Page 32 of Beyond Protection

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Would there be a flush creeping up his throat yet? Or was it too early, before the day's tension had time to wind him tight?

Stop.

I opened my eyes. Gripped the dresser edge.

This wasn't helping. This was the opposite of helping.

I needed to train. Needed to feel like an athlete again, instead of someone whose body had apparently decided Eamon Price was more interesting than self-preservation.

I grabbed my shoes and headed downstairs before my imagination could get more specific about what that hoodie would look like pushed up past his navel.

Marcus and Eamon looked up when I hit the kitchen.

"Morning," Marcus said. "Sleep okay?"

"Fine. I need a gym."

Eamon's eyes tracked me as I crossed to the coffee pot. "We discussed the dangers of public venues."

"I need to train." I poured coffee. Black. Two sugars. "My body forgets too fast."

"Your body will remember."

"You don't know that." I sounded more confrontational than necessary. "The timing, the reaction speed, the muscle memory. When I lose a week, it takes a month to get it back."

Marcus cleared his throat. "There's a place near the station. Firefighter training facility. Keyed entry. No public access."

I turned. "A gym?"

"A secure gym," Eamon added. "No press. No cameras."

"I need a batting cage."

"We'll work on it."

"This is my career," I said. Quiet. Measured. It was the voice I used with umpires when I was one word from ejection. "Spring training starts in eight weeks. I have to be ready."

"You'll be ready."

"You can't promise that."

"We'll figure it out, one day at a time," Eamon said.

Marcus stood, grinning. "I'll give you two some space. The facility opens at seven. I'll text the code."

He left.

"I'm not trying to control you," Eamon said carefully. "I'm trying to keep you alive."

"I know."

"Do you?"

I stared at him. Shadows under his eyes matched mine. Tension in his jaw said he'd slept less than two hours.

"Yeah," I said. "I do."

"Okay."

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