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CHAPTER FORTY

FORD

I have no business being as happy as I am when one of my best friends could lose the chance to ever play baseball again.

Not that I think Mercer is going to walk away with that outcome. But it’s a possibility.

But so is Juliet.

She’s my possibility. And if this past week is any indication, I think we’re on the right track.

Soph shifts on the bench beside me in the overly crowded hallway of the commissioners suite at MLB headquarters. It reminds me of people waiting outside a courtroom—tense and overwhelming as they wait to hear the verdict.

“Is the entire team really here?” There’s a hint of awe in her voice, but it only barely overshadows the annoyance at the fact we’re packed in like sardines.

“I told you, this team is different.”

And thank God they are, because in true Cohen fashion, Mercer’s family didn’t show up to support him.

Bishop and Carson gave up going to play on the All-Star team to be here. Many of the guys cut vacations and time spent with family short to be here.

But of course, his family couldn’t possibly.

In our eyes, Mercer is already a part of this team because Willow willed it into existence.

And this is what Renegades do. We show up for each other.

It’s also what friends do. And I haven’t exactly been the best to Mercer.

I tried convincing Willow to let me be the one to pick him up from the airport so I could apologize, but she shut that shit down, saying he needed to be focused on the hearing. She’s pretty sure the executive council won’t go easy on him. They want to make sure they won’t have another scandal on their hands when they reinstate him. The league has already had enough of that this year.

The irony is, Mercer was never the problem. He was the victim. And yet, he’s the one paying the price. I’d like to believe the council sees that, but with the way there are fans standing outside the building protesting his return, I’m really not sure.

* * *

Two hours pass before Willow finally steps out from behind the big oak doors with Mercer two steps behind her.

Silence falls over the hallway and everyone halts whatever they are doing in favor of holding their breath as we await any sign of the verdict.

“Well, boys,” Willow says, giving away nothing. “I’d like you to welcome your new teammate.”

Cheers bounce off the high ceilings as every member of the Renegades pushes forward to surround Willow and Mercer. We make it impossible for the rest of the council to exit the room, ensuring they see that we aren’t just an organization, but a family.

I manage to push my way to the center and find Mercer.

He’s thinner than I remember, and even though he just got everything he’s been fighting for, the spark that usually lights his eyes is dulled.

I pull him into a hug just as Carson yells from somewhere in the center of the chaos.

“Who are we?”

The entire team yells, “Renegades!”

Bishop pipes up. “I think they can do better!”

“Who the fuck are we?” Carson asks.

“Renegades!”

Mercer arches a brow and leans in to ask, “Are they always like this?”

“I should have told you before. This team is magic.”

* * *

I glance at my watch.

Again.

It’s the sixth time I’ve done so in the last thirty minutes.

I promised Juliet I’d be home an hour ago.

I wanted to be home an hour ago.

But how could I say no to the team’s decision to go out to celebrate? Especially when Mercer agreed. Of course, that didn’t stop me from inviting Juliet to join us.

She politely declined and said she wanted to let us have this moment together as a team, and she’d see me when I got home.

Everything in me wanted to tell her she’s as much a part of this team as me, but I stopped myself. Not because it’s not true, but because, like Mercer shoved down my throat, not everyone wants my help. And as much as I want Juliet to understand she’s not alone, she might not be ready for that.

Look at me being all grown up about it and shit.

So, instead of being a bull in a china shop, I’m sulking in the corner of this hole in the wall Mexican restaurant. The epitome of fake-it-till-you-make it, waiting for one of two things: Mercer to give me a sign he’s ready to talk, or permission to leave and get home to Juliet.

“Fuck, you really are a puppy,” Soph says as she slides into the booth I’ve commandeered in the corner, her margarita sloshing over the rim of her glass.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, eyes narrow, trying to decipher what she’s getting at, but also exactly how many of those margaritas she’s had.

“Nothing.” She shakes her head and takes a sip before offering me some, a sign she’s had more than one. Sophia has a rule that the first drink is hers. No matter how good it tastes, she’s not sharing a drop unless she gets a second one.

“Nope.” I shake my head. “I’ve learned my lesson. Tequila makes for loose lips.”

Soph shrugs and takes another sip. “Better than a loose dick.”

I lift my water in solidarity. “Touché.”

She clinks her glass against mine, and we both laugh. There’s not a doubt in my mind Soph is getting sloshed to hide the fact she’s happy Mercer is back. God forbid she let any deep emotion not laced in sarcasm slip free.

“You think he needs saving?”

I crane my neck and follow her gaze to where Mercer is trapped between Carson and Espinoza, who I’d bet money are trying to convince him to sing karaoke with them. Which I only know because they tried and failed to get me up there with them ten minutes ago. Not to mention it’s Carson’s go to team bonding experience.

Something about music being the way to a person’s soul. Honestly, Juliet would probably agree with him.

“We haven’t really had the chance to talk yet. I’m afraid he’ll assume I’m just stepping in to make him talk to me.”

“Damn.” Soph turns and sets her elbow on the table, cutting off my view of our floundering friend. “He really fucked you up by what he said, didn’t he?”

“Maybe a little,”I admit with a halfhearted shrug, unwilling to let her know just how much.

“Listen.” She takes another long sip, solidifying I’ll be getting a call from Sydney making sure her wife is okay. “I’m not saying he was right, but Mercer wasn’t wrong when he said you try to fix everything. You can’t help yourself. That’s who you are, and over-all, we love you for it. But now that you know it can be a little overbearing, you can maybetry to ask yourself if you’ve gone too far before you stick your foot in your mouth.”

“But—”

“What he said doesn’t mean he never wants your help again.”

She gives me a dazzling smile only Drunk Sophia can pull off, and I heave a sigh. “Fine. I’ll go save him.”

“Atta boy,” she says, punching my arm as I slide from the booth, knowing damn well I’ve just been played.

Meddling Soph strikes again.

Thankfully I’m not caught up by any of my teammates on my way over to save Mercer. He locks eyes with me as I weave across the restaurant, and I don’t miss the silent plea letting me know I made the right choice.

When I get to the bar, I slide my arm over his shoulder. “Sorry, fellas, I need to steal my friend here.”

“But he’s going to sing?—”

“I hate to break it to you, Carson, he’s not.” I point a finger to the flat line stretched across Mercer’s lips. “Does this look like a man who has any interest in singing Donna Summer with you?”

“But—”

“Why don’t you go get Bishop? You know you can always talk him into it with that sweet, I’m your co-captain smile. ”

Carson chuckles. “Alas, my bromigo left early to go help get Jackson settled into his new apartment before we leave tomorrow.”

“Plus,” Espinoza adds, “Mercer needs to be initiated into the ranks of karaoke legends.”

“Next time, boys,” Mercer huffs, but I think we all know that’s never going to happen.

Then again, Carson has a way of convincing you to do things you wouldn’t consider. So, maybe it’s in the realm of possibility.

Our co-captain lifts his finger and points it at Mercer’s chest. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

“He really will,” I say as Carson and Espinoza saunter off to find a willing voice to complete their trio.

“This is…” Mercer scans the room before ultimately turning back toward the bar and picks up his beer.

“Overwhelming? A lot? Claustrophobic?”

He takes a long pull and sighs. “Did I make the right choice coming back?”

I hesitate, searching his creased brow,unsure if he really wants my advice. Ultimately, I decide I don’t care and give it anyway. “I’m sure it’s a lot right now. And this team is definitely—” I pause and look around at the team that has stood by my side every day for the last few months. “They’re too much in the best possible way.”

“I’m afraid I’ll let them down,” Mercer whispers.

“Nah. They won’t let you.” Confidence drips from every word. “They’ll pick you up and fill in the gaps where you can’t.”

He huffs a laugh and sneers. “And you eat that shit up, don’t you?”

“Mercer, I?—”

“Don’t.” He holds up his hand and shakes his head. “We’re good, Ford. I was a little harsh on you.”

“And I was a little overbearing.”

He cocks a brow and levels me with an a re-you-fucking-kidding-me stare .

“Okay, I was a lot overbearing.” And even though I feel it was justified, an easy laugh bubbles from my throat, and I let the feeling slip away.

Our friendship is way more important than being right.

Mercer takes another sip of his beer, then swirls the bottom. It’s only then I realize it’s empty and likely has been for some time.

He lets loose a breath and looks down at the bottle. “I could have reached out. I just—it’s been a lot. Between court and the hearing and my family and?—”

His voice trails off and his lip trembles. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Mercer this shaken. Even in the midst of being accused as a rapist, he stood with his chin high and never lost sight of the truth. Everything in me wants to push my friend to tell me what the hell is going on, but Sophie’s words ring true: Think about it, and then maybe don’t.

Right now isn’t the time or place.

So, instead, I arch a brow and aim for safer waters. “And getting tattoos?”

Mercer’s face pales.

Shit.

Abort mission.

I should have just stuck with being a pushy asshole. At least I know how to do that with confidence.

Mercer gives me a sidelong glance. “Dax told you?”

Told me what ?

“He said you showed up at his shop. That’s it. Seemed worried about you and wanted you to know he’s got a standing appointment for you whenever you’re ready.”

“Oh.”

And because I can’t fucking help myself, I ask, “Is there more?”

“No,” Mercer snaps, confirming there’s definitely something more to whatever happened. “It was a dumb idea. I don’t need a tattoo to remind me who I am.”

“You sure?” I tease. “We could go get one tonight?”

Mercer lets a full belly laugh rip for the first time since he’s been back, and for a split second, it’s like old times. Me and Mercer. Giving each other shit. Holding each other up.

Damn, I missed this.

It takes a moment, but Mercer finally gets ahold of himself. “You faint when we have to get flu shots. There’s no way you’re getting a tattoo.”

I blow him a kiss and bat my eyelashes. “For you I’d try.”

And just like that, we’re back in safe waters.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I think I’m good on tattoo shops for now.”

I don’t miss the way he said shops and not tattoos specifically, but don't point it out. He and Dax are hiding something for sure. But for now, I’ll let him keep his secrets. I want Mercer to stick around.

“Enough about me. Where’s this Juliet you haven’t shut up about the last few weeks?” He looks left and right like she’s going to pop up out of nowhere. “I half expected to show up and find you wife’d up with a baby on the way.”

Isn’t that the dream?

“She’s back at the?—”

“Ford,” Soph cuts in, her tone serious and void of any hint of the playful drunk I just left.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, even though I know by the fear filled look in her eyes whatever she says next is likely going to wreck my world.

But instead of saying anything, she thrusts her phone into my hand.

For a second, the only thing I’m sure of is I’m looking at The Foul Line website—aka the trashy sports blog we all hate. I’ve never put much stock into what they have to say, since they’ve usually got it wrong, or twist headlines to get clicks.

Then my eyes land on the main photo.

It’s not the best picture, but it’s clearly me in the clubhouse with my hands tangled in Juliet’s hair. The headline reads:

Ford McCoy’s New Girl?

Or Stepbrothers Leftovers?

Fuck.

The more I scan the article, the worse it gets.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The details are all wrong, but the message is clear.

I look up at Mercer and thank God there’s nothing but understanding in his eyes.

“Go, we’ll catch up later.”

“Yeah, okay.” I fumble, my hands searching to make sure my phone and wallet are in my pockets. “You with us on the away series tomorrow?”

“No. I’ll be training here at home, but won’t officially start with the team until next season.”

“Wait what? I thought?—”

“Go, we’ll talk about it later.”

“I—” Shit. I want to be here for Mercer and figure everything out and be the one to welcome him to the Renegades, but also Juliet needs me, and I?—

“Go, Ford.” Mercer’s hands grip my shoulders, and he spins me toward the door. “I’ll be here when you get back from Philly.”

By some miracle I manage to grab a cab without any issues, and the entire ride home, all I can do is silently chant the same three things over and over again.

Get home to Juliet.

Make sure she’s okay.

Fix this.