by Laura Simcox
He was sharp, completely focused, and had a new respect for baseball. Sure, he’d gotten frustrated, because baseball wasn’t easy. Talent wasn’t enough. But the idea of throwing attitude just to vent his frustrations didn’t even occur to him now. There was a certain level of pride associated with being a major leaguer, and compromising that by acting like a petulant kid wasn’t an option.
Petulant. He smiled. Georgia would love that word, even though she’d give him shit for using it.
He missed getting shit—from her and from his Redbirds teammates. Looking up, he glanced at the other players. Some of them kicked back on couches with earbuds in, and some were checking e-mail on their phones. Joe sat at a table, reading a newspaper. It was a different vibe than the Redbirds clubhouse, but he bet Georgia would love this too. Especially the view.
“I have this thing for athletes,” she’d said once. The light in her eyes when she’d said it had turned him on like nothing else. But now wasn’t the time to think about being turned on. Or think about her at all—though she was always in the back of his mind, a steady, loving presence.
He stared across the room for a moment and conjured up her sweet face. It had been only a little more than two weeks since he’d last seen her, but every moment since then, he’d wanted to call her. Maybe if he just sent her a text. He pulled out his own phone and moved to an empty couch. He caught Joe’s eye and smiled. “Hey.”
“Hey, bro.” Joe ambled over and sat next to Brett. “How’s it going?”
“Pretty good.” Brett tossed his phone and caught it. “The rumors about Georgia are starting to die down. I guess ‘out of sight, out of mind’ really does work with the media.”
“Good. Have you actually talked to her, or have you just been looking her up online?”
“Online.” Brett tossed the phone again and Joe snatched it midair.
“Gotta show you something.” Joe tapped Brett’s phone to open the screen and pulled up the browser. “Something I’m thinking about for mom’s new digs.”
“Oh yeah?”
“It’s in a real safe neighborhood in St. Louis but not too fancy. She’d hate fancy.” Joe navigated to a real estate site and showed Brett a photo of a modest brick ranch house. It was nicely landscaped and had a wreath on the door. “You approve?”
Brett nodded. “Should we show it to her first?”
“We should, but I don’t think we will.” He gave Brett a serious look. “Tough love time.”
“She’ll move if she knows we already bought it. Won’t want to put us out.”
“Exactly,” Joe said. “But she’s not used to the good life.”
“She’ll get used to it,” Brett said firmly.
“Damn straight.” Joe paused. “Speaking of good things, when are you going to call her?”
“Mom?”
Joe shoved his shoulder. “No, dumbass. Georgia.”
Brett took his phone back from his brother. “I will.”
“When?”
“None of your damn business.”
Joe shook his head. “You know I’d give my left nut to have a woman look at me the way she looked at you at the hospital.”
“Women do look at you, Joe.”
“Yeah. Skanks. I’m talking about a real woman—real love. It’s hard to meet someone when you’re on the road half your life.”
Brett glanced at him. “And I’m thinking it’s hard to keep a woman when you’re gone so much.”
“Is that what you’re worried about?” Joe glanced around and lowered his voice. “Her dad is the president of the United States. Don’t you think that she understands what demanding schedules are like?”
“I’m hardly the leader of the free world,” Brett said.
“Which is a good thing.” Joe nodded. “But you’re a decent person, bro. So is she.”
Brett looked at his brother—at Joe’s relaxed, open expression. How was it that his brother could be so easy? He’d lived practically the same life as Brett. He’d gone through the same childhood, the same career climb, and—just like Brett—he’d been blindsided by the news of Buddy. Except Joe had learned that news right along with the rest of the Memphis viewing public. That alone should have been devastating, but Joe had held his head up high. He’d continued to call himself Joe Jr. He’d told Brett that the nickname had value because Mom had given it to him out of love—it didn’t matter whether it was true or not.
“You’re amazing,” Brett said. “Where do you get that peacefulness?”
Joe shrugged and leaned back on the sofa. “Mom, I guess. I watched her for years, putting up with shit, dragging herself through life with a smile on her face. I figured the least I could do was try not to sweat the small stuff.”
“Buddy Mambo is small stuff?” Brett asked.
“I didn’t say that.” Joe sighed. “But focusing on him is taking away from focusing on my life. He’s not worth that to me. You get what I mean?”
“Yeah.” Brett nodded, realizing he felt the same way. He was bitter about Buddy, but it didn’t consume him like it had a few weeks ago. “I’d rather play ball than think about that asshole.”
“Or his stupid grin,” Joe added.
“Or his stupid commercials.”
“But Mom—” Joe paused. “It’s going to be a lot harder on her than it is on us.”
“I know. We’ll be there for her.” Brett clapped his brother on the shoulder and stood up to stretch. “How much time do we have before the game?”
“About twenty minutes. Why?”
Brett nodded. “I think I’ll go make a phone call.”
“Hell yeah, you do that.” Joe swung his legs onto the sofa and lay down. “And I’ll just chill.”
Chill. Brett hoped he could be the same way, but as he walked out of the clubhouse and down the hall to an empty waiting room, his gut began to tingle. Would Georgia answer? And if she did, what would he say to her?
He dropped into a chair and stared at his phone. She stared back—in the form of a screen saver—her hair curling around her face, her freckles dusted across her nose, her eyes lit up with humor. He gazed at her lips, curved in a sweet smile, and he knew what he was looking at. It was love, and love didn’t hesitate.
He called her.
It rang. It rang again. On the third ring, his heart sped up, and for a split second he wondered if she would answer. And then she did, her hopeful tone like music to his ears.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi, sugar.” Brett cleared his throat. “It’s good to hear your voice.”
“Yours too.”
“You busy?” He leaned forward in the chair, his elbows on his knees.
“Depends on how you look at it. I’m . . . moving today.”
“Oh yeah?” He wanted to ask where, but he held the question back. If she wanted to tell him, she would.
“Yeah. But because of security, I’m not allowed to actually be seen moving anything into my apartment. I’m also not allowed to explore my neighborhood until the Secret Service explores it first.” She sounded a bit breathless. “Which sucks because there’s a great little bookshop and a ton of other shopping I want to check out on Euclid Avenue.”
“Euclid?” Brett stared at the floor.
There was a Euclid Avenue in the Central West End of St. Louis.
“Did you say Euclid?” he asked.
“Um . . . yeah.”
“Okay.” He took a breath.
How many Euclid Avenues in the United States could there be—with bookstores and shopping?
“I have to ask . . .”
“What?”
“I want to know . . .” He took another breath and sat up straight. “Georgia, are you trying to tell me you’re in St. Louis?”
She didn’t speak for a few seconds. “Yes. In my roundabout way. That’s what I’m telling you.”
“Thank God,” Brett said. He closed his eyes, and a tightness he didn’t realize he’d been holding inside loosened, little by
little.
“I was going to tell you when I got settled and started my new internship. Things are—I am, I mean—still up in the air.”
“About us?”
“No,” she answered immediately. “You’re the one thing I’m certain of.”
“Good.” He’d hoped that she’d been feeling that way all along, but hearing her say it with such conviction made his heart swell. Gave him strength—and a wonderful reason to hope.
“I have to get my head on straight,” she went on. “I have to try a different career angle, Brett. TV news is what I always thought I wanted, but, when I discovered that I didn’t fit into that world the way I thought I would, I felt—I didn’t know who I was.”
Brett didn’t have an answer for that because he knew exactly what that felt like. He’d never questioned whether he ought to play baseball, but he’d certainly questioned his ability to channel his talent and succeed. Georgia was probably questioning herself, and he had to give her the room to do it. Even if she was within reach. He had to let her talk herself into her future.
“For what it’s worth, I love who you are.”
“It’s worth a lot. I love who you are too, Brett. I’m so proud of you.”
Her pride meant everything to him, and he grinned, though she couldn’t see him. “I’m not going to ask when I get to see you, even though I want to know.”
“So, are you trying to tell me that you’re asking?” Her voice was laced with amusement.
“Sugar, don’t put words in my mouth.” He chuckled.
“Your mouth . . .” She sighed.
He groaned. “Unless you’re going to answer my question, you better stop with the talk about mouths, because I’ll come find you whether you want me to or not.”
“I want you to. I want you.” She paused. “And—”
“When you get settled,” he stated. “It’s okay.”
“Good. I haven’t even been to work yet, and my furniture is supposed to be delivered today.”
Brett wanted to go to her that instant, but he knew he couldn’t. He began pacing instead. “Where are you working?”
“A magazine about the Midwest. I’m going to be compiling articles about the history of the Mississippi River.”
“Oh, that’s interesting.” He raised his eyebrows. “Very cool.”
Georgia laughed. “Mm-hm. You sound fascinated. About as fascinated as I am about baseball statistics.”
“Hey, I lived right on the Mississippi when I was in Memphis. It’s a great river. A great big, brown, muddy river of excitement.”
“Oh, stop. At least it’s not a kajillion numbers on endless pages. Baseball stats are so exciting, they make my eyes cross.”
“Kajillion isn’t a word,” he informed her.
When she laughed, he did too, because his heart was swelling with happiness. This was going okay. No—better than okay. “I’ll show you some excitement,” he added.
“I’ll bet you will.” She laughed again.
“You are referring to kissing, right? And other things I do that take your breath away?”
“You’re so cocky,” she retorted, but he noticed that her breathing was uneven.
“Mm-hm, and you love it. But I was referring to a tour of Busch Stadium.”
She didn’t say anything for a moment, and he winced, sitting back down. Maybe he shouldn’t have tried to make concrete plans. But knowing that he could see her—and not knowing when—was killing him.
“Some time, when you’re ready,” he continued. “Not right now.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Yes, right now. I don’t need time to get settled and think deep thoughts about my future. You are my future. My decision to stay away from you . . . I thought it was because we both needed space to readjust. But you know what I really need?”
“What?” he repeated, his tone hopeful.
“Your lips. On mine.” Her voice trembled. “I miss you so bad, Brett. I’m sorry I walked away from you. I should have been there for you after everything that happened.”
“Oh, sugar.” He could see her face in his mind—that worried look that always made him want to take her in his arms. He shook his head. “It’s okay. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not sorry. You were right. I needed to be with my family.”
She took a breath. “How are they?”
“Better.” He smiled. “And I’ll tell you all about it when I see you.”
“Okay. Where are you?”
“At the stadium, about to put on my gear for a game.”
She groaned. “You’re killing me, Knox.”
“It’s only a couple of hours,” he said in a soothing tone, though he didn’t feel calm. His heart beat like crazy, and suddenly he didn’t want to sit still anymore. He stood up quickly, knocking the chair out from under himself. “I don’t think I can wait.”
“You’ll have to,” she said firmly. “Go play the hell out of that game, and when you’re finished, I’ll be waiting for you outside the clubhouse.”
He began to pace again, a happy grin on his face. “You gonna bring a microphone?”
“Oh, go suck it,” she retorted.
“Be happy to. And I’ll do a thorough job too,” he said.
She let out a soft noise.
With a laugh, Brett hung up and walked into the hall. He leaned against the wall in relief and then sank down into a crouch. “Thank God,” he whispered.
“Hey, Knox,” a voice called from down the hall. “Conference’s starting. Get your meat ass down here.”
Brett sprang up and jogged toward the locker room area of the clubhouse. When he walked through the doorway, several guys glanced his way. One of them frowned and pointed. “Look at him. He looks like he just won the damn lottery.”
Everyone turned and stared.
Brett didn’t care because he didn’t want to stop grinning. He found Joe in the group and nodded at him.
Joe grinned, too, and stepped forward. “Hey, Meat! Heard a rumor that you had the hots for the daughter of the president of the United States.”
“Bullshit,” Brett called out. “She has the hots for me.”
The guys groaned.
“It’s true,” Brett insisted. “She’s in love with me.”
More groans.
“And I’m in love with her.”
Several of the team members shook their heads.
“That’s a hell of a thing to admit,” Joe said as he walked forward. “You know we’re going to give you so much shit now that you won’t know which way is up.”
“Bring it,” Brett said. “I can handle it.”
Joe pulled him into a hug. “Yeah, bro. You can handle it. I believe you can.”
Brett believed it too.
TWO AND A half hours later, Georgia sat in the Secret Service SUV and waited impatiently outside the gates of Busch Stadium. She and her agents had been there for twenty minutes already, and nobody would tell her what was taking so long.
She sighed. “Almost ready?”
Courtney, who sat in the driver’s seat, twisted around and leveled a stare at Georgia. “What did I tell you sixty seconds ago?”
Georgia rolled her eyes. “You’re always ready.”
“Damn straight. But we can’t predict crowds, and there are thousands of people all over this place,” Courtney said.
“I want to see only one of those people.”
“And you will. Safely.” Courtney turned back around. “Why don’t you occupy yourself with trivia or something?”
Georgia laughed. “Oh, it’s on.”
Courtney groaned. “Why did I say that?”
“Look out the window at the Gateway Arch. You see it?”
“Yeah.” Courtney sighed.
“It’s the tallest man-made monument in the Western Hemisphere. It tops out at six hundred thirty feet, and on a clear day, visitors can see thirty miles in either direction from the observation deck at the top.”
“Cool.”
“Yeah. I think I’ll go up in there,” Georgia said with a grin.
Courtney turned around with wide eyes. “Like keeping you safe in open stadiums isn’t enough? The Arch would be a security nightmare. You’re supposed to be the easy daughter, you know. The careful one.”
“The boring one?”
Courtney shook her head. “Now, I didn’t say—”
“You didn’t have to, but it doesn’t bother me a bit, because you know what?”
“What?”
Georgia laughed. “I’m not boring anymore.”
“You never were,” Courtney said. “It was all in your head, just like all the information you have crammed up in there.”
“You want to hear more trivia?”
Courtney held up a hand. “No.” She muttered into her wrist mic. “It’s time.” Turning around, she waited until the gates opened and drove through, parking near a loading dock.
Suddenly, Georgia’s stomach flipped. “Oh. I get to see Brett now.” She took a deep breath. “Oh God.”
“You’re worse than Carolina was a couple of years ago,” Courtney said. “When I took her to see Jake, she was a hot mess.”
“Well, I didn’t fall in love with my Secret Service agent,” Georgia replied.
“True. I’m happy for you. You snagged yourself a good man.”
“Thanks, Courtney.” Georgia glanced out the window at Ernie, who stood waiting by her door.
Courtney shook her head. “A hot baseball player—I don’t mind admitting that I’m a little bit jealous.”
“Well, I hear that his brother is available.” Georgia winked as Ernie opened the door. Stan stood beside him.
“Ready?” Ernie murmured.
“Absolutely,” Georgia said. She grabbed her purse—a very small one because she was finished lugging around a giant bag. She slid out of the vehicle, trying to ignore the fact that her legs felt rubbery.
A few minutes later, after navigating a bunch of hallways with Ernie and Stan, Georgia heard the unmistakable sound of ball players—loud laughter, a few choice curse words, and a lot of chatter. Happy chatter.
She smiled, wanting to run toward the noise, but she forced herself to walk. When she reached the door of the locker room, she stood there, gaping.
A handsome group of men occupied the space, some of them kicked back on couches, shirtless. Others wandered around in their tight white baseball pants, slapping each other on the back and laughing. Another group stood in a corner, posing for a goofy selfie. One by one, they turned and looked at her, and, little by little, the room got quiet.
