Playing Again: A Quick Snap Novella Read online

  Playing Again

  Anna Edwards

  Contents

  Playing Again

  Quote

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  The Quick Snap Novella Collection

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Anna Edwards

  About Anna Edwards

  Playing Again

  A Quick Snap Novella

  By Anna Edwards

  A Quick Snap Novella.

  Anna Edwards

  Copyright © 2020 by Anna Edwards

  https://authorannaedwards.com

  All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. All characters and storylines are the property of the author and your support and respect are appreciated. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover Design by Kari March Designs

  Editing by Tracy Roelle

  Proofreading by Sheena Taylor

  Published by Lady Boss Press, Inc

  You can’t blame gravity for falling in love.

  Albert Einstein

  Prologue

  Zeke

  I hate the San Francisco team more than mushrooms, and that’s saying something because mushrooms are the devil’s food—they’re grown in shit for God’s sake. How could anyone want to eat them?

  Anyway, back to the San Francisco team, I despise them. We have to beat them to reach the Super Bowl for the third year running, but we’re currently losing in the last quarter of the game. They’re nasty players and don’t deserve the honor of walking out onto the field at the most prestigious event in sport. I’ll do everything in my power to help my team, Seattle, beat them.

  I grew up here in the Emerald City—so-called because Seattle and its surrounding area are filled with greenery all year round, primarily due to an abundance of evergreens. If you cut me open, I’ll probably bleed green as well. So much of my history is here in this city. It’s one of the reasons I campaigned to play for this team rather than any other in the NFL.

  “Get your head in the game, Humphreys,” my coach shouts at me as I run past him and get into position, ready for a potential throw from our quarterback.

  We need a touchdown to win this game and are close to the end zone. The problem is we’ve not advanced very far since we took over possession of the ball. If we don’t get in at least ten yards this time, possession goes back to San Francisco, which will be disastrous. There won’t be enough time to get the ball back and into this position again.

  We’ve got some of the best players in a scrimmage, and our quarterback, Will Montgomery, is one of the most valuable players in the industry. Plus, with me on the outside as a receiver, we’ve got this.

  “Come on,” I cheer my team on, encouraging them as everyone gets into position, ready to play. “We can do this.”

  “Or you can just shut the fuck up, and roll over and die like you’re supposed to.”

  I’m shocked by the outburst from the defender watching over me. I don’t know why, though. I should expect it from Denton Blake. He’s been a thorn in my side ever since he joined San Francisco for an exorbitant contract.

  Denton’s a good player, but the dirtiest on the entire opposing team. He’s not afraid to go in for a tackle, even when he’s got no hope of getting the ball. At six foot three, we’re both of a similar height, although I’m leaner with stronger muscles. He’s stockier but just as quick as I am over a hundred yards, when he tries. He’d rather just take you out at the start so he doesn’t have to break into a sweat. I’ll be covered in bruises tomorrow from the hits I’ve already taken from him during the game. Will is likely to be the same. As the quarterback, he’s taken a lot this game and is looking weary.

  “Go to hell.” I shake my head not willing to entertain the taunts of a disgruntled defender.

  “Weak, just like the rest of your team. You can’t even come back at me with a good line.”

  “That’s because I’m not going to waste my energy on you. We’ve got a game to win.”

  “Loser,” Denton taunts again as I stick my middle finger up at him and walk away to take up my position.

  The referee blows the whistle for the play to begin, and the crowd screams for us to score. I hold my breath as I watch the ball being thrown into the center of the scrimmage. It takes a few seconds before I can see where it’s going as the players jostle back and forth. My eyes go wide as it’s sent out to Will. I instantly place ninety-five percent of my weight onto my front foot ready to run while waiting to see what he does with the ball. Will makes his decision…it comes my way. I take off toward where he’s thrown the ball and prepare a triangle shape with my hands, creating a pocket for it to land in safely. Leaping into the air, I catch the ball, bring it securely into my chest, and set off like lightning toward the end zone. My path is clear. All I have to do is run and dodge anyone who tries to get in my way. I can do this. I can hear the crowd screaming all around me.

  I’m tall for a wide receiver, which means combined with my fast speed my best bet is always just to run flat out straight. At this crucial moment, I’m not about to do anything different from what I know I’m good at. I accelerate quickly out of my invisible blocks with the end zone in sight. It gets closer and closer with each step.

  I have to duck out of the way of a couple of men from the San Francisco team as they throw themselves at me, desperately trying to stop my advance. It doesn’t work, and I reach my destination effortlessly and touchdown. I can’t wait to taunt Denton Blake. Who’s the loser now, Denton? I never get the chance, though. Before I know what’s happening, my legs are taken out from beneath me in an illegal tackle and a loud rip sounds through my left leg. Pain radiates from it, and I drop to the ground, screaming in agony. When I roll onto my side to identify what happened, I see the smirking face of Denton Blake looking back at me.

  “Your team may be in the Super Bowl final, but I’m not sure you’ll be playing with them.”

  The pain in my leg disappears as I see red and launch myself at Denton. The referee blows his whistle to stop us, and our teammates pull us apart when we start to trade punches between each other. I’m running on the adrenaline from just having scored the winning touchdown in our most important game of the season, but as I’m led from the field, the adrenaline dies, and the pain comes back. My left leg gives way, and I collapse to the ground, clutching my thigh.

  “Get a medic on here. Now!” Will shouts and gestures to the bench.

  The team doctor races over, his medical bag in hand. He takes one look at me, and I know it’s bad, especially when he calls for a stretcher, and I’m strapped to it.

  Once we get to the medical tent, I’m given oxygen, and a painkiller’s injected into my leg.

  Please let it be something simple.

  Please.

  I pray silently before allowing my spinning head and the darkness at the corners of my vision to claim me.

  Chapter 1

  Arabella

  Everything that could go wrong did this morning. It was one of those days—the one where you want wine by midday, preferably with a big bar of chocolate. I was going to have to settle for a plain cheese sandwich and t
he coffee I made when I started work at nine this morning that’s now cold. So much for a fantastic new job as the head of sports medicine doctor for the Seattle football team. It’s supposed to be the chance of a lifetime, but it’s hell on earth at the moment.

  My offices are beautiful, stunning in fact, with deep blues and whites on the walls, and they’re stocked with all the latest equipment and books on anatomy and muscular structure. It’s the clients who attended my clinic this morning that’ve been the issue. Fingers crossed my next one will be better. Surely he couldn’t be any worse than the last.

  Why are these men so stubborn when it comes to their injuries? All they have to do is follow my advice, and they’ll be back playing in no time at all. The last guy wasn’t even seriously injured, just a slight scratch on his leg, but with all the commotion he made, you’d think he was dying. He made me feel useless because I couldn’t wave a magic wand and fix him immediately. Seriously, the money these men are paid have turned a lot of them into temperamental fools. And don’t even get me started with superstitions. The same player freaked out because I wasn’t the usual doctor, and he didn’t know me. My presence was going to throw his entire routine off for the day, apparently. Bunch of idiots.

  I chuckle to myself as I bite down on my cheese sandwich. It’s my favorite cheddar variety, all the way from England. It’s delicious, but before I can take another bite, my intercom buzzes, and I press the button to answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Dr. Smith, sorry to bother you. Mr. Humphreys is here a little early, and he was asking if it would be all right for you to see him now?”

  Sighing, I wrap my cheese sandwich up and pop it back in my lunch box. “Give me a few minutes, and I’ll come out and get him.”

  “I’ll let him know.”

  Just as I enter the spacious private bathroom in my office to take a quick toilet break and refresh the not-so-sexy blue scrubs I wear for work, the door to my office opens, and Mr. Humphreys walks straight in. I’m about to moan about the rude intrusion when it dawns on me who he is.

  “Zeke!” I exclaim loudly at the man who comes to an abrupt stop when he sees me.

  My irritation instantly dissolves and is replaced with delight. Zeke and I were high school sweethearts, but like many couples, we lost contact when we went to college.

  “How are you?” I ask.

  He looks down at his leg and then back at me,

  “Arabella, I can’t believe it’s you. I’m not doing so good.” He smiles wryly.

  “I’m sorry. How did it happen? Was it in a game?”

  I pull out a chair for him to sit on. He does, and I can’t help but notice how he’s grown since the last time I saw him. He was always muscular, but it’s like his muscles have grown muscles of their own now. He looks good. I like his hair longer as well. The dreadlocks suit him, and the nose piercing—it’s hot.

  Arabella, you need to listen to what he’s saying and not drool over him like he’s a tub of chocolate ice-cream with broken up cookie sprinkles.

  Head in the game, girl, come on.

  “Yeah, it happened in the playoffs a couple weeks ago. The idiot who did it got suspended for the rest of the season and is likely to lose his contract. What are you doing here? Where’s Dr. Burrell, the other therapist?”

  Zeke sits down in the chair, and I notice his movement is really stiff. It’s obvious from the way he’s favoring his right leg while using a crutch to support his other side that his injury is to his left leg. I take a seat in my chair and open his medical records.

  “Dr. Burrell has taken early retirement. His wife’s health is deteriorating, and they want to celebrate what little time they may have left together. When I spoke to him yesterday, to confirm the handover details, he was packing before flying out for a European cruise today.”

  “He didn’t let me know.” Zeke’s eyebrows furrow deeply.

  Please, not him as well. I prepare myself to be told, yet again, I’ve thrown another player off their routine.

  “It was very last minute. I’ve been working with him at one of his clinics in the city, and he asked me to take on the job here. I jumped at the chance. It’s an amazing opportunity.” Or, so I thought until I discovered the clients are worse than a bunch of wimps in a room full of spiders.

  In my previous position, I ran a clinic for Dr. Burrell that focused mostly on minor sports injuries caused from running. I’ve really come into this job without any knowledge of football. I don’t watch it much, and it’s not my sport—I’m more into athletics, tennis and swimming. Damn, some of those swimmers are hot in their non-existent swimming trunks. What is going on with me? Ever since Zeke entered the room, I’ve turned into a lust filled idiot. It must be the fact I haven’t had anyone between my thighs, other than my gynecologist, in a long while.

  “I haven’t seen you in years.” Zeke smiles at me. It’s the first time he’s looked comfortable since entering the room. “It’s going to be strange with you being here, but I have to say you’re a lot better looking than Dr. Burrell. I like it.”

  “Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Humphreys.”

  “All I want is to get back on the field for the Super Bowl,” Zeke says with determination, but I can see a hint of sadness in his eyes.

  “I can imagine. How far away is it?”

  I really need to study football a bit more so I don’t seem totally ignorant of anything to do with the game. You don’t have to understand the rules of a sport to determine an injury, but it helps you build a good relationship with the client. I make a mental note to watch a couple of games over the weekend and learn a bit more about the sport and its players.

  “It’s in two weeks.” Zeke brings me back to the here and now.

  I look down at Dr. Burrell’s notes in front of me. They don’t make for great reading. Zeke was diagnosed with a stage two hamstring tear, which means he’s injured part of the muscle in his thigh. The notes also state that in Dr. Burrell’s opinion Zeke’s only just reached stage two of his recovery, so for the last two weeks he’s done nothing but rest and take ice baths.

  There are at least another six stages of recovery for a hamstring injury, and to progress through all of them in two weeks is going to require something of a miracle, or in other words, a lot of hard work and listening to me. The latter is not an ability demonstrated by the players I’ve seen so far today. But Zeke hasn’t run from the room yet, screaming about how I’m a curse to his daily routine because he can only pull his pants on correctly if he puts his left leg in first.

  My mind begins to wander again. Zeke and I didn’t go all the way in the bedroom department. We were still quite young when I knew him, but we did reach second base together. I know he’s pretty big down there. I feel myself lick my lips, and Zeke’s eyes follow my tongue. Is the old sexual attraction still there for him as well?

  Zeke leans forward in his chair and places his strong arms down on his toned thighs.

  “What’s the verdict, Dr. Smith?” He hesitates. “It is still Smith, isn’t it?” He winks, and I’m pretty sure my panties explode.

  “It is. I haven’t had time for relationships,” I confirm.

  It’s a shame I now have to burst the bubble of lust in the room. I take a moment to compose myself before continuing.

  “I’m not going to lie to you, Zeke. I don’t want to start off on the wrong foot, but it’s not looking good. Your progress has been slow. You’ve barely started on stage two exercises.”

  I can see Zeke’s shoulders deflate, and he closes his eyes briefly before he opens them wide, and his mocha colored hues capture my sapphire ones. I can’t look away from the desperation I can see there.

  “Dr. Burrell was slow. He took his time doing things. I was pain free a week ago, but he still insisted on rest and cold baths. I ignored him after the last time I saw him, and I’ve been doing some straight leg stretching and spent a little time on the rower. It feels much better already. I’m good to go for stage th
ree. Let me try, please.”

  I find it hard to listen to Zeke’s pleading. He’s always been into football. I remember watching him play a couple of times when he was younger. He got injured then, and it was horrible, watching the desperation in him to get back on the field. I quickly look over Dr. Burrell’s notes again to see if there’s any reason why he was making Zeke take things slowly. Many professional players can heal from an injury like this in just a few weeks because their bodies are temples of fitness. There doesn’t appear to be any explanation in the notes. I make a decision on how to proceed.

  “I’m going to put you through a mini fitness test. I want to check the injury using ultrasound and massage the area before I make a decision.”

  “Okay,” Zeke replies, but I can tell he’s not happy. “Look, I’m sure I just need some exercise, and I’ll be fine. Why don’t I start doing leg curls and some more straight legs exercises? I could try cross-training. I’m sure I just need to work on strengthening the muscle a bit more.”

  So much for Zeke being different from the other players. He thinks he knows best. Finally, my temper breaks—I’m not going to have this anymore.

  “Zeke Humphreys, I’ve trained long and hard to get the qualifications required to know what’s best for your body. Now, get up and walk in a straight line without the crutch. If you continue to try to tell me how to do my job, I’m going to get furious, and you don’t want to see that. I know you know what my temper can be like, and I’ve had at least eight years to develop it. Up!” I fold my arms across my chest and exhale deeply through my nostrils in the certain knowledge they’re probably flaring at the moment.