The unshakable, undeniable love between Jordyn's parents had always been a wonderful constant in her life. She believed a man and woman make a relationship work not from fairy tales she'd read in books. Byron and Dorothy Kraig showed her a real life forever after. Almost forty years and going strong.
"Rick and Reid won't be here," Jordyn's mother announced. "Their families are spread out all over today in the middle of one activity or another. But they should wrangle everybody together next week."
"I can chew them out later. For now…" Jordyn tapped her father on the arm. "I'll use you as an appetizer."
"What did I do?" Byron Kraig frowned."
Dorothy took a bubbling casserole from the oven.
"Think hard, dear." She gave Jordyn an exasperated smile. "Men tend to forget what they'd rather not deal with."
"Oh." Byron looked a little sheepish, running a hand through his still thick, dark hair. "If you're talking about Murphy, I didn't do anything wrong. Subject closed."
"Subject wide open." Jordyn had always been encouraged to speak her mind. As long as she proceeded with due respect. She wasn't angry. Simply perplexed. "Why didn't you tell me who he was?"
"He asked me not to."
"What happened to your motto? Family first. Last time I checked, I'm your daughter. And Murphy is what? A casual acquaintance?"
Byron's expression turned thoughtful.
"We'd met a few times through Spencer. When Murphy had his problems. I reached out to see if I could help."
Jordyn shouldn't have been surprised. Her father was the kind of man who tried to lift others up when they needed a hand.
"What happened?" she asked.
"At the time, Murphy had closed himself off to most of the world. Spencer was one of the few people he let in." Byron put an arm around Jordyn's shoulders. "When he asked me not to tell you about his past, I agreed because I didn't think you would see him again. He wanted your memory of him to stay untainted."
"I see." At least Jordyn thought she did.
"Your father thought you would be happier not knowing. Maybe he was right. Maybe he was wrong." Dorothy smiled, her dark eyes warm and loving as she brushed a finger over Jordyn's cheek. "He didn't choose Murphy. He chose you."
With a nod, Jordyn rested her head against her father's. Family first.
"I have a question."
"Only one?" Byron laughed. "As a child, you were a non-stop question machine. Not much has changed."
"Mom," Jordyn winked. "I don't know how you've managed to stay married to such a smart—"
"Watch your language, young lady," Byron warned.
"Aleck," Jordyn finished with wide-eyed innocence.
"Hmm." Her father didn't look convinced, but he let the subject drop.
"What did you want to know, sweetheart?" Dorothy asked as she put her husband to work slicing tomatoes.
"Everybody knew Murphy except me?"
Dorothy handed Jordyn a head of lettuce, pointing toward the salad bowl.
"I met him only once when your father and I visited Spencer in St. Louis. He took us all out to dinner after the game. Charming young man."
She couldn't argue, Jordyn thought as she sliced the lettuce into bite-size chunks.
Spencer and Blue entered the kitchen hand in hand just in time to catch the gist of the conversation. Blue's family was just as big on the whole Sunday get-together. Luckily, her parents lived within walking distance. When they were in town, the couple could visit his and hers and didn't break a sweat.
"Rick and Reid met Murphy the same way. Though I think we were on the road at the time. Denver, maybe? We hit some of the clubs."
"On a game night?" Dorothy asked as if her grown son were still a little school-age boy.
Spencer chuckled. "Not me. However, in the interest of showing Rick and Reid a good time—long before they were responsible, married men—Murphy may have missed curfew."
"Don't look at me." Blue held up her hands. "I just met the man before the press conference."
"You get a pass." Jordyn turned to her brother. "I came to a few games in St. Louis. Why didn't I get the full Murphy experience?"
"Do you think I possess above-average intelligence?"
"Most of the time," she conceded. "What does one thing have to do with the other?"
"A smart man," Spencer explained, "doesn't put a lamb anywhere near the Big Bad Wolf."
Jordyn let Spencer's words sink in before she decided to laugh or tear her brother a new one.
"I'm the lamb?" she asked Blue. She believed the smart thing was to get a second opinion.
"Apparently." Blue nodded with due solemnity. A twinkle in her eyes.
"Murphy, obviously, was cast as the Big Bad Wolf."
"Nobody forced the role on him, Jordyn." Spencer drove the point home with absolute clarity. "Murphy embraced his bad boy status. Reveled would be a good word. A debaucher of women. Though they were always more than willing to let him do his worst."
"Debaucher?" Jordyn and Blue exchanged amused looks. "Welcome back to the nineteenth century. I had no idea you were such a prude, Spencer."
"He isn't." Blue squeezed Spencer's hand. "Except where his sister is concerned."
"Dinner's ready," Dorothy announced.
The conversation turned to more neutral subject matter as they enjoyed the meal. But Jordyn couldn't keep Murphy out of her mind. She couldn't reconcile the man she'd read about, the one Spencer described, with the man she'd spent two glorious days getting to know in and out of bed. Which was he? The arrogant, yet talented baseball player? Or the sensitive artist? Debaucher of women? Or sensitive, creative lover?
Jordyn knew what she wanted to believe. But was she a victim of wishful thinking? Or had he really changed? For the life of her, she couldn't decide.
"I know you believe Murphy can still play, Spencer." Byron set his fork on his empty plate. "Two years out of the game is a long time. And catcher is a brutal position. Even for a young man."
"Murphy is hardly old," Dorothy said. "Who wants dessert?"
"Who doesn't?" Blue asked. "Let me help."
"Thirty-six isn't old in the real world. However, age creeps up on even the most diligent athlete," Byron said.
"Amen," Spencer sighed.
Nobody at the table tried to reassure Spencer or lay on the platitudes. They understood that every athlete had a shelf life. The end to a career could be twenty years down the road or the next day, depending on the durability of each individual body. Or, worst of all, an injury too severe to come back from.
Spencer was only thirty. In his baseball playing prime. However, he'd been around, seen too much, to take anything for granted.
"Murphy is in better shape today than when he played every day." Spencer thanked his mother when she handed him a slice of lemon cake. "And he's smarter. More grounded. He'll bring a lot more to the game this time around."
"But…?" Dorothy urged.
"For the first few games, Murphy is going to hurt like hell." Spencer grinned as if he enjoyed the idea. "I almost feel sorry for him."
"I can't believe you would take pleasure in your friend's pain." Blue tsked. Then, unable to keep a straight face, laughed. Bryon joined in.
"I don't see what's so funny." Dorothy sent her family a chiding look.
"Not exactly funny, Mom." Spencer coughed, trying his best to straighten his smile. "Murphy's a veteran. However, he's a new Cyclone. We don't have time to welcome him properly."
"What do you mean?" Dorothy asked, obviously confused. "I thought you already welcomed him?"
Jordyn knew exactly what Spencer meant. She locked eyes—so like her own—with her brother's. Though he'd managed to control his laughter, mirth still danced in his deep-green irises.
"New guys get hazed, Mom," Jordyn explained. "His inevitable aches and pains will be Mother Nature's way of doing to Murphy what Spencer and his cronies can't."
"I sym
pathize," Spencer insisted. "In fact, I would be the first to present Murphy with a big bottle of Advil. However, since his stint in rehab, he won't take even the mildest pain medication. Herbal remedies are out as well. Some can present as a false/positive for banned substances."
"Over-the-counter medication isn't illegal," Byron pointed out.
Spencer shrugged. "Murphy's a stickler. After everything he went through to get clean, I can't say I blame him."
Her father wasn't the only one surprised. Jordyn knew Murphy didn't drink. He'd told her. At the time, she hadn't thought to ask why. Most people wouldn't think twice about drinking a beer to help themselves relax after an exhausting day. Murphy didn't have the option.
He wouldn't even allow himself a simple aspirin. Jordyn felt a wave of sympathy. And more than a little concern.
After she had been presented with all the facts, Dorothy took a moment to digest the information. Then, reached over to take back Spencer's piece of cake.
"Hey," he protested.
"Only good boys get dessert, young man," his mother told him.
"What about Dad and Blue? I wasn't the only one who laughed at Murphy's misery."
"They can do without, too," Dorothy declared.
"Thanks for throwing us under the bus, bud." Blue used her long index finger to poke Spencer in the arm. She made certain her nail bit through the cotton of his lightweight shirt.
"Dorothy," Byron cajoled, taking his wife's hand, kissing the back. "Love of my life. I'm sorry. Truly. I was an insensitive fool."
Dorothy snatched back her hand, crossing her arms over her chest. Her expression intractable.
"I'm not the one who needs, no, deserves your apology."
Jordyn bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from grinning as she watched the mini-theatrics play out before her. Nobody involved took the proceedings seriously. Nothing was on the line but a bit of Sunday dinner fun. Still, everybody played their parts to perfection.
Unnoticed, Jordyn slipped from her chair and out of the room. Byron fell to his knees, head bowed, repentant. Dorothy would soon relent. However, she would hold out as long as possible to prolong the fun.
The whole lot of them were crazy. Jordyn's family was looney in the best possible way. And she wouldn't have changed a single thing and would fight tooth and nail the first person who tried.
The patented Kraig brand of insanity had given her an idea. But she needed help. Jordyn lifted her phone, mentally crossing her fingers. After the second ring, her prayers—and call—were answered.
"Jordyn," the woman said, a genuine warmth and welcome in her tone. "What a pleasant surprise."
"Hello, Claire."
Claire Thornton was one of Jordyn's favorite people. They'd met at a gathering of Seattle businesswomen and become fast friends. Her husband, superstar running back Logan Price, was certified Seattle sports royalty. Which Jordyn supposed, made Claire a princess by association. She certainly carried herself with the confidence of a woman who could easily wear a crown on her head.
However, Claire was much more than a pretty bauble on her famous husband's arm. She was immensely successful in her own right. Claire ran a multimillion-dollar business that featured her own handcrafted line of creams, lotions, and potions.
Jordyn had wheedled and pushed and prodded—gently, of course—for over a year until she convinced Claire to concoct an exclusive line for Periwinkle. The items were so popular, they sold out almost as soon as they were placed on the store shelves.
"I need a favor," Jordyn said.
"If I can help, you know I will."
Relieved, Jordyn relaxed. Friends. She wondered how she would ever get by without them.
"Are you familiar with Murphy Baldwin?"
Claire chuckled. "I would have to have lived under a rock for the past week not to have heard. Besides, Murphy and Logan are old friends. He called Logan to pick his brain. To get some advice about making a comeback after a few years out. We had him for dinner before he signed his contract."
Head tipped back, Jordyn let out a sigh. Why was she surprised? From what she could tell, everyone in her personal universe had met Murphy. And knew his story.
Jordyn shook off her chagrin. Her feelings weren't important at the moment.
"If you're at home, I'd like to come by."
"Sure. Logan and the boys are on a backyard adventure," Claire said. "They're a bit too young for a full-out camping trip. However, my men—big and little—love lying under the stars. They are so cute, bundled together in one oversized sleeping bag. Before long, Logan's Sundays will be devoted to football. He wants to get as much time in with Miles and Geoff as possible."
The pride and love in Claire's voice radiated through the phone.
"Logan is a good father."
"And a good husband. And a good man. And I'm a very lucky woman."
Jordyn didn't often feel envious of others. Her life was too full to want what somebody else had. Still, she easily recognized the twinge near the vicinity of her heart. Anybody could find a husband. Finding one who was worth keeping was another matter altogether. She couldn't help but wonder if she would ever be as lucky as Claire and Logan.
"You can come over anytime." Claire broke into Jordyn's wayward thoughts.
"I'll see you in about thirty minutes."
"You're in a hurry. Do you want to give me a hint about the favor you need?"
"Better I explain when I get there."
Thoughtfully, Jordyn put away her phone. Murphy hadn't called. Or tried to see her. The reason could be simple. So much had happened in a very short period. He'd been thrown into a whirlwind of activity. If he had time to catch his breath, she would be surprised. His last priority would be to contact her. A woman who, despite the intense two days they'd shared, he barely knew.
Or, perhaps Murphy's actions were more calculated. He might not want to see her. Period. If so, was she about to make a huge mistake?
Jordyn stiffened her spine, tossing away her concerns as she headed to say goodbye to her family. All she wanted was to help Murphy, not invade his life. If he rejected her friendly overture, at least she could say she tried.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
● ≈ ● ≈ ●
MURPHY TOSSED HIS dirty clothes into a canvas bag, dropping both into the tiny hall closet. He would have time enough to worry about his laundry when he was back in Seattle.
Maybe. If his body didn't give out first.
As he reached to open the refrigerator, Murphy groaned. Damn. Any hope that his long, after-game soak in a heated, bubbling tub would ward off the worst of the inevitable muscle cramps and stiffness had been a fool's fantasy. His thighs ached like a son of a bitch. And now, his lower back had started to sing with pain.
Murphy thought about the unopened bottle of cheap whiskey he'd found in the cupboard. A gift from one of his 'less than thrilled to have him there' teammates? Or accidentally left behind by the last tenant?
The first scenario carried a slightly sinister connotation. A deliberate taunt at the recovering alcoholic. A massive fuck you test for his sobriety.
However, Murphy preferred to believe the second option was the right one. The person who occupied the room before him simply forgot to take the booze with them.
Either way, his interest was low level at best. At one time, Murphy wouldn't have hesitated to take a few swigs—followed by the better part of the bottle—to help ease his pain. But the new, more evolved Murphy understood such an action would only be a temporary fix.
The crutch to ease him over a minor speed bump wasn't worth the inevitable hangover, recriminations, and self-hate. Not to mention the chance that somebody would find out. The mere hint of alcohol on his breath and Murphy would be out on his ass. Another statistic everybody would quickly forget after the initial flurry of bad press.
Murphy had left the bottle on the counter. In the morning, out with the trash. Tonight, a reminder he was a
different man. In control. Ruled by his brain, not his baser instincts. Stronger than the demon alcohol.
The television was tuned to a channel unlikely to mention baseball. Ina Garten and her chopped parsley were no threat to Murphy's peace of mind. Taking the sheet from the bed, he spread the cloth on the floor. The carpet looked clean enough, but he knew from experience the wild parties motel rooms like this one often hosted. Spilled booze, projectile vomit. Semen. Each could linger for a long, long time. No matter how thorough the cleaning.
Murphy could have paid for his own accommodations. Some place that didn't smell vaguely of boiled cabbage and feet. But he was already an oddity in the clubhouse. Though only here for a few days, he tried his best to fit in. Several of his teammates rented rooms at this motel. What was good enough for them, was good enough for him.
Gingerly, Murphy lowered himself onto his back. Better, he thought with a sigh. The heating pad he'd purchased in anticipation was set on high. A Ziploc bag filled with ice from the machine outside his door rested on each leg. And despite every twinging ache, he smiled. His body raised hell, but his mind was as clear and bright as a high summer sky. A drug-free high. Naturally.
With a chuckle at his lame attempt at a joke, followed by a low moan, Murphy closed his eyes and thought about today's game. A sense of satisfaction settled over him. A feeling he hadn't experienced in a very long time.
His mind and body settled, Murphy let the replay of his first game in over two years begin. Frame by frame. The plan had been for him to only play the first four innings. To ease in. However, when the top of the fifth rolled around, he felt so good, he talked the manager into another frame. Then another. Enthusiasm overshadowed common sense. As a result, he was doomed to an uncomfortable, fitful night's sleep.
"Who needs sleep? I'm back in the fucking show, baby."
If Murphy could have raised his arm without gritting his teeth, he would have pumped his fist in the air. At the plate, his timing needed some work. The bloop single he managed in the third had been a lucky break. But he'd find his swing.
For the First Time (One Strike Away #$) Page 11
