Unforgettable: A Small Town Second Chance Sports Romance

by Melanie Harlow

  “Tyler.” I took his face in my hands. “You deserve it. Do you hear me? You deserve to be loved the way I’m going to love you.”

  Then his mouth was crushing mine and we were pressed chest to chest, rolling sideways with our arms and legs tangled as we tried to get under each other’s skin. I reached low between us, sheathing his cock with my hand, desperate to feel him deep inside me, to let him take control, to show him I trusted him—and that he was safe with me.

  He left my side only for the twenty seconds it took to put a condom on, and then he was back, easing into my body. When he was buried deep, he stopped and looked down at me. “I don’t know what the second act of my life is going to look like, but I know you’re the best part of it.”

  My heart, already beating hard, threatened to burst right out of my chest. “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  Tell me again, I wanted to say, even as his mouth possessed mine once more and he began rocking into me with deep, steady strokes. Let me hear those words again, because they meant I didn’t have to be alone anymore. They meant the risk was worth it.

  They meant that finally I could say to myself . . . This is what it feels like to fall in love.

  The following morning, Tyler got up early. Like, it-was-still-dark-outside early.

  “You okay?” I asked as he pulled on sweats. I’d fallen asleep right after our round two in the middle of the night, so I had no idea if he’d been up all night or managed to get some rest.

  “Yeah. I’m just gonna go down and get a workout in.”

  I bit my lip. “Did you sleep?”

  “I slept some.”

  “Okay. I think I’ll sleep in a little more. I have to be at work late tonight for a wedding.”

  He came over and kissed my forehead. “Sleep as long as you want. I like you in my bed.”

  Wiggling my toes, I snuggled down deeper into the covers, and I didn’t wake up until I heard the door open and shut again. “Hey,” I said, stretching. “How was your workout?”

  “It was okay. A little sluggish.”

  “I bet.” I patted the spot next to me. “Why don’t you come back to bed?”

  He peeled off his shirt. “Because I am a sweaty fucking mess. I need a shower before I even get near you.”

  The sight of his bare chest and arms made my heart beat faster and my core muscles clench. “Okay, but hurry. Your muscles are doing things to my insides.”

  I caught a glimpse of his old grin as he walked naked to the bathroom, and I had to stop myself from following him in there. My phone was dead, so to distract myself, I grabbed the remote and turned on the television, flipping through channels and listening to the shower run. I watched about five minutes of one morning show and ten minutes of another, and I’d just switched to a local news channel when I heard Tyler’s name.

  And there we were onscreen.

  The clip of us hurrying out of the restaurant last night.

  Baseball’s Hottest Headcase Behaving Badly, read the chyron.

  “I asked Shaw several times if he wanted to comment for this story, but I can’t repeat his answer,” Bethany Bloomstar was saying in a voiceover. The camera cut to her, and I was shocked to see that she was standing on the grounds at Cloverleigh Farms, the inn clearly visible in the background behind her.

  “Now, do I have this right?” the news desk correspondent said, glancing at something in front of her. “Sources are saying he got belligerent when you approached him?”

  She nodded. “That’s right, Heather.”

  “And who’s the woman with him? Do we know anything about her?”

  “We do. Her name is April Sawyer.” She gestured toward the inn. “I’m here at Cloverleigh Farms, which is run by the Sawyer family. April Sawyer is the event planner here. Last week I interviewed April off the record, and she confirmed that she and Tyler Shaw are old friends, but I have to tell you, it definitely looks like more than that to me.”

  The bathroom door opened, and Tyler walked out with a towel around his waist. Quickly I snapped the television off.

  But not quickly enough.

  “What the fuck was that?” Tyler demanded.

  “It was nothing.” I hid the remote behind my back, under a pillow.

  He gave me the glare.

  “Okay, fine. It was that stupid Bethany Bloomstar,” I said.

  “Talking about you?”

  “Well, about both of us.” And because he looked like he might be thinking about going down to the TV station and taking someone’s head off with a fastball, I added, “It wasn’t anything bad. Just that we looked like more than friends.”

  He frowned. “That’s it?”

  “Um, there might have been something about you getting belligerent with her at the restaurant.”

  “Christ,” he muttered. “That wasn’t belligerent. I could show them belligerent. That wasn’t it.”

  I put my hands over my mouth.

  “Are you laughing at me?” he asked, shifting his weight to one foot.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, unable to stop myself. “But you’re standing there in a towel being belligerent, and I know it’s not supposed to be funny, but it is.”

  “Oh, that’s it. You’re in trouble now.” Ditching his towel, he launched himself onto the bed and came after me. Squealing, I did my best to scramble out of his reach, but he was much bigger and stronger, and had me pinned down on my stomach in seconds, his body flattened on top of mine.

  “How much trouble am I in?” I asked, gasping for breath. I felt the hard length of his cock against my ass.

  “A lot.” He bit the back of my neck.

  “A lot like you’re going to make me run sprints? Eat snails? Watch golf? All of which I hate, by the way.”

  “A lot like I’m going to spank you.”

  “What?” I shrieked.

  “You heard me. Now don’t move.” He let go of my arms and slid down on my body, straddling my thighs. “Damn, your ass is adorable. I can’t wait to put my handprints on it.”

  I gasped. “You wouldn’t!”

  His response was a great big slap across one cheek, which stung like crazy, although I liked when he put his palm over it and held it there for a moment.

  “Is that it?” I asked, panting.

  He laughed and spanked the other cheek just as hard, making me cry out—but not just from the pain. Not that it didn’t hurt—believe me, those massive hands were no joke—but it hurt in a way I liked, which surprised me.

  “Are you sorry for laughing now?” he asked, rubbing both his hands over my ass.

  “Yes!”

  “Are you lying to me?”

  I hesitated. “Yes.”

  He laughed again, but instead of delivering another spanking, he rubbed the tip of his cock over my stinging flesh. “I never knew about this naughty side of yours, April Sawyer. I like it.”

  “I don’t think it existed before you.”

  He reached beneath me and hitched up my hips, then grabbed a fistful of my hair, pulling it tight. “I like that even better.”

  “Come on, slowpoke,” I scolded him two hours later, watching him get dressed. “I’m going to be late for work.”

  “Okay, okay. I’m hurrying.” He sat down on the bed and pulled on his socks and shoes—first the left, then the right.

  I walked over to the mirror and fussed with my hair. Behind me I heard him laugh.

  “Hey, you’re walking kind of funny there.”

  Bending down, I picked up the pair of socks he’d been pitching at the mirror last night and lobbed them at his head—I missed.

  He laughed harder. “Remind me to teach you how to throw.”

  “Can you just hurry up please? And if I’m walking funny, it’s your fault. I probably won’t even be able to sit down today without pain.”

  “Sorry.”

  But I could see his face in the mirror, and that grin told me he wasn’t sorry at all. I didn’t even mind—it was good to see him laugh an
d smile.

  “Just give me one minute,” he said, rising to his feet. As he passed me on the way to the bathroom, he kissed my shoulder. “I wish you didn’t have to work today. I could spend all day in bed with you and be completely happy.”

  I turned and gave him a hug. “Do you feel better?”

  “Yes. I do.” He went into the bathroom and closed the door, and a minute later, he opened it and came out again.

  But first, I saw the strip of light at the bottom of the door flash on and off eight times.

  Nineteen

  April

  I thought about mentioning the light switch thing on the way home, but never seemed to find the right words. It worried me, though. Was he okay?

  He pulled up at my place and put the SUV in park. “Can I see you tonight?”

  “Sure. Want to come over after I’m done at work?”

  “Yes.” He yawned. “Sorry. I’m so fucking tired today.”

  “I know. And I’ll be late tonight,” I said apologetically. “Why don’t I give you my spare key, and you can wait for me here? That way, you can just fall asleep if you’re exhausted.”

  He shrugged. “Okay.”

  “Let’s do that. Then I won’t feel so bad. Give me a minute.” Getting out of the car, I hurried to the front door and let myself in, stepping over a pile of mail. I scooped it up and set it on the table before grabbing my spare key from a kitchen drawer and taking it back out to Tyler.

  “Thanks.” He tucked it into his pocket. “The team has a home game tonight, so I’ll head over after that.”

  “Perfect. I’ll text you and let you know what time to expect me.” I leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You okay, babe?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I’m sorry again about the Bethany Bloomstar thing.”

  He yawned again. “It’s okay. I’m more mad that she dragged your name into it. And Cloverleigh’s.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I bet no one even saw it.”

  He shook his head and gave me a look.

  “Okay, well, even if people did see it, the people who matter to us know the truth, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Hey.” I took his hand. “I can tell you’re upset. And I saw the light switching on and off eight times in the bathroom.”

  He shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just a thing I do sometimes. A habit.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Look, I’m tired, I’m not thinking straight, and my brain is all muddled. I promise—it was just a reflex. I’m okay. I’m going to go back to the hotel and take a nap.”

  “Good idea.” I leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  I went into the house, plugged in my phone, and headed upstairs to take a shower and get ready for work. When I came down an hour later, I had a ton of text messages—some from my sisters, one from my mom, a few from friends I hadn’t seen in a while. All of them were about the same thing: the news story about Tyler and me. Many of them had sent me the link to the online video.

  Knowing it was a bad idea, I clicked on it.

  “Few major league baseball careers have imploded as spectacularly as hometown hero Tyler Shaw’s.” Bethany Bloomstar’s voice accompanied a series of photos of Tyler, starting with one from high school, in which he appeared cocky and grinning.

  “A first-round draft pick right out of high school, Shaw rocketed to fame within a few years, making millions, breaking hearts, and winning game after game, thanks in large part to his phenomenal fastball and supreme confidence.” Now the photos showed Tyler in his San Diego uniform—on the mound looking fierce, signing autographs after a game, celebrating a win in the clubhouse.

  “But you know what they say—pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall—and Shaw’s fall from grace was huge, it was public, and it was enough to kill his career for good.” Video footage showed Tyler throwing wild pitches one after the other, sometimes hitting a batter, sometimes sailing wide, sometimes hitting the dirt just ten feet from the mound. I cringed with every throw, knowing how it was killing Tyler inside.

  “What caused Shaw to go from hero to head case was a phenomenon widely known as the yips, a sudden loss of ability in pro athletes. While it’s not well understood, most experts agree it’s not due to a physical problem—the issue is entirely in the athlete’s head.” A photo of Tyler sitting on the bench with his head in his hands put a lump in my throat.

  “Most of them never recover, and Tyler Shaw was no exception. His career tanked. His endorsement deals ended. His dreams shattered. Once famously charming, Shaw became reclusive and angry, refusing all interview requests. Within three years, he retired from baseball and retreated to a cabin in the San Bernardino Mountains to avoid the media maelstrom.” Video footage of a small, secluded cabin in the woods appeared, although there was no sign of him, and I wondered if it was even his place.

  “But interest in the former superstar has never waned, and Shaw featured prominently in a recent sports documentary about careers cut short by the yips.” The shot cut to a clip from the documentary in which some crusty old coach was shaking his head and referring to Tyler as a “poor bastard.” My hands clenched into fists.

  “Shaw hasn’t been home since his career ended, but last weekend, he was seen at Cherry Capital Airport.” Cell phone footage played of a stern-faced, square-shouldered Tyler moving through the airport, cap low, sunglasses on. “He was home for his sister’s wedding, but don’t be surprised if you see him around town a little more often now—with a brand new girlfriend on his arm.” My jaw dropped as amateur footage of Tyler and me appeared—chatting on the track at the high school, having breakfast at Coffee Darling, walking down Main Street.

  “April Sawyer, a hometown honey, is a high school friend of Shaw’s.” A slightly out-of-focus photo of Tyler and me from senior year appeared, the other faces blurred out. “But someone might want to warn her about Shaw’s dark side.”

  Now the video footage was of a clearly frustrated Tyler yelling obscenities at photographers, cameramen, and reporters, getting in their faces, going so far as to shove one away from him as he tried to leave his house. “He might have lost his arm, but he obviously gained a violent temper. Last night the two were spotted having dinner in a local establishment, and when he was approached for an autograph, things got ugly fast.”

  Outraged, I watched the clip of us leaving the restaurant again. “You lying bitch! You didn’t ask him for an autograph! You just wanted dirt!” Huffing and puffing, I felt my face getting hot as I yelled at my phone. “And what about the way you tricked me into talking to you?”

  “I asked Shaw several times if he wanted to comment for this story, but I can’t repeat his answer,” Bethany was saying, but at that point I turned it off. I’d already seen the rest anyway, and if I had to look at her phony-concerned face anymore, I was going to lose it.

  My phone vibrated in my hand, and I saw it was my mom calling. “Shit,” I said, not in the mood to talk but knowing I had to.

  I accepted the call. “Hi, Mom.”

  “April! Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” I gritted my teeth.

  “Have you seen it?”

  “I’ve seen it.”

  “I can’t believe we didn’t notice the cameras out on the lawn. When your father realized they were out there, he and Mack went right out and kicked them off the grounds.”

  “Good.”

  A pause. “I didn’t realize you and Tyler were in touch.”

  “We weren’t. I mean, we haven’t been.” My head began to ache, and I touched two fingers to my temple, closing my eyes. “We reconnected right before Sadie’s wedding.”

  “Oh. And is it . . . how’s it going?”

  “It’s actually going great, Mom,” I said with a little more venom than necessary. “We have fun together. That news story was bullshit, okay? Don’t believe it.”

  “Okay, darling. I d
idn’t mean to upset you. I just wanted to check in.”

  I sighed. “Sorry. I’m just—my head is pounding right now. I’m not upset with you. I’m just angry at that story.”

  “Of course you are. Can I do anything for you?”

  I took a deep breath. “Not right now. But thanks for checking in.”

  “I’m always here, honey.”

  After we hung up, I called Chloe.

  “Hey,” she said as soon as she picked up. “I saw it. Fucking Bethany Bloomstar. I hope she gets a big wart on her face.”

  I almost laughed. “Yeah, she deserves it.”

  “You okay?”

  “Yes. But I’m worried about Tyler. He’s trying so hard to move on from everything, and the media attention doesn’t help.”

  “I know.”

  “Why can’t they just leave him alone?” I asked angrily. “He’s not even playing anymore.”

  “Because he’s still a story, especially around here. People are still interested.”

  I frowned. “He’s going to hate that. He doesn’t want to be a story. He just wants to be himself. But it’s like the public only has one version of him they want, and if he can’t be that, they won’t accept it.”

  “Well, that’s why it’s good he has you,” she said. “And soon he’ll realize he has the rest of the Sawyer clan too. We’re a package deal.”

  That made me smile. “Yeah.”

  “Hey, want to get together this weekend? Maybe we can all hang out at Sylvia’s. Or even at Mom and Dad’s for Sunday dinner. You skipped it last weekend.”

  “I was busy,” I said.

  She laughed. “Yeah, I know what you were busy doing. But now that he’s staying for good, you guys don’t have to be so precious about your time. You can spare a few hours for the rest of us.”

  “I guess we could. Actually, I like that idea a lot.”

  “Perfect. And don’t worry about that stupid news thing. It’ll blow over and Bethany Bloomfart will be on to the next fake scandal.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it. And I was just snippy to Mom. I’ll call her and apologize, then I’ll ask if I can bring him to dinner.”