Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
Scottie
Technically, I know the sun is no closer in Surprise, Arizona, than it is over in Pinnacle Peak, but tell that to my sunburn.
Somehow, I remembered to put sunscreen on my upper thighs but forgot to put it on my shoulders.
I’m used to wearing Jake’s thick jersey at games, but today when I took off my quarter-zip, I had a structured, wide-strap ivory tank underneath.
I was too caught up watching the game—fiddling with Lucas’s bead necklace around my wrist—to think about my bare shoulders.
Also, Lucas researched the best coffee spots in Surprise and had one of the interns bring iced lattes to all of the staff to make sure I didn’t have to go without.
My boy is all romance.
He pitched like a pro, hitting a hundred on three different pitches. Doug was impressed—I could see it in his clap. And Lucas handled his interview beautifully, not lingering anywhere he shouldn’t, but still charming the socks off the reporters who grabbed him in the locker room.
Now the team is boarding, and I’ve made sure the clubhouse attendants have the gear list for transport and that the media clips are uploaded for the players who need them. I’m planning to sink into the first row available, close my eyes, and dream of what life will be like in five days.
When I get on the bus, Gabriela smiles at me, but before I can sit next to her, Coop gets up from where he’s sitting with Lucas and stands next to Gabriela’s row.
“Actually, do you mind if I talk to Gabriela?” Coop asks. “She has me slotted for a community event tomorrow that I wanted to talk to her about.”
“Uh, yeah, of course,” I say, pointing to the seat and then standing there for a beat, wondering how bold I get to be.
But it’s not bold to any onlookers. It couldn’t be more normal. Lucas is my player. I’m his coordinator.
Easy peasy.
No one thinks this is weird, I tell myself as I walk the few rows back to where Lucas is on his phone, a small smile on his face.
“Hey,” I say, “mind if I join you? Coop took my spot.”
Lucas looks up, startled, and then grins—before immediately toning it down with a shrug. “Yeah, sure. But is this going to be about work? I think I’m off the clock.”
I sit with a snort. “Nice try, buddy. You’re never off the clock.”
“Is that so, pal? Chum?”
“Sure is, friendo.”
“Friendo,” he repeats. “Good one.”
We don’t dare give each other full smiles, but his eyes are dancing, and mine are dancing along with them.
“I’m just texting my family,” he says. The bus pulls out of the lot with a groan, rattling the overhead vents. “Sounds like Logan had a monster game.”
“Awesome,” I say, genuinely happy. I like Logan, when he’s not being nosy.
“Feel free to finish that,” I say, pulling up his stats on my phone.
I’m smiling and nodding, and before long, I’m looking at the rest of the players.
Diego, Arturo—both decent, but neither of them are solid enough to make a splash yet. After more scrolling, I spot Jake—
Ouch.
Two strikeouts, he grounded into a double play, and he popped up.
And then he threw his bat.
It didn’t hit anyone, thank goodness, but no one throws bats in Spring Training.
I purse my lips, and air leaks out like it’s coming through a tiny hole in a balloon.
Lucas looks up. “Everything okay?”
I show him Jake’s stats, but as I’m showing him, my phone buzzes with texts from my family.
And one from Jake’s agent.
I silence my phone before I can look at them.
“Do you need to get that?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
I close my eyes and lean my head back. I’m clutching my iPad on my lap, but my free hand is resting on seat between Lucas and me as the bus bumps on a turn.
Lucas grabs my hand, his thumb brushing softly over my knuckles. My phone buzzes again, and I open my eyes just long enough to turn it to Do Not Disturb. But it’s long enough that I see one more thing.
Mom
I thought you two had a plan. What happened? This is getting out of control, kids.
Dread crashes over me.
It hits again and again like waves, knocking the wind out of me. I force myself to breathe slowly, deeply, not letting whatever happened with Jake pull me down.
“Five more days,” Lucas whispers over the hum of the engine.
“Promise me,” I whisper back, not wanting him to hear how breathless—how terrified and desperate—I sound. “Promise me you’ll still be here in five days.”
“Easiest promise in the world, Quinn. I’m not going anywhere.”
I nod, grateful that the sun has finally set and the shadows on the bus are enough to hide the worst of my emotions. Grateful that I have years of experience holding back tears.
My phone screen lights up against my thigh. Once. Twice. Four times in quick succession.
I don’t look. Jake threw a bat—of course the family thread is a disaster. It can wait twenty minutes until I’m in my room and can deal with it properly.
I turn it face down and close my eyes.
***
The bus doors open into noise and heat, and Lucas and I reluctantly unlace our hands. I stand first, as I’m closest to the aisle, and I slip to the front to see if Gabriela needs anything. And to make sure no one takes a photo of me and Lucas together.
From the front of the bus I spot dozens of fans behind barriers—enough that several tired players groan that they can’t go straight home.
But the rookies come alive, including Lucas. Coop does, too, which doesn’t surprise me. He gets off first, and the crowd goes so nuts, even I smile.
After that, the rest of the guys perk up, and they come down the bus stairs with a spring in their step.
When the last of them leaves, I follow—
And almost get tackled coming out.
It’s not a fan, though. I’d recognize these arms anywhere.
“Uh, what are you doing?” I ask through my teeth.
“Just go with it,” he whispers before setting me down and coming in for a kiss.
I’m so shocked, I block him with a hand to his shoulder, pushing back with a laugh I only remember to fake too late. “You’re sweaty and smell like sunflower seeds. That’s a hard pass.”
I hear a few laughs, along with camera clicks. And I hear a reporter call out a question—“Trouble in paradise?”—but someone’s answering before Jake or I can.
“These two are in it for the long haul,” a man says.
I look past the crowd to see—
Todd Finch. Jake’s agent.
Todd is standing maybe six feet from Lucas, who’s signing a kid’s jersey, his knuckles white around the Sharpie. Todd’s wearing a suit that costs more than most people’s rent, his hair lacquered into place, his pleasant expression designed to convince people to trust him.
He looks at me and winks.
The wink says: We’re counting on you. Do your job.
Jake shifts closer, like he’s going to put his arm around me, but I give him my professional smile and clutch my bag with both hands. “Can we talk?”
“Sure thing, Hot Stuff.”
“You look great, Scottie!” Todd calls after us, warm and easy, like we’re old friends at a reunion. A few people in the crowd laugh. I don’t look back.
I’m not sure what Todd is hoping for tonight, but I know what his text said on the bus: Rough day. Jake really needs you.
I manage to pull Jake behind a column that’s still in sight but far enough away that no one can hear us.
When I fold my arms, I know how risky this is, but I don’t care. My pulse is racing so fast, my watch gives me an “It looks like you’re working out. Want me to log this?” alert.
“What did you do?” I ask, the words sharp and short. I’m panting harder than I ever do during HIIT.
His bravado falls immediately, replaced with a look I’ve seen a thousand times on his face.
It’s not guilt.
It’s save me.
“I had a terrible game, Scot, and I got mad, and Agent’s really worried I just screwed up the whole Tide deal. I threw a bat! I’ve been trying so hard to keep it together, but a whole section of fans booed when I hit that pop fly, and I just … I couldn’t take it.”
“You have to take it. That’s what you’re paid for! You promised you’d get help to control this!”
“I know, but every time I tried to work up the nerve to make an appointment with a therapist, I could hear my dad laughing at me. Mocking me for being so weak,” he says, his chin quivering. “I couldn’t do it.”
“What happened?” I ask, trying not to sob, although my chest is heaving.
“Agent grabbed me before I even made it down the tunnel,” Jake says, his brow threaded tight. “He told me this isn’t working. That everyone still sees me as a liability. That if I keep losing it on the field, I’m done.”
I close my eyes.
“I told him I was trying. I told him I’d handle it. But he said I had to change the conversation. That if they’re going to talk about me, it needs to be about something softer. Something redeemable.”
“Jake—”
“I pushed back,” he insists quickly. “Twice. I told him we had a plan. But then he said …” His voice cracks. “He said he was worried about me. That he’s proud of how hard I’ve been working. That I deserve to have the world see me the way the people who care about me see me. And I … I panicked.”
I listen as the last piece falls into place.
His agent gave him a script.
He didn’t want to follow it.
But when he stood in front of the cameras, when a reporter who always gets under his skin pressed him, he folded.
He hinted that he might propose to me.
The truth arrives with such painful slowness, I feel like I’m being dipped in hot water, not realizing until too late that it’s boiling.
“I’m done,” I say, and my voice comes out steadier than I feel.
“No! I need you!”
“You’re never going to let me go.” No tears fall—this betrayal is too intense for tears. “I’m out. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep giving up my life to help you live yours.”
He looks like he’s about to fall to his knees and beg, but when he reaches out to grab my hands, I take a step back. Anyone who wants to can see us, but I don’t care. I can’t care about anything anymore.
I take another backward step. “I’m done.”