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CHAPTER ONE

SILAS

“This is going to be a great season, Silas. I’m so glad you joined us.”

“Me too,” I said, trying for an easy smile as I clutched the tumbler of whiskey in my hand, easing my grip when I noted how hard my fingers were pressing into the glass. If the glass shattered in my hands, it would be hard to explain and not the best way to close out the deal I’d made today.

“I can’t wait until we announce this,” Kent, the general manager of the Brooklyn Bats and now my new boss, said before he downed the rest of his vodka tonic. “The press is going to go crazy.”

“I don’t know about that,” I said, a little unnerved by the excitement dancing behind his wire-rimmed glasses. I’d only been traded twice in my professional baseball career, and each time I had, I’d been what was seen as a hot acquisition by my new team, not a bargain.

Once I’d announced my retirement, the Bats organization had hounded my agent for weeks until I’d agreed to meet.

I was still valuable, not traded down or taken on as pity or as part of a bigger deal for someone else.

Yet taking this position, one that I was lucky to get without even trying, felt like a consolation prize. But that was a mind-set I’d have to shift, and shift fast, if any of this was going to work.

“Oh, stop being humble. And being from New York, even though you never played here, will be a huge draw too. You know how this city loves a hometown boy.”

At forty-two, I’d been heading toward the old-timer stage of my career for more years than I’d wanted to acknowledge. Rookies always started at around the same age, but each year, they’d seemed younger.

For the past two seasons, I’d needed more time in the saunas after every grueling workout or intense game and more time with the trainer to work out the kinks that seemed to multiply on the daily. But I’d held my own with all my teammates, my stats never wavering, even compared to the younger guys on the team.

Then during one crucial September game, I blew out a knee sliding into base. The pain was excruciating enough for me to realize this would end my season and my trip to what I’d already feared was my last play-off series. But after all the X-rays and plans for therapy, the team doctors had advised that maybe I should just end it all right there.

“Go out on a high note,” they’d said. I’d seen plenty of veteran ballplayers sticking around past their prime because they couldn’t let go, and I had always sworn that if I ever got to that point, I’d swallow my pride and step away. I hadn’t been there yet, or hadn’t thought I was, but as my grandmother had always said, life can change on a dime.

And change it had. That night, my life had been split into before and after, and although it had been months, I was still getting over the whiplash that had taken much longer to recover from than my bad knee.

“Yes, I always dreamed of being a Yankee, but once I got drafted into the National League, I never left and settled on the West Coast.”

I remembered all the years in little league I’d dreamed about pulling on the pinstripes and walking up to the plate at Yankee Stadium. My grandfather would take me to at least three games a season, and we’d buy a program and keep score with those tiny pencils, later breaking down what they could have done differently or how they’d been great as we rode the number four train home.

I’d played at Yankee Stadium a few times, and I’d always had to raise my gaze to the clouds to offer a silent apology to my grandfather for trying to beat the team he’d loved. Although I was sure if he were still alive, he would have switched his allegiance for my sake.

The Brooklyn Bats were a new expansion team with a lot of early promise. They’d gained immediate fans for their Coney Island location alone and had come a lot closer to winning a pennant than anyone had expected them to in their first few years. They’d been a team to watch from the beginning.

And now, I was their manager.

“Listen, Silas. You’re still a name. A young manager who fans can remember killing it on the field as a player. The box office numbers are going to be great. I can already feel what an awesome season this is going to be.”

You’re still a name.

I didn’t feel like a name. I felt like a man too old and battered to play the sport that had been his life ever since he was six years old, but too young to manage a team.

But what else was there for me to do? Yes, I was starting over, but as long as I was pulling on a uniform and reporting to a field for work, I could fool myself that I wasn’t starting at zero.

I’d been team co-captain for most of my time in Washington, but this was on another level. I’d be management, not one of the guys, and the dynamic would be completely different. While I prided myself on strategy during a game and the younger players always leaned on me for advice, I knew that leadership skills weren’t the main reason I’d been chosen.

At the beginning of last season, my name had ended up on a “hot players over 30” list in some online article that seemed to circulate everywhere.

I’d laughed along with my teammates and gotten a kick out of the signs some fans would hold up, proposing marriage and…other things they couldn’t show on camera. After that, the viral videos of game footage that centered around the fit of my uniform pants had made it difficult to go anywhere toward the end of the season.

Any time a shot of me was posted on the team’s Instagram or TikTok in the past few months, the comments were flooded with offers for dates and to make it all better after my divorce became final. Our social media manager would tease me about all the comments he’d had to delete for being too boisterous .

I’d mostly laughed at it, as it was a nice change of pace from the fans who would ask why I was still playing at my age. But now, being in the spotlight would make that all continue, especially since I had a good feeling my new bosses would egg it on if it did.

They were building a fan base as well as a team, and I understood that.

It just made me feel more like a mascot than a manager.

“If you don’t mind, I’m going to head out,” Kent said, sending me a wide smile as he rose from his seat. “After the press conference tomorrow, it’s going to get busy.”

“No worries.” I stood, glancing around the bar. I’d thought we’d meet by the Barclays Center or closer to the field, but the owners had wanted to come to Williamsburg and meet in this swanky new hotel. I’d gotten a room for the night since I had to head back to the Bats’ offices early tomorrow morning for the press conference instead of staying with my parents in Putnam County. It was still a trek, but it was much easier to stay in the borough.

“Thank you again, Kent. I appreciate the opportunity.”

“Thank you . You should explore a little. Williamsburg has just about anything you want.” Kent extended his hand. “Again, glad to have you with us, Silas. Washington’s loss is our gain, right?”

I smiled and took his hand, my head aching from the effort of pushing the curve across my lips. Washington’s loss had been my loss too. I’d lost who I was and now had to relearn a new version of myself, along with everything else about this unexpected turn my life had taken.

I sat back down after I watched him leave. Kent didn’t seem like a bad guy, just eager—like the rest of the organization. My agent had pushed me toward this deal because she couldn’t see me announcing or reporting like so many retired players did after they stopped playing. And, as Kent reiterated, I was still popular enough to be welcomed with open arms and attract new Bats fans.

Being a manager would mean I was still part of the action, not just commenting on it. As friends had told me, I needed to think of this as an extension of my career, not the end of it.

I appreciated the excitement, but it also added to the pressure. I’d grown up in this city. It didn’t matter if I was popular or how good-looking some reporter or online influencer thought I was.

New team or not, New York sports fans wanted you to win. They loved you when you did, and maybe would forgive a bad day or two, but would start to loathe you very quickly when you didn’t.

The show they’d brought me on for would only go so far. I’d have to prove my worth as a manager, both to myself and to my team.

I pulled out my phone, trying to figure out where to go to eat something. While it was hard not to be recognized everywhere I went in Washington, in Brooklyn—at least for the moment—I was just a guy in a bar. I guessed I should enjoy it while it lasted and along with maybe my last public meal in peace.

I strode toward the exit, fixated on the small screen as I passed by the tables along the outdoor terrace. A listing for a burger place caught my eye right before I was jabbed in the stomach hard enough to knock the wind out of me.

Shock more than pain made me fold at the waist, blinking for a minute before I stood and met the horrified gaze of a woman, gaping at me from one of the tables. Her hand flew to her mouth as she took in my crooked stance.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry.” Her metal chair screeched across the concrete as she popped up to stand. “Did I hurt you?” She reached out to touch my stomach and then reared back.

“No, I’m fine,” I said, sputtering out a cough when her chocolate eyes landed on mine. My stomach clenched in a different way as our gazes locked for a long minute.

“Are you sure?” she asked, almost pleading as she searched my gaze. “I could run into the hotel and get you some ice or something.” She winced when she rubbed the top of her hand as a blush stained her cheeks bright red.

A smile crept along my lips when I took her in, bobbing back and forth as she studied me. She looked nervous, contrite almost to the point of tears, and really fucking beautiful.

“You must have been really into what was on that screen,” I joked, motioning to the open laptop on her table.

Her shoulders drooped as she exhaled a long gust of air.

“I was writing and forgot that I was in public. Usually when I write, I’m alone and harmless to others. This is why writers write alone, I suppose. Some of us get crazy. Or maybe that’s just me.”

She choked out a nervous laugh.

“I better get home before I assault anyone else.”

“You didn’t assault me. And I should have been paying closer attention to where I was going. I know how it is to be so passionate about something that you forget everything else around you.”

When I’d played, I’d been so focused on the ball and moving around the bases that I’d been able to tune out everything else. Some called it a talent, but when the rest of my life had gone to shit and I managed to forget about it for three hours, I hadn’t been sure if it was a skill or a weakness.

“Thanks for being understanding. I thought a change of scenery would be good for inspiration, but I didn’t think it would be dangerous to innocent bystanders.”

Another smile curved my lips, real and genuine, unlike the ones I’d had to fake all afternoon.

I swept my gaze over the sidewalk as a woman pushed a double stroller past two bearded men with tattoos creeping up their necks. “I could see how people-watching here would be good for inspiration.”

“Maybe it was a little too good.” Her brow creased as she sucked in a long breath. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Her chestnut hair brushed the shoulders of her jacket, snug enough to show off her soft curves. I fought to keep my eyes on hers and not let them go lower. Her pretty gaze found mine, her long lashes almost fanning against her brow.

Fuck, she was gorgeous.

It had been a long time since a woman had drawn me in so quickly, and instead of being unnerved by my reaction, I welcomed the pleasant distraction.

“Listen,” she said, letting out a long breath. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee or something? I feel terrible that I basically punched you in the stomach.”

“No.” I laughed, shaking my head. “I’m totally fine.”

“Are you sure? I almost made you tumble over,” she said, grimacing as she glanced down at her wrist.

“You just surprised me. You didn’t hurt me, I promise.”

Her features softened as her gaze locked back on mine. The electricity between us was much more of a gut punch than when her fist sank into my side.

“I surprised me too,” she said, laughing as she shook out her hand.

‘There is something you could do,” I told her, lifting a shoulder.

“Sure,” she said, her head bobbing in a nod. “What do you need? Did I scratch you? You should check. This was my grandmother’s ring, and it has sharp edges.” She traced the long onyx stone on her middle finger, a nervous gesture I shouldn’t have found so damn sensual. “I can get you a Band-Aid or something. The drugstore is only across the street?—”

I shook my head and flicked my wrist to check the time on my watch.

“How about having an early dinner with me? I was researching places to eat when I…ran into you.” I smirked and drew a laugh out of her. It was cute and musical, like a wind chime.

“Dinner? You want to have dinner with me?”

“Maybe somewhere close by,” I said, motioning behind me to the hotel. “I’m staying here for the night and was looking for something within walking distance.”

“Oh,” she said softly, her brows drawing together.

“I grew up in New York, but I feel like a clueless tourist now that I’m back, so you’d be helping me out.”

I was as surprised as she seemed to be when the offer tumbled out of my mouth. I’d planned on eating alone to clear my head and prep for tomorrow, but maybe getting my mind off it was the better approach. Staring at a beautiful woman instead of my phone screen or a book seemed like a much better alternative.

“Sure,” she whispered, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear as her eyes darted back and forth along the sidewalk. “There’s a great taco place around the corner if you like that.”

“Sounds great to me,” I said, stuffing my phone back into my pocket. “I’m Silas, by the way,” I said, extending my hand. “Usually when women punch me, they already know my name.”

We shared a laugh, her first relaxed smile stealing more of my breath.

“Rachel. Nice to meet you, Silas.”

A jolt from where my palm grazed hers ran up my arm, and once again, we both lingered a long, extra moment. I couldn’t remember when I’d had such a visceral reaction to a woman, never mind one I didn’t know.

I finally dropped her hand and motioned to the exit.

“You lead the way,” I said, my smile deepening when I spotted hers as she slid her laptop into her bag.

I’d been feeling out of sorts all afternoon, and dinner with a pretty stranger who didn’t know me beyond the here and now seemed like an oasis in a very dry desert.

She hoisted the strap of her messenger bag on her shoulder, shooting me another smile as she jerked her head toward the corner.

Her jeans hugged her ass the same glorious way her jacket clung to her torso, her knee-high boots making her legs seem even longer.

After a long day of tension over my past and future, I could live in the moment for the next few hours. I wouldn’t have to think about what tomorrow morning and the next baseball season would bring, or how to figure out a way to both lead and belong in my new life.