Moonshot(71)

“I’m not crazy,” he said simply, his free hand reaching out and sliding my shirt carefully over one shoulder, his fingers gentle as they ran over the exposed skin, as a painter would do with a fresh canvas. “I’m not crazy,” he repeated. “I’m dedicated to this team. To this family.” His touch hardened, and I stiffened as I felt those fingers slide up and wrap around my neck. He smiled then, a lift of two cheeks that didn’t match the cold look in his eyes. “Loyalty, dear Ty, is the key to success. I tried to keep Tobey loyal. For you. And then you went and—”

I swiftly brought up my knee, hitting the soft area between his legs, and twisted, his grip on my neck loosening as he wheezed. I shoved one hand forward at his chest. But when my foot stepped back, toward escape, there was nothing there but stairs, my ankle turning as one heel hit an edge, my arms pin-wheeling, my phone flying, and then I was falling. A shoulder slammed against one hard stair, and I tucked my head, my hands coming up to shield myself, the impact on the concrete landing the worst, most excruciating pain I had ever experienced.

When I opened my eyes, he was there, his eyes furious, his knife out. I inhaled and tasted blood, something in my mouth loose, my head pounding. He put one dress shoe on my chest, leaning hard, putting his weight on it as he reached forward with the knife. “You shouldn’t have done that, Ty. Not after everything I’ve done for you.” Around us, the stadium shook, a cheer going up, the trophy ceremony underway. He lifted his head and listened, a smile crossing his face. “I did that, Ty. I brought back Chase Stern, I got this team focused, and I won this Series for New York.”

“I’m sorry.” The apology gasped out of me, my lungs struggling for breath, his weight on my sternum a vice that barely allowed movement. Maybe he wouldn’t hurt me. Maybe he just wanted an audience, recognition.

“Me too, Ty.” I wished he would stop saying my name, his mouth caressing the short syllable. He leaned forward and brought the knife down, just under my ear. “I thought you were different. I thought you were such a good wife. I thought that, with Tobey behaving, you two could finally be happy. Now, it looks like you never will be.”

And I saw in his eyes, that this was the end.





110



“Run away with me,” Chase whispered, his leg wrapped around me, my body tucked into his chest, my cheek against the smooth muscle of his chest. The hotel room was dark, the sounds of the Bronx subdued.

“I can’t,” I said quietly. “You know I can’t.”

“He doesn’t love you like I do. He can’t.”

“It’s been four years, Chase. I was here that whole time.” And he hadn’t come. I had waited, in Tobey’s parents’ home, listening to every ring of the bell, every call on the phone. I had waited for Chase, and he had never come for me.

“I didn’t know about the baby, Ty. I thought—I thought you had just left me. Chose him.”

“I would never have chosen him.” I looked up at him, surprised to see his eyes wet with emotion.

“Then don’t choose him now.”

There was so much blood. All over the front of my shirt, the wet smear of it worsened by his hands, gripping at me, claws of contact, the knife swinging at me, wild, red, wet motions that were suddenly farther away, space between us as he was pulled away. Horace. I recognized his face, one of our security guards. Mitch. Another familiar face. There were more, the stairwell getting crowded, a glimpse of Dan’s face, eyes frenzied, through a space between black uniform and a pinstriped shirt. I held onto those eyes for the split second that was allowed. Then someone moved in front of me, said something to me, hands gentle as they raised my feet.

“Ty?” Dad’s voice, through the blood, through the pain. “TY!” he shouted at me, and I reached out for him, unsure of where he was, everything going dark.





111



Chase sat in the locker room, his hands on his head, trying to clear his head, to say a prayer of thanks, the weight of the last season, of the last decade, suddenly gone. They had won. He had her. Champagne sprayed, cold mist showering, and he was pulled to his feet, pushed into the center of the room, hands everywhere, on his back, his head, his arms. Smiles all around, love in the air. For the first time, since high school, he really felt the love, the bind, the feel of family. Funny how quickly hearts warmed when championships were won. Or maybe he was just now open to it, everything rosy when he had her in his future. He was gripped tightly and he smiled, a smile that hurt in its stretch. A chant started, and he tilted his chin back and yelled, a belt of joy that joined in on the chorus.

She was right. This team was a family. One she was leaving for him. The depth of the sacrifice warmed his heart, his devotion to her aching in its ferocity. All the more reason to start their own family. Together, with their love, they could have it all. Together, they would build it all.

For a moment where everything had finally come together, something felt off.





112



I had pictured the end of Tobey and I so many times. Early on in our marriage, I had contemplated running away. Everyone would wake, on Tuesday morning, and I’d be gone. There were times in our relationship where I didn’t think he’d even notice. Then later, our friendship weaving tighter and tighter with strands of love, it became harder. I didn’t know how difficult it was to leave a husband. But my business partner, my friend … over the years, it had become impossible. Until Chase.