by Tara Wyatt
“I’m too old to chase your wild pitches, Pederson,” he said. “You can throw a fucking strike. I know you can. I’ve seen you do it.” Nate still looked uncertain, so Jake gestured at the stadium around them. “Ignore all of this. None of it matters. Imagine you’re playing ball back at home, in high school or whatever. Go to your happy place. Because none of this,”—he gestured around him again—“changes this.” He pointed at Nate’s arm. Nate nodded, his brow furrowed. Jake decided to try a different angle.
“Hey, Pederson, why does Santa Claus have such a big sack?”
Nate shook his head and shrugged. “Uh…”
“Cause he only comes once a year.”
At that, Nate cracked a smile and Jake saw the tension in his shoulders ease. Good. He needed to get the kid out of his own head.
“You got this. Throw him low, inside. He’ll chase.”
Nate nodded, looking more sure of himself. His job done, Jake jogged back to home plate.
Nate struck the batter out.
Bracing himself, Jake sank down into the steel tub filled with icy water after they’d beat the Mariners 5-4 that afternoon. August was officially over, ushering in the excitement of September baseball, and thanks to their hot streak, the Longhorns were only two games out of the wild card spot. So as long as they kept winning—and the Red Sox and Astros maybe lost a few—they had a real shot at the postseason.
He leaned back, resting the back of his head on the edge of the tub. His knees ached like fucking hell. The game had gone to extra innings, meaning he’d spent even longer than usual crouched behind the plate. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar figure approaching, a bottle in one hand and a bucket in the other. Abby dumped a few pounds of ice into the tub, right onto his knees, and then handed him the cold bottle of beer. He took it and she shot him a small smile, and he knew it was her way of showing him she was on his side. He appreciated the gesture, even if the ice was freezing his nuts off.
“It doesn’t matter who I am, I worry about you and I want to help you. Okay? Friends? For real?” she asked, her brow furrowed with concern.
He took a long sip of the beer. “Okay.” He wasn’t okay with being just friends—he was pretty fucking far from okay with it—but what choice did he have? He had to find a way to accept it and move on. “Friends.” He took another sip of his beer and glanced around, making sure they were alone. “Although I do miss your fun bits.”
She smiled, her cheeks turning pink, her eyes simmering with heat. “Speaking of fun bits, do you have trunks on in there?”
“Damn straight. Don’t want to damage the goods.”
She smiled ruefully. “They are nice goods.”
“Nice?” He let out a little scoff. “I think you can do better than that, Gossman.”
“Didn’t realize we’d resorted to fishing for compliments,” she teased, and he smiled, masking his sadness. It felt good to flirt with her like this, but it was also a reminder of what was gone. “I miss your fun bits too.” She bit her lip, as though trying to seal her mouth shut in the wake of her honesty. But then she moved closer and said softly, “I miss everything about you, and I keep trying to tell myself that this has to be enough, somehow.”
Her words hit him right in the gut, and he shifted in the tub, uncomfortable with the pain of losing someone who was right freaking there. Having Abby as his friend would never be enough. Not for him, and if he was a betting man, he’d wager it wouldn’t be for her either. Before he could say anything else a few other players passed by, interrupting the moment. Which was fine, because they shouldn’t be having any moments. He waited until Beau and Connor moved off before speaking.
“I’m sorry I was an ass before. I just…this is a lot, and it sucks, and I’m trying.”
She nodded. “I know. I do. Let’s just move forward, okay?”
“Sounds like a plan.” A shitty plan that he hated, but what was he supposed to say? No, Abby, pick me, your boyfriend of a few months over the career you’ve spent a lifetime building.
Right.
“Great. A bunch of the guys are going for dinner. You coming?”
“Are you going?” He couldn’t help himself. He wanted to be around her.
“Yeah, I think so. Gotta eat somewhere.” She shrugged. “I need to go check in with Javi. He got roped into answering a bunch of questions about Hunter during the post-game, and Hunter’s pretty much his least favorite subject.” She turned to go, but he reached out his free hand and circled it around her wrist. God, that felt good, touching her like that, like he still had the right to.
“You look after everyone. Javi, the players, the little girls who look up to you, the organization as a whole.” He paused, his eyes meeting hers. “Make sure you take what you need, too.”
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I can’t have what I need.” Her eyes lingered on him a second longer, and then she was gone.
Jake sank a bit lower in the icy water and finished his beer.
Abby eased back in her chair at the Dallas Chop House, one of the team’s regular hangouts for post-game dinners. Artsy pictures of bulls and cowboys hung on the walls, done in tasteful shades of cream and gray. The lights were dim, with large windows looking out onto Main Street and the passing traffic. The team’s table was littered with glasses and plates, appetizers getting passed around but not usually making it very far. Post-game appetites, especially after a win in extra innings, were always big. Laughter and conversation filled the air around her, punctuated with the occasional clink of glasses or cutlery on plates. The air felt heavy, scented with meat and garlic and butter. Abby pushed her salad around on the plate in front of her, not feeling very hungry despite that afternoon’s win.
She’d deliberately sat at the other end of the table from Jake, but it didn’t seem to matter, because all she could do was stare at him. He wore a light blue dress shirt and navy blue pants that hugged his muscular legs, and she shifted in her seat, heat curling over her as she watched him talk and eat. She needed to find a way to stop staring, but it was as though her eyes were magnetized to him. She’d spent so much time missing him during the time they’d dated that it felt almost surreal that he was right here, right now and she couldn’t do a damn thing about missing him.
Her mind flashed back to that morning in the batting cage, the anger and frustration rippling off of him in nearly palpable waves. She got it, because she felt that way too. But what were they supposed to do? She was a coach, he was a ball player; things just couldn’t work out between them as circumstances were now. And she didn’t plan to change her circumstances anytime soon, and apparently neither did he.
Butterflies flapped in her stomach as she remembered what he’d said about her being the best relationship he’d ever had.
“Stop it,” she muttered to herself, shoving a forkful of lettuce into her mouth and washing it down with water.
“I talked to Robert after the game,” Javi said, leaning in a bit closer. Robert Cummings was the team’s owner. An eccentric tech billionaire, he didn’t really know much about baseball, but his partner had bought a football team, so Robert had bought the Longhorns. The billionaire version of keeping up with the Joneses. “He’s really pumped about the team’s post season chances this year.” Javi took a sip of his drink. “Jazzed, as he put it.”
Abby nodded. “That’s great. Guess we’ll both have jobs next year as long as we don’t go down in flames.”
Javi smiled. “That’s the idea.” He glanced around the table, taking in everyone lost in their dinners or their conversations. “Hey, I know I asked you this the other night, but are you okay? Did something happen?” He looked at her with concern.
Abby stopped herself from letting out a little snort. Yeah, something had happened. “I’m fine. Just haven’t been sleeping well.”
“Something on your mind?”
She shook her head. “Nah. I’m good.”
He studied her with an appraising gaze. “You w
ork really hard. I hope you know I see that. The results of everything you do show up at the plate.”
She flushed a little at his compliment. “Thanks. I just want to win. Whatever it takes.” The sound of Jake’s laugh pulled her gaze to the end of the table. He was smiling, joking around with Hunter and Beau. He looked happy. Relaxed. He had a kind of easy, masculine confidence that she’d always found enormously appealing.
Javi bit his lip, uncertainty flashing in his eyes. “Listen, Abby—” But before he could finish his thought, Laurel, the team’s marketing coordinator interrupted with a hand on Javi’s arm.
“You’re single right?” she asked, her eyes sparkling. Javi frowned slightly.
“Uh, yeah. Why?”
“Everyone, can I have your attention please? This will just take a second.” The table quieted down as everyone turned their eyes to Laurel. Abby hadn’t even realized Laurel had come to dinner with them, she was so in her own head. “As you all know, we’ve been taking on some new charitable initiatives this year, working with the community to raise both awareness and funds for important causes. We’ve partnered up with the United Way to raise money, and to do it, we’re having our first ever Dallas Longhorns bachelor auction!” She clapped her hands together excitedly while a series of groans went up around the table. “So, I thought while I had you all here, I’d get a few single volunteers to participate.” When silence hung over the table, she made a small pout. “Come on, guys, it’s for charity.”
Javi sighed. “Okay, fine. Count me in.”
“Yay!” Laurel pumped her fist and made a note in her phone. “Who else?”
Connor Slate and Beau Beckett volunteered, along with a few other guys. After Dylan and Hunter both bowed out, neither of them being single, Laurel turned her attention on Jake.
“What about you, new guy? Are you single?”
Jake hesitated for just the briefest second and then he smiled in a way that had Abby’s stomach twisting sickly. “Yeah, I’m single.” Those three words hit her like a freight train and she pushed up from the table, excusing herself to use the ladies room.
As she washed her hands, she felt almost uncontrollably possessive of Jake, even though she had no right to be. She’d let him go because she had to, for the sake of her career. A career she’d sacrificed everything for. She glanced at herself in the mirror. “Get a fucking grip, Gossman.”
With a flash of clarity, she knew why she was feeling like this. It was because of his earlier admission, that their relationship hadn’t just been good, but the best he’d ever had. What was she supposed to do with that now? Why hadn’t he told her that when they were still together? She’d known that he cared about her and had feelings for her but…fuck, he’d made it sound like he was in love with her or something, and that made everything that much harder. That much more confusing.
It made the loss that much sharper.
She touched up her lip gloss and headed back to the table, knowing she needed to find a way to let all of this go. She returned just in time to see Jake putting Laurel’s number in his phone.
Grabbing her purse and throwing some money on the table, she turned and left, needing to get the hell out of there.
Abby unlocked her front door and stepped inside the small but stylish two-bedroom home she’d bought last year. It was only about 1200 square feet, but she’d bought it with her own money—money she’d earned coaching in the MLB for two seasons now—and it felt like home. She’d taken her time decorating it, picking out paint colors and furniture, getting it exactly the way she wanted it. The yard could still use some work, but given how much time she was away during the spring and summer, it was something she hadn’t gotten around to yet. Maybe next year she’d hire a landscaper to put in an actual garden or something.
She dropped her keys on the long, skinny table by the front door and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above it. She was surprised to see that she didn’t look nearly as tired as she felt. Probably because her fatigue was mostly emotional, not physical.
She passed through the living room with its large gray sectional, brick fireplace and flat screen TV and headed up the stairs. The master suite was made up of three rooms: a den with another TV, a sofa, a computer desk and cases with her softball memorabilia—including her Olympic gold medal; her bedroom, with her queen-sized bed; and the master bath, with a large walk-in shower and jetted tub nestled into the corner. Rolling her neck, she stepped into the bathroom and started the water running in the tub. It had been a long day, and she knew if she had any hope of getting some sleep, she needed to unwind.
As the tub filled, she undressed and then sat on its edge, slipping her feet into the soothing hot water and scrolling through her phone as steam rose from the water. Everything on her phone was a mindless blur, but she kept scrolling because if she stopped, she knew she’d start thinking about Jake and start feeling everything she was trying not to feel.
But it didn’t matter, because at just the thought of his name, it was all right there, just simmering under the surface. The disappointment and frustration. The ache that had opened up somewhere deep inside her when he’d said—truthfully, she reminded herself—that he was single. The jealousy that had burned a hole in her stomach at the idea that he might start dating someone else, because he could.
With a little groan of frustration, she pulled her pinkened feet out of the tub, wrapped a towel around herself and padded into the den, forcing herself to look at each item of memorabilia. Trophies and medals and awards. Pictures and gloves and jerseys. It was a physical litany of her success, of everything she’d spent her life working for. This was what mattered. This was who she was. And if it meant that she couldn’t have something else, that was just the way the cookie crumbled. Her father had taught her from a young age that if she wanted to stand out and play with the boys, she’d have to make hard choices. And he’d been right, over and over again.
She headed back into the bathroom and set her phone on the tiled ledge around the tub, then turned off the faucet and slipped into the hot water, feeling her muscles relax, the tension ebbing out of her as she settled herself. She let her eyes drift closed, but as soon as she did, all she could see was Jake.
Jake, who understood her passion for the game like no one else.
Jake, who made her feel incredibly sexy.
Jake, who made her laugh.
Jake, who was gorgeous and made her stomach dissolve into a mass of butterflies every time she saw him.
Memories surfaced, one after the other. For her birthday, he’d surprised her with Selena Gomez tickets, and he’d proceeded to butcher the lyrics to every single song. She’d never forget nearly squirting her drink out of her nose when he’d insisted the words were “farting carrots.” The vintage Reds cap she’d given him as a slump buster when he’d gone through a dry spell at the plate earlier that season. He’d worn it nearly every game since, even though it hadn’t been part of the official uniform. The first night they’d spent together, when they’d spent hours talking about anything and everything, as if they’d known each other for years.
Everything about them had just worked, in a fundamental way.
Her phone started buzzing from its spot on the ledge, inching dangerously close to the edge of the tub. She picked it up and squinted at it, her stomach giving a funny little lurch when she saw the name “Jake” on the screen. Before she could tell herself she shouldn’t, she swiped her finger across the screen to answer the call.
“Hey,” she said, settling herself back against the tub.
“Hey. Are you okay? You left kind of suddenly there.”
She bit her lip, on the verge of lying to him and telling him she’d just been tired or had a headache or some bullshit, but she made a split second call that if they were going to be friends, she owed him honesty. “I saw you flirting with Laurel.”
He let out a little laugh, a low sound that rippled over her skin. “You think that was flirting? She was just exchang
ing contact info. Nothing more.”
“If you say so.” She let out a breath. “I mean, it’s fine. We’re not a thing, and you’re single, and we’re just friends now, so—” She felt her face flame as she fumbled through her words.
“Abby, I wasn’t flirting with her. Trust me, she’s not my type. I’m actually kind of hung up on someone else, but it doesn’t look like it’s going to work out. And I get it, but it sucks because she’s kind of awesome.”
She swirled her foot through the water, creating little waves, his words soothing something deep down inside her while making her miss him all the more. “Cute.”
“I’m the cutest. But seriously, are you okay?”
“I don’t know.” It was the most honest answer she could give him. “I keep trying to figure out how things could be different, you know?”
“Time machine? Has anyone invented that yet? Hang on, I think I have Elon Musk’s number. Come to think of it, maybe he was flirting with me,” he teased. If he was joking about it, maybe he really was okay with moving on. But if he was, why had he told her that she’d been the best relationship he’d ever had?
“Ha ha, very funny.” She rolled her eyes and bit back a smile.
“One of my many qualities.”
“Right up there with humility.”
He laughed. “So, what are you up to?”
“Right now?” she asked, her skin flushing a little.
“Right now.”
She dragged the tips of her fingers through the steamy water. “I’m in the bath tub.”
He made a low, masculine sound that she felt in her core. “You’re killing me here, Gossman.”