Page 53

I can’t help when my eyes automatically turn to her bedroom as I pass by it. The room is empty and the bed is made.

I glance at my watch. It’s early, and I know Gabby. She wouldn’t be up this early on a Saturday.

I don’t even know why I am up. I’m guessing it has something to do with the fact that I listened all night for her to come home. I fell asleep at some point, but I never did hear her come in when I was awake.

Her truck isn’t in the driveway, another signal that she never came home.

Did she spend the night with Spongebob?

The thought fills me with rage. I head toward Troy’s workout room and attempt to get some of the anger out on the punching bag. It doesn’t help.

I work my ass off until I’m an exhausted, sweaty mess, and I guess this is thirty-three.

It feels empty and cold.

I have a few messages from friends and women and family. My brother sent me a video text of his entire family singing “Happy Birthday” to their favorite uncle. They’re the perfect fucking family, and he has the perfect fucking life, and it’s just another reminder that I’m now officially edging toward my mid-thirties and I’m still alone.

I’m a little worried I’m turning into a cranky old man. I take a quick shower and make myself a screwdriver for breakfast.

It’s my birthday. I can do what I want.

I shouldn’t feel broken over the fact that she moved on when I’m the idiot who pushed her to do it, but seeing Stacy yesterday was a real wake-up call.

You sort of expect feelings to come rushing back when you run into your ex, whether they’re feelings of love or hate or something in between. But when I saw Stacy, I just felt…resigned. I didn’t care. I didn’t have the fire to stand there and fight with her. I just wanted her to leave. She’s caused me enough pain and enough trouble, including giving up the future I wanted for myself while I wasted so much time with her.

When I think of Gabby, though, I don’t feel resigned. I feel fire. I feel heat. I feel need. I feel love , and every time I see her, those feelings only get stronger.

I don’t know what to do.

I need to stay away, but I don’t know if I can.

And now…knowing that maybe she has moved on, maybe she’s spending the night in another man’s bed—and I use the term man loosely for someone who’s barely out of his teen years—the thought causes a pain in my chest the likes of which I’ve never felt before.

I didn’t feel it when I found out Stacy was cheating on me, and I’m starting to think maybe it’s because I knew the end with Stacy was inevitable.

But I never truly saw the end coming with Gabby.

I’ve only been in Vegas a week. It feels like a fucking decade.

I just want time to pass so I can get back on the field and get over all this and get my mind right again.

But time is a cruel bitch that steals so much from us, and my only choice is to wait it out.

The doorbell rings as I’m finishing up breakfast, and I set my dishes in the sink before I head over to answer. I peek through the peephole in case it’s a salesman, though in this gated neighborhood that would be fairly unusual.

And when I peek through that peephole, I spot someone I’m utterly shocked to see standing there.

Maybe even more shocked than seeing Stacy standing in Troy’s driveway yesterday.

I open the door, and I glance at his shirt. I force myself not to roll my eyes. “Spongebob,” I say in greeting. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey, uh, I’m here to see Gabby. Is she around?”

My brows shoot up in confusion as a pulse of relief seems to shoot through my spine. “She didn’t spend the night with you?”

His brows dip and a shock of something seems to flash in his eyes, like he’s supposed to play the part and he’s not…but then he glances away from me as he shakes his head. “Uh, no. I guess I’ll just talk to her later.”

He scampers away, and I’ll admit I’m just the tiniest bit worried about her since she didn’t come home last night and she wasn’t with the number one suspect. But I also know she has a lot of friends here. Hell, the night I met her, she was out with friends. My best guess is she spent the night at one of their places, and she’ll be back soon.

I’m not wrong.

I do the dishes and set them in the dishwasher, and then I make a plan for my day. I grab my laptop to study some more film, but first I send out a few texts to friends seeing if anyone wants to meet for some high stakes gambling tonight at Caesars. I get hits back from a few friends.

And it’s as I’m texting with Danny on the couch in the family room when I hear her truck pull up.

Troy isn’t home, and my best guess is that he spent the night at the club with Joanie again.

It’ll be just the two of us, and I’m not sure what to do with that.

The door opens, and she walks in. She’s wearing the same clothes she wore yesterday, and she looks exhausted…like she drank way too much last night and is suffering the consequences this morning because of it. The usual sunshine that surrounds her seems to be missing today.

“Good morning,” I mutter, unable to muster up any sort of sunshine myself.

“Hey,” she grunts.

“You need some ibuprofen?” I ask, a little teasing in my tone.

“I can get them.” She pads over to the cabinet where Troy keeps medicine in the kitchen and helps herself to a few pills. She disappears up the stairs, and I hear the shower running.

I open my laptop and watch some footage from games with Rush Ross as I figure out where we’d want him in our line-up. He’s not a closer, but depending who we pick up from the draft, he’ll probably fill either our number one or number two spot with his fastball.

I’m pausing and zooming in on one of his pitches when Gabby walks back into the room over an hour later.

“Feeling better?” I ask, closing my laptop lid and setting it beside me.

“A little,” she says absently. “I laid down for a bit after my shower, and now I’m just hungry.”

“Want me to make you something?” I ask, getting up from the couch and walking toward the kitchen behind her.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asks, narrowing her eyes at me.

I shrug. “You seem like you might’ve had a rough night.”

“Yeah, lots of drinking with Justin.”

I raise a brow. “Yeah?”

She nods. “We had a really fun night.”

“You stayed over there with him?” I press.

She presses her lips together and nods, her eyes defiant as they move toward mine.

I move in a little closer to her, and she backs up until her backside bumps into the counter. I keep moving closer until I’ve got her boxed in. I set my arms on the counter and lean down, getting in her face as I smell her fresh vanilla after her shower.

I breathe her in deeply for a beat, and then I say, “Oh did you? Then why did he come by here asking for you this morning?”

Her eyes widen as she looks caught, but before she can come up with any sort of defense, I plow forward.

“Don’t fucking play games with me, Gabby. Where were you last night?” I move so my face is right in front of hers.

“None of your business.”

“Where were you?” I demand again.

“At Mia’s.” Her voice has an edge of fear in it, and something about her showing vulnerability pushes me to take her and make her mine, to mark her and protect her. To hell with the commitments and what Troy might think. I fucking need her like I need to breathe, and I will not stop until I get the truth out of her.

“Are you sleeping with Justin?” I demand, my lips centimeters from hers.

“No,” she says softly.

“What’s going on with the two of you?”

Her eyes flick to my lips. “We’re just friends.”

My lips crash down to hers, and she moans as she gives in, her lips parting to mine and our tongues languidly brushing against each other’s.

We both hear a key slide into the front door. We don’t have much time, and I don’t know what to do. I told her not to play games, and two seconds later I kissed her after I told her time and again that I couldn’t do this.

She pulls back first, resting her palms gently on my chest for a beat before she pushes me away. “I never meant anything to you, so why do you care who I’m sleeping with?”

“Goddammit, Gabby, you know that’s a lie,” I say, frustration stabbing into me like a million tiny knives all at once. I hear the door open, and I lower my voice to a whisper as I fight to finish this conversation. “I don’t know what to do. I fucking love you so much, but we can’t be together.”

“I don’t think we have a choice,” she says, and her eyes are still hot on mine when her father walks into the kitchen.

TO BE CONTINUED IN BOOK 3, FLYBALL