Moonshot (23 page)

I swallowed. “He’s a leftie.”

Dick laughed. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He was right; it was a stupid thing to point out. Getting a left-handed batter with Stern’s fielding was like finding a unicorn.

“He doesn’t fit our standards.” A better argument. We were the only team in the league with appearance and ethics standards. It was part of our pedigree, our history.

He snorted. “Since when? Five years ago? He was a kid then. He’s been squeaky clean ever since. A freaking priest.”

Not five years. Barely four. Three years, ten months, four days since I last saw him. An obsessive statistic to know.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “You feel okay, Ty? I thought you’d be doing backflips over this news.”

“She’s not happy?” Tobey’s voice boomed from behind me, his hand gentle in its clap of my shoulder. He moved past me and into the large office.

“I am,” I said quickly, releasing my death grip on the doorframe. “I just wasn’t sure Stern was the best choice. Who else is there?”

Tobey looked at me as if I’d grown a second head. “Who
else
? Ty, it’s Chase Stern. The picketers can finally go home. Maybe the press will stop their shit. And most importantly, maybe that psychopath who’s killing these women will finally stop.” He let out a hard exhale, his hands flexing around a bottle of water as he unscrewed the cap. “What’s the problem?”

I stiffened, crossing my arms in front of my chest. “Last time he was here, he clashed with the team.”

“That was almost a decade ago,” Dick argued, glancing at Tobey.

“Half that,” I shot back.

“Were you balling when he was here?” Tobey turned to me, his brow furrowing, a look I knew well. He was trying to remember.

“Yes,” I spoke quickly. “And he didn’t fit in.”

“Half those guys are gone.” Dick shrugged. “And the trade is done, so you can stop analyzing it. You guys wanted the best, you got it. You can thank me in World Series bonuses.” He grinned wide, and I wanted to crawl over his desk and punch the smile right off his face. This was not a smiling matter. This was a crisis.

“Ty?”

“What?” I blinked, realizing I had missed something—something Tobey had said—both of them looking at me expectantly.

“We’re going down to the airport to meet Stern’s plane. Give him the red carpet welcome and prep him before tonight’s game. You coming?”

“No.” I shook my head quickly. “I was going to visit Margreta and Caleb.” For the first time, I was grateful for her high maintenance breasts and their lengthy recovery period, one which seemed unending.

Tobey glanced at his watch. “You’re good. I’ll call her on the way. Come on.” He headed to the door, and paused, his eyes studying me.

I turned quickly, before he could formulate any thoughts, and grabbed my bag off the floor, my steps heavy as I walked through the door, Tobey’s hand invasive as it settled onto the small of my back.

This
. This would be a disaster.

68

The jet landed into gray, a fog covering the city, thunderclouds in the distance, a setting fit for his entry into hell. Chase watched the ground approach, his eyes closing in preparation, his hands gripping the armrests until the bumpy landing was over. They taxied down the long runway, the travel assistant speaking as soon as the engines had quieted. “Mr. Stern, I’ve booked you a room at the Royalton until you get an apartment. We have a driver who will be on call this week, and I’ve texted you his number. Once we land, Mr. Grant and Mr. Polit are taking you straight to the stadium; they want to show you around before batting practice.”

“Show me around?” he barked out a laugh. “I’m familiar with the stadium.”

Her in the cramped equipment office, alone in the stuffy room; her head bent over a thick textbook; her foot resting on the bat cart, all long legs and concentration. Her eyes, looking up and catching his. Her cheeks flushing, a slow smile spreading before her gaze darted back down.

The woman fidgeted. “They’d like to show you around.”

Chase made a face, looking back out the window as she rattled off a list of details that didn’t matter. He watched the approach to the Yankee hangar, twin SUVs parked in front. As the jet approached, the vehicle doors opened, and two men stepped out. Then, the rear door opened, and the owner of his heart stepped out.

She was
there to pick him up
.

The view was terrible, the fog heavy in the air, her figure shrouded, but there was no denying it was her. She didn’t move like the teenage girl he remembered, her steps strong and confident, the move of a grown woman used to heels. But the cross of her arms across her chest was familiar, a tell of nerves, and he leaned forward, trying to see her face. If he could see her face, he would know what she was thinking, and how she felt about this.

The plane came to a slow stop, and he stood, grabbing his bag, then moved down the aisle, suddenly anxious to get off the plane.

When the door opened, the stairs lowered, and he forced himself to move slowly, his hand coming out and shaking Dick Polit’s, then Tobey Grant’s. He looked each man in the face, offering a curt smile, suddenly terrified of the next moment. Tobey turned, waving Ty forward. “This is my wife, Tyler.”

His
wife
. A reminder that would never be needed, the words clawing a fresh hole in his tender heart.

She stiffly stepped forward, a polite smile crossing her face, and held out her hand, her eyes slow to move upward, their gaze settling somewhere in the vicinity of his chin. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Stern.”

He wrapped her small hand in his and tightened his grip, wanting to squeeze some emotion out of her, a flash of anger in those eyes, a glare … something. But she only stepped back, withdrawing her hand, and then looked away.

“We’ve met before,” he tossed out, a challenge in his voice, his tone hard enough to stop her turn, her body freezing in its exit. “Don’t you remember?”

Finally, her head turned, and her eyes found his. An empty stare, with none of the warmth and fire he remembered. He had wanted to know how she felt about his return. But looking into her eyes, he suddenly didn’t want to know.

69

Did I remember
? What a cruel question to ask. I stared into his eyes and held back every emotion I could, a hundred memories pushing at thin spider-webs of restraint. I smiled tightly, words finding their way out of my throat, properly smooth and cold. “Oh yes. My apologies, Mr. Stern. It’s been so long.” I tore my eyes from his, finding Tobey’s, strength in his easy smile, his innocence, my clueless husband unaware of the raging war. Giving him a small smile, I walked toward the SUV, taking comfort in the strong click of my heels on the pavement, the sound of escape, of a woman tougher than myself, just four steps away from safety, then three, then two.

Then I was in the truck, the firm shut of the door buffering the howl of the outside wind—everything muted, everything safe.

Alone, if only for a brief moment. I let out a shaky breath, one traitorous tear leaking down my cheek before I hurriedly wiped it away. The men turned, heading toward the vehicle, and I looked away, out the window, my mask of indifference settling back into place. Four years ago, I would have broken down. Reached for him, damn Tobey and anyone else. Four years ago I didn’t know how to hide my emotions. Four years ago, I let my heart dictate my mouth, and said what was on my mind.

“I hate him!” I screamed the words, pushing against my father’s chest, not even sure where I was fighting to go. Baltimore? What would I do there? Show up at Chase’s hotel room, another man’s baby inside of me, weak apologies on my lips? I’d called him six times since his trade and couldn’t even get a return call.

“It took two of you to do this, Ty.” Dad’s voice was dry and deep, a bit of his Texas upbringing coating the words. “You can’t hate Tobey for all of it. But we have to tell him. We have to tell them.”

Them. The Grants. Was it a blessing that Rose Grant had passed away before seeing her son knock me up? Maybe. On the other hand, with both of us motherless, I would be the only female presence in this baby’s life. A terrifying thought, the additional pressure unwelcome and I screamed from the sheer frustration of it all. There was a gentle knock on the door and Carla peeked inside, her face worried, eyes scanning over me. I clenched my hands into fists and straddled the thin line between another scream and bursting into tears.

I couldn’t tell the Grants. I couldn’t look at Mr. Grant’s face, or Tobey’s, and tell them that I was pregnant. The elder had so much respect for me, had pushed for us to date for so long, had bragged about what a good girl I was to everyone… I sank against my father’s chest, his arms wrapping around me, and bit back a sob. And Tobey. He’d all but run from me that day after our sex. Hadn’t so much as texted me since. Then, I’d been grateful, my heart belonging to Chase, no interest on my part for any more of that mistake. But now, I was furious. Maybe it was unjustified. I’d certainly had just as much part as him in the event. But my anger was there, hot and desperate, and it needed a target. And right then, in my bedroom, it was Tobey.

It had taken three days for me to get my emotions in check. For my heart to run the gamut from crying to screaming to crying to screaming. Dad had gone to his game, and I had stayed home with Carla, most of the day spent in bed, working through my hysteria. By the time he returned, I was calm. By the time we got in the truck and made the drive into the city, my mask was in place. Never once, in those first months with Tobey, did I let him see how I truly felt. I saved those outbursts for night, when I was alone in my room, our bedrooms not yet shared, and I had the privacy to cry.

It was one of those nights, when I was sobbing into a pillow, wishing for Chase, that Rachel Frepp died.

The first of the girls.

The beginning of the curse.

And I didn’t even know. None of us did.

70

Chase didn’t know what he did in life to deserve the punishment of sitting next to this woman. To hear the soft huff of her breath and not kiss it away. Smell the scent of her skin and not bury his face in her hair. Watch the hem of her skirt, its rise up her thighs, and not run his hand up her skin.

He shifted in the seat and tried to look away, tried to focus on whatever the general manager was saying. Saw her, in his peripheral vision, tuck a piece of hair back. It was short now, a fashionable bob that ended just past her ears. When he gripped it, it wouldn’t hang from his hand. When she rode him, it would fall into her face.

“We’re heading to the stadium, where we can swing by the locker room and player facilities. We’ve redesigned a lot of it, and I’m not sure how much you remember from before.” Tobey turned around, smiling at Chase.

“Everything,” he answered, settling back in his seat and holding the man’s gaze. “I won’t need any reminders. I remember everything.”

71