Out of Left Field by Morgan Kearns

pushing her into the wall. His left arm slammed into the wall next to her head. He winced as he lifted his right arm and she mocked him with a grin.
    His eyes narrowed even further, the hazel becoming a muddy brown. “I am not a baby.”
    She’d pushed him as far as he would bend. She’d retreat in order to rally the troops for the battle to be won another day.
    His chest heaved and his skin burned her hands. She pushed against his pecs. He didn’t move.
    “ Xavier,” she soothed, “the band is the best—”
    “ I’m not—”
    Without thought her hand covered his mouth, cutting off yet another protest. His breath warmed her fingers, the puffs like blasts from a hair dryer.
    He grunted something against her hand. She shook her head. “No, I’m the doctor. I’m sorry you’re pissed off. I’m real sorry you got injured in the first place. Certain things must be done if you’re going to have a chance of returning to the diamond. That’s the goal, right?”
    His beard scratched her fingers as he nodded.
    “ Okay. We’re on the same page as far as that’s concerned.”
    His eyes softened, the animosity fading to annoyance.
    “ Look, X, your rehab is going to be brutal. You’re going to have to do things you don’t like. It’s going to be uncomfortable, sometimes downright painful. I’m here. Every step of the way. But I want to make it very clear—” She ducked under his arm and hurried over to retrieve the band. “—I won’t tolerate this pissy, childish attitude of yours.”
    His glower reappeared in a flash. He stomped away from her, every muscle primed and ready for attack. He turned, anchored his hands on his hips. “I’m not a child.”
    This seemed to be a thing with him. Baby. Child. Both words had completely set him off. She wondered what in his history made those so appalling. She watched as he shutdown in front of her very eyes.
    With band in hand, she approached him again.
    He retreated, eyes wary. “I’m not a child,” he said again.
    “ I know. I know.” She kept her voice soft and kind, hoping it didn’t sound condescending. This man had been injured by words and she desperately wanted to help him heal. “You’re not a baby, nor are you a child. And you are definitely not a chick.”
    He laughed slightly. The tension in his shoulders eased. He snatched the band from the hand at her side. “What do I have to do with this frickin’ thing?”
    As Frankie tied the resistance band to the doorknob and showed him the exercises he’d need to do, she couldn’t help but wonder about his reaction. She’d always known Xavier was a powerhouse, both on and off the diamond. His determination to be the best had followed him from his first stint with the Rockets through his entire career. Even now, with gritted teeth, he pushed through the exercises taxing his shoulder.
    Well, determination was her middle name. She liked puzzles and Xavier had just presented her a hell of a challenge.
     
    ***
     
    Xavier wanted to curse. He was a connoisseur of foul language.
    But as Frankie crossed her arms over her chest and watched him tug at the stupid band again, he couldn’t bring himself to cuss. At least, not verbally. His mind, on the other hand, came up with a slew of choice words, all one syllable, all containing four letters and, what do you know, every damned one of them ended with an exclamation point. A big ol’ middle finger to the world.
    His shoulder hurt like a bitch. Who’d have thought such an insignificant strip of girlie ass rubber could cause this kinda bone deep ache? Duh! Wasn’t that the damn point?
    “ That’s enough.” Frankie interceded with the tug and pull, taking hold of the extended plastic. “Let it go slowly.”
    He did. Then pulled it again.
    “ I said that’s enough.” She grabbed onto the band with both hands. “I’m the boss, remember?”
    “ Yeah, I remember.”
    She anticipated his release on the band, and jerked back just in time to miss the snap.