Double Play

by Shalvis, Jill

  And he’d been wrong, very wrong.

  “We had so many hits that our server crashed,” Tommy told Holly when he caught her by cell phone later that morning. “Plus three threatening phone calls,” he said proudly. “Oh, and I hear talk of a lawsuit from Ty.”

  “And you’re happy?” she asked incredulously.

  “Hell, yeah. Listen, no one’s going to sue, not successfully. And the threats are just icing on the cake. But I’d watch your back in dark parking lots for a few days, doll.”

  “Gee, thanks.” She remembered how it’d felt to listen to all those messages, all the people she’d disappointed, people who had been her friends.

  “Don’t worry, you’re protected. It’s a blog, for God’s sake. It’s an opinion.”

  “I quoted the guys,” she reminded him. “All of whom said they weren’t interested in banned substances, and then the one who said he doesn’t see a problem with it. In Gage’s words, I put a big red circle around him.”

  “Ty drew that circle himself.”

  “And if he tests positive, he faces a suspension.”

  “Maybe he’ll learn to play by the rules. Listen, Pace’s retest results came in, inconclusive. Thought you’d want to know, he’s in the clear.”

  “Thank God.”

  “Jesus Christ, Holly, are you listening to yourself? What’s happened to you?”

  She sighed. “I don’t know. No, I do know. I want to do things differently next time. I want to do something softer. Something that helps people.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I mean it. And I want to stay in Santa Barbara, and grow roots.”

  “Roots? Are you not a brunette?”

  “Roots like a tree, Tommy. A solid, happy, healthy tree. I want a home base, a place of my own to settle down into.”

  “Crazy talk, but fine with me. I don’t care where you live.”

  “I want that in writing.”

  “The crazy-talk part?”

  “Tommy.”

  “Doll, you can have whatever you want. Just keep writing for me.”

  Three days later, Pace took himself to the bullpen to throw, improving his confidence and renewing his hope that he didn’t totally suck. He wasn’t done playing ball. Hopefully he wasn’t done with a lot of things. Or people—like Holly. Turning, he found Red quietly watching him. He looked uncharacteristically solemn.

  “Looking good,” Red said.

  “Thanks.” They’d been avoiding a real conversation all week, but Pace was done with that. “You saw Holly’s article.”

  “Whole world saw it, didn’t they?”

  “Is it true?” Pace asked him. “And are you the one supplying Ty?”

  A muscle jumped in Red’s jaw, but he said nothing. His damn pride. One of these days he was going to choke on it.

  “Jesus, Red.”

  “You gonna believe the word of a reporter over me?”

  “You didn’t give me any words. I’d love to hear your words.”

  “You’ve already judged me. I have no words for you.” And with that, he walked away.

  Damn, if Pace wasn’t tired of that. He went home, showered, and called Holly. “Can we talk?”

  “I’m in LA.”

  “When are you coming back?”

  She paused, and his heart dropped. “Are you not coming back?”

  “Tomorrow night,” she said.

  Ah, hell. “I leave with the team in the morning.” He let out a breath. “When I get back then?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I’ll be here.”

  A sentiment that meant far more than he could have imagined.

  Chapter 24

  You can’t sit on a lead and run a few plays into the line and just kill the clock. You’ve got to throw the ball over the goddamn plate and give the other man his chance. That’s why baseball is the greatest game of them all.

  —Earl Weaver

  The Heat went on both the road and a losing streak. Holly watched the games on TV, hoping for glimpses of Pace on the sideline, and for a change in their luck.

  She got neither.

  She kept busy. She still owed Tommy one more article on her baseball series, and needed to be working up her next series idea, but she was so unsettled and unsure. She couldn’t concentrate on anything. She knew that the guys were still pissed at her, leaving her in a state of . . . suspension. As for Pace, she was even more uncertain. He’d wanted to talk, she just didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing.

  “Get a kitten,” was Allie’s suggestion when Holly called.

  “A kitten? Are you crazy?” Holly looked around her leased condo. “This isn’t even my place.”

  “Sure it is,” Allie said calmly. “You’re happy there. You love Santa Barbara. You love the people. You love it all.”

  “I’ve screwed it all up.”

  “No, you haven’t.”

  Holly opened the sliding back door of the condo and looked out at the Santa Ynez Mountains, the glorious, craggily, beautiful peaks that made her sigh every time she caught a glimpse. She did love it here. So much.

  “Get yourself a kitten,” Allie said again. “Make plans. Stick around awhile. Just try it, Hol. There’s more to you than being an investigative secret hound.”

  “Yeah.” For the next few days, she thought about little else, especially as the Heat lost four more games in a row.

  The press was still clobbering the team. She hadn’t gotten any more death threats, but neither had anyone from the team spoken to her. On the morning of the Heat’s first home game in ten days, and also the poker night event, Holly got up early. The guys had probably gotten home late and she wasn’t sure what that meant for her, having them back in town. They were only going to be in Santa Barbara for one day, and then they were off again on another road trip.

  One day.

  Having no idea what the day would bring, she killed some time in the grocery store getting some comfort food. On impulse she grabbed a cute little plant from the garden aisle.

  Not exactly a kitten, but hey, it was alive.

  She went back to her condo, set the plant next to her laptop on her kitchen/office table and opened Word. She looked at her next article—or the blank page masquerading as her next article. Giving up, she closed the document and opened iPhoto instead. The first picture that came up was of her and Pace back in Atlanta. The Heat had just won. Holly was up against Pace, all snuggled in like she belonged there, and he was grinning down at her with an abundance of emotion in his eyes.

  Throat tight, she hit Print, then leaned the photo up against the plant. Her own little corner of home, she decided, and forced herself to go back to her Word program.

  Two hours later she’d gotten a great start. She drove to the stadium where she paid for a general admission seat. At the sight of Pace in the dugout, her heart seemed to swell in her chest. He wore warm-up sweats, not his uniform. He didn’t have on a sling, but from beneath his T-shirt she could see an elastic bandage around his bicep and shoulder, a horrible, gut-wrenching reminder of what he’d been through. Using his right hand—it was working!—he shook someone’s hand and then turned to look in the stands as if he felt her eyes on him. He looked a little leaner than when she’d seen him last, and he had at least a day’s worth of stubble on that strong jaw. He looked so good her heart kicked hard. She waved, but the sun was in his eyes. He couldn’t possibly see her.

  Or so she told herself when he didn’t wave back.

  The game was a rough one. Henry took a fly ball to the chest and got the air knocked out of him. Wade got kicked in the face when a player slid home, causing a tussle that the ump had to break up. The game ended at a painful fifteen zip, the worst in Heat history.

  Holly went home, grabbed a change of clothing for the poker night fund-raiser and headed to the hotel where it was being held, knowing Sam would need help setting up. Indeed she found the publicist looking a little harassed and most definitely overworked.

  “Hey.” Ho
lly’s heart pinched at the way her friend looked at her, as if Holly had run over Sam’s dog. Twice. And then backed over it.

  “Holly. You didn’t need to—”

  “I thought you could use help.”

  “That’s . . . generous of you,” Sam said softly.

  “Not generous. Greedy. I wanted to see you and the others.” Holly stepped close and reached for her hand. “How are you?”

  “As you’d expect after a horrific nine-game losing streak and a wave of bad press that always seems one step ahead of me.”

  “I’m sorry about the losses, more than you know.” It’d been devastating to watch from afar; she could only imagine how it felt from the inside. “I looked for you at the game today. I’d hoped we could talk.”

  “Yeah. I was with Jeremy, actually. He’s in town for this thing tonight.” Sam’s face twisted in indecision. “Holly—”

  “No. Listen,” Holly said quickly. “I get that you’re hurt and furious, and I understand how bad the press has been, how ruthless. I know, and I’m sorry. But I miss you, Sam.”

  “I miss you, too,” Sam whispered, squeezing her hand. “So damn much.”

  “I know you think I betrayed you, but all I did was expose a truth that would have come out eventually. I’m not your press leak. I’m not a spineless coward. I sign my name to my writing.”

  Sam rubbed her eyes, looking so weary she could hardly stand. “I want to believe that.”

  “Then believe it. You were my first real friend here in Santa Barbara, Sam. Please believe that, too.”

  Sam looked away for a moment, then turned back, her eyes shiny. “It’d be great to have another set of hands right now, especially someone who created the floor plan and knows what she’s doing.”

  “Done.”

  Sam closed her eyes, then opened them and hugged Holly hard. “Thanks.” She pulled back. “I believe in you. I do, but you should also know that others aren’t so sure.”

  Even though Holly had known this, it still hurt. “I understand.”

  Sam squeezed her hand and walked off, and with a deep, fortifying breath, Holly turned to face the ballroom.

  In a way that guys were masters at, Pace and Red had avoided talking about anything too personal since their last conversation at the bullpen. But when Pace pulled up to the hotel for the poker night and got out of his car right next to Red, he knew they couldn’t keep it up. Not when he was about to see Holly for the first time in too long, not when it was sitting like a block of ice in his gut. “Got a minute, Red?”

  Red looked over, clearly saw the determination on Pace’s face, and sighed as he tossed aside his cigarette. “Yeah.”

  “You ever think about what’ll happen when you leave baseball?”

  “Not until recently.” Red shrugged. “I have nothing but the game, son.”

  Pace nodded. He knew that feeling all too well. It didn’t change a thing. “Did you do it? Did you give Ty the stimulants?”

  Red closed his eyes. “Why shouldn’t I?”

  “Because it’s wrong.”

  The older man, the only man to have been there for Pace through thick and thin, shook his head, then slowly nodded. “I know.”

  “You have to stop.”

  “I know that, too.” Red paused, never one to use a lot of words. “Ty’s tests came back positive this morning. He’s not going to appeal.”

  Which was as good as an admission of guilt, and meant he’d be suspended, leaving the Heat without a strong pitcher to cover Pace until his return at the tail end of a season that had been touted as The Season. “He’s young,” Pace said. “He’ll get through it. We’ll all get through it.”

  “Yeah.” Red looked at the hotel. “About that woman.”

  “Holly,” Pace said wearily. “Her name is Holly.”

  “I know. Dammit, I know.” He started coughing, forcing him to pull out his inhaler. “She makes you happy. That pissed me off. I thought baseball was it for you, but it’s not. It’s her.” He looked pained. “I’m going to get used to that. I’m retiring, Pace.”

  “Red—”

  “Jesus, I’m doing it your way, and you’re still fucking arguing with me.” He clasped Pace on the shoulder, his eyes serious. “Thanks for not ratting me out. Thanks for letting me do this with my dignity intact.”

  Pace stared at him, his throat tight. “I didn’t do that for you. Holly did.” And in return, Pace had been hard on her, too hard. She’d deserved better from him. Much better. He was going to do his damnedest to make it up to her.

  Holly had assigned jobs to the volunteers and was putting up the decorations when the guys started to arrive. Once the event began, they’d each be manning a table, available for fun and laughs and whatever else the people who’d paid a thousand bucks a head to be there wanted. For now, they were volunteers like the rest of them.

  When Henry came in, Holly smiled, but he didn’t. Joe arrived, and she showed him to his table. He quietly thanked her, but without his usual smile. Mason came through without stopping to say hi.

  Holly took a deep breath and kept working.

  Red stood in a corner with Gage, talking. When she needed help moving a huge table, she turned to them. “Can either of you help?”

  “Of course,” Gage said, nudging her out of the way. “It’s our team.”

  Right. Message received. They were helping the Heat, not her. Her chest ached, and her eyes burned, but she kept her chin up. “Thank you.”

  Wade walked by, looking his usual California-surfer-boy gorgeous. He was the first to stop. “Hey,” he said quietly.

  “Wade.” She swallowed past the lump in her throat and looked at the bruise on his jaw from the earlier fight at home plate. “How are you?”

  He let out a breath. “Keeping my head above water. You?”

  “Same.” She paused. “How is he? How’s Pace?”

  “On or off record?”

  Her heart squeezed. “Off.”

  “Missing you,” he said bluntly, his green eyes meeting hers. “A lot.”

  Oh God, this was tough. Holding it together was tough. “Good.”

  He smiled at that and tugged a loose strand of her hair. “Hang in there.”

  “I’m trying.” When he left, she looked around the ballroom at the people she’d come to know and love, all working their butts off for a charity event, all giving back to the community, all united together. She’d never really had that; she’d always been on the outside looking in.

  But there for a little while, she’d gotten a taste of being on the inside, and . . . and she’d loved it.

  Loved them.

  Throat even tighter now, she forced herself to keep busy. Because busy, she couldn’t think too much. Or so went the plan, and she was in the middle of adding a gold streamer to the silver ones already strewn between two huge chandeliers when she felt someone steady her not-quite-steady ladder. She glanced down, and her heart lodged in her throat.

  Pace.

  He stood there looking fit and relaxed and so good that she nearly lost it. He was in faded Levi’s and a Cal State sweatshirt, laid-back and casual.

  But she couldn’t pull off laid-back and casual, not with his eyes drinking her in. “Hey,” she managed, gripping the top of the ladder.

  “Hey.”

  He wasn’t favoring his shoulder, and there was no sign of any pain as he held the ladder for her, eyes locked on hers.

  She’d imagined what it would be like to see him again, what she would say, how she would try to make him want her again.

  But she couldn’t do it.

  Not after the past hour, seeing how the guys saw her, what they thought of her. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, beg him to want her. “You’re healing.”

  “Getting there. Come down, Holly.”

  Her throat burned so badly she could hardly breathe as she backed down. He kept his hands on the ladder so that she ended up climbing right into the crook of his arms. She slowly turned to face him. “No pai
n?”

  “None. I’m day-to-day again.”

  “Oh, Pace,” she breathed, knowing that meant he could play again as soon as he was ready. “I’m so glad.”

  He shifted his hands from the ladder to her hips. “You look good,” he said very quietly. “You’ve gotten some sun.”

  Her heart gave one hard kick against her ribs. One more kind word, and she really was going to lose it. “I’ve been playing ball.”

  “With River and Chipper and the other guys?”

  She nodded, and he arched a brow. “They didn’t tell you?” she asked.

  “No.” But he didn’t look irritated. He looked . . . pleased.

  “I’m getting good at hitting,” she informed him. “And I think pitching might be a calling.”

  He smiled, and dammit, she nearly melted.

  He noticed the streamer in her hand, the one she hadn’t been able to get up high enough. “Need some help?”

  Her throat tightened even more, completely blocking off her air supply as her chest constricted hard. “Why are you being so nice?”

  Clearly surprised at the question, he took a slow look around the room, his gaze touching on each of his teammates as if taking in the situation. There was understanding in his gaze when it landed on her again, which in itself nearly broke her. “Listen, they opened up and talked to you about the banned substances, and one of us pretty much admitted to fucking up. It’s easier to blame you than Ty. They’ll get over it.”

  “Will they?”

  “Yes.”

  “You got over it?”

  “You’ve done nothing wrong,” he said firmly. “Ty did. Tucker did. And Red. They all screwed up, and during my pity party, I blamed the wrong person.”

  She met his soft, warm gaze. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” His hands tightened on her, one sliding up her back. “I’m sorry it took me so long to say this, but you were right. Red’s retiring.”

  “Oh, Pace. I’m sorry.”

  “Also not your fault. But he’s going to get to leave with his pride still intact, and that’s thanks to you. He knows that, too. It took guts to come here tonight, Holly.”