrassed. He shouldn’t be. I find his courage to voice what he feels very brave. Everything about Crew Briggs is admirable, I’m discovering.
Without overthinking it, I reach for his hand and entwine his fingers with mine. It’s intimate and grounding, but no less than stripping on a bar is. “Sometimes, I wish the same.”
Sad eyes are replaced with a look of hope. Hope for what? I’m not sure. “Someday…” he stammers calmly. “Someday…we’ll both wish for something different.”
“Maybe so. And that’s okay.”
He has yet to look away from our conjoined hands, and neither have I. “We’ve got jobs to do.”
I nod. “We do. You’ve got a life to live.”
Crew smirks. “I’m working on the living it part. Trying to enjoy theright nowas much as I can. Doesn’t make it any easier when everyone around me is married, engaged, or having children. My life is backward.”
“Doesn’t make it any less right. Make your last season the best yet. Take care of that elbow.” I nod to the evidence, hinting that I noticed his discomfort earlier. “Advocate for your daughter in school. And run a damn good restaurant. Everything else will happen as it should.”
“You really believe that?” he asks.
“Wholeheartedly.”
Crew smiles, and just when I think he’ll get up and leave, he asks me, “Hey, you got any plans tonight?”
None at all, but I don’t say that. Don’t want to sound too desperate for company.
“I don’t think so, why?”
Letting go of my hand, he runs his thumb across his beard thoughtfully, the thickness of the dark hair sifting back and forth from the contact. “On Sunday nights, I usually check on Coach. Didn’t know if you wanted to join me? Addie’s with her mom, and I could use the company.”
That’s right. I remember the girls mentioning Crew being one of the only ones who does. He does routine wellness checks for Coach Leggins, and he’s inviting me to come with.
I do hesitate for a moment, unsure of why exactly I’m needed. Maybe he simply needs my medical advice, or maybe it’s more. “Sure. But can I ask if you’re inviting me because you think I can help him or because you just want me to be there? Totally fine either way, but I’m not sure I’m qualified to fix heartbreak.”
I have a list full of resources for Coach that I already emailed to Crew last week, but if he’s asking me to come to evaluate him for something else—no idea what that would be, since I’ve never met the guy—I’m not sure I’ll be much help.
“What?” he questions in dismay. “No. Juniper. That’s not what I meant. Fuck. I’m sorry. I should have clarified. I invited you because I like being around you. Maybe a little too much at times, but I want you to come as my friend.”
Oh.
“Oh. Well, yeah. Of course I’ll go as your friend, Crew. It’s the least I can do. Besides, I think it’s time I met the infamous Jack Leggins.”
“He’s not what he used to be, but you’ll see.”
I smile, pulling out a twenty from my pocket before Wynonna interrupts. “I know you are not about to insult me by dropping cash and dashing.”
“Figured you’d rather I do that than dine and dash, Mrs. Nonna,” I tease.
“Not when it comes to my people. You’re my people, fancy doctor. Get used to it. Should have stopped you from paying a long time ago, anyway. Besides, Crew already picked up everyone’s bills when he got here. So, either way”—she smiles proudly—“I’m paid.”
