Second Thoughts: A Hot Baseball Romance

by Mindy Klasky

  “Nicky, Nicky, Nicky…” Epson sounded like Nick was the sorriest sack of shit he’d ever represented. “You’re going about this all wrong. You’ve got to think big! You’re a star now! Don’t waste your time knocking on her door and hoping she’ll open up.”

  “But—”

  “And don’t even think about more chickenshit texts. Don’t bother with her fucking answering machine!”

  “I need to talk to her, Ep.”

  “Sure you do. But you’ve got to think like the face of Luxury Motors. Get her down to Rockets Field! Put your goddamn apology on the scoreboard, ten times bigger than life!”

  “Why don’t I just hire a skywriter, while I’m at it?”

  Epson clicked his tongue, dismissing the sarcasm in Nick’s tone. “Listen to me, Durban. When have I ever led you astray? You want to make her forget some idiot thing you said or did? Overwhelm her. Make it so she can’t see anything else. Can’t imagine anything else. Don’t give her room to breathe.”

  Nick forced himself to listen. This was why he paid Ep the big bucks. Not to be some relationship coach, not to offer up dating advice like some goddamn daytime TV host. But because Jeremy Epson knew people. He understood what motivated folks when the stakes were high. After all, he’d made the Luxury Motor deal happen, with more zeroes on the check than Nick had ever dreamed of.

  Bottom line, Epson was a master negotiator, and Nick needed help with the most important negotiation of his life. He needed to get Jamie back. And he was prepared to do anything to do that.

  ~~~

  Robert’s voice was so excited Jamie had trouble figuring out what he was saying. “The front page! Check out the front page of the News & Observer!”

  Jamie grabbed for her laptop. Sure enough, there was the picture she’d taken, front and center on the screen—the image of Nick, serious and steady, looking out at some unseen horizon. She skimmed the headline of the article. Nick had just become the spokesman for Raleigh Luxury Motor, one of the oldest and most respected businesses in town.

  Her heart clenched at the news. She’d spent the most formative years of her life being happy when Nick achieved things. Even now, even after the nightmare of their personal relationship, it was habit to be pleased when he succeeded. And it didn’t hurt that there was a credit in the newspaper, black letters clear against the white background of the shot: Photo by Jamie Martin. The Rockets must have given permission for the newspaper to use her work.

  Jamie realized Robert was still gushing enthusiastically. “You couldn’t ask for better placement! It’s like taking out an ad!”

  “Well, keep your fingers crossed that someone—anyone—is buying.”

  “No new business?” He managed to make the question casual.

  “Not yet,” she said, trying not to sound as disappointed as she felt. “But I talked to the Rockets, and they’ll have my check cut on Friday. I’ll go by and pick it up in person. I’ll deposit it that afternoon, and I’ll have a paycheck for you at the Fall Chorale.”

  “If you need me to hold off on cashing it…”

  “No,” she said. “Thank you, but no. I’m running a business, and I have to follow business rules.” Before Robert could respond, her phone beeped to indicate she had another call. “I’ve got to run. I’ll let you know if anything else comes in!” Robert signed off, and she answered the new caller. “Hello?”

  “May I please speak with Jamie Martin?”

  She didn’t recognize the voice. The speaker sounded young and energetic. Jamie forced herself to smile, trying to convey professional enthusiasm as she said, “This is she.”

  “My name is Jenn Carson. I’m the owner of Best Foot Forward.”

  Jamie’s belly tightened with nerves. She’d sent an email to Jenn two weeks earlier, trying to scavenge a bit of photographic work from the fitness center. “Of course!” she said, as if she’d been expecting the call.

  “We’re in the middle of a complete overhaul of our corporate image—new print materials, a new website, everything. I saw your work in the paper this morning, and I remembered an email you sent a while back. I think you could bring us exactly the sort of energy we need.”

  “It sounds like a wonderful project. Let me grab my calendar…” Jamie pulled up her electronic scheduling system. She knew perfectly well that she had plenty of time to meet with Jenn. Nevertheless, she asked, “I like to start with a single meeting, about an hour or so, to figure out the parameters of a new project. When would be a good time for you?”

  They negotiated a time for the meeting. All the while Jamie’s heart was pounding. Jenn’s call couldn’t have come at a better time. Maybe Jamie’s was finally breaking through. Maybe she was finally conquering her new home, Raleigh.

  She concluded her call with Jenn and called up the front page of the paper again. She’d captured something in Nick’s eyes—some hooded emotion. He looked rooted, determined. But Jamie knew him well enough to recognize the sorrow deep in his eyes. She was willing to bet her entire paycheck from the Rockets that he’d been thinking of her, thinking of their past, when she caught the image.

  A wave of depression crashed against her, stinging like a physical blow. She’d lived through this before. She knew she’d survive. Nick had ruined her life once before, and then she hadn’t even enjoyed the silver lining of photographic success.

  But this time was worse, even with the timely call from Best Foot Forward. This time, it wasn’t just Jamie’s heart that was broken. This time, Olivia would be hurt. And Jamie could never forgive Nick for that.

  ~~~

  Jamie took a deep breath as she shut her car door. Her junker was completely out of place in the employees’ lot at Rockets Field. On a Friday in the off season, the only people parking here were high up in management, people who drove Mercedes, Audis, all the luxury cars. Like the ones Nick would be promoting with his coveted endorsement.

  With a conscious effort, she pushed her thoughts away from Nick.

  She patted her car’s fender before she walked away. The old thing was one major repair away from being junked. She’d had the starter replaced after that awful night at Artie’s.

  Okay. Artie’s hadn’t been so bad. The night that followed, either.

  It had been the morning after that destroyed her.

  Dammit! There was another flash of memory, a quick image of Nick’s lips on hers, of his hands, of the way he’d played her entire body, like no one else had ever done… She gritted her teeth. She couldn’t afford to backslide now.

  No. She was here at Rockets Field to pick up her check. Then, she’d be free of the team forever. Free of Nick Durban.

  And she could almost make herself believe that was what she wanted as she made her way to the elevator.

  ~~~

  Nick paced in front of the elevator, as nervous as a kid waiting for his prom date. He couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder at the receptionist’s desk. The woman sitting there was not even pretending to do her work—she was staring directly at him.

  Well, why shouldn’t she? He’d called her a week ago and bribed her with cold, hard cash. That, and the promise to show up at her kid’s birthday party next month, handing out Rockets swag. Ep would throw a fit if he ever found out, say he should have charged a thousand bucks for the event. But Nick didn’t give a damn what Ep thought. Nick had needed the receptionist’s help. Truth be told, he would have paid a hell of a lot more.

  He glanced at the clock on the wall. Quarter to two. Jamie was always, reliably, early to business appointments of any sort. He knew that. He’d counted on that.

  And, just like magic, the elevator dinged.

  The door slid open, and Jamie stood there. The sight of her hammered an arrow into his gut. He tried to remember how to breathe, how to smile, how to step forward and hold the door for her so she could step into the reception area.

  But she recovered first. He watched her paste on a smile, setting her jaw like a person bracing for bad news at a doctor
’s office. She edged out of the elevator, taking care not to brush against him.

  “Nick,” she said. Her voice was perfectly even, precisely balanced. She certainly wasn’t pleased to see him, but she wasn’t angry either. She wasn’t sad, or disgusted, or even resigned. She was merely acknowledging his physical presence in front of her.

  “Twelve,” he said. The nickname slipped out, even though he’d coached himself to use her name.

  Shit. Her face remained blank. It was like she’d never spoken to him before. Like they had no history together, no past at all, no reason to ever consider a future.

  He’d made a huge mistake coming here. All those hours he’d spent, thinking about Ep’s advice, his conniving phone call to the receptionist so that he’d know when Jamie was picking up her check… It had all been a waste of time.

  “Excuse me,” Jamie said, taking a single step to the side. “I have an appointment.”

  He glanced at the clock. “Not for a few minutes. Please, Jamie. Can we talk?”

  She’d never been a fool. Her dagger glance went directly to the receptionist; she took in the girl jumping back to her computer. Jamie knew exactly how she’d been betrayed. She stiffened her shoulders before turning back to him. Pitching her voice just a little too loud, as if she wanted to make sure the receptionist heard every syllable, she said, “Sure, Nick. What would you like to talk about?”

  “Please,” he said again, gesturing toward the meeting room behind the receptionist’s desk. His bribe had covered the conference room. He’d made sure of that.

  Jamie rolled her eyes, but she followed his lead, not sparing a glance for the traitorous receptionist as she marched into the room. By the time he’d closed the door behind himself, she had her arms crossed over her chest.

  His palms were sweating, but he resisted the urge to wipe them against his jeans. His pulse was elevated, adrenaline pumping as hard as when he stepped up to the plate in a big game. He glanced out the window toward the playing field, toward the massive scoreboard that towered over the well-maintained base paths.

  Ep had been so certain, so sure…

  Nick turned away and shifted the lock on the door, guaranteeing they’d have privacy for the most important conversation of his life.

  ~~~

  “What do you want, Nick?” Jamie was proud that her voice didn’t waver. She’d been so astonished to see him standing in the reception area that she’d almost forgotten to step off the elevator. Only habit and a stinging sense of pride had carried her through the moment.

  “Jamie,” Nick said, and then he licked his lips.

  She knew that look. He was nervous, just as he had been the first time he’d asked her out for coffee, a lifetime ago. Just as when he’d prepared for classroom presentations, back in college. Just as the day before graduation, when he’d braced himself to break her heart.

  “Jamie,” he repeated, and then he rushed on, as if he were afraid he’d forget his lines. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for TrueLove, for not telling you the truth the second I saw you sitting in the bar. You’ll never believe me, but as soon as I realized you were ShyGirl, I knew you could walk away from me. You could reject me the way I’d rejected you back in college, and I was terrified that I’d never have the strength to get over that. Not the way you could. Not the way you did. I love you too much.”

  “You have a hell of a way of showing it.”

  He winced. “I deserve that. And a lot more. All I can say is it was a dick move. I panicked. I felt like I was back in college, and I had to protect you from the truth.”

  Her old anger flared. “I can take care of myself, Nick!”

  He held up his hands, surrendering as if she had him pinned with an automatic weapon. “I know that now!” He swallowed hard and looked out the window, back at the field, at the scoreboard. “I was an idiot the other night. And I was an idiot back in college. I only cut you out of my life because Ep said I should.”

  She barely kept from rolling her eyes. She’d hated Jeremy Epson from the first time she’d met him, with his hand-tailored suits and his hundred-dollar haircuts. Any guy who flashed that much cash—on a college campus no less—was working way too hard to prove his own self-worth.

  And then Nick repeated all the old arguments. “Jamie, I only ever wanted what was best for you. I’d heard stories about how terrible it was, being a player’s wife. I knew I’d be moving out to California, and I’d be on the road for weeks at a time. I had to concentrate on the game, it was the thing that was new, the thing I couldn’t control, the thing I couldn’t trust.” He raised his eyes, really looking at her for the first time since they’d entered the room. “You deserved so much more.”

  “I understood the rules, Nick,” she said. “I knew what I was signing up for.”

  He nodded. “I know that now. You’re a thousand times stronger than I ever gave you credit for. I see what you’ve done with your career…”

  She snapped, “I wasn’t fishing for compliments.”

  “I know you weren’t!” The energy of his protest spun him back toward the door.

  She caught him before he could leave forever. “What are you trying to say, Nick? I know your books tell you to be the hero. You’re supposed to be strong and silent, solving every problem with barely a spoken word. That’s great for a book; that’s wonderful if you’re in some Hemingway novel. But this is the real world. This is us. Tell me something I don’t already know. Make me understand why you came here today.”

  ~~~

  He had to say it. He had to tell her the truth that was chewing away at his guts.

  Jesus. This was what Ep wanted him to put on the scoreboard? This was what he was supposed to shout to the world? Jeremy Epson might be a genius in the world of sports agenting. He might land huge endorsements against impossible odds. But the asshole didn’t know the first thing about love. He didn’t have a clue about Jamie Martin.

  Nick turned his back on the blank scoreboard. It was going to sit there, as empty as Jeremy Epson’s heart while Nick shot out a breath and tried one last time.

  “I love you, Jamie. You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved. I love the way you use your camera to frame the world, to turn impossible things into objects you can control. I love the way you go for everything you want. I love the way you’re raising our daughter. Even when I was playing games on that stupid website, even when I was typing messages to Shygirl6, it was you I kept picturing, you I really loved.”

  “Nick—”

  He closed the distance between them. “Jamie, when I woke up next to you that Saturday morning, I knew I’d wasted the last seven years of my life. Everything was so good, so comfortable, so right that I never wanted to leave. I never wanted to wake up next to anyone else, for the rest of my life. I’m begging you to forgive me for wasting those seven years, because I can never forgive myself.”

  Emotions darted across her face. He’d hurt her even more deeply than he’d imagined. His lies about TrueLove had left her brutally exposed. The light died in her eyes as she said, “Nick, even if I forgave you, I could never trust you again. Because you keep proving that you don’t trust me.”

  He had to say it then. He had to tell her the real reason he’d cut her loose before he went to California. She had to know, to understand. He had to trust her with the truth, even if she walked out of this room forever, even if she never said another word to him again.

  “I was a selfish asshole, Jamie. I pushed you away because I wanted to know what else was out there. You were my first, my only, and I had to know what I was missing.”

  He saw the knife edge register. Her face paled, and her throat worked as if she were trying to swallow ground glass. She tried to say something, tried to speak, but she couldn’t force out the words.

  He went on, because he had nowhere else to go. “I’m sorry. I should have told you. We should have talked. I was scared that I was missing out on something, and I ended up losing everything. I ended up losing you.” His
voice was so rough he could hardly make out his own words, but he forced himself to turn around, to meet her shocked, astonished eyes. This was so much harder than Ep’s way, so much more difficult than some grand, empty gesture.

  “Dammit, Jamie. Ep said I should be as public as possible about this. He said I should have Luxury’s cameras here, get footage for commercials. I should put something up on the scoreboard and drag you out to the pitcher’s mound, get down on one knee and offer you a three-carat ring.” He dashed the back of his wrist against his eyes.

  “I didn’t do that, though. I couldn’t. This is your decision. I was wrong to take that away from you, from us, and I’ve been paying for it ever since. I won’t do that again, because this isn’t about me. It was never about me. It’s always been about us. All three of us, now.”

  There. He’d done it. He’d reduced everything to words. All the words. All the truths, even the ones that hurt like hell. There was nothing more to say. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the piece of paper he’d finished in the middle of the night. It was folded into careful fourths, and he thought his heart would burst as Jamie took her time opening it. “It’s for Olivia,” he said. “If you could just give it to her? Before her concert tonight?”

  ~~~

  Jamie’s fingers shook as she unfolded the page. He’d used a black crayon to print his message: “Dear Red, I wish I could be at the Fall Chorale. Instead, I drew you a picture so you’d know how much I’m thinking of you. I hope you’ll sing your acorn song for me the next time we see each other. Love, Red.”

  The line drawing showed a man with flaming orange hair, holding out an acorn to a girl with the same bright curls. They both had green eyes and huge smiles on their faces. He’d sketched in a scalloped border of pink and purple.

  She was too overwhelmed to say anything. He’d chosen his words so carefully, not even hinting that Jamie was the reason he couldn’t attend the concert. Her throat ached with unshed tears. He’d remembered Olivia’s show despite the chaos of the past two weeks, despite the disaster they’d made of their personal lives.