Read Thrown by a Curve for Free Online

the next circuit. “You said so yourself.”
    She turned to face him. “And if you reinjure the shoulder, you’ll be back pulling ten pounds again, and you’ll miss the season. Is that what you want?”
    “No.”
    “All right, then.” She took him through the rest of the circuit, arguing with him the whole way about how much weight he could handle. She remained firm, refusing to allow him to press or lift any more weight than what was in her therapy plan, much to his irritation.
    “We’re done,” she finally said after an hour.
    “That’s it?”
    “A little while ago you wanted to be done.”
    He paused. “Well, that was earlier. I’ve got a second wind, and I can go longer.”
    “We’re finished. Now, I’ll stretch you. Go lie down.”
    “That’s not enough. We need to do more.”
    “It’s enough for now. I’ll give you a good stretch, and you’ll be begging me to leave you alone for the rest of the day.”
    “We’ll see.”
    Alicia gave him a sly smile.
    Garrett dragged his fingers through his hair and laid on his back on the padded table.
    Logically, Garrett knew how therapy worked. It was a slow, methodical process, and nothing changed dramatically the first day. But goddamn it, he expected miracles.
    He’d need a miracle in order to start pitching again. He was investing a lot in his decision to go with Alicia as his therapist. He hadn’t been blinded by her beauty or great body. He’d depended entirely on gut instinct and the way she’d talked to him.
    Now, as she loomed over him, he sucked in a breath and hoped for the best.
    “You ready for this?” she asked.
    He shrugged. “Sure.”
    She lifted his arm over his head, doing the basic stretches he was used to. Nothing hurt, but it always felt good to get stretched out after a therapy session. He closed his eyes and imagined himself on the mound, throwing a curveball to a batter, followed by the umpire signaling a strike.
    Yeah, that’s where he needed to put his focus, and if he had to ride Alicia hard to get her to push him, that’s where he’d—
    “Jesus Christ!” His eyes shot open when she bent his arm back, then to the side. Hot, stinging pain made his eyes water. “That fucking hurts.”
    “Take deep breaths,” she said, her voice soothing, as she did the same damn thing with his arm.
    He wasn’t a wimp, and he had a pretty high pain tolerance, but that shit was painful as hell. “What are you doing?”
    “Breaking up scar tissue. Pushing you to your limits. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
    “Yeah. But I thought—”
    “Shhh,” she said, taking his arm back in a pitcher’s rotation position. “Just breathe and try to relax through this.”
    “How long are you going to stretch me?”
    “About thirty minutes.”
    He could be dead in thirty minutes if she kept this up. He gritted his teeth and sucked it up like a man, trying not to moan when she kneeled beside him and, he was certain, pulled his shoulder right out of its socket.
    Okay, maybe he exaggerated, but it sure felt like she was twisting his shoulder into unnatural positions. And he didn’t like it.
    The room was getting hot, the pain more intense. Having something to bite down on wouldn’t hurt, either, because Alicia was relentless. And she wouldn’t stop. He needed just a one-fucking-minute break, so he could take a goddamn breath, but she went on and on and on until he was panting like he was about to give birth.
    “Tell me about the best game you ever pitched,” she asked as she worked on his arm.
    Momentarily distracted from the pain, he lifted his gaze to hers. “What?”
    “What was your best game?”
    He thought about it for a second. “Against Chicago. Tied in the ninth. I had pitched the whole game. Grueling back and forth. Coach wanted to pull me several times, thought I was getting tired, but he relented and let me stay in.” He winced when she drew his arm back for a long stretch.
    “Just take deep breaths,” she said, her