Page 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

FORD

I throw my duffel down on the X-ray machine, silently going through every move I made during the game tonight.

Because I fucked up.

Royally.

I’m not sure why I expected things to be the same. I’m not the same. And time didn’t stop just because I was injured. The team continued on like a well-oiled machine.

I step forward and assume the position for the airport security scanner: feet apart, hands up. I vaguely notice the metal whooshing around me as my mind continues to spiral.

Maybe that’s what has me feeling like I’m about to bounce out of my skin. Maybe the team really doesn’t need me as much as I need them. Considering I’m the reason why we lost tonight against San Diego. If I hadn’t let that throw from Bishop get by me, we would have held onto the lead.

Maybe I just need to chalk it up to getting back in the groove. Four weeks is a long time to be off the field. Even if I was keeping up with workouts and physical therapy. And it doesn’t help that my first series back is on the road. Or that it’s a road series that has us gone for ten days, traveling up and down the west coast.

Or maybe?—

It definitely has nothing to do with my mind continuously wandering back to the woman I left behind in New York.

No.

Left behind implies she is something more than just a friend. She’s not, but I’d be lying to myself if I said she hadn’t become a staple part of my routine over the last month.

Working room by room in my apartment, we’ve created a tentative friendship. She berates me for my organized chaos, and I remind her we can’t all be perfect. I poke and prod her into sharing with me her dreams for the future, and she reminds me we can’t all know what we want to be from the age of six. There’s a give and take that comes easy as long as we don’t bring up Tyler or her time married to him.

Not that I haven’t wanted to. Believe me, there have been plenty of times I’ve wanted to ask follow up questions to the little tid bits she lets slip. But Juliet meant it when she declared Tyler would no longer be the puppet master in her life. And I’m so fucking proud of her for it.

It just all still feels a little surreal. Like at any given moment the other shoe is going to drop and she’ll realize she’s actually free.

She’ll reach out to her parents and find out I’ve been dodging their phone calls. She’ll learn they’ve cared all along about her well-being and have supported my quest to find her.

But the biggest thing she’ll realize is she’s got more than me as family.

And that’s the crux of my fears. Because I’m afraid once she does, she’ll also realize she doesn’t have to stay in New York.

I thought I was ready to let her fly. Now I’m not so sure.

Stepping out of the scanner, I grab my back and make my way over to the only convenience store they have in the private terminal. Smitty and Espinoza are already there and from what it looks like, Espinoza is about to lose his shit on the poor woman behind the counter.

I shake my head. At least I can count on some things staying the same. Like baseball players and their superstitions.

“What do you mean they don’t make the green balls anymore?” Pure panic fills my teammate’s voice.

Those damn candies are going to be the death of him. Of all of us really. It’s the most random superstition, but Espinoza swears he has to buy this specific brand of candy balls—the green ones only—during airport visits if he is pitching the next day. Then he has to keep one under his tongue during takeoff and landing. If he doesn’t, he can’t pitch for shit.

Make it make sense.

I’ve watched this grown ass man hold the plane while he leaves our private terminal and searches the entire airport for those damn balls. At this point, you’d think the team would have a stock of them to make sure they are at every airport.

That won’t help us now though.

“I can check in the main terminal, but I’m fairly certain the company stopped making them.” The cashier is trying to be helpful. She picks up a bag of assorted colored candy balls. “You could get the mixed pack and pick out the green ones.”

“Pick out the—” Espinoza’s voice goes high and he throws up his hands. “I’m going to suck tomorrow. I can’t pitch without my balls.”

Smitty lifts a hand and fake whispers behind it. “He knows how that sounds right?”

“I don’t think he can see past losing his balls,” I snort.

“Will he really pitch like crap tomorrow if he doesn’t have them?”

“I mean, would you be okay if someone took away your lucky socks?”

Smitty reaches for his carry-on duffel and opens the zipper to the outside pocket, fingering the worn fabric of the baseball snowmen socks his mother got for him before his first minor league game. “Point taken.”

“We each have our thing.” I shrug and grab nine bags of the assorted balls and place them on the counter. “I’ll help you sort them.”

Espinoza’s gaze darts over the candy. “Nine bags?”

I nod. “To match the number on the back of your uniform.”

The fear in his eyes eases and he nods, understanding the momentous occasion that just took place.

We just started a new away game superstition tradition.

He presses his lips together. “Thank you, hermano.”

“De nada.”

Espinoza chuckles at my terrible attempt at Spanish as I hand the cashier my card. He’s been trying to teach me the basics but it’s slow going.

As I’m signing the receipt, a hint of orange catches my eye behind the counter.

“You going to get one of those fancy rocks for your…what is she? Friend? Sister? Girlfriend?”

I roll my eyes. He knows damn well. “She’s my friend.”

“Uh-huh.” Espinoza grabs the bags of candy and holds them tight against his chest. “You’ve canceled a month’s worth of team Dungeons and Dragons to keep that apartment of yours clean. And we both know you never gave a shit before.”

“I’m turning over a new leaf.”

“Or keeping it clean so Etta can see how tidy you are now.”

“I couldn’t exactly DM with one hand,” I say, lifting my now cast-free hand.

Smitty wiggles his eyebrows. “You can do a lot of things with one hand.”

“It’s not like that.” Though, I can’t say the thought hasn’t crossed my mind.

I may have left all the past what ifs at Tyler’s grave, but it’s the what ifs of the future that keep me up at night. Not that I’m about to tell my teammates any of this. I’ll look like the asshole lusting after my stepbrother’s widow. I may not have any love lost for the guy, but there is still a code.

Right?

Espinoza nudges my shoulder and smirks. “Then you won’t mind giving me her number.”

“And why the hell would I do that?” My jaw ticks, knowing damn well he’s setting me up—testing my reaction.

“So I can ask her to dinner. It would stand to reason she likes baseball players. And I seem to remember her having an incredible set of?—”

“If you finish that sentence, it won’t matter how many balls you stick under your tongue because you won’t be able to see Bishop’s glove behind the plate.”

And still I walked right into it.

Espinoza arches a brow, digging in. “He seems a bit testy don’t you think, Smitty.”

“I’ve only seen one other person as protective as he is.”

Their gazes slide to where Bishop and Willow have just come through security.

Fuck.

“Juliet and I are just friends.” I reiterate, hating the way the words taste. “But she’s off limits to you assholes. She’s just getting her life together. The last thing she needs is any of us fucking that up for her.”

“And how do you know we’d fuck it up?”

It’s Smitty who asks, but I pin them both with a glare. “Because I’ve seen how you treat the women you take home. When you can wake up next to someone and not sneak out before the sun is up, then maybe I’d consider you good enough for Juliet.”

Smitty shrugs nonchalantly. “It helps to have goals.”

There’s no trace of humor on my face. “Leave. Her. Alone.”

Espinoza turns to the cashier who no doubt has been listening to our conversation, unimpressed. “What’s that one called?”

She looks over her shoulder at the crystal he’s pointing at. “Carnelian.”

“And what’s it for?”

The woman rolls her eyes, clearly done with our bullshit, and picks up the tag. “It says courage.”

Might as well say Juliet.

My teammate thrusts his card out without even thinking twice. “I’ll take it.”

It’s my turn to shake my head.

Espinoza picks up my hand and forces the orange rock between my fingers. “There you go, Penguino. You didn’t let my tradition die, I can’t let yours either.”

“But I found her. I don’t need them anymore.” That was always the plan. “And I’m not a penguin.”

“You may not waddle or eat fish, but you collect rocks for a woman. That makes you our penguin.” He pats the outside of my hand. “May one day she accept your gift.”

“She’s practically my sister-in-law,” I say, slipping the crystal in my pocket. “How many times do I have to tell you? It’s not like that.”

He winks. “Until you stop believing it.”