by Meghan Quinn
My hands fall to his chest to brace myself as I slowly pump up and down. “It’ll never be like this with anyone else, Walker,” I say, tipping his chin up and looking him in the eyes. “Never.”
His expression goes soft as he loops his hand behind my neck and brings my mouth to his.
As his lips work over mine, I know deep in my soul how true my statement was. I can’t imagine ever feeling the way for someone else the way I feel about Walker.
Never.
“How do you feel about baseball now?” I ask as we lie in Walker’s bed, naked. I’m curled against his side, hand on his chest, and his arm is looped around me, holding me tightly. I’m not sure what time it is, but what I do know is I can’t fall asleep, not when I still have a few more hours with him.
“I think I’m starting to find my groove again.”
“It was the socks.”
He chuckles. “Keep telling yourself that.”
“I will. And when you’re inducted into the Hall of Fame one day, I’m going to sit back and tell everyone it was because I told you to raise your socks.”
“Ah, I’ll never hit the Hall of Fame.”
“What? Of course you will. You’re too hard on yourself, Walker. You hit a home run in a game and you’re still grumpy to the on-field correspondent.”
“Because what does a home run matter if we still lose?”
There’s great logic in his statement, and it’s obvious he’s a team player, which is funny, because he’s not outgoing when it comes to his team. Very reserved, very closed off.
“You could still smile just a little.” I poke his side and he chuckles.
“I’ll smile when we win another World Series.”
“Tell me about that.” I stroke my finger down his stomach, and his abs ripple under my touch. “What does it feel like to win the World Series? Like an orgasm?”
He laughs. “No, not like an orgasm. It feels like someone unlatches a floodgate of relief. Like this thing you’ve been working toward your entire career finally happens, and it hits you, this great sense of relief. It’s over. You accomplished it. Only for that buildup to happen again the next season with no relief in sight.”
“Man, sounds like a good career choice. Nothing like a daily dose of anxiety to get your gears grinding.”
“It’s all I’ve ever known. I’ve grown accustomed to the pressure. Feels like everyday life at this point.” He strokes me softly. “It’s why today was so important to me. A chance to be normal for a second. To forget all the demands and just relax.” He kisses the top of my head. “Thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me, Walker. I wanted this just as much as you did.” I reach up and kiss his chin. “So, would you say this was your perfect day?”
“Yeah, easily. Probably my best day in a really long time. I spend so much fucking time training and being in and out of the locker room with the guys. I grow tired of the masculine banter, the talk of baseball, Penn being so fucking snarky. When I’m in baseball mode, it’s hard to get out of it. It’s hard to take a step back and enjoy life outside the game. It’s one of the reasons why I’m secretly jealous of the guys on the team who have wives or girlfriends. Those relationships offer them an escape. And now I understand why. This day alone has energized me.”
“You mentioned Penn—do you think you two will ever get along?”
He shakes his head. “No. Never. I’ve zero respect for the man. He’s a waste of talent and the reason . . .” His voice fades as he takes a deep breath. “No, we’ll never be friends.”
“Were you ever friends?”
“Maybe at some point, we got each other. We understood each other. But I never called him up to hang out. We ran in the same circle, so we were always around each other. That’s how he knew Dawn as well. We grew up in a small town, so it was hard not to hang out with each other.”
“Makes sense.” I nod. “Is Penn the only one you don’t get along with on the team?”
“Yeah, everyone else is pretty cool. I’m closest with Ryot.”
“I’ve noticed that.” I chuckle lightly. “I love Ryot’s Instagram stories of him zooming in on you when you’re brooding in the cafeteria.”
“What?” he asks, surprised.
“Did you not know about that?”
“No.” He drags his hand over his face. “I’m going to kill him.”
“Don’t. It’s really funny. He always has one of those stupid emojis dancing on your head. Literally makes my day.”
“Glad you can find humor at my expense.”
I poke his side. “Don’t get all cranky on me.”
“I might need convincing.”
I prop myself up and ask, “And what could I possibly do to convince you to not get cranky?”
He reaches out and tweaks my nipple. “Blow job wouldn’t be a bad option.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re such a fool.” And then I lower my body to between his legs and take his growing erection in my hand. “You realize, if you wanted me to blow you, all you had to do was ask? You didn’t have to pretend to be cranky.”
He props both of his hands behind his head and smirks down at me. “You’re facing the wrong way.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“You think I’m going to let you just blow me?” He shakes his head. “Nah, you need to sit on my face, babe.”
He doesn’t have to ask me twice.
“When are you leaving?” Walker whispers.
I’m pulled tight against his chest, his arm is around my stomach, and he’s spooning me protectively, not allowing an inch in his hold.
“Probably in an hour or so,” I say. It’s four in the morning. I know this because I keep looking at the clock on the nightstand, counting down the hours until I have to remove myself from the fantasy.
“Please don’t sneak off. Let me say goodbye.”
“I won’t sneak off.”
“Promise?” He kisses my shoulder.
“Promise, Walker.”
He sighs and squeezes me even tighter. “Thank you for staying. I know saying goodbye will be painful, but I needed this.”
“I did too,” I admit, my eyes starting to sting with heartache.
“When you see me in the halls or at events, are you going to ignore me?” he asks, his breath sending tingles across my naked shoulder.
“I wouldn’t ignore you, but I would keep my distance out of fear that I might do something stupid, like touch you, hug you, or kiss you.”
“Are you worried I’m going to do something? Say something?”
I shake my head. “I know you’d never risk my job like that.”
“Never. I care about you too damn much.” He kisses my shoulder again and I squeeze my eyes shut, willing back the tears.
I care about him too . . . too damn much.
Chapter Fifty-Five
WALKER
I walk out of my bathroom, breath fresh, a pair of sweatpants hanging low on my hips, and a heavy heart tripping in my chest.
I didn’t sleep a second last night, knowing it was the countdown of having to let Kate go.
I’m not sure she did either. Early in the morning, I heard her sniffling and was tempted to talk to her about it, but what is there really to talk about? We’ve gone around in circles about it. She’s damn good at what she does. The Bobbies are lucky to have her on staff.
Also, who the hell knows what’s happening to me at the end of the season? Yeah, my bat has picked up and I’ve grown to have a better relationship with my manager, but that doesn’t mean much if someone dangles a younger catcher in front of the Bobbies front office. I’m not a Knox Gentry or a Carson Stone, staples on the Bobbies team, fan favorites. Nor am I a Penn Cutler, which I hate to admit, but he also has a solid relationship with not just the fans, but with our manager and the front office, despite what I perceive as his lack of dedication and focus.
I could be gone by the end of the season and shipped off to another state, far, far
away from Kate. Starting something with her is pointless, even though I know, deep in my bones, that she’s the girl I’m meant to be with.
I felt it all yesterday. The ease of holding her in my arms, of talking to her about the difficult things in my life. I’ve never connected to someone so easily. I didn’t have to keep up the façade of hard and indifferent. Unsociable. I’m not a soft man, never will be, but I do feel as though Kate dug deep enough that she found the man I want to be. Kind. Giving. Generous. I felt as though she knows me, likes me. I felt it in her touch, in her kisses, in her willingness to hand over her body to me with no fear, no apprehension.
Fuck.
I head to the entryway of my apartment, where Kate is putting on her flats, wearing the same outfit that she wore yesterday when she first came into my apartment with coffee and a determination to apologize for something she didn’t need to apologize for.
As I walk toward her, I study her nervous movements. I check out her legs in her leggings, the curve of her hips, the way she fills out the top of her sweater, her wet hair from the quick shower she took while I was still lying in bed. She’s so goddamn perfect. Everything about her. But most importantly, her heart is what I’m falling for.
If only there were a way for us to be together . . .
She stands up and sighs as she makes eye contact with me. Her eyes well with tears and I immediately step up to her to catch them as they fall.
“Don’t cry.”
“I told myself to hold it together.” She shakes her head. “I can’t. I’m not strong enough where you’re concerned.”
I pull her into a hug and she wraps her arms around my waist.
“It’s just not fair,” she says. “I wasn’t supposed to grow attached to you. You were a broody asshole who never spoke. Who knew you were going to capture me with your heart?”
“Want me to go back to being a broody asshole?”
“No.” She laughs. “I just wish this weren’t what we had to do.”
“Me too.”
She pulls away and looks up at me with her tearstained face. “But this has to be it, Walker. No more sneaking off, no more days of just us, I can’t do this goodbye more than once. When I walk out of this apartment, it’s over.”
Fucking hell, when she puts it like that . . .
“Do you understand?” she asks.
My teeth grind together as I look away. I hate the finality in her voice. I hate the way she’s starting to pull away.
“Walker, I need you to understand.”
I drag my hand down my face. Frustration tumbles through me. “Yeah,” I breathe out. “I understand.”
Her hand falls to my chest. “Please don’t be mad at me.” Her eyes well up again.
“I’m not mad at you, Kate. I’m mad at the situation.”
“Well, don’t end this time with being mad.” Her hand glides up to my neck. “Please.”
She’s right. I have probably a few minutes left with her. I can be mad later. I need to focus on her now.
Letting out a frustrated breath, I try to push past my anger and be in the moment. With my hand on her hip, I gently push her up against the wall. Then I take her hands in mine and pin them on either side of her head. I lower my forehead to hers and just breathe for a few seconds, soaking in the space we share.
“What we have between us, it won’t fade, it won’t escape my mind over time.” I press a kiss to her cheek. “This will stay with me, stay in me.” I kiss her other cheek. “Yesterday, you branded me. You claimed me. I’m yours, Kate.”
Tears fall down her cheeks as I lower my mouth to hers and keep her pinned against the wall. My frenzied kisses match hers as we both try to soak up as much as we can in these last minutes before she walks out the door.
Frantic, our tongues dance, our mouths slide, our moans tangle together and then . . . we both slow down. I drop her hands and grip her cheeks. Her hands go to my waist and she pulls me closer.
An immense amount of emotion passes through me as I kiss this woman. Fear, anger, irritation . . . but the biggest one, the one that hits me harder than all of them—is love.
I fucking love this woman. I know I do.
It’s simple. She makes me a better person.
She understands me.
And she sees me.
No one has ever treated me the way that she does or given me the wholehearted attention that she has. She’s special, and I know I’ll never find another woman like her.
She releases my mouth and steps away from the wall, tears cascading down her cheeks. She wipes them away and takes a deep breath, moving another foot away from me toward the door.
My heart seizes in my chest, my feelings on the tip of my tongue.
Tell her you love her.
Tell her you’d do anything to be with her.
Tell her she’s the reason you don’t have the burning ache of losing Dawn searing through your chest anymore.
Tell her she’s meant to be with you.
But all those confessions fall flat as she picks up her purse and loops the strap over her shoulder.
Her hand grips the doorknob and she slowly looks up at me. Head tilted to the side, eyes glossy and red-rimmed, she says, “You’re incredible, Walker. And . . .” She gets choked up and shakes her head. “I’m going to miss being with you.”
Before I can reply, she heads out the door and shuts it behind her, as if to block me from chasing after her. Anger fills me up like an empty cup and I spin on my heel, pulling on my hair as I shout, “Fuck,” right before picking up a lamp and throwing it across the room. It slams into a wall and shatters to the ground.
Standing in the middle of my apartment, fists clenched, I stare down at the broken lamp and can’t help but see the resemblance to my own heart.
Broken.
Shattered.
Un-mendable.
I want to go after her.
I want to beg her to give us a chance. To keep it a secret until we can figure things out.
But I know there’s no use in it. There’s—
My phone rings in the other room, and out of pure desperation to see if it’s Kate calling, I run down my hall to my room and pick up my phone.
Hell.
Slumping on my bed, I take a seat and answer, “What?”
“I can see we’re in a good mood this morning.”
I drag my hand over my eyes. “Just get on with it, Roark.”
“Very good mood indeed.” He clears his throat. “So, I spoke with the general manager. Rumors have been surfacing about a trade with you to Phoenix.”
My body stiffens. “What? I thought you said they weren’t going to trade me.”
“That’s what I thought too,” he says. “But then I caught wind of some behind-the-scenes conversations.” My heart thumps in my chest and panic breaks out through my veins. My mind goes to Dawn and being torn away from her. I grew up south of Chicago, a two-hour drive away and not being close enough to visit her when I get the courage. And then I think about Kate, and not being able to see her walking through the stadium halls. I can’t have her, but at least I can see her. The thought of not . . . fuck, the pain runs deep.
“What did you hear?” I ask, hearing the panic in my voice.
“Phoenix is pursuing you. Offered a few pitching prospects and a monetary trade, as well.”
“Fuck,” I mumble. “Are they taking it?”
“Chuck Skaggs called me to let me know about the trade.” Fuck . . . fuck! “Asked where your head is at.”
“What?” I ask. “What do you mean where my head is at?”
“Seems as if the front office has been pleased with your recent turnaround and all-around composure on the field, minus a few clipped interviews. The fans ate up the apology to the water cooler, and they’ve been very happy with your performance lately. But they’re unsure about where you’re at mentally. You don’t have many years left in you. Three or four more seasons. They weren’t sure if you’re thinking retirem
ent.”
“Fuck, no,” I say. “I’m not ready to retire. That was never my intention. Those were rumors that were spread by what I assumed was the front office.”
“Well, they wanted to know your level of commitment, because they want to sign you on for three more years with an option for one more year when the season is over, pending your performance at the end of the year, but they’re also willing to trade you if your head is elsewhere.”
“My head is here,” I say, faster than expected. “I don’t want to go anywhere.”
“That’s what I thought you were going to say but I wanted to check with you first. This is good, Walker. This means they want to make a commitment to you, and it’s not just because of what you do on the field—they said Hopkins has been impressed with your authority on the field and in the dugout, especially while handling Penn. Even though I know you hate it, you seem to be the only one who can push him to perform.”
“Fucking Penn,” I mutter.
“I know—not what you wanted to hear, but if you want to keep going with the Bobbies, the opportunity is there.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” I ask.
Roark is silent and then clears his throat. “Seemed as though you were a little distracted last time I spoke with you.”
“Yeah,” I drag out.
“And I was speaking with Ryot.”
Jesus fuck.
“What did he say?”
“Nothing much, just that he thought there was a lass in your life who was helping you loosen up. Someone special. Was he right?”
“Can’t see how that’s anyone’s business,” I answer.
“Well, either way, keep her around—”
I let out a sarcastic laugh before I can stop myself.
“What’s the meaning behind that?” Roark asks.
“Nothing,” I answer, standing from the bed and going to the bathroom, where I turn on the light and put my phone on speaker before setting it on the counter.
“It’s not nothing. What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I answer while examining my chest and the scrape marks Kate left behind. I remember the exact moment I realized she was marking me. She was riding me, her hair floating over her shoulders as she dug her fingers into my skin. It was so goddamn sexy, seeing her come undone like that.