by Karen Rock
“You can do it, Wolf,” came Levi’s unmistakable voice, his howl disturbing Garrett’s concentration.
The ball slipped slightly from his fingertips as he released it, and it rose high.
“Ball four! Take your base.”
The hitter tossed the bat and jogged to first. The fans moaned, and Freddy the Falcon lowered his head and tucked it beneath his wing, covering his eyes. Garrett wished he hadn’t seen that, either.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Heather’s slim form climbing the dugout steps. He hoped he wasn’t being yanked. Not this close. He’d had shutouts before during the early part of his career, but none he needed this badly.
Dean reached him first. When he pulled off his mask, his red hair spiked straight to the sky.
“Are you okay?” His close-set eyes searched Garrett’s.
Garrett nodded but waited to answer as Heather appeared.
“Do you have anything left, Wolf?”
He ignored the jerk of his heart when he met her dark green eyes.
“Yeah. I can finish this.”
She studied him for a long moment and he kept himself still, thinking about the game, his pitch, this inning, anything but how good it’d felt to hold her earlier.
At last, she nodded. “All right. Don’t forget. Keep that arm up.”
“Got it.”
Her even teeth appeared in a smile that stopped his breath. “Finish them off, Wolf.”
And with that, she and Dean ran back to their places, and he stepped to the back of the mound and grabbed the resin bag. He dried off his hands and replaced his glove as the next hitter came to the plate.
He came with heat on the first pitch.
Smack!
A one-hop smash down the third baseline. Miraculously, Hopson dove, snaring it, then scrambling to the third base bag to beat the Panthers’ fastest runner.
Incredible. Elation filled Garrett. That was real hustle. Just the kind of play the team needed.
One out and men on first and second.
The crowd went wild, screaming, and the music rose, a rowdy country tune that had everyone stomping.
Garrett tuned it out and angled his body sideways. He let loose on the next batter, aiming for the outside of the plate. But he missed his target, and the ball slid over the middle.
A thunderous crack sounded, and it seemed all in the stadium, including Garrett, held their breath. The ball sailed high over the Rob’s head, a possible home run. Garrett bit his tongue as he watched his wall-shy teammate chase the long fly ball.
The player sprinted toward the wall, looking over his shoulder, his glove held high. Something was different this time. As the fielder stepped on the warning track, instead of pulling up on the gravel, he made two more strides to the wall and leaped. Reaching over the top, he snatched the would-be home run, bringing it back into the park for the second out.
Garrett pumped his fist, even though the runners had tagged up and moved to second and third base. Now there were two runners in scoring position. And the best power hitter in the league sauntered up to the plate and slammed his bat on it.
Meanwhile, Freddy the Falcon waved his wings for everyone to rise, and the crowd eagerly obeyed. It seemed as though all were on their feet, many howling the new call they deemed “The Wolf,” according to the waving signs.
One group held up a large sheet that read Wolf Pack, and Garrett turned his head before he smiled. He wouldn’t give anything else away right now, not with a known home run hitter facing him and two men on base. He couldn’t afford even a single.
He needed this out.
Valdez chucked him the ball, and Garrett held it close to his pounding heart. The Panthers’ first baseman squinted at him, and Garrett stared impassively back, ice-cold. His teammates had done their job. Now it was his turn. He had this guy.
Dean signaled, and Garrett delivered a curveball that caught the guy staring as it floated in. He’d been looking for a fastball to drive.
The umpire’s right arm shot out, one finger pointing. “Steeeerike one!”
Dean put down three fingers and swiped his index finger to the left.
Garrett raised his leg and threw a scorcher that was fouled back into the net.
The umpire’s right arm flashed. “Steeeerike two!”
The roar of the crowd filled Garrett’s ears, the blistering noise a wall of sound flooding the stadium. Freddy the Falcon flapped his wings and raced up and down the aisles, looking ready to take flight.
A bugle sounded and the crowd hollered, “Charge!”
The excitement was palpable, though Garrett wouldn’t let himself be affected by it. He was the pitcher. In control of the game and himself. One more out. He would do it.
Dean held his glove off the plate for a target, flashing a fastball signal.
Garrett nodded. Dean was right. The hitter had already gone for a fastball and was probably hungry for another. With no balls and two strikes, it was time to make this guy chase a bad pitch. He’d throw an unhittable ball to make the player swing and miss.
But the experienced basher let Garrett’s outside pitch go, not fooled.
“Ball one!” called the umpire, and the crowd’s noise receded like an ebbing tide.
But just as quickly, the racket started up again, the organ pounding out dun-dun-dun-dun, dun-dun-dun-dun...
“Cold beer here!” hollered a vendor, and Garrett marveled how narrowly he’d avoided having a drink this afternoon. Now here he stood, close to earning the Falcons their first shutout of the season. It stung that he hadn’t fooled the batter into swinging at a bad pitch. Still, he was confident. He’d come so far, professionally and personally, that he knew he’d never go back. Would Heather ever believe it?
Garrett shook off Dean’s signal for a curveball. Time for a changeup pitch. It’d look just like a fastball and might trick the overly aggressive batter into another swing.
He gripped the ball further back in his hand, wrapping his fingers around it to slow down the speed. After leaning in, he lifted his left leg and strode forward, releasing the pitch. Just before the ball crossed the plate, the cocky first baseman swung hard and missed.
“Steeeerike three!”
The crowd shrieked and wailed, and fireworks lit up the sky.
Game over.
Garrett pumped his fist in the air again. Dean rushed the mound, as did the rest of the team. Dean pounded Garrett on the back, and the others gave him high fives.
“Way to go!” Valdez yelled, knocking his knuckles with Garrett’s.
“Great pitching, Wolf! Great job,” Waitman said, smiling.
“Way to get us out of that jam,” Hopson added.
“You guys really bailed me out with those catches,” Garrett said, grabbing both Hopson and Rob in headlocks.
“Yeah. Those were some highlight reel plays,” Valdez enthused.
The fireworks continued while the crowd oohed and aahed. Garrett glanced up at a large blue spray, then lowered his eyes as Heather joined them.
“I agree.” Her soft voice tiptoed inside him, filling him with warmth. “Excellent pitching, Wolf. Great effort all around.”
“We couldn’t have done it without your help, Skipper,” said Rob, his smile wider than Garrett had ever seen it.
Heather laughed gently. “It was all you, boys. Now clean up and celebrate!”
The group sprinted off the field, jabbering, but Garrett lingered, watching the play of lights reflecting in her beautiful eyes.
“I’m glad you came to practice. The guys played harder because they saw you weren’t giving up on them.”
Their gazes locked, and his chest squeezed. He couldn’t have her. This brave, kind, gorgeous woman who touched his heart in a way no one else, not even Manny, ever had.
“I’d never give up on any Falcon.” Her tone suggested she meant more than she said, but he didn’t—wouldn’t dare—read into her words. Maybe her feelings were as mixed up as his. If so, all the
more reason to avoid each other.
“’Night, Skipper,” he forced himself to say before leaving the field, wishing like anything that he could celebrate with her.
* * *
HEATHER WATCHED GARRETT DISAPPEAR, the ache in her heart growing with every step that carried him farther from her. She’d been right to push him away earlier. If only she hadn’t given into her feelings to begin with. She was sending him all the wrong messages, and it wasn’t like her to be so indecisive.
Her sneaker slipped a bit on the grass as she headed for the tunnel, wishing she could cheer alongside the guys. But if Garrett was there, she couldn’t handle it. Better to keep things separate and professional. Her judgment was bound to be muddled, her reactions impulsive and her heart vulnerable after losing the most important person in her life: her father. Maybe part of the reason she’d kissed Garrett was her need to be close to someone who cared. And the tender way Garrett had helped her after she’d learned about her father’s will, how he’d whisked her away, no questions asked, touched her deeply. She sensed that he was there for her, that a bond had grown between them that might be too strong to break.
“Heather!” called a voice that made her shudder and stop.
Explosions of color continued to light up the sky, whistles and pops sounding overhead.
“Since when do we have fireworks?” Heather asked. Her mother, seated at the end of the now-empty front row above the dugout, looked up.
Her mom’s smile was bright. “It’s fireworks night. I’m planning a number of themed promotional events for the club to draw a bigger crowd. I looked over the books this afternoon, and we need to bring our fans back.”
Heather flushed hot. Like she needed her mother, of all people, to tell her this. It took every ounce of her control to bite her tongue instead of giving a blistering response.
“Then you’ll know we don’t have the money for this.”
Her mother stood and leaned over the railing, forcing Heather to take a step back. “You have to spend money to make money. It’s an investment, and the fans love it. We had higher attendance tonight than at any other game this season.”
Heather grappled to take all this in. Her mother had been able to focus on their accounting? Was organizing marketing events to fill seats—exactly what Heather wanted... It all felt surreal.
Her mind landed on the only possibility she could conceive. “Is someone helping you?”
Her mother stood straighter and smoothed a hand over her elegant dress slacks and silky top. “I earned a marketing degree before I met your father. For the last seven years, I’ve been using it to manage public relations for a Manhattan finance company.”
“But you’re—you’re,” Heather gasped, the words stumbling over one another and blocking the rest.
“Sober.” Her mother raised an eyebrow. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, but you haven’t returned my calls.”
Heather backed up another step. No. Another lie. It had to be. She wouldn’t be fooled, no matter how much she longed for family to fill her father’s void. Suddenly it was all too much.
“Why do you care?” The words came from a place beyond conscious thought or will.
Her mother’s manicured hands reached over the rail, and Heather lurched back again.
A sad look crossed her mom’s face as she lowered her arms.
“Honey, you’ll need to sit down with me sometime if you want to know that.”
“The only thing we’ll ever talk about is the team. And only then when we must. I promised Dad I’d turn this team around, and I won’t have you derail it with reckless spending we can’t afford.”
Her mother shook her head. “You may not think so, Heather. But I’m on your side. Besides, we have an investor.”
“Who?”
Her mother’s mouth curved up at the corners. “Me.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A MONTH LATER, Heather followed her equipment manager onto the Falcons bus, exhausted and happy. Players lounged in seats, some jabbering about their triumphant series against the Tallahassee Wasps, others putting in earbuds and leaning their heads against the windows, eyes shut. After a contentious but ultimately victorious three games, the team deserved this rest. These recent wins put their win-loss record at fifty-seven and forty-three, in playoff contention.
A shiver of excitement ran through her. One more win and they’d clinch a spot. It amazed her how much the team had turned around, starting with Garrett’s shutout. It’d been a tough four weeks spent grieving her father, dealing with her mother and battling her feelings for Garrett, but she’d managed to focus, and her team had too. She caught her smile in the window as the bus pulled away from the Wasps’ stadium, a full moon heavy and low in the midnight sky. Heather couldn’t wait to rest and admire the view once she found a seat.
The bus swayed beneath her as she held on to the backs of the seats, looking for an open spot. Valdez glanced up from his phone and flashed a smile, looking like he’d squeeze her onto his lap if he could. Yikes. She hurried to the back and pulled up short at the last available space. Beside Garrett.
Her heart sank. They’d managed to avoid being completely alone, for the most part, until now. The snoozing players in the opposite seat only added to the unwanted sense of privacy.
“Mind if I sit?”
Garrett glanced up from a sports magazine. Studied her before nodding. “Sure.”
His blond head lowered again. He turned a page while she settled in. She crossed, then uncrossed her legs, reclined the seat, then straightened it (horizontal was much too intimate a pose), pulled a blanket from her bag, then stuffed it away when it—again—looked too suggestive. In other words, she couldn’t have felt less settled.
Garrett’s eyes slid her way, and one side of his mouth ticked up.
“Everything okay over there?”
She lost her grip on her bottled water. Before it tumbled into her lap, he neatly caught it.
“Fine. Peachy. Couldn’t be better,” she chattered nervously, his proximity short-circuiting her brain, apparently. “Why do you ask?”
He raised an eyebrow, then passed her the bottle.
“Thanks.” She took a long swallow, wishing she could splash it on her flushed face instead.
“You’re welcome.” He flipped another magazine page. At his sharp inhalation, she peered at the text.
Minor League Players to Watch proclaimed the headline. She scanned the article and stopped on a picture of Garrett caught midthrow, his powerful legs and arms flexed, his handsome face fierce. Her breath caught. Strange how she’d seen him pitch countless games, but a freeze-frame did something funny to her heart.
A brief bio including his impressive stats appeared beneath his snapshot. They’d dramatically improved when the team had upped its level of play after their win against the Panthers.
“Congratulations. Guess you’ll be called up soon.” She feigned excitement, though the thought of him leaving made her heart swoop low. They rarely spoke, but seeing him on the field every day comforted her. Made life less lonely—a feeling she battled and lost with her father gone.
He nodded, his gaze still on the page. “That’s the plan.”
“Has your agent had any news lately?”
He closed the magazine and turned. “The Buccaneers are sending scouts next week.”
Her blood froze. Scouts? Once they saw Garrett in action, game over. He’d be gone, and she’d be left behind. But was he ready for the big leagues? It was more pressure. Would he drink again? Although she’d watched him closely this season, there’d been no sign. Yet addicts hid it well. Look at her mother.
Since returning to Holly Springs, her mom had set up office in a space downtown, organizing promotional events that had grown their attendance, slowly but surely. Her efforts, combined with the good press for their baseball camp and their successful last half of the season, had increased ticket sales and, according to Mel, a local diner owner, attracted more
business for the town.
It felt good to know things were on track. If only her mother wasn’t part of that equation. Though she had to admit, so far, there were no signs of her old behavior. Maybe her mother was telling the truth. She was sober.
Heather cleared her throat. “I guess that means you’ve achieved your goals. Or nearly.”
Garrett scrutinized her for a long minute. “I haven’t gotten everything I want.”
Her eyes dropped and her heart drummed. Did he mean her? She’d thought, after keeping his distance this month, he no longer cared. That he’d meant it when he said he needed someone who believed in him. A person she could never be. But the intent look in his eye made her pulse speed.
She forced a casual tone and shrugged. “No one does.”
He scrubbed a hand over the stubble on his jaw, the shadow giving him a dangerous look. “The Falcons are doing well. You should be proud of that. Your dad would be.”
Her hand rose to her heart, touched. “I hope so. Did I ever tell you about the scrapbook I found by his bed? It had everything I ever accomplished—even a baby tooth I pulled out with a string.”
Garrett’s lips twisted into a lopsided smile. “I’d like to see it sometime.”
Why? she wanted to ask, but was afraid of the answer. They’d come to a professional place in their relationship, and she needed to keep it there. So did he—especially if he was heading up to the Majors soon. He had to focus on baseball and sobriety, as he’d said, not on complicated women with trust issues. No matter how much she wished it could be different.
The bus hit a bump that sent a spray of water over both of them.
He tugged the bottle away from her. “You’re a menace,” he teased, a smile in his voice.
“Public enemy number one,” she agreed, her own grin matching his as their eyes met. Suddenly it was impossible to look away. Air stalled in her lungs and pressed hard on her chest. Her skin heated as she lost herself in his blue eyes.
At last, Garrett looked away and out the window. The city lights had disappeared as they coasted up a remote highway, the thrumming of wheels on pavement the only sound. The dark quiet pressed around them, making her acutely aware of the brush of his shoulder and thigh.