by Tara Wyatt
“Yeah, I want to be with her,” he said, his voice raw.
“Then find another way,” said Dylan again. “Figure out what she needs and give it to her.”
Jake shook his head. “How can I? When I’m a player on the team and she’s the hitting coach? The circumstances are what brought us down, and they haven’t changed.”
Hunter clapped him on the shoulder. “Then find a way to change them.”
“How?”
Dylan shrugged. How convenient that these two apparent founts of wisdom had nothing concrete to give him when it came to getting Abby back into his life.
“You’re a smart guy, Landon. You’ll figure it out.”
Fifteen
They’d lost the first two games to the Astros, and Abby was pretty sure it was at least partly her fault, if not mostly. The team had struggled to connect with the ball and had made a couple of big defensive errors that had cost them runs. Not to mention that the Astros seemed to be able to hit anything and everything Nate and Connor had sent their way.
So, they were down by two games and they were probably going to lose the series. Normally, she would’ve been worked up about this, full of fiery competitive energy, but she had nothing. It was as though her emotional gas tank was completely empty and she was coasting on fumes at this point.
She cried in the shower over Jake. She cried into her pillow over Jake. She cried in her car. With every single second, she felt the loss of him, and instead of feeling easier and smaller, it just felt bigger and bigger. Consuming her with loss and regret and heartache.
She’d spent a lifetime sacrificing for the game she loved, but this one felt different.
This one felt like a mistake, but one she didn’t know how to fix.
She turned her key in the lock of her front door, stepped inside, and flicked on the lights. The silence of her house was comforting. At least here, she could cry in peace. She could mourn alone, any way she wanted to, instead of having to put on her game face for the team and pretend she wasn’t crumbling from the inside out.
Because she knew she’d never find anyone like Jake. Not if she looked for a million years. She’d never find someone who saw her the way he did, the real her, and who loved her for it. She’d never find someone as sexy and fun and sweet who gave her knee-buckling orgasms and who she could talk to for hours.
The thought made her throat hurt and her eyes sting. She didn’t want to find anyone else. She just wanted Jake. She wanted to feel his arms around her and smell the warm, foresty scent of his aftershave. She wanted to kiss him and talk to him and just be with him. And she could, if she gave up her entire life and decades of work. Simple as fucking pie.
She dumped her stuff by the front door, too weary to face carting it upstairs. With heavy feet, she shuffled into the kitchen and opened the fridge, surveying its contents. Her heart snagged at the sight of the six-pack of Shiner Bock Jake had left in her fridge…God, had that only been a week ago? It felt so much longer.
On second thought, she wasn’t hungry.
So, she grabbed her bag and headed upstairs. It was late, and she needed a shower and some sleep. Tomorrow, she had to focus on getting the guys back in the game at BP. She’d created the problem with the team’s chemistry; the least she could do was try to fix it as best she knew how. She needed to do her damn job. The job she was still lucky to have.
She didn’t feel lucky.
In her bedroom, the bed was unmade and her mind flashed back to the last time she’d been in it. Before she could stop herself, she picked up the pillow Jake had used, held it to her face and took a deep breath. It still smelled faintly like him, and she clutched it to her chest, breathing in the last remnants of him.
Hot tears spilled down her cheeks and onto the pillow, and she forced herself to put it down. This would get easier with time. It would. She had to believe that. She had to. The alternative was too painful to think about.
With a sigh, she padded into the den, staring at all of her softball memorabilia. Normally, it all evoked a sense of pride and accomplishment. And that was still there, but it was hard to find, buried underneath the heartache of everything she’d given up for it. How much happiness had she sacrificed for this game? She’d earned all of these accomplishments, but she’d paid for them too—with loneliness, with missing out on milestone experiences, with the jagged shards of what remained of her heart.
She headed into the bathroom and cranked the shower as hot as it would go. Then she stripped down, got in, and under the scalding hot spray cried for everything she’d lost. When the hot water started to cool, she got out and dried off, feeling completely wrung out. With the little remaining energy she had, she pulled on a T-shirt Jake had left behind and crawled into bed.
She’d made the right choice. She had to believe that, even if it felt like she was lying to herself.
As Yogi Berra had once said, it was like déjà vu all over again. Jake sat in the same seat at the same table in the same coffee shop with Aerin sitting across from him. He was due at the park soon for a team meeting, but Aerin had been able to squeeze him into her busy schedule, and so here he was.
He hadn’t been able to sleep last night. Hell, he’d barely slept at all the past couple of days, and it wasn’t because the team was down two games to none and was staring down the barrel of a postseason elimination. No, it had everything to do with Abby and how to get her back into his life. His brain hadn’t stopped since that night in the bar with Dylan and Hunter a couple of days ago.
Finally, somewhere around three this morning, he’d figured it all out, and the solution was so painfully obvious that he had no idea how he hadn’t seen it before.
Apparently Hunter wasn’t the only Longhorn who could claim the title of fucking idiot.
So, he’d texted Aerin, because he needed her help to put everything into motion. She’d texted him back at five in the morning, agreeing to meet in a few hours, much to his relief.
He didn’t know if his plan would work. He hoped it would. It was a Hail Mary play, but he was willing to risk it for Abby. He was willing to do anything for her. Anything. And he was about to prove it.
Aerin sipped her coffee and drummed her fingers on the table. “If this is what you want to do, then I can make it all happen, there’s no question there. I’ll make all the calls and pull all the strings I have, and I can spin the story to your advantage and to Abby’s, too. I just need to know that you’re sure. I can’t exactly undo this.”
Jake nodded, never having been more sure about anything in his life. “Yeah, I’m sure.” He shifted in his seat. “How would you spin it?” he asked, feeling protective of Abby. She’d already been through enough humiliation and heartache—the last thing he wanted was to subject her to more gossip.
Aerin smiled. “Who doesn’t love a love story? Believe me, when I’m done, the fans will be eating out of your hands and cheering you on.”
Jake forced himself to take a sip of his coffee, ignoring the way it curdled in his empty stomach. “Okay. As long as you’re able to undo some of the damage to her reputation, then I’m in. I’m all in.” As he spoke, he felt a weight lifting from him, the tension ebbing from his neck and shoulders. This was the right move. Granted, it was the only move, but it was the right one nonetheless.
Aerin shot him another smile and then reached into her tote bag, pulling out a leather folder. “First things first, sign here. This is your client agreement. It’s all your standard boilerplate.”
Jake skimmed his eyes down the page and then picked up the pen she’d set down on the table, scribbling his name on the highlighted line. Aerin took the contract and slipped it back into the folder, then produced another sheaf of papers. More contracts for what was to come, plus paperwork to be filled out, sometimes in double. He signed his name, again and again, feeling freer and more optimistic than he had in a long time with each stroke of the pen.
Just as his hand was starting to cramp, Aerin divided up the papers, h
anded him the ones that were his own personal copies and slid the rest into her folder. “I’ll set up a meeting with the team at the station within the next few days. You’ll be able to spend the off-season getting your sea legs.”
Jake smiled, because he was going to spend the off-season doing a lot of things, and they all—hopefully—involved Abby.
Silence hung in the air like heavy, thick smoke, acrid and nauseating.
They’d lost. The Longhorns were officially out of the playoffs, swept by the Astros three games to none. Their post season run was over before it had barely even started.
Abby sat in one of the swivel chairs in the clubhouse, staring at the floor, trying to find a way to be grateful for the season they’d had. They hadn’t been expected to make the playoffs this year at all, so the fact that they’d made it as far as they had should’ve been satisfying. And she knew that with some distance and some clarity, she’d see the season for the victory that it was and not the defeat that it felt like right now.
“This was my fault,” she said quietly, shaking her head. She’d caused tension and drama in the clubhouse and had created a major distraction just as the team needed to focus the most.
“No,” said Javi, laying a hand on her shoulder. “No. We got beat by a better team. They hit everything. Everything. We just weren’t there.” He jerked his thumb toward the players. “They’re grown men and professional athletes. If something as small as what happened with you can throw them off their games, they don’t deserve to be here.”
She knew Javi was trying to be comforting, but what had happened didn’t feel small. No, it felt fucking huge. She’d been humiliated, had almost lost her job, and had lost Jake in the process.
Definitely not small.
She managed to smile and nod and headed for her little cubby of an office to pack up the personal effects she’d want during the off season. Through the door, she could hear Javi giving his typical end of season speech.
“…stings, and I’m not going to pretend it doesn’t. We had a rocky start to the season, and the first few months were tough. But we rallied and found ourselves in a good position, all through our own making. Through sweat and hard work and grit and sacrifice. Obviously, the outcome is disappointing. Our goal was bigger than getting swept out in the first round. We came up short.
“During the off season, I want you all to take some time to reflect, both on what worked this year and what didn’t. I love this team, this group of guys, and I think with small changes and a big push, we could find ourselves in a real contender position next year. This year was just a taste of what I think is possible. I’m proud of every single person in this room.”
Abby turned over Javi’s words as she stuffed workout gear, notepads and other crap into her bag. He was right. This was only the beginning, and with enough hard work, determination and maybe a little luck, they’d be back here next fall. They had a good crew, and she was happy—thrilled, excited—to be part of a winning team who might have a real shot at something next year.
If only it hadn’t cost her Jake. She sucked in a breath, hoping it might loosen the tightness in her chest at the thought of him.
“Abby.”
She turned to find him standing in the doorway of her office, and her heart did a funny thing. It didn’t skip a beat; instead, it felt like it started again for the first time in days. Just because the sight of him, the feel of him only a few feet away, the sound of his voice jolted some life back into her. Her gaze flicked to the doorway and the clubhouse behind him, which was almost entirely empty now. There was no hanging around after a season ending loss. Everyone—Abby included—just wanted to go home to lick their wounds.
“Hey,” she managed, propping a hip against her desk. God, she hated that she’d hurt him. If she only had her own heart to worry about, she could handle that. But the fact that Jake was collateral damage? She was going to have a hard time living with that.
And even knowing that, she had to plant her feet on the ground, anchoring herself so she wouldn’t launch herself at him just so she could feel his arms around her again. But she wouldn’t do that. She’d been selfish enough already.
“I need to talk to you,” he said, a bright intensity shining in his gorgeous eyes. “Meet me out on the field in ten?”
She frowned, her eyebrows knitting together. “Yeah. Sure.” Emotions swirled together—worry and fear, and worst of all, a tentative kind of hope she’d be a fool to entertain. So she squashed it down, refusing to let it take root and blossom into something she’d just have to rip out by its roots later anyway.
Not that knowing that stopped her from spending the next ten minutes speculating about what he needed to talk to her about. Maybe he wanted his T-shirt back. (Not going to happen, sorry not sorry). Maybe he was being the awesome guy she knew he was and checking in with her. (Fifty-fifty odds on that one). Or maybe it was something else altogether.
She peeked out of her office and into the empty clubhouse exactly eleven minutes later. Everyone had mostly cleared out, save for a couple of guys hanging around and packing up their shit. Javi hadn’t let any media into the clubhouse tonight, promising that there’d be media availability tomorrow. She wasn’t sure if that included her or not. She hoped it didn’t because the last thing she wanted to do was face a reporter with a microphone and a camera in her face. She’d done her best to avoid the media since the elevator video had gone viral, but they’d been calling her, emailing her, trying to get her to do an interview to tell her side of the story. She never returned their messages. There was nothing to say, and the last thing she wanted to do was to dump more fuel onto the smoldering embers of the story.
As she walked through the empty tunnel that led to the dugout, her footsteps echoed off of the painted concrete, emphasizing how empty everything was. The clubhouse, the stadium. Her heart. She emerged into the dugout, and then stepped out onto the field. The stadium’s lights were still on, and a few employees moved through the seats high above, picking up discarded beer cans and popcorn bags.
She wrapped her arms around herself. The air had cooled noticeably, dropping somewhere into the fifties, and a typical October chill swirled around her. Above, clouds raced each other across the almost full moon, obliterating all but a small sliver of it. The air smelled like grass and chalk and rain.
Jake lay reclined on the grass between home plate and the pitcher’s mound, wearing a long-sleeved Henley and a pair of jeans. She let herself take half a second to admire the way the fabric pulled against his body, the easy, masculine grace with which he reclined. He was staring at a faraway spot somewhere in the outfield, his gaze unfocused. As she moved toward him, he pulled his eyes to her and sat up, resting his wrists on his bent knees.
She came to a stop in front of him, not knowing what came next. She noticed a plain manila folder on the grass beside him, the top of it fluttering open and shut, open and shut in the breeze. With a smile, he patted the grass beside him. She sat down, staring straight ahead as she pulled her fingers into the sleeves of her Longhorns hoodie, emblazoned with “Dallas Wants It More.”
Apparently not.
He shook his head. “You know, I’ve replayed this conversation in my mind like a hundred times, but now that you’re sitting here beside me, I don’t have the first clue where to start.” He pushed a hand through his hair and then let out a breath. “So I’m just gonna let you look at this. And then we’ll talk.” He reached for the folder beside him and handed it to her.
For a moment, she just stared at it, not sure what to think or what to feel. But she was a big girl. She could handle whatever was inside.
She flipped it open and she felt Jake shift a bit closer. On the top page was the ever-familiar MLB logo, as well as the logo for the MLB Player’s Association. Her eyes skimmed down the page, and a few key words jumped out at her. Words like “years of service,” and “pension.” Her fingers were thick and clumsy around the edges of the folder, her thoughts completely frozen
.
“What is this?” she asked, her voice coming out in a breathy whisper. She knew what she thought it was, what she thought it might mean, but she needed to hear it from him, to be sure she understood before her heart got ahead of itself.
Jake took the folder from her and set it down between them, then took both of her hands in his, fishing them out of her sleeves. “Abby, I’m retiring. I didn’t think I was ready, but losing you made me realize what’s most important to me, and more than anything, I want to be with you. If I retire, it changes the circumstances. Our circumstances. I won’t be a player on your team anymore.”
She licked her lips, butterflies fluttering in her stomach. “But Jake, I can’t ask you to—”
“You’re not,” he said with a definitive shake of his head. “This was my decision. I’ve had an amazing run, but it’s time to walk away and start something new. Start something with you.”
She couldn’t catch her breath. She couldn’t find words. So she turned her face up to his, searching his features. There was no doubt, no hesitation, no resentment. Only hope and love shining out at her from his eyes.
“Jake, are you sure? Are you really, really sure?”
“Sure that I’d do anything to be with you? Hell, yes.”
She leaned forward and kissed him, a sweet, tender kiss full of love and relief and gratitude. She’d never be able to repay him for this, but she’d spend as long as it took trying to find a way.
“I can’t believe this is real,” she said, raising her hands and cupping his face, loving the familiar way his stubble bristled against her palms.
“Believe it, sweetheart,” he said, and kissed her, slowly and thoroughly. Heat radiated from her chest and throughout her body, chasing away the October chill, and she knew that that heat was joy.
