The Sweet Spot - Strike Zone Series Book 1

Chapter 3

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Chapter 3

Nate

      "I'm sorry, but it's your best option, Nathan. You've torn your meniscus and will have to have surgery. Once it's repaired, then we can work on physical therapy until it's healed completely." My doctor tells me. I was really hoping for better news. "It's not an overnight process, you know that. Healing from this is gonna take time."

     "But I can play, right? After the surgery, therapy, I'll play again?" I'm not getting the warm fuzzies here. I've heard too many times about guys with similar injuries that never play again. I've never had this kind of injury happen.

     This is my career, my future. I went to college and got my degree in business, but that's for later down the road, when I retire from the game. I've been playing in the MLB for only four years. I've got years ahead of me still. I had a plan, a path I've stayed on. That just got blown out of the water.

     It's not like I've gone crazy and blown through my money like some players do. I studied business finance for a reason. I've invested and saved for the just in case situation. I wasn't planning on it happening. I saved though, just like I was taught. But this is unreal, it can't be happening.

      He sighs at my question and scrubs his face. I usually like this doctor. He tells it like it is and I'm in and out, right back into the game. I've come here whenever I've needed physical therapy and I've liked the service. The staff is professional and friendly, but today all of this sucks!

     "You're done for the season, Nate. You might be back next season, but definitely not for this one. I won't be able to tell you more until after the surgery and we see how your recovery goes. I'm sorry, Nate, I know it's not what you wanted to hear. But it is what it is. Make an appointment for the surgery pre-op and we'll get started as soon as possible." He says, patting my shoulder sympathetically as he heads out of the exam room.

     Annoyed and beginning to rev up my temper, I grab the crutches. Angry over all of this, I furiously storm out. The hit, the time off, the surgery, nothing is going as planned. I've got practices, games, the World fucking Series. I don't have time to just sit and wait.   

     "God dammit! Watch where you're going!" I rage at the little female body that plows into me.

     It's the klutzy receptionist who ran into me. Stepping on my good foot and spilling hot coffee down the front of me. Burning through my shirt and soaking me, she looks up, deer in the headlights eyes staring into mine.

      "Oh, God! I am so sorry!" She drops her stuff on a nearby counter and grabs a bunch of paper towels. She quickly starts mopping up my shirt, my arms going down my body. Suddenly I feel my pants tighten around me from her touch. I don't want this, not right now and I push her hands off me. What is with these women just wanting to touch me all the time. I get it too many times when I go out.

     "Get your hands off me! If you weren't so damn clumsy this wouldn't have happened!" My voice vibrates through the narrow hallway.

     "I'm sorry but...You ran into me. I'm just trying to help." She says calmly, slowly, as she softly tries to reason with me as she would a raging bull.

     It hits me instantly who she is. I know that voice. I search at her face, my eyes narrow in, searching her features. That dark blonde hair is pulled up into a ponytail today. Those beautiful blue eyes look frightened by my outburst. Soft succulent lips are licked in a nervous gesture. It's a beautiful package wrapped up in a tight little body. She's got a fitted shirt and short skirt on and some very nice tan legs. I know her from somewhere but I can't place her.