“It wasn’t her parents.” His jaw flexed. Nina realized she was seeing a different part of Dwight, a more easily wounded side he kept to himself behind the joking, friendly exterior. “She wanted to look good for them, I get that. She wanted it to seem like I was a big success. A big-shot ballplayer.”
Nina screwed up her face. “That doesn’t sound like Maggie.”
“Yeah, well, you weren’t there. She wanted them to know I was team captain, and captain of the outfield and all that shit. She even mentioned my Nike ad. But like I said, I get all that. A woman wants her man to impress. Fair enough. But she took it too far.”
“How?” Nina couldn’t imagine what Maggie could have done to offend such an easygoing guy.
“She fixed it so I got called up. So her parents didn’t think she was with a lower-level Minor League ballplayer.”
“What are you even talking about?”
“After that phone call with her parents, I kept thinking if I was a Friar, they’d respect me more. I was beating myself up. Wishing I hadn’t sucked so bad the first time. Then, a couple days later, boom. I get The Call. Again.”
“And? That’s a good thing, right? That’s what you wanted!”
“But why did I get called up? That first time, I confronted Maggie and she told me it wasn’t her doing because I scored low on her computer program. If I scored so low, why’d they call me up again?”
Nina couldn’t help it—she swatted him on the arm. “You don’t have the sense God gave a fruit fly. What makes you think Maggie had anything to do with it? She’s working for Crush, not the Friars.”
“But they consult her sometimes. It makes sense that they would run the numbers before taking a second chance on me.”
She couldn’t stop shaking her head at the idiocy of it. “Even if they did consult her, they’d want to know what her program said, not her personal opinion. She gives them a whole file of data. Jeez, Dwight, I thought you were smarter than this. I’m seriously disappointed.”
While they’d been arguing, they’d reached the off ramp for the airport. Dwight took it at a screaming pace. His face was bunched into a tight scowl, his jaw hard as a drum. “Her parents are right. She deserves better.”
“Well, if that’s the case, which I don’t think it is, you’re a Friar now. You’re in the majors. Why are you still having a problem?”
They jerked to a halt outside the part of the airport reserved for private charter jets. Dwight was still flexing his hands on the steering wheel, thunder churning in his eyes. “She should be with a…a heart surgeon, not a ballplayer. Someone who can take care of her right.”
“Oh my bejesus! Dwight Conner! Did you hear what you just said? All that other stuff about your call-up, that was just bullshit. You’re afraid! You’re afraid because of what happened at the ballpark, when she fainted. That’s what’s going on here.”
He turned a shocked face on her, but just then, she caught a glimpse of a familiar figure running across the tarmac toward them. “Jim!”
Even with bloodshot eyes and his dark hair a tumbled mess, the sight of Jim sent her heart soaring. She jumped out of the car and dashed toward him. They met halfway. He dropped his bag and opened his arms to her. She collided with him in a perfect tangle of laughter and kisses and murmurs.
He smelled so wonderful to her, a comforting mixture of fresh laundry and mesquite from Crush’s ranch. With an overlay of—she drew back and sniffed, then assessed his red-edged eyes and tired face. “How hungover are you?”
He groaned. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He rubbed his forehead, then shook off his misery like a dog in the rain. “I feel a thousand percent better just looking at you.” Picking up her hand, he pressed a kiss onto it. Shivers raced through her. “I can’t believe you’re here. The entire flight, I had nightmares that you’d be back in Kilby by the time I got here. What if we kept flying back and forth forever, missing each other?”
She laughed. “Okay, you’re really hungover. Poor boy. Why don’t you come back to Trevor’s and I’ll fix you up? A shower, some aspirin, some coffee, some cuddling…” With her most beguiling smile, she tucked close to his chest.
His eyes darkened and he traced her cheek with one finger. “I wish, that sounds like exactly what I need. Especially the cuddling part. But we have to get to the ballpark. Team meeting.”
Crestfallen, she rubbed her head against his arm. “But it’s been weeks since I saw you, and I missed you so much!”
“Okay, public space here.” Her brother walked past, shooting them a sidelong warning glance.
Nina loosened her grip on Jim’s arm, expecting him to pull away under the withering weight of Trevor’s stare. But instead he drew her closer and smiled down at her.
And kissed her.
Tingles of pleasure danced through her veins, along her skin. She sighed against his mouth so their breaths intermingled. Everything disappeared in a haze of contentment. Her Jim was kissing her. Right in front of Trevor and Dwight and everyone else with a charter jet.
“Will you be at the game?” he asked in a husky voice when they finally ended the kiss.
“Of course I will.”
“I…uh…I got you a seat in the wives and girlfriends box, if you want it,” he said shyly. “You don’t have to sit there if you don’t want to, but Paige says they’re all pretty nice.”
She flung her arms around him again. “I love you.”
His face flamed fever red. “I love you too, Nina. Ever since that foul ball in Albuquerque. Best foul ball I ever caught.”
Her delighted giggle was interrupted by the honk of a horn. She glanced around to see Trevor waving impatiently from his Escalade.
“Get in, Nina. Team meeting. Do you want to come to the stadium or should I drop you at home?”
She glanced between the two vehicles, both with big, stormy-looking men at the wheels. Neither of them looked one bit happy, and her mood dimmed. “Can’t I drive with you, Jim?” she whispered.
“I need to talk to Dwight. It’s important. But I’ll see you at the stadium.”
And just like that, her happy mood was back. “I’ll be the one with the ‘Marry Me, Bieberman’ banner.” With one last wink, she skipped off to join her brother.
Jim let out a long sigh as he watched Trevor and Nina disappear in the Escalade, two white-blond heads tilting toward each other. Happiness bloomed in his heart. This was really happening, though of course he could still screw it up. But now, he had to complete his other mission.
He opened the passenger door and tossed his bag in the backseat of Dwight’s rental car. “Hey, DC.”
Dwight grunted. Barely a smile touched his usually beaming features and he gave the impression of being deep in thought. Unpleasant thoughts. Great. The center fielder was already pissed off about something, and Jim’s news was only going to make it worse.
Unless it didn’t even matter. For instance, if things were completely over between Dwight and Maggie, what difference would it make if Jim had spilled the beans about that first double date?
“I…uh…saw Maggie at the wedding.”
Dwight started up the car and let the engine rev for a moment. “Is that right?”
“Yes. She, um, asked about you.”
“How’d she look?”
“Fine. She was wearing a dress with a pattern of red tulips, very summery and fresh. She had a flower in her hair. Might have been a gardenia, really fragrant and—”
“Lieberman.” Dwight turned to look at him, and Jim realized that he’d misread his expression earlier. Not anger. Anguish. “I don’t mean her outfit. How’d she look, mood-wise?”
Jim stalled. “Well, it was a wedding, so…”
“Did she look upset to you? Hurt?” Dwight wiped a hand across his forehead. As hungover as he was, Jim wondered if he ought to be the one driving. “I might have fucked things up with Maggie.”
Oh hell. This was going to be even worse than he’d feared. Might as well rip
it off, like a Band-Aid. “You’re not the only one who fucked up, Dwight. I did too.”
“No, man. Nina is all in. You guys are solid. I saw the way you held each other. Brought a damn tear to my eye.”
“Not with Nina, at least not yet. With Maggie.”
“What are you talking about?” Dwight steered the car onto the freeway that led to the stadium. “And why do you people always tell me these things when I’m trying to drive? Do I need to pull over?”
“No, don’t pull over. We don’t have time. That meeting’s about to start. Here’s what happened with Maggie. I was a little drunk, I’d had shots and champagne and beer and I wasn’t thinking straight. I told her about how when we first went out on that double date… That you wanted to find out if she was keeping you from getting called up.”
“What now? You told her that shit?” Dwight veered across two lanes of traffic. “Why would you do something like that?”
“It wasn’t on purpose! It kind of came out. I don’t even remember.” He clawed his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Dwight. Whatever you want me to do to fix it, I will.”
“No.” Dwight snapped his jaw shut, then shook his head a few times. “Don’t do anything. It’s my problem now. Ah, Christ. First I give her the cold shoulder, then she hears about this? Man, I’ll be lucky if she ever talks to me again.”
“That’s true,” Jim agreed.
Dwight turned to glare at him. “What do you mean? What did she say? Tell me exactly, word for word.”
“I can’t do that. All I remember is she said, ‘Goodbye, Jim Lieberman,’ in a really final way. As if she didn’t expect to see me again.”
“Shit.” Dwight reached the exit and turned the wheel sharply, slipping between two other cars, who honked madly at him. “She’s leaving?”
“I don’t know. I’m just telling you what she said. Oh—” Another key moment came back to him. “She said something about your killer smile. How you might have used your charm on her at the wine bar…or something like that.” He quailed under Dwight’s outraged glare. “I told her you didn’t. I think. I don’t know what I said.”
Dwight’s teeth ground together so loudly that Jim could hear it from the passenger seat. “Destroying the enamel on your molars won’t help the situation,” he pointed out. Sure, he’d ruined the guy’s relationship, but he could do something to help his teeth.
“Shut up,” Dwight growled. “I’m thinking.”
“About what?”
“About how to fix this pig wallow of a mess.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Eh.” Dwight waved a hand at him. “It’s not you. Don’t get me wrong, you’re the worst fucking wingman in baseball. It’s a good thing you’re with Nina now, because we ain’t ever going on a double date again. But I created this situation. I let my ego take the wheel, just like my mama used to warn me about. I have to fix this. I have to go back to Kilby.”
“Now? You can’t. You have a game. And a team meeting. You can’t.” Well off the freeway by now, they hung a right onto the street that led to the stadium.
“That charter plane you flew on. What’s the company name?”
“Dwight. You can’t do this.” But Dwight was already pulling over to the curb.
“I’m doing it. You can cover for me. You owe me that at least, right?”
“Cover for you? You’re a Major League ballplayer. How am I going to cover for you?”
“Any way you can think up. You’re the neuro-genius. You’ll think of something.” A cab flew by, and Dwight jumped out of the rental and flagged it down. “Car’s all yours. Be good to Nina. And remind me never to take either of you to or from the airport again. Too much damn stress.”
19
As it turned out, the chartered jet wasn’t available. It was probably a good thing, since it would have cost him about two months’ salary and his signing bonus. Instead, Dwight caught a plane to Houston and rented a car to get him to Kilby. He arrived in the evening and went straight to Nina and Maggie’s apartment.
No answer.
He’d tried to call Maggie from the road, but she never answered. He remembered her last words to Lieberman—“Goodbye, Jim Lieberman”—with terror. Was she really leaving Kilby for good? He remembered the position her parents had mentioned on that FaceTime call.
Was she going back to Boston?
He interlaced his hands on top of his head, tilting back to gaze up at the sky streaked with puffy sunset clouds the color of bubble gum. What had he done? If he just had a chance to explain…
“Dwight? Dwight Conner?” A young female voice made him whirl around. For a moment, he didn’t recognize the girl standing there next to her mother. Molly, who he’d last seen in a wheelchair at the Kilby Hospital. A soft fuzz of hair covered her scalp and her cheeks held almost as much pink as the sunset sky.
She grinned at him. “I thought that was you. It’s harder to recognize you when you aren’t dressed like Elsa.”
He struck a pose right out of Frozen and batted his eyes at her. “Is that better?”
She laughed, a delighted gurgle of a sound that acted as a balm on his soul.
“You’re looking great, Molly.” He glanced at her mother, taking in her broad smile. It must be a solid recovery to inspire a smile like that.
“I’m doing a lot better. I can even go back to school now.” Molly shot a narrow-eyed look at her mother. “I kind of wish I could wait until my hair grows back, though.”
“Don’t even worry about that, girl. Hair is so last century.” He ran his hand across his own nearly bald scalp. “And if you’re really worried about it, I got a wig you can use.” Dwight winked at her. “In case you want a blond princess braid.”
Molly giggled and leaned closer against her mother.
“Do you live around here?” Dwight asked them.
“No, we came to say goodbye to Maggie Blythe. She was really sweet to Molly and we heard she’s leaving Kilby. But it looks like we missed her already.”
Dwight’s stomach dropped to the level of the sidewalk. “Do you know where she’s going? I was looking for her myself.”
“We just heard that she’s leaving for another job, that’s all.”
Another job. All of Dwight’s worst fears coalesced into a single realization. He’d lost her.
Through his own fear and boneheaded-ness.
After Molly and her mother drove away, Dwight took a few deep breaths and took out his smartphone to do some research. He knew the Blythes lived in Cambridge, and with any luck, they were listed in the phone book.
They were.
He paced around the sidewalk for a minute collecting his thoughts, then sat down on Maggie and Nina’s front stoop. Elbows propped on his knees, he dialed the Blythes’ number. He hoped her father answered as opposed to her mother, because she’d come off as the more hostile of the two.
Of course her mother answered.
“Mrs. Blythe, hello, this is Dwight Conner. I’m the one you met—”
“I know who you are. Why are you calling?”
Her sharp tone got under his skin right away. “I’m calling because I’m trying to find Maggie. I heard she took a new job and I’m assuming it’s the one you offered her. I just want to say that I think it’s a big mistake. Maggie loves baseball, and she doesn’t want to be shut up in some ivory tower academic institution. She can do anything, she’s that brilliant.”
“Exactly. She could do anything, so why waste her talents on baseball?” She made the word sound dirty.
“All due respect, but why do you hate on baseball like that? Baseball is America. It’s life. It’s drama, it’s history, it’s emotion, it’s conflict, it’s redemption. And Maggie loves it. She chose it. How many things in her life did she actually choose? Just baseball. You and Mr. Blythe ought to let her do her thing.”
A throat cleared delicately behind him. He swung around.
Sleepy-eyed and tousled, Maggie stood just outside the open front
door of the apartment. A smile quivered on her full lips. She wore an oversized Red Sox jersey that stopped midway down her thighs. Her bare thighs. She must have been sleeping until he woke her up with his phone call.
“That’s not completely true,” she said softly.
“What?” He blinked at her, completely forgetting the phone in his hand.
“Baseball isn’t the only thing I chose. I chose you, too.”
The vulnerability in her deep green eyes slayed him. She’d chosen him, and he’d freaked out because of…what? His fear that he might not be good enough for her? Her desire to impress her parents? Or—deepest fear of all—that if something happened to her, it would be like getting his heart ripped from his body?
He looked back at the phone. So much for making a good impression on her parents. Mrs. Blythe probably thought he was a nutcase by now. “Mrs. Blythe, any chance you could forget the last three minutes? Pretend I never called?”
“Absolutely not. It was quite eloquent. Maybe I should take another look at this game you both love.”
“If you do, I’d be honored to give you a play-by-play.”
“We heard how you rescued Maggie during a game,” she said in the warmest voice she’d used with him yet. “Take care of her, Dwight Conner, or I’ll come out there and bounce a fly ball off your head.” And she ended the call.
He gaped at the phone. Good God…had Maggie’s mother researched him? Why not? She was a professor after all.
Rising to his feet, he faced Maggie. Sleep creases were grooved into her right cheek and her hair spun in corkscrew curls around her head. She looked wonderful. Like a miracle dropped from the sky.
“I thought you were gone,” he said dumbly.
“So that’s why you called my parents to berate them?”
“That wasn’t berating. If you want berating, you should get inside my head and see what I’m saying to myself. I’m so sorry, Maggie. I’ve messed everything up. I just want a chance to explain.”
She tucked a curl behind her ear and folded her arms across her chest. “Did you intend to seduce me into recommending a call-up?”
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