For All We Know (One Strike Away Book 3)

by Mary J. Williams

  "If you'd called. Or written. Anything, I would've argued." Delaney could remember the times she'd longed to hear from Travis. And how she'd started to resent those damn weekly checks. "I thought about tearing them up. Until I realized somebody would've noticed the money was still in your account."

  Delaney's solution had been simple. She saved the money so one day, she could return every dime.

  "Like pulling teeth," Travis muttered. He led her across the room to a light-gray sofa. Sitting, he tugged her down beside him. "What about those first four years? I know the amount was sizable. Where did you get the money, Del?"

  "Watch the tone there, buddy. I didn't stand on a street corner."

  "Lovely, sexy Delaney," Travis smiled—all charm and twinkling eyes—as his lips caressed the palm of her hand. "If you ever decided to sell your body, you could charge the moon, and the price wouldn't be high enough."

  "Ah. You are so sweet." Delaney sighed. "And so full of crap."

  Travis chuckled. He'd never known a woman like her. "We can both shovel the shit when we want."

  "Okay. You want the truth?" She took a deep breath. "I wrote a jingle."

  "Say again?"

  "A jingle. A catchy song, specifically written to sell a product."

  "I know what a jingle is, smartass."

  "How was I supposed to know," Delaney reasoned. "You seemed a bit confused by the concept."

  "The concept is clear as glass. Your participation in the process threw me off a bit. Care to explain?"

  "A friend clued me into a contest. Write a jingle. Make a few bucks." Delaney made the whole thing sound like an everyday occurrence. "What did I have to lose? In about an hour, I had the tune, a few silly words. I forgot the whole thing until I received a phone call. I'd won. End of story."

  The woman could talk for hours—and he loved to listen. He couldn't figure out why she was suddenly so reticent.

  "Throw me an epilogue. Would I know the jingle?"

  "Maybe."

  "Are you embarrassed? What's the product?" Travis searched his brain. "Tampons? Feminine twat deodorant?"

  Delaney snorted—half laugh, half cough. "I can't believe you used the word twat. If you ever had the impulse to blush, now would be the time."

  The expression on Delaney's face was priceless. Travis felt his lips twitch

  "Wrong word? I'm open to a better choice. Pussy? Or—"

  "Puppy Bites," Delaney shouted. "The jingle was for Puppy Bites."

  Travis let out a low whistle. Whether they used the product or not, everybody knew the Puppy Bites jingle. Every time he turned on the television or radio, the commercial was on.

  "How rich are you, Del?" Travis only half-teased. Advertising was big business. The endorsement deals he'd cut made him a small fortune. "Richer than me?"

  "Hardly. I'm comfortable. So, rest easy. I want your body, not your money."

  "Good to know." Travis pulled his shirt over his head.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Giving you what you want," he said as he unbuttoned his jeans.

  Delaney took a moment as if weighing her options. Finally, she smiled.

  "Okay, stud. But close the curtains unless you want Emma to get a gander at your male bits and pieces."

  Travis did as Delaney asked, dropping his pants and underwear in one fluid motion. Her eyes turned a deep, appreciative amethyst. Grinning, he spread his arms.

  "For your eyes only."

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ● ≈ ● ≈ ●

  FOR THE FIRST time in Delaney's life, she wished she wasn't quite so smart. A high I.Q. was great. Professionally, her keen intelligence had taken her a long way. And would take her even further. Most of the time, she was quite literally the smartest person in the room.

  Delaney glanced at the manila envelope that lay on the bed, cursing herself. She'd thought herself into a corner, and for the life of her, she didn't know how to get out.

  A big, working overtime brain was great—until it wasn't.

  "I don't have to go through with my plan."

  Delaney spoke to an empty room, but she always talked to herself when trying to reason out a problem. Other people's problems. She could stand back, observe, analyze. Psychiatry was a fluid science. However, when she found the right path, she never wavered from her course.

  Why could she help others with such certainty, yet now that she was involved, she questioned what had seemed like the perfect solution?

  Physician heal thyself? Sure. Right. No problem.

  "Do you feel like going out for lunch?" Travis walked into her bedroom. "Since this is our last day, I thought we could grab a bite someplace and take a leisurely walk around town after."

  A month had passed since Delaney had returned to Green Hills. Less than a week later, Travis showed up—ready to do battle. So much had happened. So much had changed. Last night, they lay in bed talking about the future. Their future.

  Nothing had been written in stone. Washington State and Hawaii weren't exactly around the corner from each other. But they knew what they had was too important not to make things work.

  Delaney cursed herself. And she cursed the United States Postal Service. If only that damn envelope had arrived twenty-four hours later. She could have pretended she hadn't set something in motion that could blow her relationship with Travis into a million unfixable pieces.

  "What's this?" Travis asked, picking up the yellow envelope before flopping onto the bed.

  "Nothing." A mistake. Or not. Why the hell couldn't she make up her mind? "Are you sure you want to leave your motorcycle behind?"

  "Pete's happy to store the bike in his garage until the next time I'm here." Travis laughed. "Never thought I'd hear myself say those words. Or mean them."

  "I know what you mean. Since neither of us is free for Christmas, Candice expects us next year."

  Trace casually examined the outside of the envelope. Eyebrows rising when he spotted the return address.

  "What did you say?"

  "Maybe?" Delaney's fingers itched to grab the package from him. "A lot can happen in a year."

  "True." Travis put the envelope flat on his palm as if testing the weight. "Is there something you want to tell me, Del? Something to do with why you've received a rather hefty piece of correspondence from your lawyer?"

  Delaney could have stopped him. Travis gave her plenty of time to protest as he opened the flap. The bundle slid onto the bed, giving her one last chance to change her mind. But she remained silent, holding her breath as he picked up the papers and began to read.

  Travis didn't get far—the first paragraph said everything he needed to know.

  "What the hell is this?"

  Meeting his puzzled gaze, Delaney took a deep breath. Maybe she was too smart for her own good. But she was determined to plow forward, hoping she was right.

  "Travis. I want a divorce."

  "SPRING TRAINING. GOD'S way of punishing all the bad boys who didn't exercise and eat right over the off season."

  Travis grunted in response to Nick Sander's comment. His friend always complained during the early workouts before the games began. But this year, Nick seemed particularly prickly.

  Another time, Travis would have joked a smile out of Nick. Not this time. He was mired in a black humor of his own and wasn't in the mood to play the clown.

  As he sprinted up and down the field, Travis tried to concentrate on the task at hand—getting ready for a long, grueling baseball season. But his body was too conditioned to the routine to give his mind a rest. As his feet pounded the turf at the Cyclones' complex in Arizona, his thoughts were in Hawaii. With Delaney.

  Travis, I want a divorce.

  At first, Travis was certain he'd heard wrong. Or the whole thing was a joke. But the papers were right there in his hand—and Delaney wasn't laughing.

  "Why?" he'd asked, unable to wrap his head around the concept.


  After everything they'd been through? The years apart when one of them could have ended their marriage at any time but didn't? They'd faced the past, battled their demons, and come out the other side. Stronger. Together.

  Or so Travis thought.

  Now, when the future seemed brighter than ever, Delaney wanted a divorce? What the hell!

  "If we don't start fresh, we'll never know if we stayed married for the right reasons," she explained. "What if a month from now, when you've had time to take a breath—time away from me. What if you realized you've made a terrible mistake?"

  Travis had tried his best to follow Delaney's reasoning. She was the one with the fancy degree. But the longer he listened, the crazier she sounded.

  "Of all the convoluted, asinine, wrong-headed ideas." He could either pace, or put his fist through the door. "When did you contact your lawyer?"

  "The day before the election."

  Three weeks? Travis stopped, tossed his hands in the air, then resumed pacing.

  "And you didn't think to mention the fact to me? You decided, on your own. What I think—what I want—doesn't matter."

  "You're wrong. I—"

  "You don't have a very high opinion of me." Frustrated, Travis gave his scalp a hard rub. About time for another haircut. Guess Delaney wouldn't be around to do the job.

  "Do you think I can't keep my dick in my pants?"

  Delaney sighed, her eyes troubled. For a moment, Travis thought she'd come to her senses. He was wrong.

  "I don't want you to have any regrets."

  "You keep talking about me. What I need. What I want. How about you, Del? Maybe you're the one with the doubts."

  "Maybe I am."

  Delaney's answer had taken the wind out of Travis' outraged sails. He could argue about how he felt. How he was all in. Dedicated to her—to them. But if she wasn't on the same page? Nothing he could say would matter.

  "Sign the papers, Travis. Spend the next few months thinking about us. I'll do the same. Once the divorce is final, we'll be free to decide if we want to be together."

  Travis had to admit, Delaney was good at her job. So cool and calm. She almost made sense. Almost. He let her go without making another attempt to change her mind.

  Then spent all of December and January stewing.

  Part of him wanted to get on a plane, track Delaney down, and end the farce she'd started. Anger and a big dose of pride kept him in Seattle. Alone, for the most part—unless Spencer dragged him out for a drink.

  Other women didn't interest him—if Delaney were there, he'd laugh in her face. Take that, he'd tell her. I only want you.

  Turned out the joke was on him. Travis had done the worst thing possible. He'd fallen in love with his wife.

  Travis pulled to a stop barely out of breath while most of his teammates were bent over, sucking oxygen. At least one positive had come out of the mess he placed firmly on Delaney's shoulders. He'd spent so much time at the gym to take out his frustrations—lifting weights, punching bags, swimming laps—he was in the best shape of his life.

  "You want to tell me why you have a bug lodged up your ass?" Spencer, sweat dripping down his face, tossed Travis a bottle of water.

  "Nope."

  Travis kept walking, straight into the clubhouse. If he couldn't talk to Delaney, he wasn't talking. Period.

  "What's his problem?" Nick asked, wiping his face.

  Spencer wasn't blind. Travis and Nick were hurting. Both mired deep in woman troubles. A subject he knew something about. At one time—before he wised up—he'd been an expert.

  Unfortunately, his best friends weren't interested in availing themselves of his vast knowledge. He'd keep trying. Because that's what buddies did.

  "What's your problem?"

  Spencer crossed his arms and waited. The look—raised eyebrow, steady gaze with just the right combination of steel and sympathy—was magic at getting people to open up. But now and then, even Spencer Kraig's patented magic failed.

  "Fuck off, Kraig."

  Nick followed Travis into the clubhouse. Spencer closed his eyes, head tipped back in defeat.

  "It's going to be a long, fucking spring."

  TRAVIS TOSSED HIS keys onto the kitchen counter. The house was small, dark, but serviceable—windows and natural light at a premium. A temporary place to crash. He'd considered himself lucky to find a rental on Lake Washington, close to the lot where his future home was currently under construction. Another plus? He was within walking distance of Spencer and Nick's houses.

  Today, Travis didn't want company. Especially his own. He was bone tired—body and soul. As he walked toward the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothing in his wake, he hoped sleep would come. He was sick and tired of staring at the ceiling, the same loop of thoughts and recriminations circling his brain.

  Another Spring Training was in the books. The regular season was set to begin the day after tomorrow. He was ready. Travis never let his private life interfere with his job. Once he stepped onto the field, his focus was laser sharp. Between the lines, baseball had always come first. Always would.

  The problem was, Travis couldn't spend twenty-four hours a day at the ballpark. Right now, he had something else to think about. The little gift he'd received that morning before he left Arizona.

  His divorce from Delaney was official.

  Travis scrubbed a hand over his face. He'd signed the papers as she asked. But for some inexplicable reason, he'd expected her to change her mind. He should have known better.

  For what had to be the hundredth time since landing in Seattle, Travis checked his phone. Pete called. Nothing important. Spencer—naturally. He scrolled through the messages. No Delaney.

  Would she call? Or had she decided a life without him was a better fit?

  Naked, Travis crawled into bed. He could live without Delaney. But better? No. Absolutely not. For him, she was the perfect fit.

  SEVEN-THIRTY. TRAVIS blinked at the bedside clock, frowning. PM or AM? Didn't matter, he decided. If he'd slept five hours or fifteen, he wasn't ready to get up.

  With a sigh, he started to close his eyes. But an arm sliding around him from behind had them popping open. All of a sudden, Travis was wide awake.

  "I'll understand if you want to throw me out. Just let me have my say first."

  Delaney. He knew before she said a word, but was afraid his imagination had played a nasty trick on him.

  "Am I dreaming?" he asked. Better to be sure.

  "No." A kiss brushed against his skin.

  "Are you naked?"

  "Yes." He felt her lips curve into a smile.

  "How did you get in?"

  "Spencer."

  Yoda. He should have known.

  "Okay." Travis took Delaney's hand, tugging at her arm until her soft, warm body molded to his back. "I've been waiting for a long time, Del. You better have something good to say."

  Her scent—clean and sexy—washed over him. Before she said a word, Travis felt himself start to relax, as if he could breathe for the first time in over four months.

  "I screwed up."

  Travis smiled. "So far, so good."

  "Have you ever found yourself talking, knowing everything you said was pure crap? Yet, try as you might, you couldn't stop the flow." Delaney kissed him again, her breath sweet against his neck as she rested her chin on the slope of his shoulder. "That day in Green Hills? I had a speech planned. Clinical. Logical. I felt outside my body. Floating above, screaming at myself to shut up."

  "You didn't listen. To yourself, or to me."

  "No. And I paid the price. I've been miserable, Travis."

  "Join the club."

  "Really?"

  Delaney sounded so pleased, he had to chuckle.

  "I'm glad my pain makes you happy."

  "Never." Delaney squeezed closer. "I was afraid you hadn't missed me."

  "Missed you? Nah. Only every second of every day."
<
br />   "Can you forgive me?"

  Travis turned. Maybe he was in the middle of a dream. He'd lost track of the times he'd imagined Delaney exactly as he found her. Naked. In his bed. Her head on his pillow. Leaning over, he turned the light on low. And those eyes. A brilliant purple shining just for him.

  If he dreamed, he never wanted to wake.

  "I have a few questions."

  Better answered with Delaney in his arms. With a hum of happiness, she settled close.

  "Shoot."

  "If you knew you'd made a mistake, why did you let the divorce go through? Why not call me? Or come to see me? I would've welcomed you with open arms."

  "I spent most of December and January wallowing."

  "Good word." Travis could relate.

  Delaney smiled. Her hand touched his arm. Then his chest. His face. As though she had to reassure herself he was there. "I was too stubborn to admit—to anybody, even myself—that I was so wrong a new word needs to be invented to describe my wrongness."

  "Grab a thesaurus, genius girl. The words are already out there."

  "I imagine you've called me a name or two I'd rather not hear."

  Travis shrugged. Another time he might share a few of the colorful curse words he'd directed her way. But not here. Not now.

  "What happened in February?"

  "A friend gave me a firm talking to. She was tired of the way I moped around. And I quote. 'You threw away a man who wants to spend his life with you? A man who treats you right? Who isn't hard on the eyes and is great in bed? Are you out of your mind?' My answer was yes. I was out of my mind."

  "I want to meet your friend. She sounds like a very smart lady."

  "She is."

  "And then?" Travis asked. "What happened after your epiphany?"

  "March was a busy month. I lost track of time—and the divorce. I received the final papers yesterday."

  "Mine arrived this morning."

  Delaney nodded, gaze steady.

  "Even if I'd remembered in time, I wouldn't have stopped the divorce."

  "Why not?" Travis wasn't in the mood for another of Delaney's theories.

  "Because, if we were still married, I couldn't do this."