Chapter Twenty-Seven
WAG usually stands for wives and girlfriends, but today, the A stands for agent.
“I still can’t believe you said yes.”
Shay’s focus stays on the email she’s been typing for the last ten minutes. “Why would I pass up an opportunity to play at Pilot City Stadium? I’m not an idiot.”
The Pilots’ WAG game, consisting of the wives, girlfriends, and partners, is an annual tradition.
It used to be held during offseason, but most players use that time off to relax and get away from baseball.
So now, we pick a random day off during the season, open the stadium to the players’ families, grill hotdogs and burgers, and watch the partners battle it out on the field while we sit in the stands.
“I get it, but someone may assume you’re my stunning girlfriend. What will you do then? I know that’s the worst-case scenario for you.”
“Easy!” Sparkly eyes narrow, but I soak up her smile. “I’ll make it very clear that I am your agent. Here for work and a little fun.”
It’s the billionth reminder that she’s my agent and nothing more, but quite frankly, I don’t care what she calls it as long as she’s here with me.
I lift my hands in surrender as we make it to where Gina, Rio’s wife, is standing behind the folding table. She’s the friendly chaos to his stoic order.
“Hey, Cade. And Shaylene! So happy you’re here.
You’ll be on Team B with me!” Gina digs through a box before pulling out a navy jersey.
“And per Cade’s request, I made this!” When she flips it around, Shay gasps at the gold lettering.
While the wives and partners have their player’s last names on their backs, Shay has something more special.
“Agent Shay,” she squeaks.
“Of course. I want to make sure everyone knows who you are.” I point at the eight on the back. “But that you’re still, you know . . . mine.”
“Your agent,” she corrects, but my knees go weak when she loses the battle and smiles up at me. “Thank you, Cade. I love it.”
When she disappears into the ladies’ room to change, I take a seat and stretch out my legs.
Thankfully, the MRI Isla ordered only showed a minor hip flexor strain and inflammation.
After being placed on the injury list, my life has become a revolving door of treatment, physical therapy, daily check-ins, and recovery.
Even Rio took a step backward when Isla’s voice went from librarian to gym coach, putting the fear of the athletic training gods in us both.
Today is day seven of being benched.
Day zero was numb, watching my teammates from the dugout.
Day two was miserable, avoiding Jon’s texts that vowed being benched is the worst thing I could’ve done to my career.
Day three was full of fear that Jon could be right when Rio called up a shortstop from the Triple A league to fill in.
Day five was my first counseling appointment with Armin while my teammates played in Tennessee.
Day six, I re-entered my worried phase when Rio mentioned keeping the minor league player for a little longer, which is the entire reason Shay is here with me today.
Which makes Gina the best for making Shay’s jersey last minute.
“How do I look?” Shay asks, pulling me out of my own head.
My mouth goes dry as I take her in. The deep blue jersey is a cropped version of mine, landing right above her hips.
Gold leggings capture the contour of her thighs and calves with a softness that contradicts the hard muscle.
But it’s her smile, unrestrained and contagious as she spins, that zaps my fears about being benched. It all feels lighter when she’s here.
I snap a mental photo and save it in my brain. “Like Agent Shay.”
“Swing a little harder, Rosie!” Dawson hollers. “No noodle arms!”
“Yeah! No noodle arms!” Luke parrots, cupping his hands around his mouth like his dad. “Use your muscles, Mama! Hit it!”
Rosie Huber glares at her family from the batter’s box. “Don’t you think I’m trying? I get worse every year!”
“I’m glad you’re seeing how hard I work every single day.” The seat creaks as Dawson leans back in his chair with that lovesick look on his face. “Come on, wifey. Make us proud!”
Weston, the Pilots’ pitching coach, waits on the pitcher’s mound for Rosie to reset her too-wide stance.
As a former major league pitcher, Weston’s no joke, but he throws another Rosie-appropriate pitch.
This time, when she closes her eyes and swings wildly, the bat manages to connect with the ball.
Luke scrambles off his dad’s lap and leans over the railing. “Stop dancing and run! They’re gonna get you!”
As if suddenly remembering the next step in baseball, Rosie stops shimmying and takes off.
I find Shay in the dugout, cheek to cheek with Gina as they cheer for their teammate. Like I’d hoped, they welcomed Shay into their circle with open arms. I can’t help but picture this being our normal. Shay being friends with the Pilots’ partners, but not as my agent.
Being here as mine.
“Up next, we’ve got a different kind of WAG,” Rio announces over the speakers. “Shaylene Turner, agent for Cade Owens is here and ready to rock it.”
Marcus shivers. “Can’t lie. She’s scary, but in a hot way.”
A ponytail of braids hangs from the hole in the back of her helmet, swaying around her hips.
Lines of black war paint are striped under focused eyes.
She’s called Shayzilla and the Angel Devil for a reason.
Her favorite pastime was collecting yellow cards like they were souvenirs. She’s here to win.
I’ve seen her at the batting cages many times. Shay can hit a ball.
“Two hundred bucks the little lady strikes out.”
“Little lady has a name,” I inform the man behind me. Justin’s an outfielder who I’ve always admired, though he’s way too good at poker for my liking, but I don’t appreciate the way he’s talking about my agent. “Use it next time.”
Dawson sighs. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”
Justin holds his hands up in surrender. “I meant no disrespect, Cade. I swear.” He clears his throat. “Two hundred bucks Shaylene strikes out.”
All I see is red. “Five hundred she makes it all the way home.”
Marcus bumps my shoulder. “Dude.”
“Feeling cocky?” A snort leaves Justin’s crooked nose. “I know she played soccer in college, but baseball’s different. She’s not gonna—”
“Two thousand,” I interrupt. “Take it or leave it.”
Justin hesitates, but like the gambler he is, an eager grin takes up half of his face. “Two grand on a WAG game? You’re willing to bet that much on your agent?”
I’ve never felt more sure. “Yup. Now watch and learn.”
In in the batter’s box, Shay grips the bat with the same kind of determination she puts into everything she does. From working with her clients, to fighting for the promotion, to loving her friends.
I’d go broke betting on her any day with no regrets.
Weston releases a pitch that’s significantly faster than what he’s been throwing to the others. Shay digs her toe into the plate but doesn’t swing.
“Strike!” the plate umpire calls.
“What?” I leap up. “That was a ball!”
Anytime fans scream that at the umpire, I assumed they were obnoxious because they didn’t like the call. Now that I’m on the other side of the fence, it’s not fun.
Another quick pitch flies by, but Justin groans this time.
“Ball!”
The stadium holds its breath for the next pitch. Then Rosie speaks from first base and claps. “Breathe, Shay! And knock the ever-living shit out of that ball!”
Static crackles in the air, followed by a signature Rio grunt. “May I remind you all that this is a family-friendly event. Let’s keep the cursing to a minimum. I’m talking to you, Mrs. Huber.”
When he winds up, I spy a slight tilt to Weston’s lips. Maybe he senses Shay’s bloodlust. She’s desperate to hit the ball, and he wants to see her do it. That’s why he’s putting some real oomph behind each pitch.
The moment the ball leaves his fingers, the hairs along my arms stand at attention.
It’s beautiful how her entire body uncoils like a whip—smooth, fast, and precise, like dominos falling in a clear line.
The motion starts in her legs, travels through her hips, flows into the torso, and finally bursts out through the hands and into the bat with one clean swing.
Then there’s the long-awaited thwack of success.
The outfield is a mess, scrambling to grab the ball, which gives Shay all the time in the world to pass first base. Then second. And damn if she doesn’t send the whole crowd into hysteria when she makes it to third and races all the way home.
Before I can cheer for her, fingers grip my shoulder.
Justin looks more proud than disappointed. “Props to the little lady named Shaylene. I’ll have your money by tomorrow.”
Looking down at the field, I make a decision. Shay’s here, happy, having the time of her life, and that’s more than enough for me.
“Keep it,” I say. “I’ve already won today.”
“Your agent is a keeper, Cadey.” Rosie swings an arm around Shay’s dusty shoulders. “Don’t do anything stupid and lose her, okay?”
We step onto the practice field, and I shake my head. “I’m trying my hardest, Ro.”
“I don’t think you need to worry about that. Cade is never letting her go.” Marcus rushes in front of us and turns to walk backward across the lush grass. “You should’ve seen him. He was like a one-man army up there defending her honor.”
With a low chuckle, Dawson readjusts Luke’s sleeping body against his chest. “A one-man army that won two grand.”
There’s a bounce in Shay’s step as she leans against her new friend, but all I can see is my number on her jersey.
It looks like it belongs there.
“Can’t believe you were going to make so much money off me,” she chuckles. “I was out there doing all the work while you sat up there looking pretty.”
A thrill runs through me as I fall into step beside her. “You think I’m pretty, Agent Shay?”
Those usually downturned lips tilt. “Oh, shut up.”
I’m about to ask if she wants to watch the fireworks with me, but she’s whisked away by Rosie to grab snacks. I probably won’t see her for the rest of the evening, but I’m going to pretend she’s here as more than my agent. Even though I shouldn’t.
“You’re so fucked, man,” Dawson whispers. “Majorly fucked.”
Claiming a spot on the grass, I drop my bag. “What do you mean?”
He stares like I announced chocolate milk comes from brown cows. “Don’t act dense. Betting on her. The constant eyes. The flirting. You like her again, don’t you?”
“Again?” My laugh holds no humor. “I never stopped.”
Marcus presses a hand to my chest and shoves me, but he’s grinning at me like he’s known the whole time. “You can’t keep information from me! I need to know these things! Is that why you were being all protective and weird when I wanted to ask her out?”
“Nope. I just knew that she wasn’t the one for you.”
“Fair.” Marcus looks at me carefully. “What are you going to do?”
Looking up at the night sky, I sigh. “Not a thing.”
“What do you mean? You can’t do nothing!”
“I don’t have a choice, Marc. She’s my agent, and I respect her and her job more than I care about what I need. I’m not going to hurt her by ruining everything she has worked so hard for.”
Dawson pats my shoulder like he’s conducting a symphony of sympathy. “You’re a good guy, but I do hope it works out for you. You’re kind of perfect for each other.”
Tired of the pity party, I send them on their way to find their people and spread the red-checkered blanket Gina handed me as we walked outside. Shay mentioned needing to head home, but Luke and Marcus are masters of the puppy dog eyes and convinced her to stay for the fireworks show.
At least five times today, I caught her searching for something in my face. Maybe anger or disappointment, but she won’t find any.
“Hi,” a tired voice says. “Ready for the show?”
She came back.
Looking up at my dream woman, I gesture to my blanket. “Want to watch with me?”
“No, I grabbed all your favorites to eat by myself.” The colorful tower of snacks cradled in Shay’s arms falls onto the blanket, a multitude of potato chips, pretzels, and sour gummy bears.
I follow her lead and lie down. Our heads are so close that a braid tickles the back of my neck.
“What are the odds you’ll fall asleep?” I ask.
She yawns, long and languid. “No need to play because I’m already halfway there. I have no idea how you do this almost every night for nine innings. I played six, and I’m beat.”
With her eyes closed, dark lashes frame the almond shapes like delicate strokes of ink. It would be so easy to reach out and trace every plane of her face that glitters under the moonlight.
But I know I can’t.
“What are the odds that I get to come to another WAG event?”
A beat passes. Then two. She deserves to know the truth.
“If I had the chance, Shay, you would always be my plus one.”
Her shoulder goes rigid against mine. “Well, at least until the day you get a wife or girlfriend.” When her eyes flutter open, I catch a flicker of something in the deep color I can’t place. “Right?”
The air grows thick as I digest her words. Living without Shay has been my own self-inflicted personal hell, and I haven’t been with anyone since her. Couldn’t even fathom the idea. I’d rather be alone than spend my life without the only person I want.
Before I can drop a bomb on our partnership, her attention is stolen by a burst of sound and light. Bright red, yellow, and orange fill the sky, but I keep watching her.
There will be no girlfriend or wife unless it’s her. That I am sure of.