by Jill Shalvis
Sam looked up as he got to their table, still laughing at something the man with her had just said, her eyes widening in surprise. “Wade.”
“That was quick,” Wade said, surprised that his voice sounded normal since he felt like his guts had just been ripped out.
The man sitting across from Sam, the one who was going to lose his face to Wade’s fist if he kissed her again, smiled and leaned back in his chair, studying Wade thoughtfully. “I think you were wrong about him, babe.”
While Wade chewed on the endearment babe, Sam looked Wade over.
“No,” she finally said cryptically. “I wasn’t wrong.”
The man squeezed her fingers and brought them to his lips. Wade nearly leaned across the table to break his wrist, but Sam shook her head. “Ernie, stop it.”
“Aw,” Ernie said on a smile. “You’re no fun.”
And since he didn’t stop it, or drop Sam’s fingers, Wade softly said, “Drop her hand or lose it.”
Ernie laughed silkily as he let go of Sam and slid her a look. “How about now? Still going to try to tell me he’s happy it’s over?”
“Ernie . . .” she warned.
“Fine.” He stood and held out a hand to Wade. “Ernie Rodriquez. Nice triple homer in Chicago.”
“Thanks.” Wade felt Sam watching him with a look he couldn’t begin to comprehend, and he met her gaze.
“Ernie and I were putting finishing touches on the charity dinner,” she said. “Ernie’s catering.”
“My first over-three-hundred-person event.” Ernie grinned. “Looking forward to seeing you in a tux, big guy.” He patted Wade’s arm, lingering at the biceps, letting out a hum of pleasure before walking into the kitchen.
Wade stared after him until Sam cleared her throat. He looked down at her.
“You look confused,” she said.
“A little.”
“Poor baby.” She stood, gathering files and pictures and her BlackBerry, shoving them into her briefcase. “Let me give you the short version. First you dumped me, then you see me out with another man and come charging in here to . . . Well, I don’t know what exactly, but you end up getting hit on by the very man you wanted to protect me from. I can see why you’d be confused, seeing as you’ve acted like a complete ass.”
“Wait a minute.” He shook his head. “I didn’t dump you. You dumped me.”
She made a sound that managed to perfectly convey what she thought of his intelligence level, and walked out of the restaurant.
He followed.
“Fine,” she said. “I dumped you. A minute before you could dump me. It was self-preservation.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I don’t have time to explain it to you. I’ve got to go.” She gave him her professional smile, the one that was chilly enough that he suddenly needed a coat. And then left him standing on the sidewalk wondering what the fuck had just happened as he was ogled by Ernie from the restaurant window.
Not surprisingly, the next day Wade played like shit. He had no explanation for why he struck out twice, missed an easy fly, and overthrew to third, causing two runs, which was the exact number they lost by.
No explanation at all. Everything was fine. Fucking fine.
The guys didn’t say much to him as they left the field, though their bafflement was clear. Wade was usually the rock, the motivator, the go-to guy. He didn’t have off days, he didn’t let anything get to him.
“You sick?” Henry asked him.
Wouldn’t that be a handy excuse? He shook his head.
“You sure? You’re flushed. Maybe you’re coming down with something.”
Joe nodded. “Tea, man. Try chamomile.”
“Or Earl Grey,” Henry said. “You need to be on tomorrow.”
Wade nodded. He’d be on.
Or dead.
He wasn’t sure which. But the ball of anxiety, frustration, and temper sitting on his chest had to go away or explode. That simple. He was self-destructing. He’d self-destructed with Sam by letting her believe it was only great sex, by not letting her know what she meant to him. He’d self-destructed with his dad by holding back when the guy was trying, finally giving all he had. It should have been easy to hurt John O’Riley. Instead, it left Wade feeling sick inside, because it was one thing to hold on to his self-righteous anger when his dad was being a drunk.
It was another entirely when his dad was being a remorseful ex-drunk.
Pace slung an easy arm around Wade’s shoulders, slowing him down, separating him from the rest of the team. “What was that?”
“No idea.”
“You need to talk?”
“If you suggest a tea, I’m going to hurt you.”
Pace studied him for a beat. “You letting John fuck with your head?”
“No.”
“Sam?”
Wade closed his eyes. “It’s me. I’m fucking with my head. I screwed up. I’m an ass.”
“Hey, knowing it is half the battle.”
Wade tried to shrug him off, but Pace was like a pit bull when he wanted to be. “Fuck, Pace. Now what?”
“Just giving you a minute to collect yourself.” Pace was looking at the entrance to the locker room, where Gage stood waiting, dark eyes fixed on Wade. “Gage’s going to bust your ass.”
“I’m fine.” Wade walked up to Gage to get it over with.
The youngest, smartest, sharpest, shrewdest team manager in the MLB looked Wade over carefully. “Talk to me,” he said.
Wade shrugged. “Bad night.”
“That’s all you’ve got?”
Well, he sure as hell had nothing else.
Gage blew out a breath. “Does the bad night have anything to do with the fact that Sam dumped your sorry ass?”
“How did you know that?”
“Fuck, Wade. I told you this was a bad idea. You don’t even want a woman in your life. Right?”
“Right.”
“So get over it. Get over it by tomorrow’s game or I’ll kick your ass until you’re over it. And if anyone asks, I already kicked your ass.”
Wade showered, changed, and slinked out into the shower room, hoping like hell to just be alone.
He got his wish. It was quiet, and though a few of the guys were moving around, no one was talking. And Sam was nowhere to be seen, which shouldn’t have mattered, but did. She was almost always around after a game.
Not today. She and Tag were gone.
Torn between relief that he didn’t have to face her, and a bone-deep regret that made his chest ache, he drove home.
And was shocked to find Sam sitting on his porch step waiting for him. He sat in his car staring at her through the windshield. Don’t fuck up, he told himself, then had to laugh because that’s all he’d ever done when it came to her. With a sigh, he shoved out of the car and took the walk to the gallows. He sat down next to her and let out a breath, prepared for her to let him have it, and she didn’t hold back.
“You’re either an idiot or a moron,” she said.
He dropped his head into his hands. “Is there another choice?”
“That weekend we went to Mark’s wedding, when we were in our pretendrelationship . . .” She paused until he looked at her. “Up until that point, I had a pretty hardcore crush on you, Wade. I think it was your green eyes. They’re the color of moss on a rainy day.”
Surprised, he blinked. “You had a crush on me?”
She smiled a little sadly. “I know. I always acted like I couldn’t care less, but that was just self-preservation after Atlanta.” She shrugged. “I always felt off balance around you.”
He understood that. Sometimes he had trouble finding his balance around her as well, though she usually located it for him just fine.
“The truth is,” she said. “Pretending to be with you was harder than I could have imagined, because I kept forgetting to pretend.”
He understood that, too. “Sam—”
“I watched you with Ta
g, saw how you put yourself out there with him, no hesitation. I watched you with your father, how even when you were so angry, you couldn’t turn him out. And I realized my feelings for you had . . . deepened.”
Despite feeling the urge to hide, he couldn’t look away to save his life. “You weren’t alone in that,” he managed. “I told you I was falling for you.”
“Yes. In a light and easy way. But as it turns out, I fell harder. As hard as you can, actually.”
His brain froze, like it did when he drank a slushee too fast or inhaled ice cream. And like a complete idiot, he just stared at her. “Sam—”
She stood up. “I get that I was rough on you. Unfairly so. I expected too much and I’m sorry for that. I just want you to know, I can be a grown-up about this. It won’t be awkward at work or anything.”
Awkward? She was worried about awkward? She had no idea that absolutely nothing was the same when she wasn’t in his life. Awkward didn’t even begin to cover it. How about devastating and empty and . . .
Hell. His mind was spinning and it couldn’t seem to touch down. “Sam.” Shit. He’d already said that. “I—”
“I’m trying to make this easy. Because that’s how you like things. Easy women, easy job, easy everything. I can give that to you. Good-bye, Wade.” With one last look into his eyes, she walked away.
And though he hated himself for it, he let her. Because she was right. He liked things easy. He needed things easy.
Except nothing about any of this felt easy . . . .
Chapter 29
Baseball? It’s just a game—as simple as a ball and a bat. Yet as complex as the American spirit it symbolizes. It’s a sport, business—and sometimes even religion.
—Ernie Harwell
Wade spent several hours slouched on the couch with his remote all alone, which given his last two weeks, should have been heaven. Not only was the silence perfect, but everything was fucking perfect. No demands on his rare time to himself, nobody talking to him, nothing on his plate except whatever he chose. He could call the guys. Hit a bar. Find a willing woman.
Except none of that appealed. He felt restless and frustrated.
And then he realized what the problem was.
He didn’t want to be alone.
Alone felt easy but all of a sudden he didn’t want easy either.
He called Sam to tell her but she didn’t answer. He called his father. No answer there, either. And then he called the one person he knew could help him. “Tag.”
“Yo,” Tag said into the phone.
“You know where your Aunt Sam is?”
“Again? How come you keep losing her?”
“Because I’ve been stupid. But trust me, I’m getting smarter. Where is she?”
“Not supposed to tell.”
Wade sighed. “How about my dad?
“Same thing.”
Well, that was unexpected. “Okay, I realize you probably want me to pay you for the info but from now on, I’m only paying you when you earn it. With work.”
“Ah. That’s no fun.”
“Trying to be responsible here.”
“Really? That’s what your dad’s doing. Trying to be responsible. It’s what he said. Sam drove him.”
“Sam drove him where?”
“Promises.”
Wade rubbed his temples. “I know. You promised not to tell, but he’s my dad, Tag. It’s okay to tell me.”
“No, he’s at a place called Promises. Sam took him.”
Wade made the hour drive south over Highway 1 to Promises, an upscale rehab center in Malibu. But by the time he got there, Sam had already left, and he wasn’t allowed to see or talk to his father, who’d been admitted.
The drive back felt twice as long. The sports news was all over his crappy game, saying he looked tired coming off all the road trips, not fresh, not sharp.
And that he’d been dumped.
Well, they had that right. And yeah, he had lost his edge, he felt it in his gut. It wasn’t a flu, nothing so easy to get over, though he did feel sick to the depths of his soul.
Back at his place, he plopped down by his pool as the moon rose, staring moodily at the shimmering water.
Somehow he’d managed to rise up from the gutter that had been his childhood. For a long time now he’d had it all, whatever he’d wanted at his fingertips. Four shining years in college. Four years playing for Colorado, then nearly four of the best years of his life in Santa Barbara.
Until he’d gotten one little stalker and the press had taken notice of his hard partying ways and had turned on him.
He’d felt restless. Unsettled. Unsure.
And then had come the weekend with Sam at the wedding. That had changed him. She had changed him. Suddenly the things he’d thought he’d wanted—mostly the freedom to do as he pleased—had changed.
It had taken him some time to realize it.
Too much time.
Because now that he finally had it all figured out, the things he’d somehow managed almost by accident to surround himself with, things like the love of a good woman, the love of a kid, the love of a parent, things he now knew he wanted, needed, he’d blown them all apart.
But he wasn’t ready to admit defeat. Not on the season, not on his dad, and not on his life.
And especially not on Sam.
The next day Sam worked her ass off for ten straight hours to get the charity dinner and auction set up. Finally, half an hour before the start, she ran up to one of the hotel rooms to change. Her dress for the evening was a black spaghetti-strapped cocktail dress, clingy in the front, dipping low in the back. She looked in the mirror, knowing she’d picked out the dress for Wade and that it wouldn’t matter.
With five minutes to spare, she raced back downstairs. She purposely stopped to look at the beautiful view of the ocean against the cliff, the moon rising high as she took a deep, calming breath. Security was tight tonight. With tickets costing a grand a pop, they were expecting Santa Barbara’s rich and famous.
Ahead of her, Henry and Joe were checking in, their dates on their arms. Sam was used to seeing the guys in their uniforms, in
