Kade leaned in and kissed me on the temple. “Don’t make an important decision like this because of me.”
“I’m not. I’m making it for us.” In that moment, looking into the gleam and love in his copper eyes, I didn’t want anything else other than to please him. He’d endured so much with me, and I hadn’t done much other than love him with all my heart. Sure, he might think that my love for him was all that mattered, but in my mind, it wasn’t. A marriage was more than love. It was building a life together that included the wants and needs of both of us. We needed to meet each other halfway. I hadn’t done that.
Tara cleared her throat. “Well, the other reason I drove through hell to get here…”
Kade and I swung our gazes to her.
“I’ve spoken to the Sea Dogs. I wanted to test the waters on whether they’re interested in re-signing you when your contract is up next year.” That time, her smile did reach her eyes. “I’m happy to say they don’t want to lose you. So I broached the subject of what if you got pregnant, and they have no issues with that. However, they would only sign you on a yearly basis.”
My jaw hit the table despite her last sentence. I would prefer a two- or three-year deal, but I understood that the organization wouldn’t want to tie up their assets. After all, a pregnancy would put me on the disabled list for at least two months or more unless I timed it so I would deliver in the off-season.
Kade just stared at her. “That’s the best news I’ve heard.”
Hearing the excitement in his voice gave me goose bumps, and for the moment, everything was right in my world.
Chapter 10
Kade
Daylight wormed its way through a slit in the room-darkening curtains that covered one wall of the hotel room. For the last three weeks, we’d been on the road all over New England for Lacey’s away games, and I was tired of packing and unpacking and eating at restaurants or ordering room service. Although staying in at night with Lacey wrapped around me after we ate dinner had been nothing short of amazing, even when she passed out from exhaustion. The fact that we were together was enough to make my heart sore, and I realized that I should’ve been traveling with her more, taking care of her more, pampering her more.
Our life was about us, and “us” included baseball. I realized in the time I’d been on the road with her that she was tougher than I even knew. She kept up a grueling schedule during the season, and I admired her even more than I had when I’d first met her.
I rubbed my eyes as a dull headache loomed. My test results had come back negative with no tumors on the scan. The doc had said I was a normal person who would get headaches on occasion and even migraines. He’d prescribed some migraine medication just in case.
I chalked up my headaches to stress, and the doc agreed.
“Stress can spur one on,” he’d said. “Just make sure you schedule your physicals on an annual basis.” Like I’d had time to do anything in the last year while caring for four teenagers and building a house at the same time. As much as I might complain about my cousins, I’d rather enjoyed having them at the house.
Speaking of my cousins, Kody had informed me that Marcus had been helping him at the club during the day—washing floors and stocking shelves. Apparently, Marcus was still brooding, but Kody hadn’t seen him drunk since the day we’d found him passed out on the stage. Kross had spent some time with Marcus as well. And according to Kross, Marcus was a natural in the ring.
Yawning, I turned onto my side to find Lacey wasn’t in bed. So I climbed out, running my hand through my hair. As I was about to take a step, I heard her moaning, but it wasn’t a good sound.
I bolted toward the bathroom. When I threw open the door, I sucked in a sharp breath.
Lacey was on her knees, hugging the toilet.
I squatted next to her, moving her hair off her shoulder, and felt her forehead, which was sweaty. But she showed no signs of a fever.
She glanced up at me with tired green eyes. She’d been quite depressed since receiving the news that the Iowa Cubs had decided to sign a newbie coming out of college.
“I’m old,” Lacey had said. “My baseball days are numbered.”
“Horse shit,” I’d replied. “Look on the bright side. The Sea Dogs will work with you if you get pregnant.”
“Maybe,” she’d said. “But they won’t re-sign me after that one-year contract is up. They’re probably too afraid that I’ll get pregnant again.”
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I think it’s something I ate. Maybe the crab cakes at dinner. They tasted a little funny, but I thought that was—” She whipped her head over the toilet and puked.
I grabbed a washcloth, doused it with cold water, and waited until she was finished. Then I patted her face, hoping the coolness of the cloth would help her.
She puffed out her cheeks and settled with her back against the tub. “I hope I can play today.”
She was a relief pitcher. So it wasn’t like she was starting. Her manager could always put in another relief pitcher. However, knowing Lacey, she wouldn’t tell her manager she wasn’t feeling well. She would just play. She was that stubborn when it came to baseball. She’d said on more than one occasion that she had to work harder than her male counterparts. I wouldn’t disagree, but if she was sick, her performance would suffer, and so would the team.
I propped my hip against the counter. “Maybe you should call in sick.”
She hugged her knees to her chest. “I don’t have to be at the field for a few hours. I’ll see how I feel later. Right now, I just want to crawl back into bed and rest.”
That sounded good to me. I held out my hand. “Come on. We can snuggle.” I wasn’t working as hard as her, so I shouldn’t have been tired, but I was.
She pushed to her feet on shaky legs. When she did, I lifted her in my arms and carried her to bed.
Then I kissed her on the forehead before cuddling up to her from behind.
Within minutes, her breathing became steady and even as she dozed off.
I lay there, trying to sleep, but my mind was in overdrive. Baseball season drained the energy out of her. Even when the season ended, it took her a month or more to finally relax, and just as she did, the season started up again. It was an endless cycle.
Lacey rolled over and slipped her leg in between mine, a position she loved when we snuggled. Just as she nuzzled her nose into my chest, she darted out of bed and ran for the bathroom. The sound of her puking again echoed in the quiet room.
I got up and dressed quickly. “I’ll go find something for your nausea.” I didn’t wait for her to say anything as I grabbed the room key, my wallet, and my phone and hurried out.
Twenty minutes later when I returned, Lacey was curled up on the small loveseat in the sitting area, reading on her phone, while an ESPN announcer on the TV went through the highlights of the Red Sox game the night before.
I dropped down next to her, setting the bag of Pepto Bismol and bagels on the table along with the coffee I’d gotten at the hotel restaurant. “Feeling better?”
She looked somewhat pale but not as white as she had earlier. “I will be. By the way, my manager called. He wants the team in early for a meeting before we warm up.”
“Are you sure you’ll be fine?”
She shrugged. “I’ve played many times when I wasn’t feeling well. I’m good.”
In that moment, a memory flashed through my mind, and I was transported back to that day in high school when Lacey had been trying out for the boys’ baseball team.
I sat in the stands at Kensington High, watching Lacey as she warmed up to face a batter. I fidgeted in my seat, breathing in and out, praying she would do okay. She’d been nervous as hell.
She threw her first pitch to the batter. The ball was wild, and the catcher fumbled to catch the ball.
Come on. You can do it, I muttered to myself as the crowd watching held their breath too.
The batter stepped out of the box, tak
ing some practice swings, but my focus was on Lacey, who was puffing out her cheeks, blowing out breath after breath. Then when the batter was ready, Lacey wound up and let the ball fly. That time the pitch soared over the umpire, hitting the backstop with a thud as my heart followed suit.
My brother, Kelton, who was playing shortstop, ran up to Lacey.
My pulse thudded in my ears. I could feel her anxiety from where I sat.
Kelton and the catcher talked her down. She bobbed her head as everyone readied their positions.
I covered my mouth with my hands, holding all the air in my lungs as she set her stance. When she looked down at home plate, she froze as if she saw a ghost. Then in slow motion, her body fell forward as she blacked out.
“Kade, honey.” Lacey’s voice was distant as I slowly shed the memory of that day. She nibbled on my ear. “Where did you go?”
I shook my head to erase the sinking feeling in my stomach. “How’s your PTSD?” We hardly talked about her disorder. Since her grandfather had passed, she hadn’t had any symptoms, at least not that I knew of.
She knitted her brows. “Where did that come from?”
Lifting a shoulder, I relaxed back against the couch. “I had a flashback of you on the mound in high school when you blacked out.”
Her mouth opened slightly. “Why? My nausea has nothing to do with my PTSD.”
“But if you’re not feeling well, your reflexes aren’t sharp. You could get hit by a line drive or—”
She grasped my hand. “Stop worrying.”
I wanted to tell her to stop being stubborn, but I didn’t want to argue. I had to trust her. She knew her body better than me. On that note, my dick started to get hard, especially when I really took her in. Her nipples were poking out of her Sea Dogs T-shirt.
She followed my line of sight before she glanced up at me, biting her lip.
Sexy as hell.
Then in a flash, I was carrying her to bed, thinking only of the things I was about to do to her.
Chapter 11
Kade
I loved the game of baseball. I’d played in my freshman year of high school, but after that I had never played any more sports. I’d been the caretaker to my three brothers while Mom was in a mental health facility and Dad was working or out of town on a business trip. So my free time had been nonexistent.
But sitting in the stands for the last three weeks, I was getting burnt out on the game. The only exciting part for me was watching Lacey pitch, and on some nights, her manager didn’t put her in. His choices of relief pitchers were all about strategy, the opposing team, the batters, and whether he needed a left-handed or right-handed pitcher.
I rested my elbows on my knees as the Sea Dogs took the field in the top of the eighth inning against the Hartford Yard Goats in Connecticut. After the game, I was tempted to zip home to Ashford to check on things. We really weren’t that far, and we could get home and back before Lacey had to play the next day. Not that anything required my attention. I just wanted to see my folks and see how Kody was getting by managing The Cave.
The catcher’s wife, who was sitting next to me, nudged me in the arm, shattering thoughts of home. “Your wife is taking the mound,” Nan Bradley said.
I zeroed in on my baseball beauty as she twirled the ball in both hands, glancing around the field then over at me.
I grinned as she beamed and nodded.
“Newlyweds,” Nan mumbled. “Oh, to be that young again.”
I didn’t know how old Nan was, but from what Lacey had told me and from what little I’d learned in my time in the stands, Nan and her husband, Steve, had been married for ten years. They had an eight-year-old daughter and lived in Portland year-round.
Nan was also extremely chatty and seemed to be the mother hen among the baseball spouses. I’d overheard her giving advice to one young spouse the other night about how the life of a baseball player was grueling and exciting all at the same time. But spouses needed to have an outlet while their husbands played the game.
I wasn’t one to eavesdrop or gossip, but I’d zoned in on listening. I thought her advice had been good for me because sometimes I forgot how much work Lacey put into playing the game, which had been eye-opening over the last few weeks.
I stared at my wife, hoping she was feeling better than she had that morning. She’d promised me she didn’t feel the need to puke when she left for the ballpark. I wasn’t sure I believed her because she still looked pale to me.
Lacey threw several pitches, warming up as the infielders tossed the ball around, as did the outfielders.
“I’m in awe of her,” Nan said.
I grinned proudly. “So am I.” Lacey was an inspiration. I’d had a chance to see the girls, young and old, wait for her after a game for her autograph.
“My husband talks about Lacey all the time. He, too, thinks she’s carving a great path for little girls. Our little girl wants to be Lacey when she grows up.”
I couldn’t lose the smile on my face if Nan paid me. I wanted our little girl or girls to be just like my wife too. I wanted them to be strong, vibrant, outgoing, and have every opportunity to live their dreams just like their mom.
Mom? I could hear our kids now, running around the house shouting for Mom or Dad. I grinned at that thought.
“When do you think you guys will have kids?” Nan asked.
The umpires got into position as the first batter approached the plate.
I angled my head at Nan. “Not sure.” Tomorrow if it were up to me.
“My husband and I keep wondering when Lacey will get pregnant and how that will work for the team.”
I found it interesting that Nan and her husband were thinking along those lines, and I was happy to hear that at least one of the players was already considering the possibility.
“What does Steve think of Lacey getting pregnant during the season?” Not that his opinion mattered, but if some of the team had been talking about it, I was curious what they thought.
She fiddled with a chain around her neck as her red lips parted into a smile. “Steven and I agree that whenever Lacey gets pregnant, she should still be allowed to play up until she can’t. She’s in great shape. So physically, it’s doable. I know women athletes like runners who get pregnant and still play their sport.”
I sighed quietly. As much as the Sea Dogs might be onboard to support Lacey with a pregnancy, it would be interesting to see how they would actually react. Maybe Lacey was right. Maybe the team wouldn’t re-sign her after she gave birth. As much as I would like to think the organization would support Lacey, baseball was all about the bottom line. If Lacey couldn’t play, then they would lose money.
Nan waved her fan in front of her. The weather was humid, and the night air was dead with no breeze. “If you time it right, you could have the baby in the off-season. Then she’s ready to go when spring training rolls around.”
I grinned because Nan had a plan for us all figured out. “Have you shared any of this with Lacey?” Lacey had had dinner with Nan and her husband on occasion. Maybe hearing those thoughts from someone other than me would give my wife some hope that she could have baseball and a family.
Nan nodded. “I think Lacey is afraid to go down that path. She shared with me that she’s concerned the team will drop her. But they can’t. If she’s under contract, she’s locked in, and besides, with the Pregnancy Discrimination Act, no company or team can just end her contract without a good enough reason.”
I recalled that when Lacey had tried out for the Dodgers right after college, one of the scouts had told me that very thing. And while the laws were in place, my wife was afraid the team would use some excuse to let her go.
I glanced out at Lacey, who was winding up her pitch. When she released the ball, the batter swung and missed.
A group of young girls sitting off to our left shouted Lacey’s name, cheering her on.
“It doesn’t matter where we go. Everyone loves her,” Nan said.
&nb
sp; I wasn’t surprised. Lacey was becoming an icon in the industry and forging a new path for girls of all ages.
“We do want kids, so I’m hoping we can get there one day,” I said to Nan as if she were my counselor.
She patted my leg. “You will.”
I knew we would. The question was when.
We settled in to watch the game. Lacey struck out the first batter in four pitches. She wiped the sweat from her brow with the sleeve of her uniform. She circled the mound, dug her foot into the dirt, glanced around the field, and shook her head. Her shoulders hunched. Then she stilled, lowered her head, and puffed out her cheeks.
A boulder dropped into my stomach. Something was wrong.
“Is she okay?” Nan asked.
“She wasn’t feeling well this morning,” I said almost to myself.
“It’s probably the humidity. It’s been awful the last few days,” Nan added.
True. I was hoping the game would end now so we could get back to the air-conditioned hotel room.
She cocked her leg and released the ball. The pitch flew over the umpire’s head. The ball hit the backstop with a thud.
For the second time that day, her tryouts in high school flashed like lightning in front of me.
I stiffened, swallowed the sand in my throat, and prayed she wasn’t about to puke. She’d puked during her tryouts with the Dodgers, mainly because of nerves. Surely she didn’t have any nerves now. She’d been playing the game with the same team for two years.
Steve jogged out to the mound to hand her the ball. They exchanged some words, then he resumed his position behind home plate.
The batter stepped into the box, readied his stance, and waited for Lacey to pitch.
Lacey settled in, taking inventory of the field and the runner at first base. She eyed the batter, home plate, and the catcher. As she wound up to release the ball, her body became a rag doll.
Before I could blink, she was on the ground.
Chapter 12
Dare to Embrace: The Maxwell Series Book 7 Page 6