Swing (Landry Family #2)(78)

Sighing, I walk around the table and look at him over the top of it. “I don’t need you to get me a job.”

“I know you don’t. I’m trying to sell you on an idea here, Ryan.”

“I don’t know where this leaves us now that you’re staying in Memphis. I mean, on one hand, you’re still here so that makes it easier. But on the other, you’re still you and I’m still . . . me. Aren’t we going to be in this same position sooner or later?” I shrug sadly. “I can’t walk this line, knowing what’s coming, Landry. It has to be all or nothing with you.”

Those beautiful green eyes of his sparkle as his hands find the back of a chair in front of him. He leans his weight on it and smiles. “I pick all.” It’s a simple answer, one that throws me. He slides a stack of papers across the table. “Which is why I was thinking Savannah. But if you have another suggestion, I’m all ears. Just nowhere north of here. I don’t do winter.”

“What?”

He motions towards the papers. “Look at those.”

Everything inside me stills. “Landry . . .”

“Damn it, Dani. Don’t be so fucking hard-headed,” he laughs. “Look at the papers.”

They rattle in my hand as I pick them up. The first page is an agreement for trade. It’s a standard contract that I’ve seen in my dad’s office a few times. I flip through until I find a little yellow arrow flag. There’s no signature above his name.

I don’t trust my voice and, instead, look up at him. He grins. Going back to the papers, white noise filling my ears as more hope than I can handle if this turns bad rushes over me, I find another paper clip. It’s a notice of retirement.

I drop the papers. They flutter across the tabletop.

“What did you do?” I say, my words muffled with the emotion I’m trying desperately to hold back.

“I’m retiring.”

“You can’t,” I say, shaking my head. “You’re not thinking. You can’t retire.”

“I can do whatever the hell I want.”

His long strides make it around the table and to me in about three steps. We stand inches apart, our breathing heavy as we look at each other. He’s as nervous as I am. I can tell by the rigidity of his shoulders and the way his lips are pressed together. My fingers itch to touch him, my body desperate to hold his, but I don’t. I need to hear what he has to say.

“I’m retiring,” he says. There’s no question in his tone, no uncertainty. He could be telling me it’s fifty degrees outside with a thirty percent chance of rain.

“Why? And don’t say because of me or that I won’t go with you because I can’t have that on my conscience.”

He smiles faintly. “It has nothing, yet everything, to do with you.”

“Landry . . .”

“I’ve told you that a baseball player is who I am. It’s my niche. I’m the guy that the rest of the team depends on and the one fans come out to see. It’s exhilarating, Dani. There’s nothing like it.”

“Which is why—”

“Seriously,” he laughs. “Just. Let. Me. Talk. You’ll get your chance. I promise.” He shakes his head before continuing. “I only have a few years left of this.”

“Which is why you have to play!”

“Cut me off again and I’ll figure out a way to occupy your mouth,” he promises, his eyes shining. I try to glare at him, but can’t, and end up laughing. Even still, my knees are a little weak and I pull out a chair and sit down. He does the same. “As I was saying,” he emphasizes, “I only have a few years, but what do those years consist of? Traveling? Hotels? Maybe a championship and maybe a few batting titles, but I have both of those already. When I think about that, the trade-off, what it takes to get there, it’s just doesn’t have the appeal it used to.”

He reaches across the table and takes my hand in his. “My dad told me he got out of politics, which was his passion, because my mom had enough of living as a politician’s wife. He told me she’d never have asked him to quit, but he knew in his gut she wasn’t happy and he’d rather have her and his family than another term. When you told me last night to go, it made me remember that.”

“I—” I begin, but he squeezes my hand and I stop.

“My career came to a halt last year because of an injury. It could end this year if I re-injure. Hell, I could die in a fucking plane crash on the way there.”

“Don’t say that!”

“I could. And you know what I think about when I think about either of those things?”

I shake my head.

“Not a missed title or game or locker room. I think about you. Dani, I love baseball. I love it. But me playing was a pursuit of happiness. It’s what made me feel whole. Important. Needed.”

My vision is blurred as I listen to his words because I know what’s coming and I’m not prepared. I squeeze his hand and try not to anticipate what’s next because if I’m wrong, I’m done.

“It’s like meeting you started a new season of my life, Dani. It’s a new field with new rules and new challenges, and that appeals to me so much more than another nine innings on the field. My happiness is now with you. I think yours is with me too.”