police officers, since there had been no repercussions for the cops involved. But that didn’t make him like it.
Shane shifted, pushing the plate away.
“Is there something wrong with the sandwich?” Trevor called from the doorway where he’d been standing for who knew how long.
“Just not hungry.”
“You need to keep up your strength.”
If he had a dollar for every time someone had said that these past three months, he could retire today. But he forced down a few more bites of the sandwich, shoved in the strawberries and gulped the milk, so his friend would take away the tray. As soon as Trevor left the room, Shane rolled his chair forward so he could grab the laptop again. This time with the computer balanced precariously on his lap, he glanced at the list of articles again, becoming more perturbed by the minute.
He was guilty of a lot of things, but he refused to take responsibility for someone else’s mistake. It wasn’t fair for Natalie to blame him for the chase. He planned to tell her so the next time he saw her.
“Come to think of it,” he whispered to the computer screen.
He began another search. There were a few things he needed to say to Natalie Keaton, and whether she realized it or not, she’d given him an easy way to do it. Sure, it might fall into a gray area where stalkers were concerned, but she was the one who’d volunteered where she would be tonight. He was only looking up the specifics. Still, he glanced over his shoulder to make sure Trevor wasn’t watching from the doorway.
Since there was only one youth wheelchair basketball league in the area, details weren’t tough to find. With just six teams in the league, all games were played at the same gymnasium. This was almost too easy.
He was just writing down the address on a notepad he kept on the end table when Trevor returned, this time empty-handed. Again, Shane shut the laptop.
“You know,” Trevor began, “we’re trained to pick up on when someone is hiding something.”
“It’s no big deal.”
“I’m sure, but just let me know if you’re conspiring for world domination or something.”
“Nothing like that.”
Was he really hunting for Natalie to give her a piece of his mind, or was he just looking for a way to see her outside the clinic? He chose not to answer that question.
“Maybe you’re searching for better home care,” Trevor said. “Free help tends to be subpar.”
“I couldn’t get better help if I paid top dollar for it.”
“Then what?”
The wheels in Shane’s mind were turning. His jaw tightened, the reality of his physical limitations battling his need for independence. There was no way he would be able to pull this off without help.
When Shane glanced over again, Trevor was watching him too closely.
“Just let me know what I can do to help.”
This time Shane grinned at him. “How do you feel about watching some basketball tonight?”
* * *
CHATTER AROUND NATALIE died down as she crouched in front of the excited group of boys and girls in Wakefield Elementary School’s new gymnasium, where the Livingston Community center team played all of its games. The players’ outlandishly expensive sports wheelchairs were pressed wheel to wheel for the team pep talk.
“Now, I don’t want any of you to get discouraged. We’ve had a rough season so far, but you’ve played your best, and you’re getting better all the time.” She made eye contact with each of her ten players, giving them her most encouraging smile. “Just go out there and have fun. If we win, we win. And if we lose, we’ll try again next week.”
“But it’s more fun to win,” ten-year-old Lucas chimed.
“Now, Lucas, remember, it’s more important that we learn to play as a team. The other part will come in time.”
“But when?” he whined.
She was beginning to wonder the same thing herself. Most of her players were returning from last season, and the team had finished last year without a single win. Lucas was her best player and hardest worker, so Natalie already knew that if individual efforts could have made a difference, they already would have won.
She leaned down to muss the boy’s mop of tawny hair. “We’ll get there.” She turned back to the whole team. “Now let’s go get ’em.”
“Go, Junior Cats!” they called out in unison.
She wasn’t sure from where they mustered their enthusiasm. These kids faced so many disappointments in their daily lives, from art classrooms with work tables too low for their wheelchairs to fit, to bouncy-house birthday parties to which they weren’t invited. The least she could do was give them a win here, where they were all on a level playing field.
“Yeah, go, Junior Cats! Hoot! Hoot!”
Natalie jerked, and not just because it was the loudest cheer she’d ever heard at a Cats game. A shiver of familiarity shimmied down her spine. But there was no reason for him to be there. She shook away the sensation as she started back to the coach’s bench, but the sound came again, as loud as before.
“Go, Junior Cats! Go, Cats!”
Finally, unable to resist, she turned toward the far end of the bleachers. Parked right next to the rows of seats, Shane grinned and waved at her. Lucas moved to center court for the tip-off, the other starters took their positions and the subs lined their chairs up next to the bench, but Natalie couldn’t move. What was Shane doing here in her life outside the clinic? He had to know that he’d just thrown her a boulder-size curveball as his smile widened. She didn’t recognize the man next to Shane, but even out of uniform, the guy practically had cop stamped on his forehead.
Somehow she managed to give a tight wave before turning to sit on the bench, hiding the heat rushing to her face.
Of course, she’d mentioned the game earlier, but she hadn’t given a time or location. Was she flattered that he’d tracked her down? If she had any instinct for self-preservation, his appearance should have given her the creeps. So why was her discomfort tinged with flutters of excitement?
“Go Coach Natalie!” he cheered this time.
If there was any question as to whether he’d come to see her, that last cheer removed all doubt. Her jaw tightened as resentments from what felt like another lifetime resurfaced as if uncovered by a careless backhoe. Why had Shane come here? He couldn’t know that this was a sensitive subject for her. He had no idea that he was the first person ever to attend one of her games. This was different, of course. She wasn’t even playing. Yet she was nervous and excited and oddly proud, just as she would have been had her mother shown up for even one of her games.
That he’d disturbed her private web of feelings, intricately tied with the fragile thread of buried hurts, only made her angrier. So mad that she missed the tip-off. Only the cheers of the children next to her brought her back.
“Let’s go, Junior Cats!” she called out, relieved that she hadn’t asked for more defense, particularly when one of her players was taking a shot. It bounced off the rim, closer than most of her team’s shots. Even so, she needed to get her head back in the game.
But she couldn’t resist one more look at her unexpected fan. Of course, Shane picked that same time to glance her way. Her face heated. Shane only lifted his arm in silent cheer.
Just for her.
Somehow she made it through to the end of the game, but only by forcing herself to ignore him through all four quarters and the halftime break. She ended the game the same way she’d started it, by encouraging her players.
“You guys played a great game.”