Well, that wasn’t quite true. Flat on his back with Holly riding him had been a pretty great position. So had been being on his knees behind her . . .

Somehow he survived the team meeting, listening to Gage talk about the upcoming game he wouldn’t be playing. Afterward, in the parking lot, Gage caught up with him and gave Pace a long look.

Ah, Christ. He braced himself. “What now?”

“You’re looking a little loose.”

Was he wearing a Just Been Laid sign? “Don’t worry, Dad, I used protection.”

“Goddammit.”

“Oh, and I also doubled up on the vitamins today, so all is good.”

Gage sighed.

“Don’t start. I’m having surgery tomorrow.”

Gage’s face filled with sympathy. “I know.”

Pace turned away, looking at the Santa Ynez Mountains, not seeing the peaks but his own bleak future. “I guess I just needed . . .” He shook his head and closed his eyes.

“Yeah.” Gage sighed and shook his head. “Forget it. There’s something else anyway.”

At the serious tone, Pace turned back to him, a little surprised to see the somber light in Gage’s eyes.

“You remember after Ty and Henry’s thing, the commissioner said they were going to randomly test some of us.”

“Yes.”

“Well, you’re up. When you go in for your pre-op workup later today, they’re drug testing you as well.”

Well, wasn’t that a nice cap on his day. “Fine.”

Gage lifted a brow. “Fine?”

“Well, it sucks, but I have nothing to hide.”

Gage let out a breath. “Okay then.”

“Did you think I did?”

“I know you’re in considerable pain all the time. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d been taking something to offset it.”

“Something that would show up on a drug test? Jesus, Skip.”

“Just checking.”

Pace knew his sport, knew the reputation it had, but with the new rulings in place, with a first-time offense for steroids being a fifty-game suspension, and a twenty-five game suspension for stimulants, people weren’t going to mess around with their careers.

At least he wasn’t.

“You’re not the only one being tested,” Gage said. “If that helps.”

At Gage’s tone, Pace looked over. “You worried?”

“When are you going to learn?” Gage let out a breath. “I’m always worried.”

Later that afternoon, the Heat headed to Baltimore, and for the first time, Pace was left behind. He was back at home gathering gear to go meet the kids at the park when his father called.

“Surgery tomorrow, right?”

Pace had e-mailed him last week to tell him the news, but that his father was actually calling to offer some sympathy was so far from the marine drill instructor’s usual tactic—which was to say something along the lines of “Suck it up and take it like a man”—that Pace was stunned.