Wild Card

by Tara Wyatt

  Tears slipped down over her cheeks and she picked up her guitar, working out a chord progression and some lyrics.

  My heart’s in pieces

  But I won’t let you see

  Need to try to let go

  But it’s not easy for me

  * * *

  Because every time I close my eyes

  All I can see is our last goodbye

  They say time heals, but I’m not sure that’s true

  I’m just pretending I’m over you

  After tinkering with the song for an hour or so, Marlowe finished her wine and then headed down the hall to her bedroom, feeling exhausted, her limbs heavy. She’d never felt like this in the aftermath of leaving Dirk. That had been complicated and scary for completely different reasons, but she hadn’t felt the loss of him like this. Like the sun would never come out again. Hunter was the only man who’d ever made her feel that way.

  He was the only man who’d ever broken her heart.

  She washed her face, brushed her teeth and then pulled on the only thing she had left of him—one of his old T-shirts she’d accidentally shoved into her bag. She pulled it on over her head and then inhaled deeply, looking for traces of his scent, the last little bits of him she still had. Crawling into bed, she turned off the light and let the tears come.

  Eighteen

  Hunter’s plane had barely touched the ground before he was in his car and driving toward Dell Park, a renewed fire under his ass. The entire flight back to Dallas, all he’d been able to think about was the talk—if you could call it that—with his dad and wanting to take that first step on a different path. He might’ve royally fucked up, but he needed to try to fix it. All of it. Fix things with Marlowe especially, but first, he had something to do.

  He was going to fight for his career.

  He pulled his Mercedes into his usual spot in the parking garage and without waiting or hesitating, he strode into the clubhouse. No more hesitating. No more questioning or looking for ways to sabotage himself. No more messed up games. Aerin had been right—it was time to grow the fuck up.

  Yanking open the clubhouse door, he felt a dozen heads swivel in his direction as he stepped inside. Conversations died and a tension filled the room, but he ignored it, making a beeline for Javi’s office. They could talk shit about him if they wanted. He didn’t care. All he wanted was the chance to play, not only for his own career’s sake, but for the good of the team. They actually had a shot at the wild card this year, and no way in hell was he sitting that out.

  He knocked once on Javi’s door and then poked his head in. “Hey, I need to talk to you.”

  Javi’s eyebrows rose. “Is the she-devil with you?”

  Hunter grinned, vowing to never, ever repeat that nickname to Aerin. He’d prefer to keep his balls intact. “Nah, it’s just me.”

  Javi hesitated a second and then nodded, tipping his chin at the empty chair in front of his desk. Hunter sank down into it, not even knowing how many times he’d sat here this season getting his ass chewed out for his behavior, both on and off the field.

  “I want another chance.”

  “You’ll get one, when your suspension’s up.”

  Hunter shook his head, leaning his forearms on his thighs. “No, I want another chance now.”

  “No.” Javi returned his attention to his game day binder, spread open on the desk in front of him. When Hunter didn’t move, he looked up. “Not happening, Blake.”

  “You need me. You’re so close to that wild card spot you can almost taste it. You’re missing my bat and my glove, not to mention my sparkling personality.”

  Javi snorted. “You’re not coming back early.”

  “What if I promise you that there won’t be any more fuck ups? What if I sign something, right here, right now, that not only will I be on the straight and narrow, but I’m gonna see the team shrink before every single game?”

  An eyebrow inched up Javi’s forehead. “You’re actually going to see Dr. Lennox?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. I know I’ve fucked up this year. A lot. More than a lot. And it’s been pointed out to me that I probably have some issues to work out. But I’m working on them, and I’m going to keep working on them.” He leaned forward, holding Javi’s eyes, imploring him to give him another chance. “All my life, I’ve been waiting for the chance to make it to the postseason. And all I’ve done is get in my own way and screw everything up. But I’m done with that. It’s cost me too much, and I finally…I think I might finally be pulling my head out of my ass.”

  Javi stared at him, clearly not sure if he should believe him or not. Before he could say anything, the door opened and a guy Hunter was pretty sure was Jake Landon appeared, holding a series of notes, squinting at them.

  “Hey, do you know if…” He trailed off as his eyes bounced back and forth between Javi and Hunter. Then he let out a low whistle. “Little tense in here, huh?” Seemingly unfazed, he held out his hand to Hunter. “Jake Landon, new catcher.” Hunter took his hand and shook it. He knew of Jake, but because he’d spent most of his career in the National League, they hadn’t really played each other much. “Hunter Blake, currently suspended.”

  Jake nodded. “Yeah, I heard about that. It’s a shame, we could really use you out there.” Then he turned honest to God puppy dog eyes on Javi. “I mean, we could really, really use him.” He held up the notes in his hand. “This Mariners lineup is tough.”

  Javi shot him a look. “This isn’t any of your business, Landon.”

  Jake squinted and shrugged. “Ehhhh, isn’t it though? A little? As the catcher—”

  Javi cut him off. “I know what catchers do.”

  “Great, so you’re putting him back in the lineup? Cool. Glad to have you back, Blake.” He slapped Hunter on the shoulder and headed for the door. Well, damn. Hunter had a feeling he was going to like playing with Jake Landon.

  Javi pointed at the door Jake had just left through. “He doesn’t get the final say.”

  “No, I know. It’s up to you. Give me another chance. One last chance. I’m working on my shit with Dr. Lennox. I know I’ve screwed up, but please don’t tell me it’s too late to fix it. Please don’t take this away from me.”

  A heavy silence descended between them, and after what felt like an eternity, Javi made a low sound almost like a growl. “Argh, fine. Fine. You can suit up tomorrow. Do not make me regret this, you understand? You’re on the thinnest of thin ice here, Blake.”

  Relief flowed through Hunter, his muscles weak as all of the tension in them ebbed away. He was getting another chance. He hadn’t completely ruined everything. He stood, holding out his hand to Javi.

  “Thank you. I promise you won’t regret this.”

  “Make sure I don’t,” he said, shaking his hand. Hunter turned to go, ready to head back to the airport for part two of his making amends/second chances tour, but Javi called him back. “Oh, and Hunter? Keep that agent of yours out of my clubhouse.”

  Hunter nodded and practically sprinted out the door, feeling about a thousand pounds lighter. Now he just needed to fix things with Marlowe.

  Nineteen

  The doorbell pealed through Marlowe’s silent house, and she groaned, rolling over in bed and pulling a pillow over her head. She didn’t care who it was or what they wanted. If it was a delivery, they could just leave it by the door and she’d deal with it later. There was nothing more important than wallowing in her bed right now. All she wanted was for sleep to pull her back under so she wouldn’t have to think about how much it hurt to carry around all these pieces of her broken heart.

  She’d just started to drift back to sleep when she heard Hunter’s voice, somehow echoed and amplified. Twisting in bed, she adjusted the covers, wondering if it was some strange remnant of a dream. But then she heard it again.

  “Marlowe. Come to the window. Please. Marlowe?”

  With a huff, she flung back the covers, pushed her messy hair out of her eyes and stomped to the
window, ready to give him a piece of her mind. She pulled back the curtains and threw open the window.

  Hunter stood on her lawn, looking impossibly sexy in a plain white T-shirt and jeans. A portable karaoke machine sat on the grass beside him, his big hand clutched around the cheap plastic microphone.

  She saw him take a deep breath and then press a button on the machine. The opening strains of Justin Bieber’s “Sorry” came through the tinny speaker. As he stared up at her, Hunter raised the microphone to his mouth and started to sing.

  If the horrific sounds coming out of his mouth could be called singing.

  As he butchered the song, emotions crashed into her, one after the other. Hope and love. Anger and frustration. Sadness. Need. And also the sudden realization that Hunter was doing something he was bad at. Really, really bad at. He hated doing anything he wasn’t good at. Her mind flashed back to Vegas and the way he’d balked at singing karaoke then. He was doing it now. He was standing on her lawn, failing at something.

  Hunter Blake was singing a Justin Bieber apology song for all the world to hear. On purpose. For her. And goddamn him if it wasn’t endearing as hell. She gripped the windowsill, staring at him as he sang, anchoring herself in place. Because a huge part of her—the irrational part—wanted to leap into his arms and pretend the past few days hadn’t happened. But she couldn’t do that. The rational part of her knew that she’d be a fool to let him in—to her house, her heart, her arms—again. When the song ended and her eardrums stopped bleeding, he toyed with the microphone.

  “Can we talk? I need to tell you some stuff, and if after that you never want to see me again, I’ll get lost. I promise.”

  She closed her eyes, trying to find the very center of her heart. Trying to listen to it. Trying to find something to trust. Something to hold on to.

  “Okay. Fine. As long as you step away from the karaoke machine.”

  She headed downstairs and opened the door. Leaning against the door jamb, she crossed her arms protectively over her chest so her damn fool heart wouldn’t leap out and into Hunter’s hands.

  “Can I come in?” he asked, a tiny flicker of hesitation in his voice.

  She stared at him for a moment, not because she didn’t trust him—although that was a gray area right now—but because she didn’t trust herself. What if he told her everything she wanted to hear and the cycle started over again? When she didn’t say anything, he took a small step inside, holding an almost comically large bouquet of roses to her. After a second, she took them, resisting the urge to whack him with them. When he didn’t say anything right away, she arched an eyebrow.

  “You said you wanted to talk. So talk.”

  He swallowed and nodded, shoving a hand through his hair. “I’m so sorry, Marlowe. I’m the world’s biggest idiot.”

  “I have to say, I agree.” She lifted the roses, smelling them tentatively. Their sweet scent invaded her nostrils, a heady scent that seemed to fuel the hope inside her.

  He licked his lips, and the fact that she could see that this wasn’t easy for him made her soften, just the tiniest bit. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but making you think that what we had wasn’t real or worth fighting for is probably the biggest one.”

  “Why, Hunter?” she asked softly, wanting to understand.

  “You were right. I was so scared to fail—to fail you as a husband—that I wrecked it. It’s something I’ve been doing for a long time, and I know I’ve got to deal with this fear of failure, figure out where it comes from and find healthier ways to cope with it. I’m…I’m seeing the team therapist now, a few times a week. I have a lot of shit to work through, but I’m trying. I can’t live my life in fear at the expense of everything good. At the expense of you.” He took a small step toward her. “Of us.”

  Hope fluttered in her belly, but it was quickly tempered by doubt. “I want to believe you. I do. But…goddammit, Hunter. You manipulated me.”

  He closed his eyes, and she could see the pain written on his face, and she knew, could tell that it was a different kind of pain than the kind Dirk had experienced after every time he’d hurt her. It wasn’t self-loathing or shame. It was empathy.

  “You have to believe me when I tell you that wasn’t my intention. I got in my own way, but I’m working really hard to change that pattern.” He sighed and moved even closer, taking the roses from her and setting them on the ground. He reached for her hands, and something inside her settled into place as his big fingers laced with hers. “I’m not perfect, and I never will be. But I’m asking you for a second chance here. I want to show you the man I can be. I wanna fail with you, if that’s what’s gonna happen. I wanna love you right or die trying.”

  She felt as though she’d been hit with lightning for all of the electricity flowing through her limbs. All of the other emotions—the hope, the doubt, the anger, the sadness—were obliterated by one single one: love. Hunter Blake had done what she’d thought was impossible, and so she cupped his face and told him.

  “You made me believe in love.”

  He smiled at her, his hands on top of hers. “You made me believe in me.”

  “Maybe we both accomplished the impossible, then.” She knew, right then, that loving Hunter wasn’t an option. Not only that, but it was a risk she had to take. Arching onto her toes, she captured his mouth with hers, savoring the warmth of his mouth.

  Savoring the feeling of home.

  Hunter lay on his back on Marlowe’s bed, her head on his bare chest as he trailed his fingertips up and down her back, relishing the feeling of her smooth skin under his touch. It felt like New Year’s Day, his birthday and the first day of school all rolled into one. A fresh start. A new beginning. The chance to try again, and even if he failed or screwed up, he’d know that at least he’d come by it honestly.

  Marlowe pressed a kiss to his chest and he felt his cock twitch. Fuck, he couldn’t get enough of her. Her body, her laugh, her mind—every single part of her.

  “I wish you didn’t have to go.” She kissed his skin again, then flicked her tongue over his nipple. He made a gruff sound in the back of his throat as regret and lust burned through him.

  “Me too. But I have a game tomorrow.”

  “I have things to wrap up here, otherwise I’d come back with you.”

  “What kind of things?”

  She bit her lip and looked up at him, her eyes bright. “I should probably find a realtor if I’m going to sell my house.”

  He propped himself up on his elbow. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Home is where you are. And if that’s Dallas, then that’s where I want to be.”

  Hunter’s heart slammed against his ribs, beating wildly with happiness. Everything—Javi lifting the suspension, Marlowe giving them another chance, the charges for the fight with Dirk being dropped—was all better than he could’ve imagined. His dad’s words echoed through his head.

  My God, Hunter, what if you choose happiness and it leads you down a path that’s even better than you imagined?

  The worlds bolstered him, and he leaned over the side of the bed, reaching for his discarded jeans. After a bit of fumbling, he pulled out the diamond ring he’d given Marlowe the day of their wedding reception. His hand trembled a little bit. This all felt so much more…real, this time around. No games, no PR stunts. Just them, and Hunter taking yet another chance.

  “Do you want this back?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly. “No pressure, but if you—”

  She kissed him before he could say anything more, and then took the ring, slipping it back on her finger. “I actually really liked being Mrs. Blake,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “Even if it wasn’t for real.”

  His heart swelled, feeling almost too big for his chest. “Then let’s make it real, sweetheart.” He pulled her on top of him, not afraid of anything.

  THE END

  Up next in the world of the Dallas Longhorns: Jake and Abby’s story!

  Catcher Jake Landon’s care
er has him on the fast-track to the Hall of Fame. He’s successful, driven, and even though he’s nearing the end of his playing days, that competitive fire hasn’t been extinguished. Life is good. Really good.

  But then the trade happens. He’s shipped off to the Dallas Longhorns, which not only means he’ll be starting over in a new city with a new team, but it means his top secret relationship with Longhorns hitting coach Abby Gossman is in trouble. Big, deep trouble.

  Abby has worked her entire life to get where she is now. The first female coach in MLB history, she’s struggled and sacrificed for the game. It’s her passion. Her life. Her family and her identity. And she’s not willing to give it up or risk it for anyone or anything. Not even Jake.

  But their connection runs deep, and staying away from each other might just be impossible for Jake and Abby. With hearts and careers on the line, they’ll have to walk through the flames of their forbidden attraction and hope they don’t get burned.

  Playing hardball was never this complicated.

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  Somewhere in Colorado - 6 weeks ago

  Abby Gossman adjusted the ties on her string bikini and then grabbed two beers out of the little fridge built into the deck. Mountains stretched before her, poking up their jagged edges into the gorgeous cerulean sky. The tiniest hint of pink danced around the horizon as the sun began to sink. The wooden deck on which she stood was private, making it feel like a secluded wooden gondola hanging in the mountain air. The Rolling Stones wafted quietly from a small BlueTooth speaker on a nearby table. She hummed along with “Beast of Burden” as she walked across the deck, the wood smooth under her feet.