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Lacy shook her head. “They are, but I want to get an MRI to better evaluate any possible damage to surrounding ligaments, tendons, or cartilage.”

“You’re the boss.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you in pain?”

“Not really.” I patted my left arm gently. “It’s uncomfortable but not painful. The icing helps.”

“You usually fight me. Why aren’t you?”

I flashed my best smile. “Because I know that dislocating my non-throwing shoulder is kids’ stuff. I can still practice and play. Do your tests and tell the big bosses that I’m playing.” My hope was that my positive attitude would facilitate my desired outcome—being cleared to play.

“The shoulder needs rest. A minimum of a week of immobilization. That’s if we don’t find further damage.”

“Let’s get her done.”

CHAPTER 6

Vee

“Vee,” Jen said as I entered my outer office. “I wasn’t sure you’d be in today.”

“I’m sorry. I should have messaged you. We didn’t get home until morning.”

Her smile widened. “Fantastic game. Oh my gosh, Griffin Graham.” Her expression dimmed. “I bet you were scared.”

“Terrified.” I exhaled. “He’s doing better now. His shoulder was put back in the socket.”

“Do you need anything, coffee, lunch…”

“I’m good. After I take time to weed through emails, I’d like you to come talk to me about what’s happening in stadium operations.”

Her eyes widened. “Sure. I’ve been fielding calls and emails from the directors. Everyone is in hyper-mode after the Coopers won first seed.”

I nodded. “I’ve been watching, but I know you’re more in the loop than me. Give me thirty minutes and let’s put our heads together.”

“Sure thing.”

Walking into my office, I found a bouquet of amber-colored roses sitting on my conference table. I peeked my head back out of the doorway. “Who brought the roses?”

Jen looked up from her desk. “A delivery person. I didn’t read the card.” Her cheeks took on a rosy hue. “I thought it might be personal.”

After hanging up my coat and putting my leather bag in my desk drawer, I approached the flowers. A small envelope was held on a long plastic clip. On the outside it read: Maeve Hubbard. I pulled the envelope from the clip and opened the flap.

Inside the card read:

“Congratulations on a great season. You’re in the spotlight now. I hope you can handle what comes with that newfound fame. The truth will come out. Daddy isn’t here to stop it.”

I turned the card over.

No name.

Dropping the card, Fin’s protein muffins twisted in my stomach.

“Jen,” I called.

Within seconds, she appeared in the doorway.

Her expression morphed to concern. “Is everything okay?”