"No surgery. First cast then brace plus physical therapy and then conditioning." The doctor rambled on. No surgery was a good thing, but he still had a long road ahead. 

The couple hadn't been to Christian's place yet. They'd gone straight from the airport to the hospital. Christian made a few calls, and the organization issued a statement on his behalf. As he spoke on the phone with his family, she called up her brother, putting the phone to her ear, she waited patiently for him to answer. 

"Do you know how early it is?" He groggily complained. 

"I do, and I wouldn't have called if it wasn't important."

"How bad is it? I saw it on SportsCenter." 

"He fractured it, but he doesn't need surgery." 

"And you're staying to take care of him?"

"I am. I know that you're not—"

"No. You should stay. I'll explain it to the guys."

After having a special, flexible cast placed, the two finally headed to Christian's apartment. Upon entering, Roosevelt took in how much homier it was than hers. Rich colors complimented by hardwood. With ease, she helped him to his room to sleep. The doctor had given him strong medication to deal with the injury. The script was for two weeks; Roosevelt was hoping to keep him off them as much as possible. The vast amount of addiction stories stemming for injury caused the woman to be cautious at every turn. 

Once he was fast asleep in bed, Roosevelt went to check on his food supplies. As she went through the kitchen, it was apparent that the bachelor did not cook often, granted he had all the pots, pans, and utensils, but next to no fresh food. She checked the time, it was now midmorning, so she'd be able to get supplies and start helping him recover. 

Quickly changing out of his game jersey, Roosevelt swiped a t-shirt and Brewers hoodie. She redid her hair up into a messy bun, grabbed his keys and a five-hour energy shot, her phone, and headed out. She also sent him a text, letting him know where she was heading.  

 Luckily, according to Apple Maps, a Whole Foods was a block or so away. Normally, she'd make a list, but he had nothing. Knocking back the five-hour energy and tossing it into a nearby garbage bin with precision, Roosevelt heavily sighed, but immediately felt the caffeine flood her system. 'it'll feel good til I crash.'

Upon entering Whole Foods, Roosevelt found herself mindlessly pushing the cart up and down aisles, grabbing her token items and what not. As she browsed the produce, she became glaringly aware that people were staring and/or watching her. At first, she thought it was her hair, but then she glanced down at the jacket. She'd grabbed Yelich's NL Series jacket that wasn't available to the general public. 

'Oh shit.' She spat to herself. 

Offering a small smile to those around her, she continued to choose fruit and vegetables til a voice broke the awkward silence. 

"Is he going to be okay?" A voice questioned. Turning, her caramel eyes landed on a young blonde boy. He couldn't have been older than 10. 

"You're his girlfriend, right? The one that ran onto the field?" The boy pressed with earnest. 

"Yes, yes I am." She paused and raised her voice so all the other nosy shoppers could hear her. "I'm actually here to help him get better. Now, I can't give guarantees, but he and are I gonna work on getting him ready by Spring Training."

"Really?!" The boy asked with a large smile. His mother came forward, gave an apologetic look, and made the boy move on. Surprisingly, as Roosevelt took in the crowd, not a single person had their phones out recording. She could get used to Wisconsin. Giving a small wave to everyone, she moved on with her shopping. 

Once she was done, she checked out, paid, and muscled the bags back to his apartment. As the door clicked shut behind her, his voice greeted her, "You're back?"

"That I am El captain. You hungry?" She hollered from the kitchen as she swiftly put the refrigerated items away and then moved on to the room temperature items. She didn't get an immediate reply and was able to get breakfast going. As she prepped the cantaloupe and strawberries, she found herself being hugged from behind. He was sneaky. Twisting to face him, Roosevelt took in her groggy boyfriend. His hair was messy, which was actually a turn on but now really wasn't the time. Easily, she gave him a soft kiss, but he responded much more passionate. 

Pulling back, she grabbed his face with both hands and murmured, "You need rest and food."

"But—" he began to whine.

"Not uh. I'm making you brunch and then we can talk fun time."

Grumbling, he headed to the couch. His apartment was open concept, just like hers—the kitchen and living room were connected. Flipping through the channels, Christian begrudgingly landed on the MLB Network. He needed to know what they were saying about him. 

"Yelich Out for Season" seemed to be the chosen headline. The network then showed the footage. He wasn't prepared for the angle that showed Roosevelt's look of horror; well to him, beautiful horror, if there was such a thing. The commentators were discussing how fast she'd run to him and how bad it looked when other trainer shoved her aside. 

'We can read her lips. She called the injury before they told him to get up. Should they have listened to her?' One questioned while earnestly watching the film.

'Absolutely. They could have further damaged his kneecap with all that movement.' The other replied with a small shake of the head. 

Christian turned to look over at her. She didn't sense him looking; Roosevelt kept on working about the kitchen. He regretted not listening to her. A part of him was also mad for not defending her. He'd find a way to make it up to her. 

The smells that drifted over caused him to close eyes. He couldn't recall the last home cooked meal. 

As she bustled, Roosevelt felt her wrist buzz—incoming from a 510 number. Alameda?

"Hello?" she answered with apprehension. 

"Hi, is this Roosevelt Olson?" an older man's voice asked in a very professional tone. 

"This is she." She confirmed. Her eyes meeting Christian's. 

"This is Billy Beane of the Oakland Athletics. I'm calling to inform you that you've been traded to the Milwaukee Brewers. Their organization will contact you to sort the details. Thank you for your hard work and good luck."

Before she could respond, he hung up.

"The actual fuck." She questioned with a confused expression. Her mind tried to flip back to the contract she had signed. 

There had been an obscure clause about placement and job opportunities, but that couldn't have amounted to being a trade option...or did the organization always intend to use her? How would Mattie or Chappy respond? 

'I just got Billy Beaned.' She murmured to herself as the scene with Brad Pitt and Jonah Hill replayed in her mind. 

"Babe?" 

"I've been traded." She announced with a slightly confused look.

"What?! To where? How is that even possible?" He felt himself slightly panic at the notion of her potentially leaving.

"To the Brewers. I'm now your coworker." He couldn't tell if she was happy or not, but he was greatly relieved. Now, he didn't have to beg her to stay. She'd be with him every step of recovery, spring training, and beyond.

"Well, right now, technically, you're my personal trainer." He teased with a small smile. 

"Ha. Ha." She deadpanned as she looked to be plating food. Shifting to move, Christian found himself being scolded, "Ah, ah. I'll bring to you." Her pointer finger wagged at him. 

"But—" 

"Rest. Just a little, okay?" She pleaded with tired eyes. Nodding, he gratefully took the plate she was handing him—piled high of fresh country potatoes, scrambled eggs, fruit medley, and bacon.

"Well, this looks delicious."

"Thanks. I can cook almost anything, but man, I cannot bake to save my life." She joked as she took a seat beside him, holding a plate of her own. 

He smirked at her, "I'll take a home cooked meal over baked goods any day." 

"Mmhmm." She returned as she consumed what was on her plate. 

He finished before her, as she seemed to have halted her consumption and was staring off into space. 

"Babe?" he asked with a concerned expression.

"I'm gonna have to sell my loft.... then box up my stuff." 

"Hey, I'll help with that. Don't worry about it. If anything, I say keep the NorCal place." He offered with an encouraging smile. 

"I appreciate it, but I need to deal with my consequences, and three different locations?" She placed her plate on the coffee table. 

"Which are directly related to me. Let me help. Not to be a dick, but I make way more than you do."

"Uh huh." She replied distractedly as her phone pinged. Her eyes slightly dilated at whatever she was reading.

"Trainer vs all-star?" He joked with a smirk. 

"Did you just get a $15 million offer from UA?" She rasped as she planted a rough kiss on his lips. 

Pulling back, he admitted, "I did not." 

Flashing a grin, she laughed, "I've got this."

"Congratulations babe. You deserve it."

"Well, I have an idea and hear me out."

"Oh?"

"We do the campaign together." 

"I'm in a cast." He deadpanned while giving jazz hands near the black cast.

"For two weeks and then a brace." She reasoned with a brief nod.

Chuckling at her persistence, he conceded, "if they're open to it." 

"I can't imagine then turning the counteroffer down."

"Unless, they just want the hottest woman on the planet to wear their swimwear..."

"Touché.'"