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The officer pulls up to the Clark County Detention Center, and I’m escorted inside where I’m first searched by an officer.

“I’m not a goddamn threat,” I mutter. This whole thing is stupid. I broke a few dishes. Upended a few drawers. Made a little bit of a mess. It’s not like I’m a criminal.

Except, a little voice in my head reminds me…I am.

I wouldn’t be here getting booked if I wasn’t.

The why doesn’t matter. I committed a crime, and now I have to do the time…or however that saying goes.

And it’s only now I realize I’m being charged for vandalism…but not for assault.

What about the fact that I punched the guy in the face?

Does that not matter?

Why isn’t he pressing charges for that? Should I have punched him harder? Punched him twice?

I’d love to fuck up his face right about now, that’s for goddamn sure.

The officer takes my phone out of my pocket, which I could care less about, along with my wallet. But when he forces me to remove the ring Victoria slid onto my finger just four days ago, that’s when the gravity of all this really hits home.

What the fuck have I done?

I’m taken into another room where I set my fingertips onto a screen one at a time to have them scanned. I’m escorted to the photography area next, where someone takes my photograph first from the front and then my profile, and then I’m asked all sorts of questions to identify who I am.

It takes about an hour to book me, and then I’m given a calling card and told I can call my lawyer unless I’d like to waive my right to one.

Instead of calling my lawyer, I call my father. He’s sort of my lawyer in a way anyway. I’m not sure what urges me to do that, but I suddenly feel like a scared little boy who needs his dad.

The entire notion is completely ridiculous. I don’t need my father. I haven’t needed him since long before I was twelve years old and he sent me away.

But in this moment, I find myself pressed to hear his voice…to tell me it’s going to be okay.

Maybe I’ve always needed him, and it took this for me to realize it.

Maybe he never knew what to do with his delinquent son, so he offered the best help he knew how. I guess now that I have a child of my own, I’m starting to get it. I’m fumbling my way through this entire thing, hoping I’m doing right by her…and maybe that’s what they were trying to do, too.

But did they?

I’m about to call my father from jail. Would I have ended up here if they never would’ve sent me away?

I would’ve stopped at nothing to get that ball back for Victoria, so yeah. I think I would have. But it’s just another realization how one decision can have ripple effects none of us were expecting.

I didn’t regret what I did up until I had to face the punishment for it, and now I’m terrified I’ve jeopardized my entire future over something as stupid as a baseball.

It’s a collect call, so he knows it’s me and where I am as soon as he answers.

“Don’t say a word,” he warns.

“Not even hello?”

“This isn’t the time to be a smart ass,” he says. “I’ll give your lawyer a call. What do you need?”

“To get out of this fucking place.”

“Can you post bail?” he asks.

I sigh. “It hasn’t been set yet, but yeah, I’ve got it covered.”

“Fine. Be patient and behave yourself. The bail process can take all night depending on a lot of factors. Don’t talk to anyone about anything.”

“I won’t. Thanks,” I say, and I’m about to hang up when I hear his voice.

“Is Harper okay?”

“She’s with my wife.”

“Your…?” he begins, but he’s smart enough not to ask whether I married her because of this over the jail’s hotline.

“Wife,” I repeat. I glance down at the spot on my finger where my ring sat up until a few minutes ago. There’s already a tan line there. I study it as I wonder what she’s going through right now. Have they made it home yet? Is she still wearing her ring? Does she want to?

“Anyone else I need to call?”

“My lawyer has a list.” On that list is my publicist and my agent. I suppose I’ll have to add my wife now, too.

“Right. Take care of yourself.” He ends the call, and I blow out a breath as the officer leads me over to a holding cell so I can wait for the bail amount to be set.

As it turns out, it’s a solid five hours in there.

I’m sharing the cell with three other men, and I’m added to the group last. There’s a toilet in the corner, and I stay far away from that. One of the dudes in here is drunk, and he tries to make conversation as soon as I’m escorted in.

“Hey, you’re Travis Woods,” he slurs.

The officer with me snaps at him. “Shut the fuck up. Don’t talk in here.”

“What did you do to land yourself in here?” he asks.

I still feel like that scared little boy, and this isn’t making things any more comfortable. I force on a facade like everything’s fine. I hold my head up high.

“The Aces suck,” another guy in the cell says, a burly dude with a big blue star tattooed on his bicep.

The logo immediately makes me think of Victoria and one of the first things she ever said to me, but there’s not much these days that doesn’t bring her immediately to mind.

I keep my mouth shut and slide along the wall until I’m seated on the floor on the opposite side of the room from the toilet. There’s an officer posted outside our cell, and thankfully he keeps the other assholes in here quiet. Except for the drunk guy, who starts retching into the toilet.

Good. Get it out. Maybe he’ll sober up and leave me alone.

There’s literally nothing to do in here except be alone with my thoughts. The officer keeps us quiet, so we can’t even make conversation. I don’t have my phone to play a game or a television to entertain me or a coin to flip in the air. Instead, I’m forced to sit and think about why I’m in here.

I’m angry. That anger isn’t aimed at Victoria even though doing something for her is the reason I’m here. It’s aimed at her dick of an ex who clearly wants her back. I’m certain having me arrested in front of my daughter—a girl Victoria cares deeply about, too—isn’t the way to go about doing that.

I’m angry that Harper had to see me arrested. Maybe we shouldn’t have invited her to the wedding, or maybe we should’ve made sure she went back with Evan and his family when they left yesterday.

Guilt rushes through me as I think about her watching another parent taken from her…as I think about the Callahan family who wants to try to swoop in and steal her from me when all they’re really after is my money. They don’t care about her , as proven when Jerry basically asked my father what the plans for her were the day of the funeral as if he couldn’t get her out of his house fast enough. The thought makes my skin crawl even more than the fucking roach skittering across the floor in front of me.

I’m scared I could get into a shitload of trouble for this. I’m scared it might threaten my relationship with Harper. The league has a personal conduct clause that I violated, and they’ll hand down a punishment. The Aces might, too, on top of whatever legal punishment I’m facing.

I’m so fucked. I just pray I have enough people in my corner that I can get out of this mess to face whatever comes next.