Getting Lucky (The Portland Pioneers Book 2) (23 page)

But Jack had seen the worst of Noah’s depression, right before he’d left for Sand Point, and Jack, content and in love, wanted the same things for everyone else he cared about.

“Shit happens,” Noah finally said. If he wasn’t going to talk about this with Jack, then he sure as hell wasn’t going to confide his feelings to
Cal
.

Cal gave a tight-lipped smile. “I hope you get what you’re looking for tomorrow.”

“I hope so too,” Noah replied but he kept his voice neutral. He knew it wasn’t going to happen. He didn’t feel all that different than he had at his last appointment.

Cal handed him the rubber mallet he had in his hand. “Jose just texted. He’ll be here shortly, but you might as well get started.”

Noah gripped the wood handle and glanced over at the cracked concrete slab that doubled as the patio.

“Just imagine it’s that pitcher’s head,” Cal said with a gruff laugh, as he walked back into the house.

Noah really hated Dr. Singh’s waiting room. It was all neutral pastels, tasteful decor and soothing music. He figured it must have been designed to make people with brain problems seem a little less broken, but its transparency just made him feel worse. Like he was really, truly fucked up.

“Mr. Fox, Dr. Singh is ready to see you now,” the receptionist said and Noah glanced up to see her smiling at him. She was young and pretty and he’d checked her ring finger on an earlier occasion and found it empty, but even with all her inviting glances and flirtatious smiles, he’d never felt even the slightest bit of interest. Apparently what it took for him now was flour on a cheek and an unimpressed attitude. Maybe his new sexual preferences were additional evidence of his brain damage.

Noah walked into Dr. Singh’s office, shutting the door behind him and taking a seat on one of the two extremely uncomfortable chairs that were arranged before the mahogany desk. Dr. Singh sat behind it, leaning forward on his elbows, fingers steepled as he regarded Noah intently.

Dr. Singh was young, probably not even forty, Noah figured, and had a no bullshit policy and a sense of humor that Noah had always appreciated. The latter made this chore a tiny step above sheer torture.

“Mr. Fox, long time no see,” he said, gaze never leaving Noah’s face.

“I’ve been busy, I guess. Bought a new house. Starting a major remodel,” Noah said, struggling not to feel guilty that he’d avoided so many of his calls. Because really, the new house had nothing to do with hitting ignore on his phone whenever it happened to be Dr. Singh calling.

“A new house. Very exciting.” Dr. Singh sounded like he knew what bullshit Noah’s excuse was, but he didn’t call him out on it. “How are you doing? Any better?”

“About the same, I guess.” Noah tried to sound as non-committal as possible.

“Headaches?” Dr. Singh asked.

“A few.”

Dr. Singh reclined in his chair, his expression all fond exasperation. “When you first started coming to see me, I couldn’t get you to stop telling me all about your symptoms. Now I can’t get you to talk. What gives, Mr. Fox?”

Noah knew exactly what his deal was. At first, he’d dredged up every single thought or feeling he’d had, every single symptom or twinge he’d felt that was out of the ordinary, with the crazy hope that Dr. Singh would laugh and wave them all away as if they were nothing. But they were never nothing, and now he came here with the full knowledge that if he
did
share, the only news he’d hear was bad.

“You realize,” Dr. Singh continued, “that there’s very little point in you coming here if you won’t tell me anything.”

He hadn’t wanted to come at all. He’d only made the appointment because he wasn’t willing to straight out lie to his best friend. But he couldn't exactly confess this to Dr. Singh, who was already annoyed that Noah had been dodging his calls.

“I feel the same, okay?” Noah retorted and hated the defensive edge in his tone. “Nothing’s changed. There wasn’t a point in coming to see you when I knew what you’d say.”

Dr. Singh continued to look thoughtful. “Do you even want to try to pass the protocol?”

“Will you tell the team if I don’t?” Noah asked, perfectly aware that Dr. Singh was required to send reports to the Pioneers organization about his progress. He understood, objectively, why that was the case. After all, they had a definite financial interest in his ability to play baseball again, but it still felt invasive and it still pissed him off. He and Dr. Singh had even argued about it, at first, but Noah had realized that it wasn’t Dr. Singh’s fault. He was just doing what he was required to do, but that didn’t mean Noah had to like it.

The doctor sighed, well aware that this was a retread of the many conversations they’d had about the issue. “You know I have to send them a report every time you come here, Noah.”

“And will that include a note that you asked me to take the protocol and I refused?”

“That would definitely be something they’d be interested in.”

“Then let’s get it over with,” Noah ground out, annoyed with the team, annoyed that Dr. Singh had taken all kinds of oaths, and annoyed that he’d walked into this voluntarily. He really should have known better. “I have a dinner with someone.”

Jack was already at their table when Noah walked into the dining room at the Met Grill and even though he’d been a walking thundercloud since failing the protocol yet again, just seeing the stupid grin of his best friend lifted the clouds enough that he didn’t feel like he’d start raining all over the damn table.

“Hey, stranger,” Jack said as Noah plopped into the opposite seat.

“You’re just strange,” Noah retorted with an answering smile.

“You look good. Better, even,” Jack observed, fingers picking at the label on his beer.

“Gee thanks. I didn’t realize I looked like such shit before.”

Jack shrugged and had the nerve to actually look
worried
. “You were pretty down there, for a while. But,” and his voice went all sly, “Sand Point seems to be agreeing with you.”

Noah opened his menu and tried to ignore the pointed question in that statement. No doubt the first of many,
many
pointed comments that would be flung his way throughout dinner tonight.

“Okay, we can play it that way too. All casual-like,” Jack laughed as he sipped his beer. “You were always were the king of casual.”

“I’m ignoring you,” Noah said. “King of casual, jesus. You’re so lame I’m embarrassed for Izzy.”

“Don’t bring Izzy into this,” Jack said, his voice going all sappy and sweet, like syrup.

“How’s she doing?” Noah asked, hoping the question would derail any potential Maggie interrogation for at least another ten minutes.

“Good. Really good.” Jack paused, and Noah looked up, disappointed and more than a little surprised that he’d only gotten three words from that question. “Actually, I wanted to ask your advice about something.”

“No,” Noah groaned, “you cannot ask the girl to marry you yet.”

Jack looked absolutely affronted. “Why the hell not?”

“Because you haven’t even been dating her officially for six months. At least ask her to move in with you first. I’m sure she’s practically living with you anyway.”

Jack appeared to be seriously considering this, then broke into a huge, face-splitting grin. “Actually, that was what I wanted to ask you about.”

“Thank god,” Noah said from behind his menu. “Here I thought you’d gone even crazier.”

“I mean I’m definitely going to marry that girl,” Jack continued as if Noah hadn’t said a word. “But you are right, it’s not even been six months. I don’t want to scare her off.”

“Yeah, because your general obnoxiousness wouldn’t have done that already.”

“Hey there. She totally adores me,” Jack said, so proud of this that Noah was reminded again of how Jack took his feelings by the balls and refused to ever be ashamed of them. That was really, really cool in his book and Noah had every intention of behaving in the same way, when he fell in love.
When
, Noah reminded himself. Not like he was in love now. Because that would be even crazier than Jack wanting to marry Izzy after less than six months of dating.

“So what’s the problem then?” Noah asked. “Just ask her to move in with you.”

It was only then Noah noticed Jack’s hesitation and sudden and immediate absorption in the daily specials card lying on the middle of the table. “What happened?” he demanded. “What did you do?”

“It’s confusing,” Jack said. “I don’t think I really understand it myself.”

Noah rolled his eyes. That wasn’t very hard to believe.

“She felt like she had to go home to her own place while I was in LA shooting the commercial, and I told her she was being stupid. She should have just stayed at my house.”

“You told her she was being stupid?” Noah raised an eyebrow at this. He knew Izzy pretty well and couldn’t imagine that she would have reacted well to that particular adjective.

“Well, she
was
being stupid,” Jack reasoned.

“Somehow I don’t think pointing that out helped your situation any.”

Jack just frowned, staring at his beer. “It didn’t, actually. And that wasn’t how I wanted to ask her to move in with me, in the middle of a fight, not that it was
really
a fight, more like a very polite disagreement.”

Noah burst out laughing. “I’m sure it was very polite. So what did she say when you asked her?”

“Uh. She said she’d have to think about it. Among other things.”

Noah was definitely chuckling now, just imagining the sneer in Izzy’s voice as she’d probably delivered that bit.

“You’d just insulted her,” Noah pointed out, “maybe that wasn’t the best opportunity to ask her to move in with you.”

“It was godawful timing, that’s for sure,” Jack moped.

“So what are you going to do?”

Jack shot Noah a disbelieving look. “The entirety of my plan was to ask
you
what I should do. You know I’m a total idiot with these things.”

“You seemed do okay before,” Noah observed. “I mean, she did fall in love with you.”

Jack continued to destroy the label on his beer. “Seriously, Foxy. She hasn’t texted me back once since I left.”

“Did you apologize?” Noah asked, because even though that might be a natural assumption, this
was
Jack Bennett. The same man who’d just said Izzy Dalton was
stupid
.

“Um.” Jack froze. “No. Not exactly.”

Noah was pretty certain his eyes rolled back into his skull. “Then, there you go. Not that difficult. You fuck up, you apologize.”

“I should be taking notes or something,” Jack said, all eager to learn. Which was what made him such a great baseball player. He was always down to better himself. And, Noah thought, what would probably make him a great husband for Izzy. Jack had none of the hangups or baggage that Noah himself carried. While he was pretty sure he could be good for someone right now—okay, for
Maggie
, right now—he wasn’t entirely certain if she would even want to saddle herself with a concussed ex-baseball player for the long term. All he knew was that he
wanted
her to want him, even if he was a mess. He just wanted Maggie,
period
. No matter what. No matter when.

Fuck—it didn’t even matter; he didn’t even know what he’d do with his life if he didn’t play baseball anymore. Probably just mope around the house and watch bad reality TV and become the king of cute kitten videos on Tumblr. On the other hand, Maggie was ridiculously driven and goal-oriented. She even owned her own business. Noah groaned inwardly and told himself to try to forget yet another failed concussion protocol.

He wasn’t going to fix that problem tonight. Tonight, he was supposed to be hanging out with his best friend who he hadn’t seen in over a month.

“I’m not like the jedi master of women or anything,” Noah grumbled.

“Speaking of women,” Jack said, eyes narrowing, and Noah knew he was in deep shit now. “I want to hear more about this Maggie.”

“She’s definitely a woman,” Noah said, though he hadn’t exactly gotten quite close enough to verify that for sure. But he was about 99.9% certain.