Even when silent, they communicated by a touch. Or a look.
The easy rapport was gone. Smashed by Spencer's carelessness.
What to say? How to say it? After all this time, was any of it relevant? If Blue told Spencer what she thought he wanted to hear, would it stir up hurt and bitterness better left buried? Or would her honesty let them take the first steps toward truly moving on?
Blue wished she had the power to jump ahead in time. Just enough to see how everything worked out. If she found a mess, she could magically come back to this moment. Give herself a do-over.
But life didn't work that way. Blue had chosen her course of action and hope she made the right choice.
"Eat. You've had a hard day. We can talk later."
Maybe because Spencer decided to make the choice for her. Or maybe Blue was simply tired of thinking about the past. Dangling just out of sight. Never completely going away, no matter how she tried to convince herself otherwise.
Blue tossed aside her sandwich.
"I wanted a quiet night. By myself. Instead, you practically blackmailed me into letting you up here."
"That's a little harsh."
"Shut up." Blue stood, feeling the need to move. "You'll listen. Period. No comments. No unsolicited opinions." Stopping, she speared Spencer with her sharpened gaze. "I never had the chance to tell you off."
"I didn't handle it well."
"Really?" Blue asked, sure she must have misheard. "Not well? Talk about the understatement of the year. You broke up with me in person. Should I pat you on the back for that little—and I do mean little—gesture of decency? After two years, you show up on my doorstep with no warning and tell me it's over. You barely made it in the door before you were off to… Where was it? Texas? Colorado?"
"Chicago."
Gesturing with one hand, she used the other to grab her wine, taking a thoughtful sip.
"That's right. Chicago. You were in Colorado, detoured to Seattle, then jumped a plane to re-join your team."
"Not my finest hour."
Spencer had the good grace—the intelligence—to recognize the can of worms he'd opened. And the fact they couldn't go back. Blue had let him off easy during their meeting at her office.
This time, the gloves were off.
"I suppose I could've gone all crazy ex-girlfriend. I show up at your game. And what? Tears? Yelling? Naturally, I get escorted from the stadium. Some industrious photographer sells the pictures for a nice profit. The tabloids eat that kind of thing up." With a huff—easily picturing the mess—Blue raised her glass, gulping down half the contents. "Wouldn't that have provided a big laugh for you and your buddies?"
"You know better than that, Blue," Spencer sighed.
On a roll, Blue ignored him.
"I had my pride. You wounded it. Battered it—more than a bit. But like me, my pride bounced back—eventually."
"I said I was sorry."
You apologized for the wrong reason. Blue wanted to scream the words. But that wouldn't help. Taking a deep breath—her fingers dangerously close to snapping the stem of the wineglass—she searched for the right way to explain.
"Breaking up with me was your right, Spencer. The way you did it—crappy."
"Yes."
Confronted with his misdeeds, Spencer wasn't running. He sat and took what Blue handed out. No arguments. No excuses. She had to give him props for that.
"I was scared."
Blue had come to that conclusion long ago. Spencer's admission, quietly stated, his gaze steady—unwavering—surprised her. And pissed her off.
"Why didn't you say so at the time?"
Spencer shrugged. "I was scared."
"Don't you think I felt the same? I was twenty-two years old, Spencer. College was ending. I had decisions to make. Big fat, life-changing decisions." Scrubbing a hand over her face, Blue finished off her wine.
"Maybe you should take it easy, Blue."
Spencer tried to stop Blue when she replaced her empty glass with his, but for once, she was faster. Her vision blurred slightly, but with a few blinks, he came back into focus, as did her thoughts.
"We talked about everything? Isn't that what you said? Then, instead of blowing our relationship to bits, why didn't you come to me?" Blue blinked, this time to stay the tears she felt could fall at any second. "Why?"
Blue felt a burst of anguish—unsettlingly fresh after so many years. With a shuddering sigh, she collapsed onto the sofa.
"Because I was an idiot."
"That's a fact, Spencer. Not a reason."
Blue said the words as a statement. Not a joke. Spencer—to his credit—nodded solemnly.
"It's all I have to give you. I panicked. Plain and simple. I wasn't ready for whatever came next."
"So, you unilaterally broke things off. Without talking to me first."
Blue, on the downward side of her anger, looked Spencer directly in the eyes, willing him to understand.
Spencer swallowed hard. "In the car? Earlier? That is what you meant?"
Finally, Blue thought. Her mind and body simultaneously relaxed as if finally finding a modicum of peace. Closing her tired eyes, she leaned her head against the back of the sofa.
"You left without a word of explanation. Without talking to me. I didn't just lose my lover. I lost my friend. And that broke my heart."
"I wish…" Spencer paused. "When I should've spoken out, I didn't. I've apologized. Though I was sincere, does it matter? Is it too late? Will there ever be enough words to fix what I broke?"
Blue felt the cushion next to her shift. Eyes shut, she could imagine Spencer leaning closer, his expression intense. His eyes searching her face. Turning, she curled into a ball.
"I don't know. Maybe." Blue whispered. "I hope so."
"So do I. More than you can know."
Drifting off, Blue listened to the sound of Spencer rising, certain he was leaving. The feel of his arms, under her legs, around her waist, made her eyes fly open.
"What are you doing?"
"Putting you to bed. And before you argue—or make a foolish attempt to get away. Don't."
"Damn it, Spencer. I—"
"I said I'm putting you to bed. Period. What you do after that is your business."
In a few long strides, Spencer was in her bedroom, pulling aside the lace duvet. He settled her under the covers.
The bed felt wonderful. Much better than the sofa, Blue had to admit. Content, she settled in, her cheek resting on the soft, clean-smelling pillow case.
"I won't thank you." Though as every muscle in Blue's body relaxed, she was fairly certain her body would be eternally grateful.
"God forbid," Spencer said, his cough sounding suspiciously like a poorly camouflaged laugh. "Good night, Blue. Rest well. I'll see you in Arizona."
As she heard the bedroom door close with a light click, Blue frowned. She had two weeks to sort out her thoughts before she headed down to join the Cyclones.
The warm Arizona weather. Spring training. And Spencer.
In other words? Arizona? Good. Baseball? Better. And Spencer? Blue snuggled deeper under the covers.
Definitely, hope, she decided. Always a good thing.
CHAPTER NINE
"ARE THINGS GETTING any better at work?"
"More of a stalemate. Vance doesn't like me. But he hasn't made any overt moves since sending me to New York."
Jordyn shook her head. "You're okay with that?"
Blue had given her work situation a lot of thought. She wasn't giving up just because the job wasn't ideal. Not after all the time, planning, and effort she'd put into getting where she was.
"As long as Vance allows me a little breathing space to find my grove, he and I'll be fine."
"I hope so." Ever the protective friend, Jordyn didn't look convinced "However, if you want some advice on how to handle a difficult boss, this is the place to get it."
This plac
e was the annual Washington Women in Business luncheon.
Each year women from all over the Pacific Northwest—not just the state of Washington—gathered to network, lend support, and enjoy an excellent meal.
Often, the point was to simply bask in the company of like-minded people with similar experiences and goals.
Jordyn never missed the event. This year, she talked Blue into coming along.
While in New York, Blue had attended something similar. She hadn't been impressed by the large, unwieldy event. Everyone seemed to be in a hurry. Rubbernecking—not conversation—was the main event.
The goal? To trade up.
More than once, Blue had barely exchanged a perfunctory greeting before she was dropped for somebody more famous. Or influential. Or—in one case—a woman with better shoes.
"I'm still amazed that actually happened," Jordyn chuckled.
"It happened. Poor little me wore what I thought were a smashing pair of pale-yellow slingbacks. I was thrown over for Jimmy Choo. Black-patent leather. Four-inch stilettos," Blue said with a smile, sipping her sparkling water.
No alcohol today. Blue felt her stomach roil at the thought. After the other night, she was off the stuff for now. And the foreseeable future. The problem? Certainly not two measly glasses of wine—even with the empty stomach. The chaser of confessions was what had done her in
And the fact that Blue remembered every moment with a bright, stark, clarity. Though she felt a sense of relief—a lightening of a burden she'd carried around for four years—it mingled uneasily with an accompanying sense of trepidation.
What now? Blue had asked herself that question more than once in the past few days. Because one thing was certain. She'd been lying to herself for a long time. Time and heartache hadn't changed anything.
Blue still cared about Spencer. Deeply.
Unless, the contrary little devil on her shoulder argued, Blue had simply fallen into a big vat of nostalgia.
Whatever the answer, the feel of Spencer's arms around her as he carried her to bed had felt wonderfully familiar—and excitingly new. The look on his face. Gentle. Caring.
Blue hadn't imagined the want—the need—in Spencer's deep emerald eyes. Nor the answering response of her body. However, their love life had never been the problem. Just the opposite. The sex had been amazing. If she allowed her hormones to rule her head, she and Spencer could enjoy each other—no strings attached.
Casual relationships could be fun. And at this point in her life, Blue wasn't looking for anything more. Unfortunately, when it came to Spencer, it had always been all or nothing.
"We should find our seats," Jordyn said, unaware of the path of Blue's thoughts. "I think you'll be pleased with the women at our table."
"How do you know?" Since they'd purchased individual tickets—not an entire table—Blue assumed who their dining companions turned out to be was a crap shoot.
"It pays to have a friend on the seating committee."
"I smell a business deal in the making," Blue accused, a warm, knowing twinkle in her eyes.
With a wink, Jordyn smoothed a hand over her hair, the dark tresses falling past her shoulders in a sleek, straight line. Dressed to impress, her ivory-colored blouse, matching skirt, and red leather belt made her look professional yet at the same time, ultra-feminine.
"You know me well," Jordyn admitted as they weaved their way through the crowd. "Remember that cream I sent you for your birthday?"
"How could I forget? It makes my skin feel like satin."
"With no perfumes, dyes, or other impurities. We'll be sitting with the woman who created that magic concoction."
Well before she became a fan of the body cream, Blue had heard of the woman behind it. In a few short years, Claire Thornton had built a mini-empire. Her products were sold at high-end boutiques all over the world.
"Claire is launching a less expensive line. It will be in drug stores and supermarkets by the end of the year." Jordyn stopped when she found their table. "However, I'm after something exclusive. My stores only." Jordyn rubbed her hands together, a look of steely determination in her eyes. "Today is the beginning of my campaign."
"Looks like we're the first to arrive," Blue noted, pulling out her chair. The elegantly appointed table sat five, all the places currently empty.
"Here they come now," Jordyn indicated, nodding her head to a spot over Blue's shoulder.
Glancing to her right, Blue noticed the three women walking their way. A blonde and two brunettes. As her gaze focused on their faces—on one particular face—her eyes widened.
"Is that…?"
Jordyn nodded, knowing exactly who Blue meant.
"Riley Preston. Surprise!"
Blue clamped her teeth together to prevent her chin from hitting the table. Riley Preston. Genuine Seattle royalty. Owner of the Seattle Knights football team. And without a qualification, the woman Blue wanted to be when she grew up.
Though only a few years separated them, Riley Preston's accomplishments put women twice her age to shame. And the idea of anybody ever having the means to purchase a professional sports franchise was ridiculous to the extreme.
However, the way Riley conducted herself. Her business prowess and professional integrity. Those were the qualities Blue admired and aspired to. She had a million questions. With the huge lump in her throat, asking even one would be a challenge.
"Hello, ladies." Riley Preston smiled at Blue and Jordyn. "I'm sorry we're a little late. Just as we were walking out the door, Claire had a mommy emergency."
The blonde shrugged. "Babies don't care about fancy luncheons. Gwen already enjoyed her meal. Unfortunately, Logan had just handed her to me when she felt the need to spit some of it up. It isn't the first time I had to change out of an expensive silk blouse."
"And it won't be the last time," the third woman added, her classically beautiful features lit with humor. "Next time it might be mud. Or apple sauce."
"Or motor oil from helping Daddy work on his car," Riley added, with a shake of her dark head, her lips quirked at the memory.
"Exactly. But mark my words, it will happen."
"You aren't late," Blue rushed to assure the women. The way they made their entrance—so funny and down to Earth—she felt a tad less intimidated. "We just arrived a little while ago."
"Good. As a woman who constantly emphasizes the importance of punctuality, it never looks good when I'm one of the last through the doors. I swear when Sean and I have an engagement, he'll dillydally just to drive me crazy."
Sean McBride, Blue thought. Legendary former Seattle Knights wide receiver. In all the excitement, she'd forgotten he was Riley Preston's husband. Lucky woman.
"Where are our manners?" Riley said. "We haven't introduced ourselves. My name is Riley Preston. The lady in the blue dress is Claire Thornton. And our friend in red is Dr. Violet Reed. Or do you prefer Benson? Violet is the only one of us to take her husband's name. Gaige insisted."
"Wrong. I insisted. Gaige was happy either way."
"It's a pleasure to meet you." Jordyn nodded to each woman. "I'm Jordyn Kraig. And this is my friend, Blue O'Hara."
"Wait. Blue?" Violet snapped her fingers. "Gaige—my husband—mentioned you the other day. Don't you work for the Cyclones?"
Gaige Benson mentioned her? Football God? In her opinion, the best quarterback in the history of the game? Feeling a little lightheaded, Blue grasped the edge of the table.
"Blue is part of the PR department," Jordyn answered for her tongue-tied friend. "She's in line for the top job—unless the jerk in charge has his way."
"It isn't that bad," Blue said quickly, sending Jordyn a warning look.
"Trouble with your boss?" Riley asked.
Blue hesitated. "We're still figuring each other out."
Riley laughed. "Very diplomatic. And smart. You shouldn't throw your boss under the bus. However, if you ever need any advice—or simply need to ven
t—feel free to call. I know what it's like to be a woman in a business dominated by arrogant, testosterone-laden, know-it-alls."
Taking Riley's card, Blue treated it like gold, carefully slipping it into her purse.
"You're accomplished, successful, smart, women. On top of that, you're married to sports rock stars."
"As Sean likes to remind me on a regular basis," Riley chuckled, the affection in her tone impossible to miss. "The man may be retired, but his ego is still going strong."
Blue couldn't help thinking about Spencer. He wasn't hers. But… Back when they were together, she occasionally wondered what life would be like married to a famous athlete. These women knew the answer. It seemed only natural to ask.
"How do you do it? Work. Family. Famous husbands? And Logan Price is still playing." Blue looked at Claire. "It can't be easy."
"I don't think there's one answer to that question," Claire said. "It helps that I love the game. And Logan. But don't let anybody fool you. Marriage is work."
"Amen," Violet added. "Mind you, when the man is the right one—and he feels the same about you—it’s the best job ever."
"Our husbands. Our children. Our jobs. For each of us, it's different. But we have one major thing in common," Riley said, meeting the gaze of her friends. "We love. And we're loved in return. It doesn't get any better than that."
CHAPTER TEN
"MAN. WOULD YOU look at this? I have a fucking blister on my fucking blister. How the hell does that happen, Yoda?"
Spencer cringed. He had enough of his own aches and pains. The last thing he needed was to have somebody else's bloody foot shoved in his face. Especially one owned by a man whose sweaty cleats made the smell of rotten meat seem appetizing.
"Damn it, Kaminsky," Spencer shoved the two hundred and fifty-pound first baseman out of his way. "Take care of that before it gets infected."
Travis watched Kaminsky hobble toward the trainer's room. Shaking his head, he tossed his glove into the locker next to Spencer's.
"That dumbass and his rancid feet. Every spring it's the same routine."
"Every single spring for three years." Nick, his locker flanking Spencer's to the left, laid on the bench, his legs hanging over the end. "Makes you wonder why we do it."
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