by Tara Wyatt
She traced the bat through the dirt around home plate, staring up into the empty stands, knowing what this meant for them, but not wanting to face it.
“This fucking sucks,” she grumbled, tossing her bat down and sinking down onto home plate.
“Yep. Sure does,” came a familiar voice from somewhere behind her. She scurried to her feet and turned to see Jake walking out onto the field, a duffel slung over one shoulder, a brand new Longhorns cap on his head. He let the bag fall to the ground as she ran toward him, nearly colliding with him as his arms came up around her. His warm, foresty scent surrounded her as she buried her face in his solid chest. Her eyes stung, and she forced herself to take a breath. After a moment of allowing herself to soak up his comfort, she pulled back, conscious of where they were, even if the stadium was empty. She hadn’t seen him in person since their trip to Colorado. Needless to say, this wasn’t how she’d envisioned their reunion.
“Thought I’d find you here,” he said, tipping his chin in the direction of the pitching machine, now empty and silent.
“Needed to work through some stuff.”
“Like the fact that I’m your catcher now?”
“Yeah. Like that.”
Anguish twisted his handsome features as he reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I asked for any team but the Longhorns, just so you know.”
Panic surged through her. “You didn’t tell your agent why, did you?”
He shook his head. “No. Of course not. I knew I was getting traded—the Reds are having a firesale to try to rebuild their farm team—and I made a stink about staying in the National League.”
She let out a breath, relief loosening her muscles. For several moments, they stood in the quiet park, neither one saying anything because they both knew what came next in this conversation. Finally, they both started talking at once.
“Jake, we can’t—”
“I know you want—”
They both cut off and Jake shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels, his features tense. “You go. I can’t…” He shook his head and looked away.
She clenched her hands into fists and tried to concentrate on the feeling of her short nails digging into her palms so she wouldn’t focus on the pain building right in the middle of her chest. “I can’t date a player on my team. Even if that player is you.” She swore she felt her heart break a little more with each syllable. Even worse, she could see the hurt in Jake’s eyes.
“I know. I know you can’t. I hate it, but I get it.”
She wanted to reach for him, but she stopped herself. “I hate it too. Trust me, I do.”
He just nodded, not saying anything, because what the hell was there to say? After a moment, she extended her hand. Even though they couldn’t be together anymore, she also couldn’t really imagine not having him in her personal life in some capacity.
“So…friends?”
For a moment, he stared at her offered hand and she wondered if he was going to reject her offer of friendship. But then he took it, practically enveloping it in his. She did her best to ignore the way her skin warmed at his touch. She’d need to find a way to forget about that. She blinked furiously, her eyes stinging at the idea of forgetting what she and Jake had shared. Thankfully, he rescued her with his trademark humor. He grinned, a shadow of his usual teasing one.
“Friends who’ve seen each other’s fun bits, but sure. Friends.”
She latched onto the joke like a barnacle on a ship, needing the levity, otherwise she might lose it because she was losing him. Them. “No more thinking about my fun bits, Landon.”
He gave a little salute. “Aye-aye, sir.” He tried to smile, but his face fell as soon as he stopped talking.
Another silence fell between them, and before she could stop herself, she laid a hand on his arm. “Thanks, Jake. For understanding. This is the last thing I wanted for us. I really need you to know that.”
He nodded, and she could see the sadness flickering in his eyes even as he shot her a small smile. “I know. Sometimes life just sucks.”
“Sometimes it does.”
He let out a long breath and picked up his duffel bag. “I just wanted to see you before…” He trailed off, staring into the empty dugout. “I have some unpacking to do.”
“Where are you staying?”
“The Hilton on…shit, hang on.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Pacific. No idea where that is.” He looked up, taking in Dell Park. “No idea where anything is.”
“I’m sorry. This must be a lot for you, too.”
He shrugged, clearly not wanting to throw himself a pity party. “Getting traded sucks, but it comes with the job.” He hesitated, and something in her chest jumped. She realized that a part of her wanted him to stop being so reasonable, so mature and understanding and beg her to reconsider, even though she wouldn’t because she couldn’t. “I should go check in, try to get settled. See you at BP tomorrow?”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak around the lump in her throat. They were done before they’d really had the chance to get started, and it hurt. It really hurt. Being with Jake had put all of her other relationships to shame, and not just because they’d connected over baseball. He was funny and charming and warm. He was supportive and kind. He was amazing in bed and she just plain liked how she felt around him.
But none of that mattered now.
He gave her one last sad smile and headed for the exit. After a few steps, he called back. “Any suggestions on where to get breakfast tomorrow?”
She smiled. “If you want fancy, go to Ellen’s on North Record. But if you’re asking me where the nearest McDonald’s is so you can get your breakfast sandwich, it’s on North Lamar.” Those damn breakfast sandwiches were his one indulgence. Even his vices were charming, somehow.
“North Lamar. Got it.” He adjusted his hat and disappeared into the clubhouse. Abby slowly walked out to center field, her limbs heavy, her chest hollow, and laid down in the perfectly manicured grass. Staring up at the blinding lights, she let the tears come.
There weren’t enough breakfast sandwiches in the world to make up for the pit in Jake Landon’s stomach.
And that was saying something, because McDonald’s made a damn fine breakfast sandwich. Say what you want about the golden arches, when it came to sausage, egg, and cheese, nothing beat them. But this morning, the two he’d ordered and taken back to his empty, bland hotel room tasted like…well, like nothing. Like cardboard, if cardboard was made of meat and cheese.
He stared down at his half-eaten breakfast and took a sip of his coffee, his mouth twitching as he remembered the way Abby had known what he really wanted when he’d asked for a breakfast recommendation.
Abby. Fuck. Her name felt like a kick in the gut, and he shoved the rest of his breakfast away, the rumpled paper wrapper sliding across the little table in front of his hotel room’s window. He rose from his chair and stood in front of the window, taking in the skyline stretching up before him, the glass-coated buildings winking in the sun. All totally new and unfamiliar to him. Playing in the National League for most of his career, he’d spent very little time here. He felt…lost. And that feeling had a hell of a lot to do with Abby. Much more so than finding himself transplanted to a new city.
Cars honked below, rush hour traffic clogging the busy streets. The sky was clear, but a haze promising heat hung in the air, almost shimmering. He checked the weather app on his phone, groaning when it promised a 101 degree late August day. Out of curiosity, he checked the weather back in Cincinnati. A much more reasonable 84. He was going to sweat his balls off playing here, and really, the heat was the least of his concerns.
Truth be told, he’d hoped to finish his career with the Reds. He’d hoped to play one or two more seasons with them and then he’d figure out what came next. He’d known getting traded was a possibility—he didn’t have the luxury of a no-trade clause at his age—but he’d still been surprised whe
n the news had come down. He’d been even more surprised when he’d found out that he was going to Dallas.
It was as though everything in his life had been flipped upside down with one phone call, millionaires trading other millionaires, moving them from one city to another. Gone was the chance to finish with the Reds. Gone was the chance to pursue a future with Abby.
Just thinking her name made his chest ache, so he shoved it away, forcing himself to finish his breakfast. She’d always been straight with him about her career and what it meant to her. About what it meant for them, having to keep their relationship on the down low. What it meant for them now, with him on her team. But he could understand something, accept it even, and hate it at the same time.
He’d thought that they had a chance when they were with different teams, that eventually they could go public. Hell, he’d be retired in a year or two, and he’d assumed that things would work out for them then. Was that even still a possibility? Could he ask her to wait for him for the next however many seasons he played on her team?
Well, if he was an asshole he could, sure. But he wasn’t enough of one to put that on her. Especially because he didn’t know where that eventual retirement would take him. She’d still be choosing between him and her career.
After he’d finished eating, he dropped to the floor and started his stretches. His body was tight, stiff and sore, but it loosened up as he worked his way through the series of stretches that only seemed to get longer each morning, his muscles needing more and more coaxing to cooperate. His shoulder ached. His back was sore. His knees felt brittle, wooden and stiff after years and years of crouching behind the plate. Realistically, he knew he didn’t have much more baseball in him. Another season, maybe two at best. And then he’d have to figure out what the hell was next, because right now, he didn’t have the slightest clue.
He’d always hoped that whatever came next included Abby. And maybe it still could, after he retired and assuming she didn’t move on with someone else.
Fuck.
He wasn’t a violent man, but the thought of her with someone else made him want to hit things.
With a groan, he got up off the floor and got dressed. It was time to face the day, whatever it held.
Two
Several hours later, the clubhouse was buzzing. Not only was Jake new to the team, but so was Connor Slate, a star pitcher from the Astros. On top of that, Hunter Blake, one of the team’s best players, had gotten himself suspended for starting a brawl at a charity event or something, and there were rumors swirling that the long injured fan favorite shortstop Beau Beckett might be back from the IL any day now.
Javi Flores, the team’s manager, had handed Jake a clipboard with notes on that night’s lineup, giving it to him to study. Later, he, Javi and Connor would come up with a game plan for each hitter. Jake grinned as he flipped through the notes. Javi had been thorough, which he appreciated. He loved this part of the game, the strategizing and planning. And he was especially looking forward to catching Connor Slate, who was famous for having some of the hardest, fastest pitches in Major League Baseball. His fastball clocked in at 104 miles per hour, and it was no wonder, given his size. At 6’3 and 240 pounds, he’d earned the nickname Mountain Man, and not just because of his long hair and thick beard. Jake flipped another page, glancing at the stats on the Mariners pitcher.
Hunter Blake walked into the clubhouse, silence and eyeballs following in his wake. Jake glanced around, trying to read the room. Did they want Hunter back? Or were they glad to be rid of him, at least temporarily? But then another glance at the stats—with Hunter’s pretty outstanding OPS and stellar defensive record—convinced Jake that they needed him. If he had to put up with being traded to a new city and losing his girlfriend because of it in one fell swoop, they were going to win some damn baseball games if he had anything to say about it.
After interrupting whatever was going on between Javi and Hunter in Javi’s office and advocating for Hunter’s spot in the lineup, he stepped out and started to head back to his locker, almost colliding with Abby. His heart clenched and he had to curl his fingers into his palm to stop himself from reaching out to steady her.
“Sorry,” he said, clearing his throat, completely at a loss as to what to say to her. Awkwardness so thick you could almost taste it hung in the air between them as his eyes ate her up, this woman who stood right in front of him but might as well have been a million miles away for all it mattered. She wore a navy blue Longhorns cap, her long, brown hair in a ponytail and escaping out the back. Her Longhorns T-shirt clung to her athletic frame, tucked messily into her leggings. Everything inside him tightened as he remembered the feel of those long, muscular legs wrapped around his waist as he lost himself in her.
She cleared her throat softly and he tore his gaze away from her legs and back up to her face. “Nice, uh, nice cleats,” he said, gesturing at her feet, only to realize she was in regular old Nikes, not cleats.
“Uh huh,” she said, the tiniest glimmer of heat and humor dancing in her pretty brown eyes. She scratched at her cheek, which was a little pink. He reminded himself that he shouldn’t find that satisfying. Since they were just friends and colleagues now. “I—”
But she was cut off by a commotion by the clubhouse’s entrance. “Y’all miss me or what?” Beau Beckett strode into the clubhouse, his gear bag slung over his shoulder. Jake turned to say something to Abby, but she was gone.
Gone. The word bounced around his skull. Acid churned in his gut. Abby wasn’t supposed to be gone. She was supposed to be his, and he was quickly realizing the agony it was going to be working with her every day. How the fuck was he going to do this?
Javi stepped out of his office, a hand extended to Beau, who was receiving excited shoulder slaps from his teammates. From what Jake could remember, Beau had somehow suffered a separated shoulder during practice early in the season. Now, he was back just in time to make the September roster.
Jake headed back to his locker, frantically trying to get his bearings on a life he didn’t quite recognize anymore.
“Good evening and welcome to this evening’s game between your red hot Dallas Longhorns and the Seattle Mariners, who are in town to kick off a three game series. I’m Wayne Hopkins and with me as always for this evening’s broadcast is Ron Whittaker. Ron, the team has made several moves this week to shore up both their offense and defense. What do you think of the trades?”
“I think it’s a heck of a time to be a Longhorns fan. Dylan McCormick’s been outstanding, and it appears that Hunter Blake’s suspension has been lifted, so we should see him back in the lineup tonight too. The acquisition of Jake Landon is tremendously exciting, as he’s a veteran catcher who’ll provide experience behind the plate, and Connor Slate’s got one of the best arms in the game. And finally, Beau Beckett is back from his rehab stint in the minors, rejoining the team this morning. He suffered a separated shoulder in the spring and the team’s been missing his defensive excellence at shortstop.”
“An exciting time to be a Longhorns fan, for sure. Let’s take a look at tonight’s Longhorns lineup.”
The Longhorns had beat the Mariners 8-2, inching ever closer to a wild card slot in the postseason. The fans had been electric, cheering on the return of Hunter and Beau, as well as celebrating both Jake and Connor’s first wins in a Longhorns uniform. They’d all headed out to one of their favorite local bars to celebrate, but Abby didn’t feel like celebrating. She just felt numb.
Then again, maybe numb was better than the soul-crushing shittiness she’d felt when she’d first learned that Jake had been traded to the Longhorns.
God, Jake. Even during their breakup—if you could call it that—he’d been awesome. Understanding, mature, giving her space and not trying to make things harder for her. But it didn’t matter how great he was. She took a sip of her beer, mentally adding Jake Landon to the list of sacrifices she’d made in the name of the game. She’d missed out on so many teenage rituals—
dating, dances, dresses and makeup because all of her time had been spent on the road with her ball team. There’d always been something—a practice, a tryout, a game—that meant she had to miss out on something else. She’d even missed her prom because she’d been away at a tournament. In college, she hadn’t partied, hadn’t had the fun so many other kids had, focused as she’d been on her ball career, on making the Olympic team, on staying on the path she’d chosen.
She hadn’t dated at all in high school, and she’d had a hard time dating in college because almost all of the guys she met were other ball players. And she’d made a hard and fast rule for herself that she didn’t date ball players. There was too much competition, too much time apart.
Then, working her way up through the college coaching system and then the minor leagues, she’d made baseball her life, and her teammates had become her family, giving her a sense of belonging she’d struggled to find with her parents and sister. Hardly any dating. Hardly any friends. Just a pure dedicated focus to the game, to show the boys she belonged with them. And it had worked. She’d become the first woman hired in a coaching position in the MLB. Ever. It was everything she’d wanted, even if being a trailblazer was downright lonely. Or, at least it had been, until she’d met Jake and had very quickly broken her no dating players rule for him.
Around her, the mood in the bar was a lot more upbeat than she felt. Rock music blared through the speakers and the guys were in high spirits tonight, drinking and partying it up, even the ones who didn’t usually come out. She wished she were in the mood to party with them, because tonight was as much her victory as theirs. She loved seeing her players succeed, loved watching them improve at the plate thanks to her coaching. But try as she might, she just couldn’t quite get there.
She stood with Javi at the bar, waiting to get the bartender’s attention to order another round, hoping another drink might lift her spirits.