Chapter

Twenty-One

A sharp, insistent pounding on the condo door jolted Stacia from the fog of her misery. She groaned, rolling onto her side, willing whoever it was to go away. But the knocking didn’t stop. It only grew louder, more impatient, each thud echoing through the hollow space of her heart.

With a sigh, she forced herself upright and glanced out the bedroom window.

A red Mini Cooper sat defiantly in the driveway. Sophie. Of course.

She should have known. Sophie had been calling and texting relentlessly for days, her messages shifting from concern to frustration to outright threats. Then—silence. And if Stacia had learned anything over the years, it was that Sophie’s silence was the most dangerous thing of all.

She debated ignoring the door. Then she heard the unmistakable jiggle of the handle. A second later, it swung open.

Stacia trudged to the top of the stairs, leaning against the railing. “No one’s home,” she called dryly. “Please leave a message after the beep. Beep.”

Sophie stood in the entryway, effortlessly balancing a coffee tray in one hand and a bag in the other. Her blonde hair was windblown, her face set in grim determination. She arched a brow and glared up at Stacia.

“Bullshit,” she snapped. “Haul your ass down here before I drag you down.”

She tossed her purse and keys onto the hallway table, the metallic clatter ringing through the space. A sharp, unwelcome reminder of just how empty everything felt now.

Stacia turned on her heel and shuffled back into the bathroom. Cold water. That would help. She splashed some onto her face and forced herself to look in the mirror.

Yikes.

The woman staring back at her looked nothing like the polished, put-together professional she had been mere days ago. Her skin was pale, hollowed, dark circles shadowing her eyes like bruises. Her auburn hair hung lank and unwashed, a far cry from its usual sleek waves.

She ran a shaky hand through it, finger-combing it into a loose ponytail. For a fleeting moment, she considered lipstick, concealer—anything to mask the wreckage. But then, screw it.

She had spent her whole life striving for perfect. Flawless.

She wasn’t perfect anymore.

She wasn’t even close.

And Sophie? Sophie could damn well take her as she was. Lord knew she had comforted her through enough disastrous breakups over the years.

“Are you coming down, or am I coming up?” Sophie’s voice rang from below. “Because I have Bavarian cream and a vanilla chai, and I will use them as leverage.”

Beast.

Stacia exhaled heavily, dragging herself toward the stairs. “You fight dirty,” she muttered as she descended with as much dignity as she could muster.

Sophie’s expression shifted the moment she got a good look at her.

The usual sharp wit, the teasing smirk—both disappeared in an instant. Her mouth opened, then closed. Then?—

“Shit,” she muttered. “I knew I should’ve brought the Southern Comfort.”

Stacia gave a hollow laugh, wrapping her arms around herself. “Southern Comfort got me into this mess. It sure as hell won’t get me out of it.”

Her heart twisted as the memory hit. That first night.

That perfect, reckless night before everything went to hell.

Sophie huffed. “Maybe not. But at least you wouldn’t care as much.”

Stacia let out a humorless snort. “Maybe not. Until the hangover and the heartache set in.”

Without another word, Sophie thrust the chai into her hand and marched into the kitchen. She all but shoved Stacia onto a barstool before waving a Bavarian cream donut under her nose.

“Eat this,” she ordered. “You look like you need it.”

Stacia glanced at the pastry—her usual go-to comfort food—but her stomach lurched. She pushed it away. “No thanks. I’m not hungry.”

Sophie shoved it right back. “Eat it, or I will force-feed you. When was the last time you ate?”

Stacia shrugged, taking a sip of the chai just to placate her. She glanced at the clock. “I don’t know. What day is it?”

Sophie’s eyes flashed with something between exasperation and worry. “Unbelievable. You always said no guy was worth this kind of moping.” Her voice softened. “Is Jason really worth it? After he believed that bullshit article? Screw him.”

Stacia’s shoulders slumped. Her voice came out barely above a whisper.

“Been there, done that. Got the scars to prove it.”

Sophie’s jaw clenched. “Then he’s an ass who doesn’t deserve you wasting away over him. You made him, Stacia. You turned him into a media darling. You saved his career. And this is how he repays you?”

Anger vibrated in every syllable, but Stacia just shook her head. “It’s the job, Soph. We fix them, then we move on. That’s the drill.”

Sophie’s expression softened. She reached across the counter, grabbing Stacia’s hand and squeezing it. “So, what happened?”

Stacia blinked back the sting of tears. “You know what happened.”

Her friend didn’t let go. “No. You need to say it.”

The sympathy was too much. It pressed down on her, suffocating.

Stacia yanked her hand back. “Exactly what you warned me against.” She forced out a broken laugh. “I fell in love, okay? I fell in love with Jason Friar. I let myself believe it was real. That we were real. I got confused between the job and reality. I was a goddamn fool.”

Sophie didn’t hesitate. She rounded the breakfast bar and wrapped her in a fierce hug.

“You didn’t screw up, honey,” she murmured. “He screwed up by letting you go. He’s the fool. Not you.”

Stacia squeezed her eyes shut, let herself lean into the comfort for a moment. But it wasn’t the same. Because all she could feel was him.

The way Jason had held her after her father’s phone call.

The way he had wiped her tears.

The way he had stood up for her, defended her.

The way he had made love to her, so slowly, so tenderly.

“It was real, Sophie,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “He loved me.”

Her friend pulled back, eyes kind. “How could he not? You did everything for him.”

Stacia shook her head. “No. That’s not why. He never wanted me to fix him. He loved me despite all of that.”

And then she had lost him. Destroyed by the very thing she was supposed to be able to control. Her own arrogance had been her undoing.

Sophie sat back on the stool. “So, was it the article?”

Stacia’s mind churned. “I don’t know. He kept ranting about betrayal.” She paced, taking a sip of the chai. Then—it hit her.

Her breath caught. She turned, snapping her fingers. “Of course. He thought I was using him.”

Sophie frowned. “I don’t understand. Using him how?”

Stacia grabbed her friend’s arms, shaking her. “The article. It painted me as someone who uses her clients. Jason’s been used his whole life, Soph. Friends, groupies, coaches—even his own father. He thought I was just like them.”

Sophie’s eyes widened. “And he doesn’t know how you feel.”

Stacia’s breath shuddered.

Sophie tilted her head. “Did you ever tell him?”

The words left her lips without hesitation. “I love him. No matter what.”

Sophie grinned. “It’s about damn time.” She held up two tickets. “The team sent these for you. Go get your man.”

Stacia bolted upstairs. She had a shower to take.

And a man to win back.

J ason sat hunched on the stool in front of his locker, head hanging low, forearms braced on his thighs. He tried to focus on the game, to dissect the pitcher’s weaknesses, to run through the lineup in his mind. But no matter how hard he tried, the numbers blurred, the strategy dissolved, and all he could think about was her.

Stacia.

What she had done. Where she was now. How she had hurt him.

The past week had been a waking nightmare, each day blending into the next. He had been sleepwalking through the end of the season, lethargic, unfocused, and uninspired—exactly the kind of player he had called out just a month ago. And now here he was, a hollow shell of the man he had been, the leader he had been.

Worse, he kept searching for her. Scanning the stands for a flash of auburn hair. Driving past the condo, half-hoping to see lights on inside. Looking over his shoulder during interviews, expecting her to be there, coaching him through his words, smoothing over his rough edges.

Instead, he was alone. And the world had lost all color since she left. No—since he drove her away.

Even the guys had started to notice. He had pulled back from them, preferring the silence of his empty condo and the numbing haze of beer. But even there, she was everywhere—the way the furniture was arranged, the food in his fridge, the faint trace of her perfume still clinging to his sheets. He had taken to sleeping on the couch, wrapping himself in a blanket just to dull the scent of her, to fool himself into believing she had never been there at all.

It hadn’t worked.

His hitting had fallen off a cliff, his timing completely shot. He was sleepwalking down to first, his reflexes dulled, a fraction of a second late on every ball hit his way. His teammates tried to pick up the slack, but without him leading, they were struggling.

And now—one game. Win or go home. And the way they were playing? They’d be home before sunset.

A shadow fell across him. Two legs appeared in front of him, blocking the fluorescent glare of the locker room lights.

Jason lifted his head slowly.

Cody Patterson.

Great. Now even the damn kid was getting in on the action, telling him to get his head out of his ass.

Cody said nothing, just jerked his chin toward the underground batting cage before turning on his heel and heading down the hallway.

Jason exhaled sharply, tempted to stay put, to ignore the unspoken challenge. But he was too damn tired to fight it. So he stood, each movement sluggish and heavy, and trudged after Cody, ignoring the weight of twenty-six pairs of eyes following him.

The batting cage door slammed shut behind them. Cody turned, arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable.

“Jason, man, you’re killing us out there,” he said, voice low but firm. “We need you.”

Jason let out a hollow laugh, rubbing his hands over his face. “No shit. Tell me something I don’t know.”

Cody stepped in close, close enough that Jason couldn’t escape the unwavering determination in his eyes. “Look, I know your girlfriend screwed you over, and yeah, that sucks. But guess what? Life sucks. Join the club. Today, this game—this one—is the only thing that matters. We win, we move on. We lose? We go home.” His voice dropped, deadly serious. “And we can’t win without you.”

Jason swallowed hard, his pulse pounding.

Cody wasn’t done. “I gave you your space, man. I even tried to get Stacia to come talk?—”

Jason’s head snapped up. “You what?” His voice was raw, his blood instantly boiling.

Cody’s jaw clenched. “Yeah. And she said the same damn thing you’re saying. That she never wants to see you again.”

Jason’s stomach twisted, but Cody pressed on, undeterred.

“Fine. Whatever. I don’t care about her or what you believe. You wanna be miserable? Fine. Do it on your own time. Right now, I need you. We need you. You taught us to fight. You woke us up when we didn’t even know we needed it. Now we’ve got your back. We’re a team.” He leveled Jason with a hard stare. “So pull your head out of your ass and deal with that. Then deal with Stacia.”

Silence stretched between them. Jason breathed hard, his entire body coiled tight. Cody was right. The damn kid was right. Jason had let everyone down because a woman had gotten inside his head.

And the worst part? He was the one who pushed her away. His grip tightened into fists at his sides.

He straightened, squared his shoulders, and met Cody’s stare head-on.

“What the hell are you doing down here?” Jason demanded, voice steel. “We’ve got a game to win.”

Cody’s grin split wide across his face. “Hell yeah, we do.” He let out a sharp whoop, slapping Jason on the back.

When they emerged from the tunnel, every pair of eyes in the locker room turned to them. Hope flickered there. Expectation. Jason stepped into the center of the room, Cody a step behind him.

“Alright, guys,” Jason called out, voice carrying. “I’ve let you all down. And I’m sorry.”

A few teammates grumbled their dismissals.

“Shit happens, man.”

“No sweat.”

Jason shook his head. “No. No excuses. I’ve been acting like a selfish idiot, and it stops now.” He let his gaze sweep over his team, his brothers. “It’s time to get serious. It’s time to give Detroit the ass-whipping they deserve. We own this league. We’ve been toying with them long enough.” His voice sharpened, turned razor-edged. “Now we finish it.”

A cheer erupted. The energy shifted, reignited, sparking like a wildfire. Jason met every pair of eyes in the room, nodding once.

Hammonds. Miranda. Sam. They stood near the entrance, nodding in approval, satisfied that their leader had finally come back to them.

But Jason’s gaze searched past them, beyond the team, beyond the noise.

For her. For even a glimpse of auburn hair, for the sharp intelligence in her eyes, for the smirk that had once driven him insane.

But the hallway was empty.

His heart clenched. He shouldn’t be surprised. She had sworn she wasn’t using him—but if that was true, why wasn’t she here? This was the most important game of his life. She had moved on. Without a backward glance.

And hell, he deserved it.

He had been a complete ass, throwing her out without so much as listening. What had he expected? That she’d read his mind? That she’d wait for him?

No. She had more self-respect than that.

Jason shoved down the ache in his chest, locked it away. He had a game to win.

And a girl to get back.