Moonshot(43)

Another long pause. “You don’t have a no-trades clause. You knew that. Back then, when we signed the contract, you were so f*cked up, Chase. We were lucky to get you any kind of contract.”

“Tell. Me,” he gritted out. “That. It’s. Not. Done.” He crouched, the hotel gym too small, the room closing in on him. He couldn’t do it. He could barely survive four hours in that city, much less move back there. Put on her husband’s uniform. Walk back into the world where they fell in love. What would happen when he saw her? Every emotion that he’d tried to bury, every piece that he’d tried to forget … it would all come back.

“It’s done. They want you there tomorrow for the Red Sox game.” All the excitement was out of his agent’s voice, the words dead in their delivery.

“I can’t,” he said. “You gotta get me out of this, Floyd. You have to.”

“There’s nothing I can do.” The man sighed. “I’m sorry.”

Chase ended the call and sank to the floor, leaning against the gym’s rubber wall, his mind trying to work through its knots.

New York. Tomorrow. He needed more time to prepare. But a lifetime wouldn’t be enough. He’d never be ready to face her again. Not without pulling her into his arms. Not without refusing to ever let her go.





67



“Chase Stern?” Two words I had promised myself, on the floor of a bathroom so long ago, to never utter again. “That’s who you got?” My knees wobbled, and I gripped the edge of the doorframe, my eyes moving to my hand, watching in detached horror as my knuckles turned white.

“Go ahead,” Dick mocked, from behind his desk. “Find fault with that.”

I thought of Thomas Grant’s funeral. Thousands of roses as white as my knuckles. The same blooms, identical in every way, to the ones that had blanketed our marriage chapel. I remembered hating that tie of his death with our union. I remembered thinking, if I ever wed again, that—I had stopped that thought right there, not allowing my brain to finish the thought. There would be no other weddings. I had my husband. And there, at that funeral, his father lowered slowly into the ground, my husband inherited my team. Our team, one which suddenly included Chase Stern on its list of assets. Again. Last time it had made me nearly scream with joy. This time, a scream once again threatened my throat, one birthed in an entirely different place.

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.