Page 98 of Vegas Heat: The Expansion Team Complete Series

“Somebody call nine-one-one!” a voice nearby yells.

No.

Not somebody .

Every CPR training course I’ve ever taken tells us we need to pick a person to make the call. Yelling somebody means nobody will call.

“AJ, call nine-one-one,” I say when I spot the first person I recognize nearby. He nods and grabs his phone out of his pocket.

“Stand back! Give him some room!” a security guard yells, and a circle seems to form around the man lying on the ground, mostly of those of us who shared the car on the way here. We’re trying to shield him from onlookers, shield him from those taking videos to make a buck off whatever’s happening, shield him from the chaos of the crowd.

He’s still clutching his chest, and he’s wincing in pain, but he’s conscious. That has to be a good thing.

Gabby and Joanie break through the crowd, and Gabby kneels by his side, taking his hand in hers. She’s murmuring something to him, and Joanie kneels on his other side.

Fuck it. I rush over and drape an arm around Gabby, squeezing her into my side to let her know I’m here.

“Daddy, it’s okay, help is on the way,” she murmurs softly to him.

His eyes flick to mine, and I can tell he’s scared about what’s happening to him. “Get up there and stand in for me, Coop,” he says, and I nod. “The draft must go on. Make the right picks. I’ll be back at it soon.” We’ve got a mutual understanding about what this team needs, and I’m more than capable of doing what needs to be done.

“Of course. Get yourself well and then we’ll kick some ass on the ballfield,” I say with a wide grin that I don’t really feel. Keep him calm, though. If it’s his heart, he needs to remain calm and relaxed.

Managing a professional baseball team isn’t exactly conducive to calm and relaxed—which might be what landed him in this situation to begin with. It’s traveling and stress and not having a regular sleep schedule and eating whatever is available on the road. That combined with genetics could cause health problems for anybody.

I’m not just worried about my best friend. I’m worried about my girl’s father. The way he grabbed his chest combined with the other symptoms he’s had all day tell me this isn’t just nerves. I’ve seen it before.

He’s having a heart attack, and there’s been too goddamn many of those in my life. I nearly lost my brother to one not so long ago. I’m not losing Troy to one.

Gabby’s not losing her father to one.

It runs in the family. Troy lost his father too young just as I did to the same disease.

But he will get the care he needs, and he will come back to manage the fuck out of this team.

I refuse to allow my brain to have any other thoughts on the matter. I’m manifesting only positivity right now.

Gabby keeps her eyes on her father, and I squeeze her once more in solidarity before I straighten and walk over to address the crowd staring in this direction. I hold up both hands. “Everything’s fine. The draft must go on.” I repeat the words Troy just said to me, and it seems to calm the crowd down a little.

Sirens scream moments later, and Troy is taken out on a stretcher. Gabby glances at me before she climbs into the ambulance to be with her father, and I nod at her when our eyes meet before I’m forced to head up to the stage.

I stand beside Pete and Mike as we wait for the two announcers from ESPN—Carl and Doug, the hosts for tonight’s draft—to announce our arrival.

“We’ll keep you updated with the latest on Troy Bodine’s condition throughout the evening as updates come in,” Carl says. “And now, it’s the moment we’ve all been waiting for! Please welcome to the stage Vegas Heat scouting director Pete Holt, general manager Mike Perry, assistant coaches Chris Jarrett and Joe Buchanan, and third baseman Cooper Noah!”

The crowd goes wild for our arrival, and we take our seats on the long stage, bright lights blaring into our eyes as we pretend we didn’t just watch one of the men we all respect most in the world go down clutching his chest.

Fuck.

We’re supposed to concentrate on the draft. We’re supposed to hold it together.

We’re supposed to act like everything’s fine while we’re here on this live broadcast.

But it’s not fine.

My best friend was clearly in the middle of some cardiac episode, his daughter is worried sick about him, and I’m sitting up on this stage as his stand-in since that’s what he told me to do.

The hosts ask us each a few questions, and I don’t even know what the fuck I’m saying as I hide the fear behind the charming smile people have come to expect from me.

We cut to commercial, and I blow out a breath as I slide my phone out of my pocket and send Gabby a covert text.

Me: My heart is with you. Keep me updated.

I slip my phone back into my pocket, and when I glance up, I see the man sitting beside me—the team’s general manager—as his eyes meet mine.

He absolutely just saw what I typed.

The contact in my phone is Sunshine , but it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.

Mike raises both brows. “Joanie?”

Oh fuck.

I weigh my options here.

Is it worse to admit the truth or to let him believe the lie? It’s a tossup between fucking my best friend’s daughter or fucking his fiancée.

The broadcast returns, so I don’t get the chance to make that choice.

We talk for another few minutes, and I feel my phone buzz in my pocket with a potential reply from Gabby. I can’t take it out to check since we’re on live television.

As soon as they run the pre-recorded package on a few of the potential first picks, Mike turns to me again with raised brows.

“Gabby,” I admit softly.

“Fuck.”

I slide my phone out of my pocket and read the text from her.

Sunshine: Just arrived and he’s getting checked in. The paramedics said likely two blocked arteries. They were talking emergency double bypass. I’m scared.

I flash the phone to Mike for him to read it, and he presses his lips together. He glances around us, and Chris and Joe are deep in conversation beside me while Pete is chatting with Doug and Carl.

“Thanks,” he says.

I reply as fast as I can while the broadcast cuts to another commercial.

Me: It’s a very common surgery. He’s in good hands now.

Mike looks at me again as I slide my phone back into my pocket. “Is it serious or are you just playing around?” His voice is low and just for me even though we’re surrounded by people.

I blow out a breath. “Serious.”

“You know you can’t tell him. Especially not now.”

“I know not now. But not ever?”

He raises both brows. “I’d keep it to myself until you’re about to walk down the aisle. If it’s not as serious as that, he doesn’t ever need to know.”

I get the feeling he’s not wrong about that.

“We’ll talk more later, but let me leave you with this. It’s not just the fact that she’s his daughter. It’s not just the fact that you’re his good friend. You’re a player on his team now, and if ever there were bad feelings between you and her, that will be reflected in every aspect of your game play, of his management, of simply everything . If he has to choose sides between you and her, guess who it’ll be?”

The cameraman signals that the broadcast is about to return. But even though I don’t get the chance to respond, the answer is clear.

If it ever came down to it and Troy had to choose between his daughter and me, there would be no contest, and there shouldn’t be.

But what would that mean for me?