For All We Know (One Strike Away Book 3)

by Mary J. Williams

  "Would the Cyclones have traded you? Would you have wanted them to?"

  Delaney couldn't imagine either possibility.

  "A lot of players would've welcomed the chance to play for a contender—something the Cyclones weren't during my early years with the team. And Seattle needed pitching a lot more than a Gold Glove shortstop with some pop in his bat."

  Delaney found Travis' story fascinating. She was a casual fan of the game. But a huge fan of his. She would DVR the Cyclones—fast forwarding to when he came to the plate. Or made a play in the field. Until now, she'd never considered the business of baseball.

  "But you stayed."

  "I like the city. But even more, I had a feeling things were about to change for the better. Nick Sanders was brought up to play second base a year after I was promoted. Then, the final piece. The club signed Spencer Kraig. He's one of the best—if not the best player, in the game."

  "Better than you?" Delaney teased.

  "Call me a close second," Travis winked, a glint of self-deprecating humor in his deep-blue eyes.

  "I read that you, Nick, and Spencer are close."

  "Best friends. We clicked the second we met. Nick never misses a ground ball and Yoda—"

  "Yoda?" Delaney had seen pictures of Spencer Kraig. Short, squat, and green, he wasn't.

  "Everybody goes to Spencer with their problems. He's the team leader—on and off the field."

  They fell into a comfortable, companionable silence. Delaney tried to think of the last time she could just be with somebody. When she didn't feel the need to fill every gap in the conversation with chatter.

  With Travis, she wasn't worried about awkward pauses. He might frustrate her. Or make her angry. He could be arrogant and opinionated. Then again, so could she. But did he make her feel awkward? Never.

  "I came back to Green Hills for three reasons," Delaney said. "First. With the help of some local business people, I want to sponsor a shelter for abused women and children. Any profit from the thrift shop will go there. Second. To support Pete. He will be the next mayor, and I want to be here when he wins. Third—"

  "To close the book on your past. Once and for all."

  Delaney stopped. She hoped the look she sent Travis conveyed half the amount of exasperation she felt at the moment.

  "If you already knew, why the big hullabaloo this morning?"

  "I didn't know until I spoke with Pete." Travis gently tapped her on the chin. "Unlike you, he had no problem explaining the situation."

  "Did you give me a chance to explain?" Delaney tapped Travis back, with a bit more force. "I don't think so."

  "I wasn't in the best of moods," Travis admitted. "Mostly? Beyond why you were in Green Hills? I was pissed about the money."

  For the life of her, Delaney didn't understand why the money was such a big deal.

  "I thought you would be pleased—even proud—that I was in a place in my life where I could afford to pay you back. A place where I can take care of myself. Didn't you want me to be independent?"

  "Of course I did. I do." As he rubbed the back of his neck, frustration written across his face, Travis stared at the town below. "I wish I could explain without sounding like an idiot."

  "Take the chance," Delaney playfully nudged him. "I dare you."

  "Let's sit."

  Travis led Delaney to a nearby wooden bench.

  "I know the money doesn't mean anything to you, Travis. The amount is probably less than you've made while we've been talking. But—"

  "The size of the check isn't the issue, Del."

  "What is the issue? Tell me. Help me understand."

  Travis nodded, gathering his thoughts.

  "I can't describe how I felt the day I'd saved enough to send you money for the first time. You were my friend—and my wife—and I was finally in a position to help support you."

  Delaney didn't like where he was headed.

  "You considered me your responsibility? Your burden?" Bitter on her tongue, she spat the last word out.

  Travis grabbed her hand, anticipating her impulse to stalk away.

  "A burden? Never!"

  "Then what?"

  "Money was my way of staying… I don't know." He sighed. "Connected to you."

  "The occasional letter or phone call would've served the same purpose. Believe me, hearing your voice would've meant a lot more than any amount of money."

  "I called."

  "Once. To see if I arrived safely. After that, nothing. I suppose your lawyer kept you up to date."

  Without warning, Travis seemed to close up. His expressive blue eyes shuttered, hiding his thoughts from her.

  "I don't know what else to say, Del. Accept my explanation or don't. The choice is up to you." Travis stood, his face averted. "If you're finished here, we should probably go. It's getting dark."

  "Don't you want to visit your father's grave?"

  "I had come from there when I ran into you," Travis said coolly. "Do you mind if we skip dinner? I know we had plans. Maybe another night?"

  "I thought you were leaving tomorrow."

  Travis shrugged. "My schedule is fluid. I don't have to be anywhere for the next few weeks. I might stay until after the election. Watching the soon-to-be ex-Mayor Detwiler go down in defeat will be sweet indeed."

  "I understand you contributed a lot to help that happen. You might as well stick around and get your money's worth. Right?"

  Delaney didn't know how Travis could have missed the biting tone of her words. Yet, he didn't even blink.

  "I invested in the future."

  "Like you did with me? Unbelievable."

  With long strides, Delaney started back the way they came, determined to put as much distance between her and Travis as quickly as possible. She should have known shaking him off wouldn't be so easy. With little effort, his long legs kept pace.

  "You weren't an investment as much as money well spent."

  Delaney came to a skidding halt, her boots kicking up gravel.

  "You arrogant bastard. Money well spent? Is that what you said?"

  "You have excellent hearing, Del. I don't see any reason to repeat myself."

  Who was this man? He looked like Travis. But what had happened to the sweet, sensitive man who took her hand as she grieved by her mother's grave? A touch of arrogance was one thing. But in a heartbeat, he'd morphed into a full-on jackass.

  "I don't like this Travis." With the force of a demented game show model, Delaney gestured from the top of his head to his feet and back again. "Go away. Back to Seattle. Or Europe. Or wherever you were headed when you deigned to drop in on me."

  "Bermuda," he said with aggravating calm. In fact—if she weren't mistaken—Delaney could have sworn the jerk's lips twitched.

  "Perfect. Jiggling beach bimbos by the score. Enjoy."

  "I plan to. But first—"

  Travis swung her around, into his arms. His face was so close she could see as his pupils dilated. Delaney had no problem reading his intent.

  "What do you think you're doing?" she asked, jerking her head back.

  "Come on, Del. You know when a man wants to kiss you." Something close to panic flared in Travis' eyes. "Please tell me you've been kissed. You aren't still a—"

  "Of course, I'm still a virgin, Travis. I've saved myself for you."

  "What?"

  Delaney must have been a better actress than she realized if the look on Travis' face was an indication. Surprise morphed into horror—another time that particular emotion might have offended her.

  "Get over yourself." She shoved at him, his arms dropping without a tussle. "I'd have cobwebs growing down there if I had waited for you."

  Delaney was almost to her car when Travis sprinted ahead of her, opening the door.

  "A kiss wouldn't have killed you, Del. Aren't you curious? Just a little?" he asked, his effortless charm back on display.

  "Maybe." What harm co
uld the admission do? "But the grab and take what you want approach doesn't work with me. In fact, I don't think the he-man crap works outside old romance novels."

  "You'd be surprised."

  "Surprised? No." Delaney buckled her seatbelt. "Disappointed in you—and my fellow females? Yes."

  Happy with her parting shot, she started the engine, then waited patiently for Travis to shut the car door.

  "About tomorrow night?"

  Why not? They still had a few things to pick through.

  "If you're still here, you can pick me up at seven."

  "I'll be here, but I don't have a car. I bought a motorcycle. Dress accordingly."

  A motorcycle? Delaney hadn't been on one for years. Since she rode behind Travis, up into the hills. The memory of those days was sweet, and she swore she could almost feel the wind on her face.

  "I'll see you then."

  "Wait." Travis caught the door. "I forgot to ask. Where are you staying?"

  "With Pete and Candice."

  Slowly, Travis grinned as if he knew something she didn't. Something secret and slightly diabolical.

  "What?" Delaney demanded, eyes narrowing.

  "Nothing." So innocent butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, Travis closed the door.

  Shaking her head, she put the car in drive. Five feet down the road, a thought occurred to her and she hit the brakes. With trepidation, she rolled down the window. When she saw Travis, his arms crossed over his chest, waiting, Delaney already knew. But she had to ask.

  "Where are you staying?"

  If possible, Travis' smile widened.

  "With Pete and Candice."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ● ≈ ● ≈ ●

  "EXPLAIN AGAIN." PETE scratched his head. Why do you feel guilty?"

  Travis took a sip of his beer. The bar was another addition since his days in Green Hills. With the choice of microbrews and designer labels, Dewey's would have fit right into Seattle's trendy downtown district. The kind of place he usually avoided like the plague.

  However, Pete chose their waterhole for the night so Travis wouldn't complain. At least the tables were clean, and his feet hadn't stuck to the floor. He didn't mind a little scruff on a bar, but there was a limit.

  "I don't feel guilty," Travis said. "At least, I didn't. Not until Delaney and I started down memory lane. One by one, we put our cards on the table."

  "And then…?" Pete urged.

  "I heard the words in my head and realized how they might sound to Delaney. How do I tell her the first thing I did when I reached Florida—less than twenty-four hours after we were married—I had meaningless, anonymous sex with another woman. Then another. And another. And—"

  "Stop before I get contact envy," Pete pleaded. "In my wildest bachelor days, I never had multiple partners one after the other. Or did they overlap? A threesome? Four? No, don't tell me. I don't need another reason to hate you."

  "Reasons? As in plural?" Travis had no idea. "Name two."

  "Off the top of my head? You're way too good looking. And you can eat anything you want without gaining an ounce."

  "I'll give you the one concerning my face." He grinned when Pete called him a colorful curse word. "Hey, the truth is the truth. However, I call bullshit on the weight gain thing. I work out constantly, my friend. And since I turned twenty-five, I watch what I eat. During the season, nothing passes these lips that wasn't approved by my personal nutritionist."

  "I had no idea." Pete let out an overly dramatic gasp. "You poor baby. Life must be hell."

  "Up yours, Doran."

  "Back to Delaney." Pete ordered another round—good old Bud, straight from the tap. "I get why you might not want to share your sexual exploits. But why the surge of guilt?"

  "I—"

  "Unless you realized Delaney is all grown up. She's desirable. A friend you could tell. A woman you want? Who happens to be your wife? Okay. I get your problem."

  "Except now that I've had a little time, I don't think Delaney would blame me. For some stupid reason, I panicked. And I turned into a walking, talking jerk."

  Pete propped his chin on his hand with the delight of a child presented with the prospect of a new toy. "Mr. Suave put a foot wrong? This I need to hear. And don't skip any of the gory details."

  "Tell me again why we're friends?"

  "Because I don't blindly tell you how great you are. I give you the straight shit. Nothing held back. And—pardon my mush for a brief second—I love you, man."

  "Same here." Travis gripped Pete's hand as they exchanged a bro-hug. "And by the way? You could've told me that Delaney is staying in your house."

  "I could've. But Candice and I thought you would have more fun finding out for yourself. Do you mind?"

  Actually, Travis liked the idea that he and Delaney would be under the same roof.

  "A head's up would've been nice."

  Pete merely shrugged. And grinned.

  "If you think Delaney needs to know, I say go for it. But spare her the sordid details. You know. How you took one woman up against the wall. The next on the floor. A third in the shower. And so on."

  "I didn't mention anything about where we had sex."

  "You didn't mention an exact number either." Pete closed his eyes. "Six. No seven. Curvy blondes with big breasts."

  "Down, boy." Travis had to laugh. "You realize you just described your wife. Not that I ever look at her breasts."

  Pete sent him a warning look, but without much heat attached.

  "Let's drink up. My dream girl is waiting for me at home." Pete took out several bills, tossing the tip on the table. "Is yours?"

  "Enough already." Travis took out twenty bucks. Their waitress was five months pregnant and still managed to keep everybody in her section served and happy. For good measure, he added another hundred.

  "Well, what do we have here? Date night, boys?"

  Eddie Hayes. As Travis put away his wallet, he sized up his ex-best friend. Somebody had discovered the gym. A thick chest strained the material of a black t-shirt, the veins on Eddie's arms standing out in long, blue lines. Mean glinted brightly in his dark gaze.

  "Cat got your tongue, Forsythe? No greeting for your old pal?"

  Travis nodded. His memory was long—especially where Delaney's safety was involved. Pleasant was the best Eddie would get.

  "You're looking good."

  "Are you coming on to me? What did I tell you?" Eddie grinned at the men with him. Three bruisers about the same size and build. "Heard that team of Forsythe's let a fag play for them. You and him butt buddies?"

  When Pete would have stood, fists clenched, Travis shook his head. He'd dealt with men like Eddie long before Cyclones' rookie of the year, Drake Langford, came out to his fellow teammates and the world last summer.

  Prejudiced. Ignorant. And without a compassionate bone in his body.

  Arguing wouldn't help. Fighting felt good but ultimately solved nothing. As for logic. Eddie's skull had always been too thick for common sense to penetrate. Even so, Travis couldn't resist pushing back—if only with words.

  "You know, Pete? I read an article in a medical journal. Guys who constantly complain and make sick jokes about homosexuality? The ones who act as though a gay man is worse than the plague? The study found that ninety-three percent of them have man-on-man fantasies."

  Eddie wasn't stupid. He immediately understood Travis' meaning. Red-faced, the veins on his arms as he clenched his fists looked like they were about to burst—as did the matching ones at his temples.

  "Did you just call me a fag?"

  "What I call you doesn't matter. Are you, or aren't you, Eddie? Your friends would probably be interested in your answer."

  "Fuck you, Forsythe," Eddie ground out, the flush on his face turning a fiery—vaguely alarming—shade of red.

  "I thought you were going to placate this asshole," Pete whispered.

  "I changed my mind."<
br />
  Fighting solved nothing. But sometimes, nothing felt better than pounding his fist into the face of a first-class asshole.

  "You two. Hit the road."

  Miles Weller, manager of Dewey's, didn't look happy. Another blast from the past, Travis thought. Former best friends to the left of them and to the right of them. Former being the operative word.

  "They approached us, Miles," Pete said.

  "They drink here almost every night." Miles nodded toward a smirking Eddie and his crew. "You drop in what? Once a month. Maybe? I side with good, reliable customers. Not upshot, dickwad politicians and their stuck-up buddies who roll into town thinking their shit don't stink."

  As Pete's temper rose with each word out of Miles' mouth, Travis realized the situation had morphed into something out of a bad action flick. Or an equally lame sitcom. He saw himself and Pete as the heroes—naturally. Though Eddie and Miles might have a different take.

  "Come on." Travis grabbed their jackets, practically bulldozing Pete toward the exit. "You don't want to get into a brawl with the election only a week away."

  Pete—reluctantly—allowed himself to be pushed out the door.

  "Do you know how many votes I would get if I shoved Miles Weller's teeth down his throat? And if you knocked Eddie Hayes on his ass? Hell, I'd win by a landslide."

  "Okay. Calm down, Bruiser."

  "What are you talking about? I'm calm. Hell, I'm ice."

  Amused, Travis watched as Pete almost shoved his fist through the lining of his jacket while in the act of retrieving his car keys.

  "Want me to drive?" he asked when Pete's fumbled keys landed at his feet.

  "Give me those." Pete took a deep breath as he unlocked the car. "The irony isn't lost on me, you know. I could've been one of those guys. Drinking every night. Bullying my way around town. A massive S.O.B."

  "We all make choices."

  "Pete the hero?"

  "Damn straight."

  Pete chuckled. "Who'd have thought a white hat would look so good on me?"

  The friends looked at each other and grinned.