Let Me Be the One (The Sullivans #6)(69)

She hoped he was sleeping. He needed to be fresh for the first playoff game. And she would never forgive herself if his performance on the mound took a hit because he was worrying about her.

The smell of clay settled her down some, along with the promise she’d made Ryan to hold her focus on her sculpture. Before they finally put down their phones earlier tonight, he’d made her promise again. And she knew he was right, that working with clay was the one thing guaranteed to make her feel better.

Especially when her only other guaranteed cure was in Missouri.

Amazingly, once she sat down to work, the hours flew by until the sun rose and filled her studio with light. It was only when her stomach started cramping from hunger that she realized it had to be close to noon.

Which meant she had to find a TV—and fast—so that she could catch Ryan’s game.

Vicki grabbed her bag and was skidding down the hallway when Anne caught her. “I’m starved. Want to go grab something?”

“I can’t.” She ignored her stomach growling loudly in protest. “Ryan’s first playoff game is about to start. I’ve got to find a TV.”

“I know just the place. It’s a sports bar with the cutest bartender on the planet. Going there for lunch with you will give me a good chance to flirt some more. Especially with the street cred of hanging with the star pitcher’s girl.” Anne grinned unabashedly. “Follow me.”

Vicki would never have found the sports bar on her own and was beyond glad to see the game had only just started on the big-screen TVs above the bar. She slid onto one of the only two open bar stools as Ryan took his place on the mound.

“Seriously,” Anne said as she slid a menu in front of Vicki, “that man of yours is too gorgeous to be real. We can still be friends even if I can’t help fantasizing about him, right?”

But Vicki barely heard her friend’s joke as the cameras pulled in for a closeup on Ryan.

She frowned at the expression on his face...and how tired he looked. She knew the first playoff game was a big deal, but even under major pressure he usually looked relaxed enough for one to think it was nothing more than a pick-up game between friends on a local field.

She pointed to the first thing she saw on the menu when the bartender asked her what she wanted to eat, even though she knew she wouldn’t be able to eat a bite while she was watching the game.

Ryan looked down at the catcher, got the sign, went into his windup, and threw a blazing fastball over the plate for strike one. She felt some of the tension leave her body, but when his next two pitches missed the plate, she tensed right up again.

She had nothing riding on whether the Hawks won the game or not, but she knew how seriously Ryan took his job. He felt responsible not only to the team that signed his paychecks, but also to the Hawks’ enthusiastic fans.

After evening out the count at two balls, two strikes with a sharp slider, Ryan threw a high outside fastball, but the batter didn’t chase it. She watched the catcher give Ryan a sign before he threw a fastball that hit the low outside corner of the strike zone.

Only, instead of calling it strike three, the home plate umpire sent the hitter to first base with a walk.

Vicki could see how shaken Ryan was by the call. In an uncharacteristic move, he glowered at the umpire before turning to face center field as he visibly worked to compose himself to face the next batter.

But after four more pitches, the count was 3–1. Ryan missed badly on the next pitch, putting runners on first and second base with nobody out and the Cardinals two power hitters waiting their turn. The St. Louis fans were on their feet, screaming at the top of their lungs, trying to rattle Ryan as best they could. Clearly, they were beside themselves with joy watching the league’s best pitcher tumble into a world-class meltdown.

The TV in front of the bar was turned up loud enough for Vicki to easily hear the announcers discuss Ryan’s uncharacteristically bad pitching.

“Ryan Sullivan has always made his job look so easy. In all the years I’ve seen him pitch, I can’t recall ever seeing him choke like this.”

Another announcer agreed. “There’s no question that he’s in his prime in terms of age and strength. Even so, the first game of the playoffs is a bad time for any ballplayer to be dealing with personal issues, no matter how talented.”

“Looks like the pitching coach has just called a time-out to head out to the mound to have a word with him,” the first announcer told the audience.

“If they’re thinking of pulling him, it’s a good time to do it, before his arm wears out. This way they can use him three days out instead of having to wait four full days before his next start.”

Vicki’s heart stilled in her chest as she watched the pitching coach say something to Ryan. She wished she could read lips to know what Ryan’s reply was as he shook his head and held firm on the mound.

“Sullivan just got engaged, didn’t he?” the first announcer asked.

“Sure did. The story I’ve heard is that they’ve known each other since high school, but only started to date again recently. Sounds like something right out of a fairy tale, doesn’t it?”

“Unfortunately,” the other man replied, “it doesn’t look like he’s living a fairy tale right now.”

It wasn’t just the announcers who were trying to figure the problem out. The fans who had gathered in the bar to cheer on the Hawks were grumbling about Ryan loading the bases within five minutes of hitting the mound. Fortunately, Anne was too busy flirting with the young bartender down at the other end to have heard anything the announcers said.