She would be at work now, but she would respond eventually.
He could fix this.
He could.
* * *
Her bags were packed, and Erica could only stare at them. Blankly.
She was leaving. Strange, Arizona had only been her home for a few weeks, and she’d known that from the beginning, but it now held a special place in her heart.
It had become home.
Sawyer had made it home.
She hadn’t seen him in four days. Not since the impromptu late-night breakfast.
The game where he’d been pulled in the fourth inning.
He hadn’t texted or called, and he hadn’t waited for her after that game or any other game since.
She knew he was reading her texts—she had the read receipts—so he knew she was leaving today.
He still hadn’t sent anything.
They hadn’t talked about where they stood, what they were, or what happened next. She wasn’t the sort of woman to sit and wring her hands over a guy or complain about labels, but she did have just enough self-respect to want clarity in a relationship.
She needed to know if the man she was in love with felt strongly enough about her to make this work between them.
At this moment, she was all of twenty-one years old, back on her mother’s back porch, wondering what she had done to make her boyfriend break up with her.
The only difference was that this time he hadn’t broken anything up.
Technically.
Her phone buzzed, and she glanced down at the screen.
The car was here to take her to the airport.
Well, that was that, then.
She got up from the couch and glanced around the apartment one last time. Everything had been cleaned, the groceries had been cleared out, and nothing of hers remained.
New York was waiting, and so was her next assignment at the museum.
She wheeled her suitcase out of the apartment and started down the stairs, hauling it awkwardly in front of her, trying in vain to see the stairs before she stepped on them.
It would be too perfect to tumble down the stairs and break something or bruise several things and be forced to stay longer.
Without any hospital visitors.
She shook her head, scolding herself. Sawyer would come if she were injured. Things weren’t that bad.
Maybe she should fall down the stairs then.
They could talk.
Setting her suitcase back down on its wheels, Erica straightened and brushed a long lock of hair back behind her ear. She hadn’t paid much attention to her ponytail when she had thrown her hair back, but she’d evidently need to fix it at some point.
“Hey.”
She jerked around towards the parking lot only to see Sawyer leaning against his car, staring at her.
He looked ridiculously good. Miserable, but good. He was in his trademark Belltown sweats and a plain gray fitted tee, and he’d shaved his scruff.
She was glad for that, for some reason.
Erica swallowed hard. “What are you doing here?” she asked weakly.
Sawyer lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I thought maybe I could take you to the airport.”
So he did know she was leaving. He did care that she was leaving.
Would he stop her?
No, he’d just said he wanted to take her to the airport. He was going to help her leave.
He wasn’t stopping her at all.
She shook her head. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
His face tightened at her words. “Erica…”
“Sawyer,” she said softly, adjusting her purse onto her shoulder. “I’m not leaving you. This isn’t me running away. I live in New York, and my assignment here is done. I stretched it as long as I could, and you weren’t offering me any reason to stay.”
Sawyer’s throat worked on a swallow, and he lowered his eyes to his shoes, the toe of one suddenly digging at the pavement. “I know. I’m sorry.”
Erica sighed and folded her arms, stepping closer to him. “You wanted time, and now you get distance too. This will be good. I won’t be constantly worrying about you, and you’ll get your chance to re-center and focus again.”
“I need you,” Sawyer admitted with a rawness she hadn’t anticipated.
She gave him a pitying look. “Sawyer, I’m a phone call away. And you can text on that phone too, you know.” She tried for a smile, but she knew it fell flat.
Sawyer looked as though she had kicked him. “Babe, please…”
“Please what, Sawyer?” she cried, losing the control she had forced herself to have. “Please go? Please stay? Please be there, please don’t? I don’t know what you want me to do. I don’t know what I can do.”
His blue eyes searched hers, so brilliant against the bright Arizona sky. “I don’t know either.”
Erica nodded slowly, her heart seeming to pound and expand at the same time. “Then it really is best that I go. For now, at least.”
He said nothing as he stared back at her, his expression filled with an unspoken intensity. His agony was evident, and she felt it echoing within her.
If she didn’t leave soon, she might never be able to.
Exhaling, she closed the distance between them and took his hand. “I love you, Sawyer,” she reminded him, her voice catching on the words.
“I love you,” he whispered back.
She nodded once more. She knew that; she’d always known that.
It didn’t change things, but she knew.
“But,” she continued, “you need to figure out what it is you want and where I fit into that. If I do.”
His chest expanded with a deep inhale, and she thought for a moment that he would deny it. Then he surprised her by releasing his breath, his shoulders slumping, and he nodded in agreement, his thumb rubbing absently over her hand.
“I love you,” she said one more time, squeezing his hand as tightly as she dared. “Okay?”
“Okay,” he replied, his mouth curving to one side just a little. “I’ll call you.”
Erica somehow managed a weak smile. “You better.” She ran her thumb across his briefly, then stepped back and reached for her suitcase.
It was now or never.
She nodded to herself and wheeled her bag to the waiting car without looking at Sawyer.
She’d never make it if she looked at him again.
The driver took her suitcase and loaded it for her while Erica slid into the back seat, closing the door behind her.
Her lungs began to contract on painful breaths, but she forced herself not to break. Not yet. Not while he could see her.
The driver got back into the car and silently fastened his seatbelt, then pulled away from the parking lot.
Against her better judgment, Erica turned to look out of the rear window. Sawyer stood there still, facing her. He saw her and raised his hand to wave at her.
She lifted a hand to wave back, then wrenched herself forward, the pain in her lungs growing more intense by the second.
The car pulled out of the complex and onto the main road, heading towards the airport.
Then, and only then, did Erica burst into tears, burying her face in her hands.
CHAPTER 13
“You got this, Skeeter. Come on, kid, get him.”
Sawyer nodded, though Papa Jim wouldn’t be able to see it. He wet his fingertips and exhaled.
Circle. Pause. Crack his neck side to side. Exhale and drop the shoulders. Look at third.
Remy nodded at him, looking more serious than Sawyer had seen him in weeks.
He looked at Mace, nodded at the signal, then exhaled.
Left, left. Right, right. Left, right.
Come set.
Draw up, cock back, release, follow through.
“Strike!”
Sawyer sighed heavily, relief washing over him. He needed this. He needed this badly.
So far, so good. It was still middle of the
fifth inning, so there was a lot of game to play and a lot of balls to pitch, but nothing had been disastrous yet.
Yet being the operative word.
He caught the ball from Mace and moved back to the rubber, going through his routine again.
“Eyyyy, Skeeter, here we go, Skeeter!” Remy hollered.
Sawyer looked to Mace, shaking his head twice at the signals, then nodding when he saw the one he wanted and coming set.
He pitched, watching the ball as he followed through.
“Strike!”
He pumped his fist with a jolt of excitement.
“Come on,” he told himself, catching the ball again. “Let’s go.”
Once more he went through the motions and threw, this time the batter getting a piece of it and driving the ball directly to Farrabee, who scooped it up and lobbed it to Papa Jim for the easy out.
“Yes!” Sawyer grunted, pumping his fist again. “Yes, boys!”
Papa Jim whistled and sent the ball to Gru, who sent it to Remy. Remy juggled it for a second, then tossed it up to Sawyer with the yell he usually did when he was excited about something.
Sawyer managed a smile at the sound. Crazy Puerto Rican.
“Two down,” Farrabee called, holding up his index and pinky fingers. “End it now.”
“Now up to bat, number nine, David McCarthy!”
Sawyer smiled as Grizz did his usual pre-batting action of crossing his arms across his chest and flapping them back and forth before he strode to the plate, tapping his bat against the insides of his cleats. Grizz paused, adjusting his gloves and briefly chatting up Mace.
He always said hi to the catchers.
Weirdo.
Then Grizz looked over at Sawyer, and his grin flashed through his scruffy goatee. He swung the bat lightly, pointing it at Sawyer for just a second.
Sawyer twisted his wrist back and forth, the ball in his hold.
Left, left. Right, right. Left, right.
Look.
Mace knew Grizz well. He knew what he could hit and what he couldn’t, and he signaled accordingly.
Sawyer nodded and came set, exhaling slowly.
He’d struck out Grizz dozens of times. He could do it again.
He drew up with an inhale, cocked, and released, his breath escaping in a rush.
“Strike!” the ump called.
Sawyer blinked, straightening.
Grizz stepped back, laughing like the maniac he was.
Mace was nodding, though Sawyer couldn’t hear anything he said as he tossed the ball back to him.
Two more. Two more.
The sounds in Hotchkiss Park faded, and the only sound he could hear was that of his breathing.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
He scratched the dirt, looked to Mace, shook his head, then nodded.
Came set. Drew up. Released.
“Strike!”
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale.
He straightened, nodding to himself, still not hearing anything around him. He caught the ball from Mace and circled the mound again.
One more. Just one more.
Scratch. Look. Nod.
Set. Draw. Release.
“Strike!”
Sound suddenly erupted upon his ears, and he smiled, exhaling in relief as the crowd and his teammates cheered. He looked at Grizz, who wagged a finger in his direction, still grinning.
Sawyer shrugged at his old friend and tossed him a would-be jaunty salute as he jogged to the dugout.
“Attaboy, Skeeter!” Gru exclaimed as he gave him a high five. “Belltown bet tonight, huh? What are you gonna make Grizz do?”
“Yeah, Skeet!” Remy chimed in as he twirled a batting helmet before setting it on his head. “What’s the bet?”
The bet? Sawyer had forgotten all about that. He hadn’t planned on anything, but his teammates, Grizz’s teammates, and the media would be expecting something.
They knew full well there was that stupid tradition among them, which Sawyer had managed to escape when he’d played Rabbit the other day, as he hadn’t been pitching.
Hard to win a bet against a benchwarmer.
Hard to lose one too.
“Not sure,” he murmured to his teammates. “I’ll think about it.”
He didn’t need to see the looks on their faces to know that wasn’t what they’d expected. He was usually one of the pranksters, and a creative one, but not this time. Not now.
He actually had zero interest in making Grizz do anything. Oh, he was delighted that he’d struck him out, and he knew the Six Pack would be blowing up each other’s phones about it, but aside from pitching well, he didn’t care.
At all, actually.
He’d given up on everything except baseball since Erica had left, and miraculously, baseball was going better.
Not good, but better.
It wasn’t fun, but it was better.
He was delivering for his team tonight rather than embarrassing them, and there was something to be said for that. He could watch the morning sports reports tomorrow if he wanted to and not be concerned about what they would say. But he wouldn’t.
He didn’t care.
Erica wouldn’t care. She never had. She would have been more excited about his striking out Grizz than about the rest of the night. She would have laughed with him forever about it and goaded Grizz just like one of the guys would have done. She’d have hugged Sawyer just as warmly if he’d lost the game for the team as she would had he won it.
Outcomes didn’t matter to Erica.
He did.
Or had.
Would she hear about the strikeout? Would she care now? Would it make her smile?
Would he text her when the game was over?
“Skeet.”
He jerked and looked up. “Yeah?”
Papa Jim gave him a look. “You’re on deck, bud. Might wanna get up there.”
“Right,” Sawyer agreed, nodding and taking his cap off. “Right, yeah.” He pushed up from the bench and walked over to the stairs, stretching a little as he grabbed a helmet and picked up a bat.
He took a few loosening swings, glancing over at the plate, watching as Creasy dropped a ball just short of the left fielder, making it safely to first without any trouble.
“All right, Skeeter, here we go, kid!” Indy called from the dugout, bringing up some cheers of encouragement from the others.
Sawyer moved to the plate, craning his neck from side to side.
“Hiya, Skeet,” Grizz greeted from his position behind the plate. “Nice cutter earlier. She was a beaut.”
Sawyer grunted. “Thanks, man.”
Grizz frowned behind his mask. “Sup, bro? Your mom okay?”
“Fine,” Sawyer told him, scoffing slightly. “Just catch the ball.”
“Psst! You’re supposed to try to hit it!” Grizz reminded him.
Right. That old thing.
Sawyer swayed himself into position, his bat circling very faintly in the air as he waited.
The pitch came, and he swung at it.
“Strike!”
Sawyer hissed, sliding back a bit and looking up at the top of his bat. “Come on,” he muttered.
Grizz said nothing this time as Sawyer prepared for the pitch.
Too low.
“Ball!”
That was more like it.
“Nice, Skeet,” Grizz murmured from his position.
Sawyer ignored him and waited for the next pitch.
He swung at it, connected, and drove it right to the shortstop, who ended the inning with a double play.
Oh well.
Sawyer ran through first anyway, then circled back, handing his helmet to the coach and moving back to the mound, rubbing a hand over his hair.
Grizz was waiting for him at the mound, mask off, smile in place, holding a fist out.
Sawyer pounded it halfheartedly.
“What’s up with you?” Grizz asked through his smile, now clearly fake. “Seriously.�
��
Sawyer shook his head and tilted his head towards the visitors’ dugout. “Later. Go.”
“Kay,” Grizz said shortly with a nod before he jogged back to his team, glancing back at Sawyer.
He ignored that too.
He ignored everything.
For now.
* * *
“No, I think it looks great. Might be kind of fun to set up something festive around the holidays, you know? Might get you even more customers.”
“Bryant said the same thing.”
“He’s a smart guy, that brother of mine.”
“I heard that.”
Erica grinned over at her brother as he looked up from where he was cutting the trunk of what had been the family’s Christmas tree that year. They’d let it dry out a lot more than they usually did, but her brother assured her that it would only make for better firewood because of it.
She was convinced he was making it up, but she wasn’t going to get into that long-winded discussion. It would only go in circles anyway.
She looked up at the blue sky, dotted with white and gray clouds, and inhaled the fresh air deeply. She loved being back on the farm, the air a mixture of pine, fruit, dirt, and freshly cut hay, and it gave her the warmest feelings of home. It just felt good, and there was no other way to describe it.
A weekend back at home after the whirlwind of Arizona was just what she needed, and she was only too grateful that the museum had let her have time away for it.
Returning to work hadn’t been good. Oh, they were delighted by the work she had accomplished with the exhibit in Arizona, and everything had arrived in the shipment perfectly pristine, but there had been no plans for her to take on another assignment when she returned. She would just be back into the regular monotony of the museum, and Erica was the sort of person that needed a project. Or a challenge, at least.
All she had at the moment were her classes.
Those were going well enough, and she had been able to spend more time uploading lectures and doing some videos to give additional information. Assignments were rolling in, and she was getting them back out in record time. The forums had been active enough, and she’d been able to chime in a few times now that her workload was lessened.
And now that her personal life was boring.
She hadn’t heard from Sawyer. At all. To be fair, she hadn’t reached out to him either. She didn’t know how. What to say, if she should say anything, what he would want or need from her…
Hitching the Pitcher (A Belltown Six Pack Novel) Page 15