by Tara Wyatt
Dylan snorted. “Yep. From being the key word. So, what was the trade? Hope you got someone good.” He couldn’t hide the note of sarcasm that had crept into his voice.
Stokes hesitated, just a bit. “Cash considerations.”
Jesus. They hadn’t even gotten another player for him. Just a pile of money from the Longhorns. They were offloading him. Selling him like a used car past its prime.
“Great,” he muttered and then pushed up off the couch. Might as well start clearing out his shit. He grabbed his duffel bag and started stuffing the personal items—T-shirts, shorts, his shaving bag, spare cleats—from his locker into it.
“You had a good run here in San Diego,” said Stokes, clearly feeling awkward. “We wish you all the best.” He held out his hand, and Dylan forced himself to shake it. Stokes paused, looking like he wanted to say more, but then shook his head and left, the heavy metal door clanging shut behind him. A roar erupted through the stadium—Dylan could feel the rumble of it through the floor. He glanced up at the flat screen TV mounted to one of the walls, tuned to Fox Sports San Diego. The kid had just hit a home run.
Alone in the clubhouse, he sank down onto the bench in front of his locker and dropped his head into his hands. He felt like everything was crumbling, falling apart around him. It had all started with that knee injury last year. If only he hadn’t tried to steal second. He’d slid into the base feet first, and his cleat had caught the leg of the defending second baseman. His knee had bent in a way knees aren’t supposed to bend; he’d felt a pop, and that was it. Season over. But the bad luck had continued. He’d had a rough rehab, and healing had taken longer than expected. He’d struggled through spring training, and now the Padres were done with him. Not only that, but he was being sent to Dallas, the one city he’d give his left nut to avoid. Plus, the Longhorns sucked, so he could kiss any postseason hopes goodbye.
“Fuck.” He spit the word out and then finished clearing out his locker. As much as he didn’t want to go to Dallas, he didn’t have a choice. All that mattered was getting his career back on track. If this was what he needed to do, so be it. He could be a big boy and suck it up.
He knew he’d be expected in Dallas by tomorrow, so he decided to grab a quick shower before heading to the airport. He’d have to arrange for his stuff to be sent once he had a place to actually send it. Slowly, he unbuttoned the front of his Padres jersey, taking it off for the last time.
The patio of Hazelwood’s Bar and Grill was crowded, filled with tourists and locals alike enjoying the warm April sunshine. Umbrellas flapped gently in the breeze, upbeat country music playing through the speakers. It was a Friday afternoon, just after four, and it felt as if the entire population of Dallas had decided it was happy hour.
“So I look over, and the boy is snoring. Fell dead asleep during the movie.” Aubrey Norris rolled her eyes and laughed.
“That has got to be the worst first date in the history of bad first dates,” said Maggie, taking a sip of her margarita.
Aubrey scoffed and took a sip of her own drink. “Girl, you should talk. What about that guy who took off all of his clothes when you went to go get your purse—before you’d gone out?”
Maggie wrinkled her nose, remembering. “Oh, yeah. Brent. He was gross.”
“And what about that guy who Naired his balls before your date, giving you an allergic reaction when you got busy?” asked Jess Cunningham.
“In my defense, that was not a first date, thankyouverymuch, and Steven didn’t know I was allergic to Nair.”
“Please, we can’t forget the guy who brought his mom, dad, and sister to dinner,” chimed in Laurel Whitby.
“Jason. Yeah. That was pretty bad,” Maggie admitted. “But still. Aubrey’s dude fell asleep during the movie.”
“Because he’s a doctor who’d spent the past seventy-two hours on-call,” Aubrey said, arching one meticulously groomed eyebrow.
Maggie threw her hands up in defeat. “Fine. You win. I have the most bad first dates.”
“I think you have the most first dates period,” said Jess.
“Hey, ain’t nothing wrong with being picky.” Maggie snagged a tortilla chip and dragged it through the guacamole in the center of their table. She felt her cheeks heat a little and held her hand in front of her mouth as she chewed. Thankfully, Aubrey changed the subject to work, something they talked about often. Aubrey was a color commentator for NBC Sports Dallas, and covered all the Longhorns games. Jess and Laurel both worked for the Longhorns, along with Maggie, which was how the four of them had met and become friends. Jess was the social media guru, managing the team’s online presence and connecting with fans, while Laurel was the team’s marketing coordinator. Maggie was the manager of media relations, dealing with all things PR-related, as well as making sure the relationship between the team and the media stayed positive. Given that the Longhorns’ star player, Hunter Blake, was also the MLB’s resident bad boy and son of beloved Hall of Famer Garrison Blake, she often had her hands full.
But hard work was something Maggie was very used to. Not just used to—she thrived on it. She’d busted her ass as a teenager to save enough money for community college and had worked tirelessly in every job she’d had since. She’d earned every promotion, every accolade, every pay bump. It hadn’t come easy, but things worth having rarely do, she’d learned.
“I meant to ask you, are you coming to the gala tomorrow night?” Jess asked Aubrey.
Aubrey shook her head, her short, dark brown hair catching the sunlight. “No, I’ll be working, but have a glass of champagne for me. Are you bringing your new girlfriend?”
“Sure am. I’m excited for y’all to meet Aly.”
“I will be so glad when this gala is over,” said Laurel, adjusting her sunglasses. As the marketing coordinator, she’d had a lot on her plate getting the team’s annual charity gala organized. Promotional materials, making sure the players would be there, monitoring ticket sales, and coordinating everything from catering to table arrangements. It was no wonder Laurel was ready to be done with the event. “Are you bringing anyone?” she asked Maggie.
She shook her head. “Nah. I mean, it’s a work thing, so I’d rather just focus on that.” And that was true, but there was more to it than that. Lately, she’d been struggling to muster up the enthusiasm to date at all, and she wasn’t even sure why. At twenty-eight, her friends were all settling down, getting married, talking about babies. And she wanted that too, but every guy she met just…just wasn’t the one. She didn’t know how else to explain it.
“You better be careful, or you’ll never knock the cobwebs loose,” said Laurel.
Maggie frowned. “Cobwebs?”
“The ones covering the entrance to your vajayjay,” said Aubrey.
“Oh, ha ha. Very funny.” Maggie stuck her tongue out, but she knew they were at least a little bit right. It had been a while since she’d last had sex. Mentally she counted back, grimacing when she realized it had been nearly six months. “There might be a few cute little dust bunnies, but definitely no cobwebs.”
“Only because your vibrator shakes them loose,” said Jess with a wink, and they all laughed. That was also true, given that the only action she’d seen recently was of the battery-powered kind.
“So, what are you wearing tomorrow night?” asked Jess.
Maggie whipped out her phone, once again grateful for the shift in topic. “I have a picture, hang on a sec.” She scrolled and found the image she’d saved of the dress she’d picked out. It was navy blue with an intricate pink and red floral pattern across the fabric. The bodice was slim-fitted, with an open back, while the skirt was full.
“Oooh, that’s so pretty!” said Laurel. “Where did you buy it?”
“I didn’t. I rented it.” The dress retailed for $600, but she’d been able to rent it for the weekend for $90. Even though money wasn’t as tight as it had been growing up, her mama’s frugality had been ingrained in her. It was just part of who she
was.
Maggie smiled and moved to slip her phone back in her purse when it vibrated in her hand. Because of the nature of her job, she was never really off duty, so she glanced at the screen. It was an organization-wide email with the subject heading “trade alert.” She opened it and everything inside her went very, very still as she read. The words all blurred together with only two standing out, branding themselves into her brain.
Dylan McCormick.
“Maggie? You okay?” asked Aubrey. She laid a hand on Maggie’s arm, and she jumped, her phone clattering onto the table.
“Oh, um…” She picked up her phone and noticed that her hand was trembling.
“Honey, what’s wrong?” asked Laurel.
Their phones buzzed, one after the other, as the same email came through. A silence fell over the table momentarily as they read.
“Oh, shit,” whispered Jess. She looked up, meeting Maggie’s eyes.
One night after a little too much wine, she’d told them all the story about her and Dylan. About how she’d fallen hard and fast for Ivy Hills’ golden boy, about how she’d given him her heart and her virginity, and how he’d left her in the dust, heartbroken. How his family had never accepted her, and he’d gone off to Vanderbilt and a life without her as if she’d meant nothing to him. How she’d felt like a complete fool. They’d all listened sympathetically, cursing his name along with her.
“That fucker,” said Aubrey, shaking her head, still looking down at her phone.
“I’m going to make sure he looks awful in all his promo spots,” said Laurel with a definitive nod.
“And I won’t delete any of the troll comments from posts about him,” said Jess.
Maggie took a breath and smoothed her hands over her skirt. “Y’all are sweet, but really, I’m okay,” she lied. She wasn’t okay. Not even a little. But here and now wasn’t the time to unpack everything. “It was a long time ago.”
“Boy, it’s a good thing you never wanted to be an actress,” said Aubrey, smiling sympathetically. “You wanna talk about it?”
Maggie shook her head. “No. Really, I’m okay. It was just a shock to see his name. I’m over it. Totally, completely over it.” She took a big swig of her margarita. In the back of her mind, she’d always known there was the tiniest possibility of this exact thing happening. Despite the way he’d broken her heart, she’d followed his career and had been aware of where he was and what he was doing. Given her job, it would’ve been impossible not to.
But being aware of him and working with him in person—they were two very different things, and she wasn’t sure how she was going to handle it. What would seeing him again be like? She shivered. She was both terrified and a tiny bit excited to find out.
She took another sip of her margarita, trying to drown that excitement. She forced herself to remember that rainy night when he’d broken her heart. The last words she’d ever said to him echoed through her brain.
Fuck you, Dylan McCormick. I hope I never see you again.
Looked like her wish wasn’t being granted.
Two
Dylan had spent the past day learning just how true the saying “you can go back, but you can never go home again” was. He’d caught a flight from San Diego to Dallas, leaving behind his luxurious apartment with a view of the water for a room at the Ritz-Carlton on McKinney Ave, just a few blocks from Dell Park, where the Longhorns practiced and played. Even though the city’s landmarks were familiar, it didn’t feel welcoming. There wasn’t that pull of honey-colored nostalgia he’d been waiting for. No, home was what he’d left behind in San Diego, with his friends and women and marina-side neighborhood. Dallas…well, Dallas was full of memories, but that didn’t make it home.
After settling into his hotel, he’d met with the team brass—the president, the GM, the executive vice president, as well as his agent, Aerin—to sign the contracts and shoot the shit. By then, the official announcement had gone out, and he’d posed for official photos in his brand-new Longhorns jersey. Then he’d swung by the clubhouse before that evening’s game to meet his new teammates. That part hadn’t been so bad; in fact, they’d seemed happy to have him, which was a nice change from the tension in the Padres’ clubhouse. Exhausted, he’d headed back to his hotel room and ordered room service. He’d been told to take a day to settle in, but was instructed to show up at the team’s charity gala the following night, and then be at Dell for the team stretch the next morning. He’d make his debut Sunday afternoon.
The past twenty-four hours had felt like a whirlwind. He’d never been traded before. He didn’t like it. Not one fucking bit. He didn’t want to be in Dallas, but he had no choice but to make this work. There was no alternative.
And now, he wasn’t really in a party mood, but here he was, monkey suit on. Upbeat pop music played through the stadium’s speakers, floating up into the warm evening air. The field had been transformed into a gala, with large round tables covered in deep red table cloths spaced evenly across the makeshift floor covering the grass. Strings of lights hung above, melding with the soft blue and red lighting coming from the stadium’s spotlights. The huge screen displayed pictures of kids the Longhorn Foundation had helped. A silent auction was set up along the first and third baselines, and there was an area where guests could have a photo taken with their Longhorn of choice by home plate. Given that his trade only just been announced, no one had requested him, leaving him free to…do what, he wasn’t entirely sure.
He smoothed a hand down the front of his tux and accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. He wished it were beer or scotch, but in a pinch, it’d do. His father was a champagne connoisseur, which meant that Dylan typically avoided the stuff. A group of fans walked by and waved at him, and he forced himself to smile and wave back, even though he didn’t feel like smiling. He was tired and overwhelmed by the sudden change and dreading the inevitable meet-up with his father. His knee hurt. It was too damn hot to be wearing a tux. His bowtie was too tight.
“Jesus, don’t look so thrilled to be here,” said Hunter Blake, the team’s center fielder and best hitter. Even though he was a talented player, Blake was better known for his antics off the field. Antics that involved scantily clad models, motorcycles, too much tequila, and a general pattern of poor choices. Dylan had been expecting him to be a dick, and while he was a little rough around the edges, he seemed like a decent guy.
Dylan smiled ruefully and then rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Long couple days.”
“Yeah. Got traded here from Pittsburgh two years ago. Being traded fucking sucks.” He took a sip from his beer bottle and Dylan scowled at his own glass of champagne. “But you’ll like it here. It’s a good crew. Not a great April, but we’ll find our groove. And the new manager, Javier, he’s great. Good change from Buck Connors.”
Dylan tipped his head. “What was wrong with Connors?”
Hunter waved his hand. “Ach,” he said, making a scoffing sound. “Too old school. Never cared about playing to stats, the shift, small ball and manufacturing runs.”
“But you like Flores?”
“So far, yeah. He’s younger, fresher, hungry to prove himself and win. He’s a good guy. Knows the game inside and out, values his players.” At forty-three, he was one of the younger managers in the league, so his fresher approach wasn’t a total surprise. Dylan nodded, glad to hear Hunter approved of the team’s manager. “So, you worried? Coming over from the NL, I mean.” He knew exactly what Hunter meant. The Longhorns were in the American League, while the Padres were a National League team. Teams from opposing leagues rarely played each other, which meant Dylan was completely unfamiliar with the players in the AL. Especially the pitchers, which could make his hitting slump even harder to break out of.
He shrugged. “A little.”
A stunning brunette in her mid-thirties clapped him on the shoulder as she passed. “Don’t be. I’ve got you covered.” Then she held out her hand. “Abby Gossman, hitting coach.”
<
br /> Dylan couldn’t stop his eyebrows from creeping up his forehead. “So you’re the one I’ve heard so much about.” Abby Gossman’s hiring a few months ago had been big news. A former Olympian, she was now the first female coach in the MLB.
Abby tipped her head. “That would be me, yeah. Don’t worry. I’ll work with you, coach you through the different pitchers. We’ve got this.” She patted his shoulder and then wove her way through the crowd, her sparkly blue dress clinging to her athletic frame.
He exchanged a look with Hunter. “Well, damn.”
“No shit.” Knowing Hunter’s reputation with women, Dylan wanted to ask him a whole bunch of inappropriate questions, but he managed to hold himself back. Instead, he pointed at Hunter’s beer. “Where’d you get that?”
Hunter gestured to a little bar set up in the corner that Dylan hadn’t noticed. “Not happy with your bubbles, McCormick?”
Dylan shrugged and set his half empty glass down on a nearby table. “What can I say? I’m hard to please.” He started to move through the crowd, pausing to take a couple of pictures with fans as he went. The event was in full swing now, with people talking and laughing, drinks in hand. The crowd was definitely thicker than when he’d first arrived. He glanced up at the scoreboard to check the time. Another hour or so, and then he could leave. Frankly, sitting in his empty hotel room with the TV on and some pizza sounded a lot better than pretending he wanted to be here. At least then, he could ditch the tux.
He stepped up to the bar and ordered a beer, tipping the bartender generously.
“Well, I guess we should just get this over with,” came a female voice from behind him. Dylan frowned and turned, and then almost dropped his beer.
Maggie Jennings stood a few feet away, slender arms crossed over her chest. For a brief moment, Dylan wondered if his mind was playing tricks on him, if he was seeing the ghosts of his memories. But it was her, his Maggie, in the flesh. Damn, but the past ten years had been good to her. Her long, blond hair was draped over her shoulder in an artfully messy braid, her gray eyes sizing him up from beneath arched brows and thick lashes. Her features were more prominent now, her face slimmer, emphasizing her sharp cheekbones and delicately defined jaw. Her full lips were painted red and unsmiling. She wore a gorgeous dress that hugged her slim frame, showing off her subtle curves. The skirt was cut higher in the front, revealing her legs.
