Curveball (The Philadelphia Patriots)

by Sykes, V. K.

  On the down side, the team plane was scheduled to leave Philly early Friday morning and return late Sunday following the game, meaning he wouldn’t be back until the wee hours of Monday morning. And that meant Devon couldn’t come home before then. He’d hoped to be with her on the weekend so he could try to convince her to stick with Edenwood despite the disciplinary hearing, but that plan seemed doomed now that Dembinski had agreed to let him start in the Miami series.

  As far as his daughter was concerned, he was back at square one.

  The last thing he wanted was to give in and let Devon quit Edenwood right now. Still, he had to take very seriously her threat to disappear onto the streets of New York. The girl could be mercurial, but she was brave and resourceful, too. If Ryan forced her hand, she might very well defy him. The thought of his little girl—as tough as she thought she was—all alone in that kind of dangerous environment made his gut twist with worry.

  Sighing, he picked up the phone to call her.

  “Yeah, Dad,” she said in a sleepy voice when she answered her cell.

  “Hi, honey. You just wake up?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I said I’d call today, and I didn’t want to wait. I’ve been thinking about your situation pretty much non-stop.”

  “Yeah.”

  One word answers. Maybe she needed time to fully wake up and find some energy. “Want me to call back later after you get something to eat?”

  “No, it’s fine.”

  He decided to dispense with any attempt at small talk. Devon would see through it and the conversation would be even more strained. “Dev, I wanted to have you come here for the weekend so we could talk this through face-to-face before we have to go to the disciplinary thing next week. I was going to ask the manager for the time off, and I figured he’d be okay with that because I wouldn’t be doing anything more than pinch-hitting, anyway.”

  Devon huffed out a sigh. “You obviously weren’t listening. I said I wanted to come there to stay, not just for the weekend. I told you I’m leaving this stupid school.”

  “Hold on, okay? We’ll talk about all that when we’re together. But there’s a problem about the weekend.”

  “There’s always a problem, isn’t there?”

  God, I haven’t been that rotten a parent, have I?

  Ryan steeled himself against her emotional flamethrower. “Honey, it turns out that this weekend series in Miami is going to be crucial for me. Crucial for us. I’ve been having some trouble on the field, and management has pretty much told me that if I don’t work things out soon, I’m probably done.”

  Dead silence.

  “Done?” she finally said. “What does that mean?”

  “Done with the Patriots. And I don’t know if I’d be able to latch on with another team, either. The Hornets were happy to dump me.”

  “God, what happened, Dad?” Devon voice had suddenly changed from sullen to nervous. “You said everything was going great when you were up here.”

  Her words burned him. How do you explain to your daughter that you’ve suddenly lost it, and that your career could be in the tank? That your livelihood—and her future—were at stake? Part of him wanted to duck the question and focus on her situation instead, but he owed Devon an answer.

  It was her life and her future, too.

  “Everything was going fine then, but something just happened, right out of the blue.” That wasn’t strictly true, since he’d suffered some yips earlier, but his throwing had indeed fallen apart in the blink of an eye. “I developed this problem with my arm. I’ve been making a lot of throwing errors.”

  “Oh, God, did you injure it?” She sounded almost stricken now. “Is it your rotator cuff?” For all her disinterest in baseball, Devon knew a hell of a lot.

  Ryan almost wished it was. At least there were treatments for that injury these days that usually worked. “No, the arm feels fine. It’s something else. I’m trying hard to figure it out. Work my way through it. But it’s been tough.”

  That was enough about his problem. He wanted to be honest with his daughter, but not scare her or depress her any more than she was. “Look, I’m going to kick ass in Miami this weekend,” he said, forcing an upbeat tone. “But you have to understand that I just can’t miss that series. I have to play, and that means you’ll have to stay up there this weekend. I’ll see you at the hearing next week and we’ll see what happens. Then we’ll take it from there.”

  “Why does that mean I have to stay here?” Devon snapped. “What’s the problem? I can take care of myself at your place. I’ll be fine for a few days while you’re gone.”

  Ryan had thought about that possibility and dismissed it. He wouldn’t even leave Devon overnight at this stage, and sure as hell not for three days. Not in a strange city where she didn’t know a soul, had no one to rely on, and there was plenty of trouble to get into. That was a recipe for a potential disaster. And finding a suitable housekeeper or some other kind of reliable supervision was close to impossible with just a couple of days before he had to leave.

  He couldn’t focus on his game, either, if he had to worry about Devon’s safety. He hoped she’d understand that. “Dev, I’m not going to leave you on your own for three days in downtown Philadelphia. I’m sorry, but coming here right now just isn’t going to work. You’ll be fine at Edenwood—you’re not suspended or anything yet, right?”

  She made a scoffing noise. “Not yet, but we both know it’s going to happen. I might even get expelled, and I’m not just going to sit here and let those asshats kick me out.”

  “Hang in for another week, honey, and see what happens. Then we’ll talk.” But Ryan had the sinking feeling that he was wasting his breath.

  “How many times do I have to tell you no?” she hissed. “I meant what I said yesterday. Will you ever take me seriously?”

  He fought back the instinct to match her sharp tone. Though he’d hoped for a more reasonable response, he could understand her feelings. She must be thinking that, yet again, she was going to be taking a back seat to the demands of his career—even at a time when she obviously felt lost in a hostile school environment.

  “I am taking you seriously. But you don’t need to threaten me. I always try to do what’s best for you. You should know that by now.”

  “Yeah, well, then help me out here, Dad. You can still go to Miami. If you don’t want to leave me on my own, then hire somebody. Anybody. Call an agency. Please, I really need to get out of here right now.” Once again her tone had shifted on a dime from angry to pleading.

  An agency. He’d thought of that, of course, but could barely stand the thought of a complete stranger trying to take care of Devon, especially at a time when she was so mentally fragile and angry at the world.

  But which option was worse? Settling for somebody from an agency, or risking Devon making good on her threat to run off?

  No-brainer, when push came to shove, as it apparently now had.

  “I’ll see what I can do, honey,” he said, trying not to sound as grim as he felt. “I’ll try hard to find somebody in the next couple of days. I’ll need to interview people, and if it doesn’t work out in time, you’ll have to stay at Edenwood.”

  Devon blew out a sigh, but he couldn’t tell if it was one of exasperation or relief. “Then try real hard, Dad. Bye.”

  When she disconnected, Ryan stopped pacing and reached for the phone book. Part of him felt like he’d given in way too easily, and would live to regret it. But another part recalled vividly his conversation with Taylor in the hotel lounge after they escaped the opening day reception.

  I’d take her out of there. Whatever I had to do to make that happen I’d do it. She really needs you right now.

  Those words struck home so much harder and deeper now than they had back then. Taylor thought he was being too hard-assed with his daughter. That much had been brutally clear from her eyes and her body language.

  And Ryan was beginning to think she could be righ
t.

  * * *

  TAYLOR TOOK THE elevator to the hotel’s top floor lounge and ordered a glass of white wine, hoping to soothe her nerves while she waited for Ryan. There had been no point in trying to time her arrival to match her estimate of when he would be done showering, dressing and making his way from the ballpark to the hotel. She’d been jumping out of her skin the whole game, praying that it wouldn’t be prolonged by extra innings.

  Meet me after the game? Same bar as opening day.

  One of the batboys had tracked her down in her office and delivered that handwritten note twenty minutes before the game started. Her heart rate must have doubled in the second it had taken her to scan the ten words. After their wrenching Washington Square confrontation, she’d had little expectation that Ryan would ever reach out to her again.

  At the time, part of her had seemed strangely relieved by prospect that it was all over for them. Her rational left brain had weighed the dangers of getting more deeply involved with Ryan and had done a little happy dance to celebrate that she wouldn’t be swerving off her career path any time soon. The other side of her brain—the one she associated with heart, soul, guts and whatever other parts of the anatomy and spirit related to feeling and emotion—could only think about how bereft she felt at losing the connection they’d had.

  Connection.

  The word sounded so mechanical and utterly inadequate. Yet, what did she feel for Ryan? One thing she knew for sure—every cell in her body hated the thought of being nothing more to him than just another face in the team’s front office. Yearning and a strange sense of loss had started to swamp her whenever they weren’t together. It was laughable, really, since she’d spent her adult life as independent and career-focused as any woman could be. She’d proved over and over again that she didn’t need a man to make her happy or fulfilled.

  Maybe it catches up to you eventually, whatever “it” is.

  Despite the dim light, Taylor recognized Ryan as he came through the entrance, stopping briefly to exchange a few words with the hostess. It wasn’t just his height and broad shoulders that triggered instant recognition. It was the distinctive way he strode in, as if he owned the place. Like nearly all ballplayers, he had a good measure of typical athlete swagger. But Ryan had more than that. Her mind dug down and brought up the word maturity again. And a quiet sort of confidence.

  His easy swagger wasn’t trying to convince anybody of his overwhelming masculinity because there was absolutely no need. The fact that he’d been able to maintain that unconscious sense of confidence in the midst of so many troubles spoke to the kind of man he was—tough, resourceful, and responsible.

  In the hope that he’d hug her, Taylor stood as he neared her table and Ryan didn’t disappoint. The clench was all too brief, but it still had little pinpricks of excitement touching her in all the right places. His heavy, post-game stubble made her shiver as he brushed his cheek against hers before letting go.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he said with a wry smile as he waited for her to sit before he pulled out the chair across from her. He glanced briefly around the room. “God, this place is quiet as a tomb.”

  There were a dozen people at most in the bar, all talking in low voices, and the subdued jazz coming from the sound system was barely audible. “Suits me fine,” she said. “I sure don’t need any more noise after all the ball park craziness.”

  “Yeah, the crowd was really into it tonight.” The Patriots had stomped the Mets 6–1 behind Nate Carter’s masterful three-hitter.

  One of the servers had watched Ryan arrive, and she came over like she was shot from a cannon. The slim and sexy blonde in a tight, black shirt and matching mini-skirt gave Ryan a multi-megawatt smile, prompting Taylor to have to clamp down hard on an instinctive surge of jealousy. Fortunately, Ryan gave the girl barely a hint of a smile in return as he ordered a beer, leaving Taylor to silently berate herself for being such a moron.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d ever reach out to me after our last discussion,” she said after the server sashayed back toward the bar. “But I’m glad you did.”

  He nodded, a warmer smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “Pinch hits in two straight games,” he said. “How about that? Not bad for a supposedly washed up guy, right?”

  Taylor managed an answering smile. He’d fouled off seven straight pitches before lining a double off the right field wall. It was an impressive at bat, and adrenaline had poured through her as she watched the hard-hit ball cannonade off the wall. But then Ryan had always been a reliable hitter, notwithstanding his recent struggles at the plate. “Not shabby at all,” she said. “But I doubt that you came here to gloat since you sent the note before the game.”

  “I sent it because I need to talk to you about Devon.” Ryan clasped his hands on the small table, his expression morphing into a dead serious one. “I know you care what happens to her, which I really appreciate. I thought maybe you could help me.”

  Her heart sank a little. Had she been reduced to a consultant about his daughter? Or just a sympathetic ear?

  Taylor brushed away the negative thoughts. Ryan had reached out to her, and she did care about what happened to Devon. The kid was obviously a handful, but she’d been hurt badly when she was little. Taylor could barely guess what it was like to grow up thinking every day that your mother had rejected you. But she had a good idea about suffering a loss in childhood. Taylor would carry the fallout from her father’s senseless, tragic death with her to the grave, and she would love to help Devon avoid that sort of pain as much as possible.

  “Of course,” she said. “What can I do?”

  As soon as the server came back with his beer, Ryan took a quick drink before talking. “You must know by now that Dembinski and Ault agreed to let me start at first for the Miami series.”

  Taylor simply nodded. There was certainly no point in telling him how shocked she’d been at the GM’s decision, and how she’d felt so undermined by it.

  “That series is life or death for me,” Ryan went on. “Like you said yesterday, I might get released if I don’t turn this thing around by then.”

  When he said thing, he spat the word out like plague. In a way, she supposed it must feel like a life-threatening disease to him.

  Taylor didn’t want to get into that discussion again, either. She’d said her piece yesterday and already felt as conflicted as humanly possible. “What’s going on with Devon?” she said to spur him to get to the point.

  “She’s insisting on leaving Edenwood and coming here right away, no matter what. That would be okay with me if I didn’t have to head to Miami for three days. But like I told her, there’s no way I’m leaving her alone, especially in a place like this.” He blew out a heavy sigh. “But she keeps threatening to disappear in New York if I don’t let her come. And the more I talk to her, the more I think it would be a dumb idea to call her bluff.”

  Taylor had thought that all along, but she had no intention of rubbing it in. “You’re going to let her come, then?” she prompted.

  “If I can find somebody reliable to take care of her while I’m away. And that’s where you come in, Taylor. I figured you might know how I could find somebody good on short notice. You could talk to your sister-on-law, maybe. She seems pretty connected in this town.”

  He wasn’t wrong about that. Samantha seemed to be able to deal with any problem thrown her way and, indeed, had an impressive network of friends and contacts that always amazed Taylor. But this was a problem that could and should be solved without Samantha’s intervention. Taylor had already given some thought to the possibility that Devon would show up on Ryan’s doorstep, likely when he’d least be able to handle it. She had quickly decided that if that happened, she’d happily slide down the fire pole and come to his rescue.

  And that conclusion had told her a lot about how she felt about Ryan.

  Then again, maybe Ryan wouldn’t go for her plan at all. The piercing thought of him rejecting it—re
jecting her—made her hesitate just as she was about to speak.

  “Taylor?” he prompted, concern etched on his face. “Was I wrong to ask?”

  She shook her head. “No, no. Not at all.” She gulped down a swallow of wine to ease her suddenly tight throat. “I was just thinking about what you said. And I have an idea.”

  “Great.”

  Taylor summoned up her courage. “Since I’m not going with the team this weekend, it would be no problem at all to have Devon stay with me. If both of you would be okay with that, of course.”

  Ryan’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open enough for Taylor to register the depth of his surprise. “Are you serious? You’d do that for me?”

  Though her heart soared at his stunned but positive reaction, she gave a little wave of dismissal. “It’s really no big deal. In fact, I’d look forward to it. I’m sure Devon and I could have some fun. Go to a movie. Eat pizza. Talk about what a hardhead Ryan Locke is.”

  As he laughed, his shoulders dropped down from around his ears. “Dev could spend hours on that subject.”

  “There you go.” Taylor took another sip of wine. It tasted so much better this time around.

  Ryan suddenly looked uncertain. “But I don’t feel right asking you to do this.”

  Hell’s bells. Men—give them what they want and they still don’t get it.

  “You didn’t ask—I offered,” she countered. “For God’s sake, just say yes, Ryan. It solves your problem, and I want to do it.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Now, the bigger question is—will Devon go for it? She doesn’t know me at all.”

  “Hell, yeah, she’ll go for it.” He reached out and gave her hand a quick squeeze of gratitude, releasing it immediately. “She’d go for anything that gets her out of that school.”

  Taylor gave a little snort.

  “Hey, I didn’t mean it that way,” he said with a grin. “You know what I meant. I’m really grateful.”

  Warmth suffused Taylor. “I was just jerking your chain. Look, though, I’m used to dealing with my little niece and nephew but I’m a rookie when it comes to fourteen-year-olds. So, I’ll need to know what she does and doesn’t like.”