Single (Stockton Beavers #1) - Collette West

SINGLE COLLETTE WEST

Dedication To those dreaming of a summer rose.

Chapter One Luke An ungodly wail blares through the house, jolting me awake. The smoke alarm… I bolt out of bed, flinging the covers aside. No, no, no… Please God, no… Running out of my room, I take the stairs two at a time. But once I see a dark wisp of smoke trailing out of the kitchen, I don't waste any time hurling my body over the railing. Bursting in, I gaze around frantically. Where is she? Through the haze, the toaster is

glowing red-hot on the counter, flames licking out of the top of it. An entire loaf of bread is resting above the slots still in its plastic-windowed paper bag that's now on fire and oozing down the sides. Coughing, I tug the collar of my shirt up over my nose as my eyes start to water. Oh God, is she in here somewhere? Dropping to my knees, I crawl hurriedly across the kitchen floor to the cupboard beneath the sink as a wave of intense heat rages above my head. I wrap my shaking hands around the fire extinguisher and go at it, coating everything around me in a layer of thick, white foam. After emptying the contents of the

canister, I wipe the back of my arm across my brow, letting my shirt fall back down below my chin. The fire's out, but I still don't know where she is. "Mom!" I call out, my heart beating fast. I try again, but my throat tightens up, reminding me of just how much I need to breathe. Tripping clumsily over my feet, I stagger toward the back door. I fumble with the knob but it's already unlocked, and dread fills my soul. She's left the house. She could be hurt. She… I charge into the backyard, and every terrible thought leaves my head the second I see her, staring off into space, rocking back and forth in her chair.

That crazy, kooky chair… After Dad retired, he put it together out of his leftover collection of baseball bats, the ones he deemed not worthy enough to use in a real game, the ones he designated for the scrap heap—which is exactly where I ended up when the New York Kings' organization decided to let me go. Apparently, their investment in me as one of their up-and-coming prospects wasn't enough to make up for my questionable recovery coming off an injury. That is, they weren't interested in me until now…which is why Mom's out here on the patio, seemingly unaffected by the smell of melted plastic, escaping

into the damp morning air. She doesn't know that they want me back, but she's certainly picked up on my agitation after their phone call last night—her ability to mimic my emotions a part of her Alzheimer's I don't think I'll ever understand. "Mom…?" I sputter, choking on the remnants of smoke that are billowing by me. "Are you okay?" She stops and pulls the charred cuffs of her nightgown down over her hands. "Breakfast's almost ready." She smiles at me. "I can't send my little Lukey off to school on an empty stomach, now can I? That wouldn't be good." She shakes her head and starts rocking again. "No, that

wouldn't be good at all." I blink. She doesn't even realize that she almost burned the house down— with me in it. I want to go off on her for scaring the hell out of me like that, but her doctor said to always keep a ray of sunshine in my voice whenever her mind decides to retreat into the past. But right now, it's really hard not to be angry with her. I look up at the dull, gray sky and will myself to calm down. She's here, safe with me in the backyard. I can always get someone to come in and repair the damage. It's probably my fault this happened anyway. I took the toaster out to make us some sandwiches last night,

and I must've forgotten to put it back in the locked closet where I've been hiding every household item she can possibly hurt herself with—the iron, the sewing kit, the culinary knife set I got her two Christmases ago, when she was still able to cook. But I got distracted when my agent called to tell me the Kings were finally giving me another chance. The second baseman they were going with for their Triple-A team, the Stockton Beavers, tore his ACL on the last day of spring training. Now they're in a bind, and knowing that I live right here in Stockton, they're offering me my old job back, at least temporarily. Yeah, it's

nothing more than a glorified tryout, but still, I should be ecstatic. I never thought I'd get another crack at making it to the majors. In the back of my mind, I'd always hoped that I would, and I worked hard over the past year to get back to where I was before I got hurt. But in baseball, there are no guarantees. My eyes flicker to the blank expression on Mom's face. Just like in life… I shuffle toward her and crouch down by her feet to examine her hands. There are burn marks on her palms, and I feel terrible that I almost yelled at her, letting my fear take over. "C'mon, Ma. Let's get you inside." I drape my arm over her shoulders, and when she shivers

uncontrollably against me, I'm overwhelmed by regret. Why didn't I wake up sooner? How long has she been out here? It's early April, but we're in a mountainous region of Pennsylvania, so it's not exactly springlike outside. Hurt, cold, and alone… What if she'd wandered off and I couldn't find her? "You smell like a darn chimney," she grumbles, scrunching up her nose at me. "If your father catches you smoking, he'll…" And just like that, that old aching wound throbs anew within my heart. Dad died of a heart attack last spring. Losing him as unexpectedly as we did changed our lives forever, but Mom, for

the most part, doesn't even remember that terrible day—her Alzheimer's granting her a reprieve. But I remember. I remember enough for the both of us. When Mom was first diagnosed, Dad swore he'd never put her in some nursing facility—and now that he's gone, I intend to do everything in my power to honor his promise to her. This is her home. This is where she feels comfortable. And this is where she's going to stay. It's what Dad would've wanted. Even though I don't know how we're going to be able to afford to keep living here for much longer once Dad's life insurance policy runs out. It's not like I can go out and find another job. Right now, taking care

of Mom is my full-time job. Rising to my feet, I gently ease her off her throne of Louisville Sluggers. But I can't gloss this over. We came close to losing everything this morning, and I was here. I don't even want to think about what could've happened if I hadn't been. Sure, our next door neighbor, Mrs. Jenkins, helps out once in a while, but only for a few hours at a time. There's no way I can tell the Beavers yes. How can I even think about going back to baseball after what just happened? It's time I let go of my stupid dreams and face reality. Tired, Mom sags into me, and I hug her with all my might, kissing the top of her head. "I love you, Ma. I love you so

much," I whisper through a sigh as she pats me on the back, like she's the one trying to make me feel better. She pokes me in the ribs upon reentering the house and seeing the state of her kitchen. "Luke, how many times must I tell you? You're too young to go near the stove!" I try for a smile. "Don't worry about it, Ma. I'll clean everything up later." "You'd better." I grab a clean dishtowel out of the drawer and run it under the cold water before wringing it out. Guiding her out of the kitchen, I pat one of the cushions on the living room couch, coaxing her to sit down. I don't care about the smudges

of soot she has all over her. Right now, my main priority is taking care of her hands. "Here, Ma. Hold this, okay?" I place the makeshift compress into her outstretched palms which are now all red and swollen. She's still shivering, so I go over to the thermostat and turn it all the way up, hang the expense. I know I got lucky today—and it's only a matter of time before my luck runs out. Sure, I'm disappointed to have to tell the Beavers no, but I'll deal with it. The alternative is losing Mom, having to put her away somewhere, and that's something I just can't do. I know what's most important to

me, and she's it. We'll make do somehow. We always do. My phone rings, and I curse under my breath. Witnessing my irritation, Mom tosses the compress aside and winces as soon as she starts wringing her poor, sore hands, already forgetting that they're burned. "Luke, if that's your father, tell him that…" I give her an obedient nod and hand the compress back to her as she continues to ramble on. The house is a wreck. I'm a wreck. But I can't bring myself to tell her that it's not Dad. I stalk back into the kitchen because I really don't want anyone hearing her when she gets like this.

But I needn't worry when I'm immediately greeted by six feet of ginger-bearded enthusiasm on the other end of the line. "Did you get the text? What am I saying? Of course, you didn't get the text. You're probably not even back on the roster of active players yet. That's why I called. To tell you myself." When it comes to the eccentricities embodied by left-handed relief pitchers, Dan O'Malley is far and away the quirkiest one I've ever met. The guy never stops talking, which is probably why, in the past, I've always gotten stuck sitting next to him in the front of the bus when traveling to and from away games.

But Dan's as loyal as they come. He's aware of how bad Mom's gotten lately, and he's never said a word to anyone about it—which is probably why the team thought I'd jump at their offer. They have no idea what I'm dealing with at home. I grab a mop out of the closet and slide the pail out with my foot. "Well, you're right, Danny Boy. I didn't get the text probably because I didn't give them an answer yet. I said I needed to think about it." "What?" Dan roars in my ear. "Mike Landry, the G.O.A.T., the greatest pitcher of all time, just bought the ownership rights to the Stockton

Beavers, and you're telling me you're not jumping at the chance to play on his team?" Understand this, Dan is a diehard New York Kings fan. He has been his whole life. And there's no one he admires more than the former ace of the staff, Mike Landry. In fact, he's borderline obsessed with the guy. And I have to admit, the timing of all this is curious. Landry's an old friend of Dad's, and it's well within the realm of possibility that he pulled some strings to get me back on the team—which only makes what I have to do that much harder. I squeeze the dirty water out of the

mop and purposely dodge Dan's question. "So you've finally come to terms with Landry's retirement, then? No more tweeting about how bummed you are or forcing people to sign your stupid Facebook petition, begging him to come back?" Dan huffs loudly. "Dude, he won the World Series with the Kings last year. And with the number of innings he still has left in that arm, I'm telling you, it was way too soon for him to be calling it quits." I lean on the mop handle and smile. "You just wanted him to stick around long enough so you could say that you played with him."

"Of course, I did!" he exclaims, making me laugh. "But maybe this is better. At the rate I'm going, who knows if I'll ever make it to the Kings? But now that Landry's our new boss, I'll be sure to meet him, right?" I roll up my sleeves and turn to empty the pail into the sink. I don't get bent out of shape about encountering major leaguers the way Dan does, probably because Dad had so many of them over to the house when I was growing up, had them sitting in this very kitchen, as a matter of fact. I set the pail back down on the floor. "C'mon, Dan. Isn't that why he retired? To get away from crazies like you?"

"No, wise guy. It was because of his kids, and I don't blame him for that," Dan concedes. "It must've been hard for him after his wife died. But the Kings sent that caretaker chick to help him out, so I don't understand why he couldn't keep playing." My ears perk up at that as I open the top drawer. "Why? Isn't she with him anymore?" "You mean Roberta… What's her name?" "Bennett. Roberta Bennett." Pulling on a pair of oven mitts, I bend down to examine the toaster, that appears to be melted to the countertop, my face turning about as red as the

flames that were shooting out of it. "Wait, dude… You know her?" "Yeah…sort of," I grunt while trying to pry it loose. "She was with Arnold Heimlich in his office the day the Kings honored Dad for his twenty seasons with the Beavers." "Wow, Arnold, the big boss man," Dan whispers in awe. "That name still has the power to strike terror into the heart of every baseball player on earth. If not for his stroke, he'd still be the owner of the Kings, and I'd never have a snowball's chance in hell of playing in New York." I chuckle. "Nah, I think it's that rat's nest on your face that's been holding you

back." "Hey, don't knock the chin hair, bro. You know I've been growing this baby ever since Rookie ball." "All the way through Low-A, SingleA, Double-A, Triple-A…" I rattle off. "But when—not if—you get called up to the Kings, you're gonna have to shave it off. There's no facial hair allowed under the bright lights of Kings Stadium, my friend." "All right. Deal," he fires back. "I'd gladly make the trade. And so would you." I grin, happening to catch sight of Dad's picture that's hanging on the wall, the frame now covered in a smoky,

greasy film. Yet I'm still able to make out the goofy buck-toothed mascot on the front of his Stockton Beavers uniform. My dad, Luke Singleton, Senior… He was about twenty-three when it was taken, the same age I am now, and it's like looking in a mirror. His reddishbrown tufts of hair are sticking out of the sides of his cap, and his socks are pulled all the way up to his knees, accentuating the short, stocky build that we share. But it's his ever-present goatee that draws my attention, the one I never saw him without…the matching one I grew in honor of him. "But that still doesn't answer my question…" Dan trails on. "What's so

special about this Roberta chick that you, of all people, would remember her name?" I use all my strength to yank the toaster free. "I don't know." Dan just laughs. "What? I thought she was cute. That's all." "You don't know anything about her, then," he replies ominously. I pause in what I'm doing. "What do you mean?" "She's supposedly with Landry now… But in the past, she's been linked to Jake Woodbury, Scott Harper… Dude, she's practically worked her way through every guy on the Kings."

I squeeze the toaster in my hands, denting it even more. "You don't know if that's true." "When has the gossip that flows between the Beavers' clubhouse and the Kings' clubhouse ever been wrong?" He's got me there, but I'd rather not dwell on it, so I ask, "Do you think Landry will bring her with him to Stockton?" "Really, dude? Mike Landry—a verified pitching god—just gave you your old job back, and you're thinking about going toe-to-toe with him over some chick? If I didn't know any better, I'd swear you've lost your mind, Single." Okay, when I was on the Beavers, the

guys liked to bust my chops about my never-changing relationship status— which is how I ended up with the nickname, Single. But let's face it, when I was playing, it wasn't easy to get women to look at me—not when I was standing on the field next to all of them, the little scrapper trying to hack it with the big boys. And ever since leaving the team, I haven't helped my cause any. By taking on the role of Mom's primary caregiver, I haven't had time to shave, much less date. Which is why I can't help thinking back to how Roberta was that day with Arnold Heimlich. She didn't even hesitate to wipe the drool from his chin

while he sat in his wheelchair, and the unselfishness of her gesture made a distinct impression on me. At the time, Mom was in the beginning stages of early onset Alzheimer's, and here was a girl around my age who was taking care of someone with dignity and grace. That image of her stayed with me, and after losing Dad, it made me think that maybe I could take care of Mom by myself, that maybe I could hold everything together just like she did. I jump when the volume on the TV in the living room goes from soft to loud in a matter of seconds. "Dude, I was trying to be polite and not say anything, but what the heck is

going on over there? Are you having a party without me?" Dan shouts above the racket. I sigh, tossing the remains of the toaster into the trash and shucking off the oven mitts. "Nah, it's Mom, acting out again. Listen, I gotta go." "Luke, you have to tell the Beavers about what's going on with her. Maybe they can help…" "Sorry, man. I don't think so. I don't want anyone's charity." And I especially don't want Mike Landry butting into my life. "C'mon, Single. At least come to the mandatory team workout tomorrow morning. It's at Beaver Field at ten

o'clock," he urges. "You mean, before or after I tell them no?" "Whatever, man. But I think you owe it to yourself. The paycheck would come in handy. At least think about it." I pinch my brow. "All right, I'll think about it." "Now go check on Mrs. S. before she burns the house down," he jokes. And I can't bring myself to tell him the truth. "Okay. Later, man." One last morning with the team could be just the thing I need, then maybe the nightmares I've had since I got hit would finally stop. As long as I don't fall into the trap of letting myself believe that

somehow I can have it all—that I can play baseball and be there for Mom. I shove my phone back in my pocket and hurriedly slosh my way across the wet, grimy floor. I peer around the corner and Mom's still on the couch. She has the remote in her hand, scared to death of all the noise she's created. Leaving a trail of grimy footprints in my wake, I gently take it out of her grasp and punch the down button until I'm finally able to hear myself think. In the face of so many unknowns—her health, my career, our finances—nothing's clear. Everything's a blur. And my heart aches inside my chest because that's probably how she feels all

the time now. Lost… Confused… Alone… So I do the only thing I can think of. I put the compress back in her hand and gently wrap my fingers around hers, letting her know it's okay. Even though it's not. None of this is okay. None of it.

Chapter Two Roberta "Bobbie Jo, are you sure you're ready for this?" I stand up as soon as the ball hits my mitt. "Landry, I wouldn't be here if I weren't." He gives me a big, toothy grin before bending down and scooping up the rosin bag. "I don't know what I'm gonna do without you. I really don't." Over the past few months, pitcher Mike Landry and I have gotten close, but not in the way most people think. Last summer, the Heimlich family sent me to

be the live-in caregiver for Mike's wife, who was in the final stages of ovarian cancer. And for the short time that I knew Julie Landry, I really liked her. Her gentle spirit burned with the intense love she had for her family, and she begged me not to abandon them after she was gone, making me promise to stay on at their ranch, at least for a little while. So I did, helping Landry, his little girl Taylor, and his teenage son Jason, get back on their feet again. But now, it's time to move on. And that's what I plan on doing in Stockton— finding a new job and starting over. I take off my glove and shake out my hand. "That's some nasty stuff you're

throwing there, Big Mike. I'm thinking retirement wasn't such a good idea after all." "It is for me," he drawls, holding out his hand for the ball. "For the first time in my life, I'm gonna get to spend an entire summer with my kids." His smile only gets bigger as he doffs his widebrimmed Stetson at me. Only Landry would don a cowboy hat to get loose in the bullpen, but he's only here to observe the team workout session and get his arm "ready" for tomorrow. He's throwing out the ceremonial first pitch as a part of the opening day festivities. But Landry's Texas roots run deep, and after Julie's

passing, it seems he's drawn closer than ever to what's important to him. It turns out walking away from his life as a player wasn't as hard as he thought it would be. He doesn't have to pitch to win anymore. Now, as the new owner of the Stockton Beavers, he's hoping to leave all that stress behind and simply enjoy the game again. Although, working with the Heimlichs is never stress-free… I should know. I toss him an underhanded pass and stare at him through the rimmed cage of the catcher's mask. "So after the game tomorrow, you're just gonna get on a plane and take off?" He grins when I place my hands on my

hips, refusing to squat back down. "I thought I'd put in an appearance for the home opener. Show the guys I'm behind them. But like I told the Heimlichs going into this, I have no intentions of uprooting the kids, not with Jason about to graduate high school and all. Besides, I don't need to micromanage things. I trust the coaching staff to keep me informed." But I wish he were able to stay a little while longer. The impending separation is starting to feel real now. I don't get emotional over things like this. But I'm still gonna miss the big cowboy—and the security his ranch provided. I lift the mask away from my face and let it rest

on top of my head, brushing away the curly strands that've fallen free of my ponytail. Reaching for my water bottle, I threaten to squirt him with it. "So this is it, then?" He raises his hands and chuckles at me. "You're ready to fly on your own, little lady. And so am I. It's time to begin a new chapter in both of our lives." I roll my eyes skyward. "Oh, yeah, that's right. We're putting the past behind us now." He shakes his head at me. "Uh-uh, that's not what I said." He strolls over to the bullpen door and nods at a group of Beaver players who are stretching near the stands. "Are you already forgetting

about the pact that we made?" I smack his arm, hard. "I'm done dating baseball players, in case you haven't noticed." "Yeah, I'll believe it when I see it," Landry muses, stroking his chin. Okay, if he's going to keep pulling this overprotective crap with me, then I intend to make him squirm. The guys are all wearing their batting practice jerseys, which, unfortunately, only have the number on the back and not the player's name. And since I don't plan on taking the time to familiarize myself with the entire Beavers' roster, I'm just going to have to…go fish. "Fine." I deliberately point at the

broad shoulders of the guy who has by far the nicest body on the team. "I think number twenty-two is gonna be the first one I hook up with." Landry smirks at me. "Yeah, that's so not happening." "Why?" I snap. "Who is he?" "Rob Reardon, a first-round draft pick and my new shortstop—a guy who committed fifty errors last year in Double-A. Sorry, Bobbie Jo, but the boy needs to work on his game." "All right. How about the big, burly mountain-man over there…the one with the beard? Number forty-six?" "Dan O'Malley?" Landry chortles. "That guy's, like, my biggest fan ever."

"Well, scratch him off the list," I mutter. "One more strike and you're out," Landry says, making up the rules as we go along. "Then I'm puttin' an end to your nonsense." "Damn, and I was just starting to enjoy this," I sass him back. I continue my search for a new target when my eyes land on a player who just popped out of the Beavers' dugout. Yikes, his number's ninety-nine. He's certainly not a first-round draft pick. But then, based on the way he's holding his bat, a nervous sort of flutter enters my stomach because, even from this far away, his stance looks familiar.

It can't be him, can it? No, there's no way. Landry taps the face of his watch. "Ten seconds…nine…eight…seven…" Barely giving the rest of the team a second look, I blurt out. "Umm…number thirty." "Cranky old Eddie Hoffman?" Landry can't hold back his laughter any longer. "He's over there glowering at you now for swiping his gear. I'd hate to see what would happen if you two ever went on a date together. You'd kill each other." But my eyes are glued to number ninety-nine. He fits the profile. Longish hair. Stocky build. But this guy has a goatee. He didn't…at least not then.

"Then which one of your players am I going to set my sights on, huh?" I mask my anxiety with a healthy dose of sarcasm. "Hmmm…the suspense must be killing you, Landry. Just wait until Taylor becomes a teenager. How in the world are you gonna keep her away from your team full of hot, young ballplayers?" "Very funny," he groans while giving me a shrewd look. "Just so you know, Taylor's not going to date, and I'm talkin' ever." I rest my chin on top of the divider. "I don't know about that, Pops." I hold my breath and dip my toe into more dangerous waters. "Although ninety-nine

looks harmless enough. Why'd you give the poor guy that number? What…double zero wasn't available?" Landry props his arms next to mine and glances at me out of the corner of his eye. I'm acting weird. He knows something's not right, even if he can't put his finger on it. He's become like a big brother to me, the kind I wished I had growing up. Maybe then someone would've been watching out for me, not allowing me to make so many painful mistakes. Landry shrugs. "He chose ninety-nine, said it keeps him humble." I struggle to draw air into my lungs when Landry still doesn't reveal his

name. "Aren't you a sucker for hard-luck cases?" "I know what you're thinking, Bobbie Jo. Yeah, at 5'7", he's on the short side, but don't let his size fool you," Landry advises. "There's a heart of a warrior beatin' inside that little body of his." But I wasn't referring to his height. There's a mighty big reason why I'm interested in him, and it's certainly not to make fun of him for being as tall as I am. "All right, then. What's his—?" But Landry stops me right there. "Don't, Bobbie Jo. I don't wanna hear you rip him apart. You don't know everything's he's been through." A sinking sensation begins churning

deep down in my stomach. But what if he's wrong? What if I do? "His father was a helluva guy. When I was on the Beavers, I really enjoyed playing with him. At the time, I was just a young kid and he taught me a lot," Landry says, his face taking on a faraway look. "And now that I'm in a position to do something for his son, I'm darn well gonna do it." "Ah, nepotism at its finest." Landry turns to face me. "You don't understand. That headhuntin' bastard ain't gettin' the last word on this. Not if I have anything to say about it." I clear my throat. "What headhunting bastard?"

"The guy who hit him," Landry mutters. "A pitcher you've probably never even heard of—David Nichols." I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek, well acquainted with the name that just fell from his lips. "He's nothing but a lowlife scum, as far as I'm concerned," Landry rails. "You don't throw at a guy's head—period." Dizzy, I lean back against the bullpen wall. Landry doesn't have to say anything else. He just confirmed it for me. Luke Singleton is number ninetynine. I swallow past the lump in my throat as Luke steps into the batting cage. What happened to him last season is the stuff

of nightmares. I saw the clip on YouTube. The pitch coming in at over a hundred miles an hour, how it slammed into the side of his neck, knocking him off his feet…leaving him unable to breathe…until the paramedics carried him off the field on a stretcher, unsure if he was going to survive. "It's a miracle Luke's even alive, much less in a baseball uniform." Landry goes on, all fired up. "But that's the kind of determination I want on this team. Guys who don't quit—on themselves, on the game, or on life." He doesn't have to say it. Just listening to him, I know that he's thinking about Julie, about himself, and the kids. "The Heimlichs think he's done,

but I wanna see what he can do." The entire field goes absolutely still when Luke bails on the first pitch that he sees, hitting the dirt like he can't get out of the way fast enough. Unsure of what to do, the batting practice pitcher just stands there, stunned. No one rushes over to help Luke, not even the trainer who's observing him closely from the top step of the dugout. The ball didn't even touch him. There was no deadening sound of horsehide connecting with flesh. Nothing got hurt this time, except his pride. Landry cups his hands around his mouth and shouts over, "Do you need some more balls out on the mound?"

The pitcher faces the bullpen, shielding his eyes with his glove. "Yeah, that'd be great, boss!" The whole team is aware of what Landry's doing, trying to take some of the heat off Luke. But is it going to be enough? Luke is still down on his knees, not making any attempt to get up. I'm standing in the doorway of the bullpen, with one foot on the warning track, when Landry turns to me. "Bobbie Jo, grab that bucket of balls and run it out there for me. Would ya?" My jaw drops. "What? No!" Landry furrows his brow at me. "Whyever not?" I pause, forced to think on my feet.

"You…you just told me to stay away from your players, didn't you?" "Really? Now you're gettin' all shy on me?" I take a deep breath, struggling to maintain my composure as I watch Luke slowly rise to his feet. Landry joins me in the doorway. "C'mon, Bobbie Jo. His confidence is at an all-time low. If I go out there, it'll only make things worse. Do this one favor for me. I'm not asking you to marry the guy or anything." When I don't immediately bite his head off like I usually do whenever he brings up the subject of marriage, he gives me a searching look. My emotions

are bubbling up inside of me, threatening to spill over. I'm trapped. If I flat-out refuse Landry's request, he's going to know something's wrong, and then he won't rest until he draws everything out of me. Yeah, he's my friend, but I'd die if he knew about this. He can't find out. I won't let him. Slowly, I exit the pen, clutching the bucket against the front of my chest protector. Other than the sound of my shin guards rubbing together as I walk, there's a nervous silence filling the space between me and the pitcher's mound. Don't read anything into it. He doesn't know who you are. No one does…not really.

Luke's head is bent as he stares down at home plate, tapping the end of his bat against it. I cross my fingers. Maybe I can do this without him even noticing me. But then from inside the dugout, the catcher starts spouting off. "Don't even tell me she's wearing one of my masks… What's Landry thinking? I should be the one out there with him, not her." And my breath catches when Luke Singleton looks up, and I'm greeted by the clearest, most open set of eyes imaginable. For a split second, I'm blindsided when the sunlight hits them and they seem to change from a deep russet brown to a sparkling green. But

it's not until he offers me a shy smile that I completely come undone. Oh God, I can't do this. I flip the catcher's mask down over my face and drop the bucket of balls at the pitcher's feet. I can't bring myself to look at him again, so I turn on my heel and march straight back to the bullpen. But as soon as I do, I feel the weight of Luke's eyes on me, and I can't ignore the inexplicable jolt I get in the pit of my stomach. It's like I'm riding a roller coaster of emotions, one I never wanted to get on. When I get within earshot, Landry exhales loudly through his nose. "Gosh, dang it," he mumbles. "I made a huge

mistake, rushin' him back like this." Okay, he's not disappointed in me. He's disappointed in himself for what happened to Luke out there, and somehow that makes me feel even worse. "Why would you say that? Why now?" Landry lowers the brim of his Stetson so far down over his eyes only the cleft in his chin is visible. "Some guys don't ever get over getting hit like that, Bobbie Jo." "Well, he got his arm working again, didn't he?" Landry casts a sidelong glance at me. "Did he now?" "Besides," I protest, talking way too

fast, not wanting to give myself away. "Who knows what he'll do in a game situation? You can't judge him based on what you just saw." "And what about now?" He nods at Luke, who's shuffling off the field, hanging his head in defeat. The other players part like the Red Sea for him as he trots down the steps and into the dugout, receiving numerous thumps on the helmet from his teammates as he walks by. But what really gets to me is when he stops and takes a long, lingering look back at the field before passing through the door leading to the clubhouse. Landry sighs, clearly disheartened. "It

seems like he's already checked out." "You don't know that," I argue. "Instead of gettin' back up on the horse, he walked right out of the whole darn rodeo. And it's a cryin' shame, too, because I don't think he's plannin' on stickin' around." "Landry, you have to talk to him. Do something." "I will, if he comes to me, but I'm not gonna force him to play, not if he's not ready." "Landry…" He shoots me a sad smile before patting me on the shoulder. "And here I thought you said no more ballplayers, Bobbie Jo."

I duck my head because, for some reason, it hurts my heart for Landry to think I'm only sticking up for Luke in order to win the silly argument we've been having. He gives my arm a quick squeeze. "Now don't go gettin' involved in this, Bobbie Jo. Let me think on it. No need to go takin' on anyone else's troubles. You're here to make a fresh start, remember?" I nod as he leaves the bullpen. But I can't stop thinking about Luke Singleton. I've been thinking about him every day for months now. Ever since I found out that David Nichols was the one who hit him.

Chapter Three Luke I was scared out of my mind being back in the batter's box again, and she was there to witness every humiliating second of it. No wonder she didn't even bother giving me a second look when she came out to the pitcher's mound. I hate to admit it, but it's time for me to give it up. Regardless of Mom's condition, I just don't have what it takes anymore, and it's extremely humbling to know that for sure now. Yeah, I've worked hard to keep my body in shape, but my mind's nowhere near ready. If I'm

afraid to get hit every time up, then there's no place for me on this team, or any team for that matter. Landry deserves to hear that from me, man-to-man. Standing outside the room that's been hastily designated as his office, my eyes gravitate to the crayon drawing taped to the door. Landry's little girl must've made it for him. Big, rainbow-colored letters spell out: My Daddy, Mr. Beaver. Mr. Beaver… God, when I was growing up, that's what the Stockton fans used to call my dad. I smile as I think back to a time when I was six. The local T-ball coaches, a bunch of guys with beer bellies who hadn't played a lick since high school, got together and

decided to really stick it to Mr. Beaver's son. They got a rise out of turning me away, saying I was too small to play, that I might get hurt. So what did Dad do? Did he scream, yell, carry on? No. He went and built me my own miniature baseball diamond in the backyard, getting me ready for when I grew bigger and stronger, teaching me to work hard and never, ever give up. He kept telling me I'd get my chance someday, as long as I was patient. I lower my head. Boy, am I glad that he's not alive to see this—me throwing in the towel, walking away from the game he loved with all his heart. I breathe in, then let it out. Regrets or

not, I can't put this off anymore. It's already after two o'clock. Mrs. Jenkins can only stay with Mom until three, and Landry now has less than twenty-four hours to call up another second baseman for tomorrow's game. If I'm quitting anything, it's living in this make-believe fantasyland where I thought I could just magically go back to being a baseball player again. Tucking my hair behind my ears, I rap my knuckles lightly beneath the Mr. Beaver sign and wait. There's some shuffling on the other side, and in my mind, I go through what I'm going to say. Landry, thanks for the opportunity, but…

I'm sorry, I should've told you sooner but… It was a thrill putting on the Beaver uniform again, but… Yet, when the door opens, it's not Landry who's staring me in the face. It's Roberta Bennett. I'm frozen, tongue-tied, a mindless, gaping fool. I never thought she'd be in Landry's office. Probably because of my stubborn refusal to believe that the rumors are true, that she really is his girlfriend. Scratching my neck, I shoot her an apologetic grin, wishing my cheeks didn't feel like they were on fire. "Sorry, um… I didn't mean to disturb you…"

I steal a quick glance at her. I've never seen her with her hair down before. Her dark curls look really nice. But it's the sleek, black athletic wear she has on that's fighting for my attention. It's a lot more body conscious than the bulky catcher's gear she was wearing before. She steps forward and glances up and down the hallway. "Yeah… Landry's not here." I raise my eyes to hers. Why is she acting so jumpy, like she's afraid to be alone with me? The girl's fearless. She's worked for Arnold Heimlich. She was just on the receiving end of one of the most dominating pitchers in all of baseball. Why would she be scared of—

Mom's voice fills my head—little Lukey? "Uh, okay…do you know when he'll be back?" But I'm getting the vibe that she really doesn't want to be anywhere near me, since she's practically shutting the door in my face. And it sucks because I've admired her for so long. I bet she doesn't even remember the first time we met, my face probably blending into the nameless pool of minor leaguers who'd cycle through Arnold Heimlich's office every season. Who cares if my father was Mr. Beaver? It obviously meant nothing to her. I'm just about to tell her that I'll come

back later, when she lets out a horrified gasp, "Oh my God, you're bleeding!" I look down. Christ, I am. I grit my teeth. I can't seem to do anything right around this girl. "I must've scraped my elbow when I fell on my ass earlier." I roll my eyes to get her to laugh with me, but of course, she doesn't. "Don't worry. It's nothing." I stand there staring awkwardly at the blood I just smeared all over my fingers. Not knowing what else to do, I start to wipe them on my shirt, but she grabs ahold of my arm. "Don't!" she commands. Casting one more furtive glance down the hall, she sighs reluctantly, "Come with me." She

leads me into Landry's office, her fingers lightly slung around my wrist, but as soon as we reach his desk, she lets go, like she was only touching me because she absolutely had to. Hoisting a stack of heavy binders off a chair, she dumps them unceremoniously onto the floor. "Here, take a seat." I sit down, not knowing what else to do, and she tosses her bag onto the desk and begins rustling through it before pulling out, of all things, a first aid kit. I try not to stare, but from behind, I can't help but admire how her waist comes in over her hips. Her body's supple, strong. There's nothing delicate about her. The corner of my mouth turns up. She could

probably kick my ass, and I don't know why, but I like that. She tosses me an annoyed glance over her shoulder. "Quit it." "What?" "Haven't you ogled my butt enough for one day?" My cheeks burn again. So she did catch me checking her out on the field. Crap. She lifts my arm and bends it at the elbow. It would have to be the arm, the one I couldn't move after receiving the blow to my neck. At first, the docs didn't know if I was partially paralyzed or not. Let's just say it was a scary four and a half days before I finally detected the

first sign of feeling in it. I gaze up at her. But does she know that? "Now, sit still. This is going to sting a little." She applies a thin layer of antiseptic to my cut, and I try my best not to squirm. Over the past year, so many doctors and nurses have poked and prodded at my body, but her touch is gentle, reassuring. And if I weren't so darn attracted to her, I'm sure her bedside manner would be putting me completely at ease right now. Stepping back to examine her work, she asks, "So what are you here to see Landry about?" Her blue eyes are blazing. It appears

she's gotten over her initial shock of finding me outside his door. Her timidness has vanished, and she's back to being the fearless girl I remember. I sit up straight and swallow past my hesitation. "I'm here to tell him I can't play." "Is that right?" She holds on to my arm while twining an Ace bandage around my elbow. I shift uncomfortably in my chair when she inadvertently squeezes my bicep. Boy, am I glad that I converted the basement into a workout space for myself since it's not like I can go to the gym anymore. Not with Mom… Mom… I glance around wildly for a clock.

Roberta raises an eyebrow at me. "I said, hold still. I'm almost done." "What time is it?" She squints, looking over my head. "Two-thirty. Why?" I make a move to stand up. "I gotta go." But she puts both hands on my shoulders, pushing me back down. "I'm not finished yet." She reaches for the scissors and snips off the end of the bandage, tying it tight. "So you don't think you can play tomorrow…because of a little scrape on your elbow? Let me tell you, Landry's not gonna like that." I sigh. "No, that's not why. It's a lot

more complicated than that." She lets go of my arm, but it's not like I can get up since her leg's still pressed against my knee. "Well, I can tell you what he's going to say." She deepens her voice, giving a pretty decent impression of his distinctive Texas twang. "You gotta git back up on the horse eventually, son." So she does know my sob story… I'm sure Landry's told her all the gory details. And for some reason, that irks me more than I'm willing to admit. I don't want this strong, beautiful, capable woman thinking I'm pathetic and weak. But I don't have a choice. Let her think I'm still haunted by flashbacks of getting

drilled by David Nichols. It's not like I've overcome my fears by any stretch of the imagination. It's just better than having her find out about Mom because, if she did, she'd run right to Landry. And then he'd feel obligated to engage in the sort of do-gooder meddling I'd do anything to avoid. She leans back to observe me. "I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but there's something you should know." It's like I'm on fire under the weight of her gaze. "What…what is it?" "The Heimlichs are putting a lot of pressure on Landry to double the Beavers' attendance this year." Her expression quickly turns into a grimace.

"I used to work for them. I know how demanding they can be." So she really doesn't remember meeting me before in Arnold's office… "Luke, I don't know if you know this or not, but Landry went out on a limb for you with the Heimlichs, and this isn't how I'd go about repaying him if I were you." There's no question that people are going to be interested in seeing if I can make a comeback or not. I'm a Stockton boy. I'm Mr. Beaver's son. I'm a draw. And now she's asking me to be her already supersuccessful boyfriend's financial salvation. There's no doubt about it now. She

wouldn't be asking me for favors if she didn't truly care about him. Yet, for the moment, I like basking in her complete and undivided attention. It's insane, but I'd be willing to do almost anything to keep her thinking about me. She's not looking at me with pity. There's something else swirling in those big, blue eyes of hers, and I don't think my heart can beat any faster when Landry bursts into his office, surprising us both. "Bobbie Jo, you're never gonna… Oh, hey, Single… What are you doin' in here?" Bobbie Jo…he calls her Bobbie Jo? Roberta withdraws from me, and I'm

immediately deflated. But it's the look they exchange that speaks volumes. Seeing them together, I feel like an outsider looking in, intruding on a private moment I have no business being a part of. I'll wait until I can talk to Landry one-on-one, like I'd originally intended, because right now, witnessing the bond they have between them, makes me realize I have no chance with her. "Luke, didn't you wanna ask Landry about tickets for tomorrow's game or something?" I freeze with my hands on the armrests of the chair. Whoa…what did she say? "Oh, yeah, Single? How many do ya need?" Landry asks, taking off his hat

and hanging it on the door hook. When his back is turned, Roberta gives me a look that's meant just for me, one that clearly implies: shut up and go along with me on this, or else. And it's scary how much her influence is able to sway me. I guess I could play in one game, just to prove that I can still hit the ball—hell, that I can actually remain on my feet in the batter's box. When I just sit there, inwardly debating what I'm going to do, Landry smiles at me. "Spit it out, Single. Whaddya want your girlfriend to come see ya or somethin'?" Roberta's eyes dart to mine. "Nah," I laugh, getting flustered.

"Probably just my mom…and her friend." "Yeah, no problem. I'll save two seats behind the dugout for 'em." He claps me on the back. "How's your mama doin', son? Sakes alive, I haven't seen Miss Carla in ages." "Oh, wow, would you look at the time!" I jump up and brush past Landry. "Sorry, but I'm afraid I gotta run." And that's when he notices the bandage on my elbow. "Jeez Louise, what's that, son?" "He's fine," Roberta assures him before positioning herself in front of the door. "I already took a look at it while we were waiting for you. It's just a

scrape. It'll heal." Her eyes meet mine, daring me to contradict her. "Oh, that's good to hear!" Landry exclaims. "Single, we wouldn't want ya to miss opening day, now would we?" And all the extra ticket sales I'll bring with me, I think to myself. "I'll be there, sir," I mumble with as much enthusiasm as I can muster, and then, and only then, does she finally step aside. I don't have a moment to waste as I bolt past her. I'm barely going to make it home in time for Mom as it is. But even before I break into a run, I'm already breathing hard, thanks to the scent of her

shampoo, or perfume, or whatever it was that was filling my head and clouding my better judgment. Why in the world did I let her talk me into this? But more importantly, what the heck am I going to do about Mom?

Chapter Four Roberta I pull my rental car to a stop and doublecheck the address Landry gave me—44 Cedar Crest Lane. I glance nervously at the front window. There's a flickering glow coming from inside. The TV's on, so I'm assuming he's home. But it feels weird to be doing this. After Luke rushed out of his office, Landry insisted I deliver the tickets in person. He could plainly see that Luke was spooked, and he didn't want him backing out at the last minute. Landry has nothing but good intentions

when it comes to reviving Luke's career. He's more than capable of handling the Heimlichs on his own, and he'd never exploit one of his players in order to do it. In fact, he'd exploit himself before he'd ever sacrifice one of them. That's why he's here in Stockton for opening day, to draw fans to the ballpark. I just didn't know what else to do to make Luke stay. And guilt always tends to be a powerful motivator. That's why I'm here, sitting outside his house. I rest my head against the steering wheel and look out. It's a nice neighborhood, tree-lined streets, older yet well-cared for homes. But it's not somewhere I'd picture a young guy like

him to be living. The atmosphere screams swing sets and school buses, not all-night poker games with the boys. I stare up the stone walkway to the flowered wreath hanging on the door and the white lace curtains adorning every window. Way too many feminine touches for a bachelor pad—which means he has to be living here with his girlfriend. It's not the kind of place he could afford on his own. Most players are forced to double or triple up just to lease a condominium for the season. His girlfriend must have a pretty decent job here in Stockton if they're shacking up in a big house like this… It's the only explanation that makes any sense.

And one that has me none too eager to get out and knock on the door… It's bad enough having to face him, let alone having to explain to his girlfriend who I am and what I'm doing here. For some stupid reason, it hurts to see that some girl—some girl I don't even know—is living the life I never got to live—a secure, happy life with a man whose career is anything but stable. The sun's already starting to set, and unless I plan on finding my way back to the Sheraton in the dark, I need to quit stalling and get this over with. I'm not so good at following a GPS and having to drive on streets I don't know. It makes me nervous…and I'm already nervous.

I fluff my curls and step out of the car. I half expect someone to peer out of the window when I slam the door, but no one does. Clutching the ticket envelope in my hand, I square my shoulders and march purposefully up the sidewalk, when I come across a child's handprints, captured in the cement. I've memorized his bio inside and out, and nowhere, in any interview or profile, was a kid ever mentioned. But, I remind myself, he's been out of the game for months now, and once that happens, a player's online presence isn't necessarily updated with the most current information, especially when it comes to his personal life. What if, in the

meantime, he…? No. I refuse to believe it. I stride past the tiny set of hands and onto the porch. Luke can't be a new father. He can't be. My mind's spinning. It's too much to comprehend. No wonder he showed up today even though he was scared, that manly urge to provide for his family coming through loud and clear, his pride hurt at not being able to be the breadwinner anymore. And it eats me up inside now that I'm aware of just how much he's suffered on account of David, more than I ever imagined. With my hand shaking, I reach up and press the doorbell. And almost

immediately, footsteps come running toward me. "After I told them specifically not to ring the…" I hear Luke grumble from inside the house. "I just got her to sleep…" Okay, who's he talking about? My heart lurches. His daughter? I hastily take a step back. Yeah, I don't want to see him give up his career because of what David did to him—but the last thing I'm capable of doing right now is cooing over his little baby girl. I already have one foot on the sidewalk when the light from the open doorway shines across my path. "I'm sorry, how much was the total, again?" I halt with my back to him when his

footsteps follow me onto the porch. He lowers his voice to a whisper, "All I have is a twenty but…" He stops. "Roberta…? Is that you?" I cringe with my hand clutching the railing. Great. Now, I have no choice but to turn around and face him. I force myself to smile and offer him a helpless shrug. "Busted." But he, in no way, seems happy to see me when he hustles back to the door and quickly shuts it behind him before confronting me. "What are you doing here?" I shove the envelope toward him. "Just dropping off your tickets." But he doesn't take it from me.

Instead, he just stares at it. "You didn't have to do that." I climb up the bottom step. "It's okay. I'm going to have to familiarize myself with the streets of Stockton eventually." "So you and Landry are moving here?" he asks. "No, just me." And for a minute, he seems stunned. "Why?" Before Landry approached the Heimlichs about buying the team, I helped him learn everything there was to know about Stockton. And while researching it online, it didn't take me long to realize it fit the three criteria I was looking for—a town that's small,

quiet, and safe. Unlike what I led Landry to believe, I didn't come here to start over. Oh, no, I left the ranch in order to protect him, to protect his kids. It hurt my heart to have to leave Texas right when I felt like I had become a part of their family. But I didn't have a choice. There were circumstances beyond my control that forced me to go off the grid for a while. Blend in. Disappear. I chose Stockton because no one would ever find me here. But I can't exactly tell Luke that. Who I'm hiding from…that's something he can never find out. "Stockton's as good a place as any," I shoot back. He takes a seat on the top step and lets

his hands dangle between his knees. "So you have a job, then? A place to stay?" I purse my lips together. "Not exactly." He nods slowly, bending his head to rub the side of his neck. I try not to stare, but he's running his fingers right over the area where he got hit. Is he in pain? Is he…? He glances up at me, pinning me with his gaze. "You wouldn't happen to be looking to find work as a personal care aide?" He knows about me… What am I saying? Of course, he knows about me. All the players know who I am. And I can just imagine what they've been

saying about me in the clubhouse after they saw me out in the pen with Landry. And I feel terribly uncomfortable all of a sudden, knowing that Luke's heard all the tawdry gossip about me, half of which isn't even true. "Yeah, well. It's what I do best." I take another step up and toss the envelope onto the porch beside him. "It was nice seeing you again. Good luck in the game tomorrow." "Hey, don't go," he says, picking up the envelope and tapping it against his knee. "Listen, I ordered pizza. Why don't you stay and have a slice?" I haven't eaten yet, and his offer does sound tempting. But do I really feel like

intruding on the family dinner hour? "Uh, I don't think so." I give him a tight smile. "It's getting late. I really should be getting back to the hotel." "Don't be silly." He places his hand behind his head and slowly shifts it from side to side, and my eyes are drawn to the bandage on his elbow. "The Sheraton isn't exactly known for its food." He brings his head level again. "That is where you're staying, isn't it? The Sheraton?" I eye him warily. "Yeah." He chuckles. "Hey, don't look at me like that. It's just the only decent hotel there is downtown. It's where they book all the visiting teams." He scrunches up

his brow. "I'm sure the Jacksonville Jackalopes are all checked in for the night. So beware if you decide to venture into the bar." "Thanks, but I don't plan on going anywhere near the bar." He smiles at me. Does this guy ever stop smiling? "Well, that's probably going to be the only place within walking distance that'll be open when you get back. Stockton's not exactly hoppin' on a weeknight." So those are my choices? Endure an awkward meal with one young ballplayer and his family or walk into a bar by myself and get hit on by a whole

drunken team of them? Still, as far as I'm concerned, Luke's impromptu pizza party is the far more dangerous option. I'm just about to refuse his offer of hospitality when a beat-up old Honda squeals to the curb, a Russo's Pizza light affixed crookedly to the top of the roof. Luke stands and rubs his stomach. "Hmmm, I've been waiting for this all day. If you're ever gonna be a true Stocktonite, remember one thing: Russo's is the best." He nudges my arm while hustling past me down the steps. "C'mon, stay. Who doesn't love pepperoni?" The driver hops out of the car and starts removing a large pizza box from

one of the warming cases. "Don't worry, Single, my man. I wasn't gonna ring the bell. No need to stand guard outside Casa Singleton." Luke digs into his pocket and hands him the twenty. "Thanks, Billy. My kitchen's getting remodeled…so you'll probably be hearing from me a lot this week." Billy throws a quick glance at me. "But, dude, who's that?" Luke takes the box from him. "Just a friend." Like I haven't heard that line uttered by a lying, cheating baseball player before. If Luke's girlfriend doesn't come out here soon—or worse yet, I'm starting

to think she's not even home—the last thing I want is for tongues to start wagging all over Stockton. God, I didn't even want to cross paths with Luke Singleton once I found out he was on the Beavers, and now he wants us to have dinner together? Luke is already heading back toward the house when Billy calls out, "Hey, do you want your change?" Luke smiles but just keeps walking. "Do I ever?" "Thanks, Single!" He kisses the bill in his hand. "My money's on you and the Beavers tomorrow!" he says, jumping back behind the wheel. Luke groans, "Billy, please don't go

betting on sports again, not with those bookies down at the—" But Billy's not even listening. Instead, he guns the engine and tears off into the night—causing Luke to stop and stare up at one of the second-floor windows, just as a light turns on. He hurries onto the porch and shoves the pizza box into my hands. I stare at him quizzically. "What's wrong?" But all he does is hold a finger to his lips, his hand already on the doorknob. "Fine, if you don't want your girlfriend to know I'm out here, then I'm just gonna have to let her know myself!" "Girlfriend? What…? I don't have a

girlfriend," he whispers, stepping back inside. "Just sit tight for a minute. I'll be right back." But I jam the pizza box through the door. "Like hell, I will. Where is she?" "Excuse me?" "Don't even try to deny it. I heard you. You said, 'I just got her to sleep.'" He stands there, stricken, and I take the opportunity to push past him and into the house. But I don't get very far when he steps in front of me, blocking my view. "I'm sorry, but you can't come in." "Yeah, yeah, yeah, because the kitchen's being remodeled, right?" I'm in the middle of jabbing him in the

chest with the pizza box when I nearly drop it on the floor. "Luuuuukey? Where's my little Lukey?" "Coming!" he shouts, before pleading with me with his eyes. "You have to leave now." "Luke, who was that?" The voice was definitely childlike, yet it had a gravelly quality to it, similar to that of a smoker. In fact, the whole house smells like smoke. I squint, my eyes riveted to the top of the stairs, but it's too dark to make anything out. All I see are moving shadows, coming from up above. "Please," he begs. "The pizza's all

yours. My treat. But you really have to go." "But what are you going to eat?" I protest, still trying to catch a glimpse of who's up there as he backs me toward the door. "You said your kitchen—" "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine." "Lukey, quick!" There's a soft moaning sound that's soon accompanied by a pitiful sob. "I think…I think…I wet the bed again…" "Ma, I'll be right there!" Luke's eyes widen, realizing his mistake, just as my foot drops down onto the porch. "Luke!" I gasp. "Is that your mother up there?"

His face goes stark white. "Luke, is it?" He still doesn't answer me. But he's forgetting that as a caregiver, my one and only concern is for someone's wellbeing. That always comes first—it has to. But at the same time, all I want to do is wrap him in my arms, give him a big hug, and tell him everything's going to be okay. "What's wrong with her?" I whisper gently, pleading with him to open up to me. He hesitates, his eyes reflecting so much pain. So I try again, keeping my voice light. "Is it dementia or…?"

However, it's clear it's something he doesn't want to talk about, at least not with me, when he lowers his head and flexes his jaw. I understand why he doesn't trust me. I'm a virtual stranger to him. But this is too important. I can't just let it go. Think, Bobbie Jo. What can I do to ease his fears? How can I help him understand where I'm coming from? I'm not trying to pry into his personal life. I'm only doing it because I care. "It's okay, Luke. I'm not judging you," I begin, attempting to put him at ease. "But I need to know, is she receiving the proper care? Do you have someone who comes in and helps you with her?" I

pause, staring down at his bent head, when a horrible thought runs through my mind. "Please tell me you're not trying to do this all on your own." He finally looks up, giving me such a beseeching look. "Oh my God, you are, aren't you?" I utter before I can stop myself, my heart stuck in my throat, and he turns away. "Luke, please listen to me. I've worked on a ward with Alzheimer's and dementia patients before. I know how hard it can be, even with a fully trained staff. I can't imagine how you've been doing it all by yourself. You can't. No one can." When he still doesn't respond, I'm forced to drive my point home,

needing him to face facts. "Luke, she's only going to get worse, and then what are you going to do?" He shakes his head helplessly. "I don't know, but I'm not going to lose her. Roberta, I'm all that she has." I blink, overcome by the emotion on his face. "Lukey!" his mom wails again. "I'm sorry. I know you mean well. But please…just go." Before I can stop him, he shuts the door and I bang on it with my fist. "Luke, let me in! Luke!" But he just turns out the light. I don't need an official diagnosis to see what's going on. His mom needs

round-the-clock care, and he thinks he can give it to her. But based on my past experience with other families facing the same situation, he's only setting himself up to fail. Most likely heading toward a tragic outcome, one that I may be able to prevent. I have a responsibility here that I just can't ignore. He came to Landry's office to tell him that he couldn't play, and I stopped him. He was trying to bow out gracefully, and I wouldn't let him. Whether I like it or not, I'm involved now. Yet if Luke only knew who I really am…who I was… God, he'd have every right to slam the door in my face.

Right now, the easiest thing would be for me to stay out of it. Tell Landry. Let him handle it. But now that I've seen what Luke's coping with, can I really do that? Can I just walk away and convince myself that it's not my problem, that I'm not the one who can help him?

Chapter Five Luke "Dude, you look like you got run over by a Mack truck," Danny says the next day as he leans forward and spits over the rail of the dugout. "Rough night," I groan, failing to stifle a yawn. But the truth is, it's become my nightly routine. Run Mom a second bath. Take a clean nightgown out of her drawer. Change her sheets while she's in the tub. Sit by her bed until she falls asleep. However, last night was different, so I texted Danny.

ME: Roberta was just here. DANNY: What??? ME: Yeah, stupid me asked Landry for some comped tickets and he had her bring them over. Mom freaked and Roberta heard her. DANNY: Is she gonna tell Landry? ME: I don't know. We texted back and forth, but it's not like it helped or anything. I tossed and turned all night, afraid of what Roberta's going to do. I want to keep talking to Danny about it, but based on the amount of muttering that's coming from behind us, it's clear that our catcher Eddie "Hoff" Hoffman isn't too thrilled about having to sit on the bench.

But Danny's smart. He knows how to keep the conversation going on the down low. In case Hoff, or any of the other guys, happen to be listening to us, they'll think we're just talking about some girl. Danny leads with, "Was she…?" "Yeah." I tug on the brim of my cap. "It was pretty bad." Danny turns and rests his back against the rail, giving Hoff a quick nod before scoping out where Mom and Mrs. Jenkins are sitting. "Well, she looks none the worse for wear." I sigh. "She slept like a baby." Danny plays with the end of his beard thoughtfully. "So you're saying, after today, you're putting an end to…it." He

pats the front of his jersey to indicate his meaning. "It's only ever gonna be a onetime thing?" I shrug. "How can it not be? There's no way I'm letting her boyfriend find out about it." I grip the rail and duck my head between my outstretched arms. "That is…if he doesn't already know." Hoff grunts. "You two are talkin' 'bout Landry's little side dish, aren't you?" "No, we're not," Danny says a little too quickly. Hoff leers at us. "She sure didn't waste any time before wading into the shallow end of the Beaver pond." I push away from the rail and stand in front of him. "Don't talk about her like

that, Hoff." "Quit griping, little man. I saw the two of you go into Landry's office yesterday…alone." "And how do you know Landry wasn't in there with them? What, do you have X-ray vision now?" Danny challenges him. Only to be put soundly in his place. "Maybe because I'd just left him, taking a leak in the men's room." At age thirty-two, Hoff's a wily veteran. He's been around a long time, and his voice carries a certain amount of weight in the clubhouse. Dad was in a similar position back in the day, but he took his leadership role very seriously,

choosing to go out of his way to mentor the younger guys who were coming up behind him. But Hoff takes a much different approach, feeling the need to keep us in line through pure intimidation tactics. "Just what exactly were you doing in there with her all that time, huh, Single?" he needles me. "It sure sounds like something I need to tell our new boss about, since whatever you two started in his office seemed to continue well on into the wee hours of the night." He gets up off the bench and snickers when I have to raise my chin in order to glare up at him. "Watch yourself, Single. If she's already checked you off her

scorecard, the little minx isn't gonna wanna have anything more to do with you." He bumps into my shoulder, chuckling under his breath as he walks away. "Forget about him, man," Danny urges. "He just has his panties in a wad because Landry cut him out, choosing for whatever reason to throw to Roberta instead of him. But Hoff has to realize that Landry's not one of us anymore. He's our boss. He has the right to make any decision he wants." He deliberates. "But I guess if I were a catcher, and I couldn't catch Landry, I'd be devastated too. Landry's the greatest. He's—" "Please, Danny, not another Landry

lovefest, not now." The majority of the team is crowding around the Gatorade cooler, getting hydrated before the start of the game. I nonchalantly scan the field. Despite everything, I'm still eager to snag a glimpse of her. And there she is—with another one of Hoff's masks over her face. And my heart starts to throb painfully, knowing that she knows about Mom. Danny follows my gaze. "She's pretty badass if she can get Hoff all rattled like that. Don't tell him, but I think she's gunning for his job," he jokes, managing to get a reluctant smile out of me. "Don't sweat it, Single. Are you forgetting what

your dad always told you?" "Danny, don't start." He grins while repeating the message that was instilled in me throughout my childhood, "Never let anybody tell you that you can't do something." I groan in response, "C'mon, Danny. You know how it is." He turns to me. "Nope, how is it?" I peer back at Mom just to reassure myself that Mrs. Jenkins is keeping an eye on her. She has a tendency to wander off in crowds, which is why, until Roberta conned me into it, I had zero intention of bringing her to Beaver Field today. I don't even take her with me to the grocery store anymore—not after the

time she got away from me and ended up setting off every car alarm in the parking lot when she couldn't remember which one was mine. "I shouldn't even be here, man." But based on the way Danny's looking at me, he's not buying it. "What?" "You're hoping she didn't tell Landry, because then maybe, just maybe, she might be thinking about helping you." I can't let Danny go putting these ideas in my head. It's crazy. Why would she even consider helping me after I told her to get lost? "Yeah, well. That's not gonna happen."

"Single, wake up. She's the answer to all your problems." I narrow my eyes at him. "So what do you want me to do? Come right out and ask her if she'd be willing to take care of Mom so I can keep playing?" Danny cuffs me on the back of the uniform. "Either that, or ask her if she's capable of holding on to my wicked split. Tell me, Single. How soft are her hands?" I give him a shove. "And what are you still doing up here anyway, southpaw? Aren't bullpen pitchers supposed to be in the bullpen?" He muscles his way back to the rail. "Are you kidding? Not when I can see

Landry up close and personal. Look at him out there. You gotta love how seriously he's taking a ceremonial first pitch." My eyes follow Landry as he takes the mound in full uniform. There's no doubt about it, he's a stud, a thoroughbred. By his stance alone, it's clear his competitive mind-set is still there, burning beneath the surface. With enough World Series rings to adorn every finger on his pitching hand, he's a man who goes after what he wants—and gets it. There's no chance he's going to accept my resignation after the game. If I go up against him, plain and simple, I'm going to lose. He'll just strong-arm me until I

agree to put Mom in some facility. If Roberta hasn't said anything, hiring her may be my only way out of this mess. She dusts off home plate with her foot before squaring off in front of it, ready for Landry to set, wind, and deliver. Danny laughs when she puts down a sign. "Now that's what I call one sweet battery mate. Only Landry could pull off throwing to his smokin' hot girlfriend. He must have balls of steel. Man, I wouldn't be able to concentrate, having a catcher out there with me who looks as good as she does." But if she's Landry's girlfriend, how long is she going to be able to keep this

from him? Will she even want to? Landry fires in his signature cutter, and she doesn't even flinch; she just closes her mitt around it. Flipping up the catcher's mask, she casually jogs out to Landry with the ball. Once she arrives, he reaches out to give her a congratulatory thump on top of the helmet, but she just steps aside, not wanting any part of it. And I take heart in her willful display of independence. Sliding my glove off the bench, I stretch the leather over my fingers, needing confirmation of what I just saw. "Danny, do you think there's anything going on between them…really?" "I don't know. You had the perfect

opportunity to ask her yesterday when she was kissing your elbow and making it feel all better," he taunts. "Just so I'm not mistaken, you are the resident sympathy case around here, right?" I smirk at him. "Thanks, man. Keep on pumping me up." "Yeah," he chides. "Your knees will start knocking soon enough, once it's your turn to hit." He smacks my butt with his glove before climbing the dugout steps, not realizing the full effect his parting comment has on me. Ballplayers talk smack all the time. It's how we show we care about each other. But up until now, it's like I'd pushed to the back of my

mind the real reason why I'm here. Dropping down onto the bench, I lower my head between my knees and breathe. I take off my glove and lace my hands behind my back, doing anything I can to remove the tension from my body. I'm playing today. I'm actually playing today. And I have to stay loose. Yet, underneath my uniform, I'm already breaking out in a cold sweat. The doctors said if I ever sustain another injury like the one I suffered before, it could very well be lights-out for me. And then who's going to be there for Mom? If I didn't let Danny talk me into coming yesterday, then Roberta never

would have found out about her. It was selfish, reckless, risking everything just to feel normal again, to be back on a baseball field, back where I belong. But today, I came back for a different reason, for a chance to see her. Last night, for a brief moment, I saw something in her eyes, a connection, like maybe I wasn't all alone in this anymore. And the hope that stirred within my lonely heart scared me more than getting hit again. She holds my fate in her hands. The question is: what's she going to do with it?

Chapter Six Roberta A drop of rain hits my arm, and then another. I grimace at the sky as storm clouds converge above Beaver Field. It's only the top of the fourth, and Landry's going to kill me for leaving. But last inning, Luke kept tripping over his feet to get away from the ball, going down on three strikes without even taking a swing. And I knew I was a fool to believe I could help him. Which is why I'm getting in my car and taking off. I'll meet Landry at the airport. Go back to Texas with him.

Figure out what I'm going to do from there because I'm not staying in Stockton. Not now. I ignore the stab of guilt that's pricking my conscience. Why stick myself where I don't belong? Luke looked terrified at the plate. He's too shaken up. He can't play. All because David had to go and mess with his head. Just like he did with mine… As the smattering of rain turns into a full-on deluge, I turn the key in the ignition and flick on the windshield wipers. Stockton would've been a nice change of pace for me—not like Arnold's snooty Westchester enclave or

Landry's sprawling acres out in the sticks. It feels homey, a small, bluecollar town like the one I grew up in. I liked Luke's neighborhood. It reminds me of the hopes and dreams I had when I was younger, the kind of life I'd pictured myself living someday—a husband, kids, a big backyard with a dog. Until I glance at the charter bus that's waiting to take the Jackalopes back to the hotel, and all I feel is revulsion. I lived that life once before and I'm not doing it again—the ups and downs, the constant sense of uncertainty. I shift into drive. What was I thinking? I have to get out of here—now. I maneuver around the hordes of

people who are starting to pour out of the stadium. Apparently, they don't care if the game resumes or not. They already got what they came for—the star power of Landry combined with the spectacle of Luke's disappointing return. What more could a Beaver fan want out of opening day? I beep my horn and receive a lot of dirty looks, but I'm in no mood to wait for these people to stream by me. Coming up on my right, I spy a narrow little access road. The gate's open, but no one's using it, probably because of the "Employees Only" sign. But if anyone stops me, I'll just drop Landry's name.

I turn onto it, hoping it's a shortcut that'll somehow lead me back to the highway and away from Beaver Field. Right now, anywhere is better than sitting in a logjam of traffic. I have to keep moving, put as much distance between myself and Stockton as possible. Luke will go back to taking care of his mom. Landry will find a new second baseman. And no one will have to think about David Nichols again, myself included. But I soon come to regret my decision when, after not even a quarter of a mile, the pavement comes to an abrupt end. Frustrated, I slow to a crawl over the

dirt road. It's muddy, rocky, and skirting a forested area right behind the stadium. With the rain coming down hard, I can't see two feet in front of me. I should turn around, but I'm not going back. I'm not. I'm moving forward for good this time. And despite the hazardous conditions, I stubbornly press on. When suddenly, from up ahead, a flash of red appears in the corner of my vision, and I'm forced to slam on the brakes. What the…? I'm thrown back in my seat, my heart in my throat. Shaking, I peer through the windshield. Whatever it is, it's still plodding forward. I don't think I hit it. I clutch my throat, breathing fast because it appears to be…a woman,

a woman wearing a red jacket. I don't even hesitate. I'm out of the car in two seconds flat. "Hey!" I call out. "Wait!" Within one or two steps, I'm soaked to the skin, but based on the three inches of mud coating the bottom of her shoes, and the bits of leaves stuck in her hair, she must've taken the more scenic route, struggling through all the brush and undergrowth between here and the stadium. I approach her from behind, and she stops but doesn't turn around. As I get closer, her breath becomes visible on the damp air. Her jacket is hanging open and her whole body is trembling with cold.

"Where's my little Lukey?" I go rigid. Oh my God, it's Luke's mom! What in the world is she doing out here? "Mrs. Singleton?" I cry out. "Are you okay?" I lightly place my arm around her shoulders, and she shrugs me off. "Mrs. Singleton?" she grumbles. "All of Lukey's friends call me Mrs. S." She doesn't know me, and she's probably afraid. But her teeth are chattering and her lips are turning blue. I don't have time to stand around and argue with her. I need to get her out of the rain. "Lukey sent me to pick you up," I

respond, using the name of the person she just mentioned, a little tip I picked up from working in the Alzheimer's ward. And for a second, the deadness leaves her eyes. "He did?" I nod. "Yeah, he's worried that you're not gonna get to see the end of the game." "Lukey's here?" she asks, angling her head to look at me as the rain trickles down her face. "Where's my little Lukey?" My heart contracts at hearing her call him that, just like she did last night when she was scared. I reply using key trigger words to get her to respond to me. "No, Lukey's back

at Beaver Field. He asked me to take you there. How does that sound, Mrs. Single— Mrs. S.?" She knits her eyebrows, her wet hair plastered to her face. "Okay…" she answers uncertainly. I smile at her. "Good. Follow me." This time, I don't touch her. Instead, I just start walking toward the car. Holding my breath, all I hear is the drumbeat of rain hitting the ground, so I slow down until it's eventually accompanied by the welcome sound of her shoes slogging through the mud behind me. I proceed on ahead and hold the door open for her, and thankfully, she gets into the car without any fuss.

"Buckle up, please," I say as cheerfully as I can, testing to see how much she trusts me. When she complies, I quickly shut the door and scoot back behind the wheel. Not liking how her hands are so red while the ends of her fingers are turning white, I crank up the heat full blast. The temperature outside is hovering around forty-five degrees, well above freezing, but she's frail and hypothermia still poses a danger. She's so thin, making me wonder what her diet's like and if it's hard for Luke to get her to eat. I should see if she likes… I stop myself. No, just because I found her doesn't mean I'm staying. Nothing's

changed. Luke obviously didn't want my help. If he did, he would've asked for it, and I'm not going to force myself upon him. It wouldn't be right for so many reasons. The road's narrow, and I'm inwardly debating if I have enough room to turn around or if I should just back all the way out when she asks, "You said Senior's playing today?" "Senior?" "Yeah, Senior," she mutters impatiently. "My husband." I bite my lip, turning the wheel as far as it will go. "No, not your husband, Mrs. S. Your son, Luke Singleton, Junior."

"My son doesn't play baseball anymore," she mumbles as my tires start to spin in the mud. Great… The last thing I need is to get stuck out here when she's in desperate need of a warm change of clothes. "Oh, is that right?" I respond, distractedly. "Yes, he plays T-ball with his father," she says, beaming with pride. "You should see the nice little field he made for Lukey out in the backyard. Do you play T-ball? Maybe you could play with them too." I take one look at her glowing face and put the car into park, placing her left hand in both of mine. "I got this one.

Now hold the other one up to the vent." She does as she's told, staring at me with her big, doe eyes. "But it hurts," she whimpers. "That's good," I encourage. "That means the circulation's coming back." My fingers run over a blister on the inside of her palm, and I turn it over. It appears she's burned herself, and quite recently, by the looks of it. "What happened here?" But all she does is sigh before playing with the zipper on her jacket, already forgetting to keep her hand up next to the heat. Luke obviously has his hands full with her. She's still communicative, but

barely. Her mind is unable to grasp any sense of the present, except when it comes to extreme instances of pain or discomfort, which makes her a hazard to herself and to others. At this stage, she really should be in a qualified facility, not living with a son who's not trained in providing adequate, twenty-four-hour care. It's not his fault. It's amazing he's gotten her this far without encountering any major catastrophes. But the burn on her hand, and her running away today, are two serious signs things can't go on as they are. I release her hand and turn my attention back to the road, feeling

unsettled. Whether or not Luke can play has nothing to do with it. His mom needs me. I'm a caregiver. I take care of people. That's what I do. And my heart is crying out for me to help them. The sound of my car is what lured her out, causing her to stumble onto the road. If we didn't cross paths when we did, she probably would've wandered deeper and deeper into the woods, with a very real possibility of not being found until it was too late. I hold my foot over the gas, ready to give it another try. But before I do, I gaze over at her as she begins to rock back and forth, humming to herself. Her eyes are shut tight, and she has her arms

wrapped around her body. With my eyes welling up, I look away. Do I really have it in me to turn my back on her now? "C'mon," I whisper, choking up. "Let's go find your little Lukey."

Chapter Seven Luke The umpires, after seeing the steady band of rain moving in on radar, decided to call the game. Now the Beavers and the Jackalopes will pick it up in a twinight doubleheader tomorrow. If I were playing, my muscles would already be aching me. But I'm not. Not after I talk to… "Thanks for helpin' to drag the tarp out onto the field, Single." Landry's big, booming voice greets me the moment I step out of the clubhouse. "'Cause, let me tell ya, the guys who didn't pitch in are

about to get their asses handed to them by yours truly. I'm not gonna tolerate any slackers on this team." He's rubbing a towel over his wet hair, and I cautiously raise my eyes to his. Is he out here…waiting for me? I swallow. Does he know? Did Roberta tell him about Mom? I shrug. "No big deal." "See, that's what I like about you, Single. You're old school," he says, slinging the towel over his shoulder. "Not many guys feel the way you do. Hell, some of them won't even pick up the balls in the cage after BP." He exhales loudly through his nose before giving me a lopsided grin. "But your

daddy taught you how to play the game the right way, son. So just keep on doin' what you're doin', and for now, don't worry about the results." He claps me on the back. "They'll come." "But…" "Nah, no buts about it." He raises his hands in the air. "Tomorrow's another day. Let's see what happens then. One day at a time, Single. One day at a time." I tug on the laces of my hoodie. "But my mom…" He turns around with his hand on the door. This is it. The battle royale. "Gosh, darn it. I'm sorry, Single." He smacks his forehead. "But I gotta git my butt to the airport right quick after I ream

out these numskulls in here. Ya see, my boy, Jason, has a digital art show goin' on at school tomorrow, and I promised him I wouldn't miss it. So please give your mama my regards. She's such a sweet lady…sharp as a whip, too." I gulp. Sharp as whip…? He doesn't know. Roberta didn't tell him. "Go on. Skedaddle!" He points down the hallway leading to the players' parking lot, the diamond band on his World Series ring twinkling under the lights. "Don't let one bad day get under your skin. 'Cause, just between you and me? You're the kinda player I can see buildin' this entire team around." He

smiles at me. "So hang in there, all right?" He's basically telling me that the job at second base is mine, and as a player, an endorsement like that coming from someone like him should give me all the confidence in the world to tough it out and somehow find my swing again. But knowing that the praise is coming from Roberta's boyfriend somehow takes all the joy out of it for me. Landry enters the clubhouse, and the room immediately goes silent. "Listen up, boys, 'cause I'm only gonna say this once…" he says as the door swings shut behind him. Yeah, he's all down-home and folksy

outside the game. But when it comes to winning? He's as competitive as they come. I'm grateful I didn't have to go up against him. I still have time to figure something out. He claims he's building this team around me. If that's the case, then there's no way he's going to let me quit because of Mom. He'll steamroll over me and put her somewhere before I can even blink. I peer out into the rain and pull my hood up over my head. But for now, Mom is still with me, safe and sound, and I have to keep telling myself that. Roberta didn't betray me. And as my sneakers slosh through the puddles, there's an undeniable spring to my step,

one that's been missing for quite some time. Maybe I can convince Mrs. Jenkins to come over again later on so I can pop over to the Sheraton and thank Roberta in person for not spilling the beans and turning my life upside down. On a good day, my Subaru hatchback isn't that hard to find. It usually stands out among the other players' souped-up pickups and speedy little hot-rods. But today, Mom's faded blue umbrella is leading me to it like a homing beacon. I smile, remembering the night Dad brought it home, a freebie from one of Beaver Field's many giveaway nights. "Hey, Ma!" I call out. "Did you enjoy the game?"

But when the umbrella twirls in my direction, it's not Mom standing underneath it. It's Mrs. Jenkins, talking frantically to a stadium security guard. And damn the puddles, I break into a run. "Mrs. Jenkins, where is she? Where's Mom?" As I approach, tears start falling down her cheeks. "I don't know," she sobs. "I turned away for one second…and she was gone." "What?" I grab onto my hood, trying to make sense of what she's telling me. "You were supposed to be watching her!" "Luke, it happened so fast," she wails.

"Ever since the first inning, I've been looking all over for her…" "The first inning!" I exclaim. "That was almost two hours ago!" "Mr. Singleton, I'm going to have to ask you to calm down." The security guard steps in, laying a hand on my arm. "We're doing everything we can to locate your mother." "Then where is she?" I yell back. "She could be anywhere by now!" I spin around in a circle, my eyes combing the area, taking in everything at once. Yeah, Mom's done this before, but usually when there are plenty of people around to point out what direction she went in. But the crowd's dispersed.

Anyone who could have seen her is long gone by now. And that's when my eyes stray to the forested area right beyond the outfield wall, and a chill goes down my spine. "Are you searching everywhere? Do you have anyone outside, looking for her?" I demand. "Sir, we don't have the manpower. We're currently searching the stadium restrooms and—" "For two hours?" I scream at him. "For two hours, all you've been doing is kicking in bathroom stalls? You need to call the police." "But, Luke," Mrs. Jenkins whimpers, pulling on my arm. "I told him not to."

"That's right," the guard pipes up. "She said no cops." Mrs. Jenkins looks at me, shaking, when I stare at her in confusion. "Luke, I didn't think you'd want anyone to know about…" "About what…?" the guard prompts, glancing between the two of us. "If there's something you're keeping from me, then one of you needs to tell me what it is right now." Mom's out there alone somewhere, probably cold, wet, and terrified. I have to tell him about her Alzheimer's—even if they end up taking her away from me. I have no other choice. And here I'd thought I'd just dodged a bullet with

Landry… I wipe the rain from my face and draw in a shaky breath. I just want her back, no matter what. That's all that matters now. "She has—" I'm interrupted by the sharp blasts of a car horn. Mrs. Jenkins holds her hand to her eyes. "Oh my goodness gracious, who's that?" I blink as a car comes careening toward us, barreling through the rain. "After I told them to cordon this area off…" the guard grumbles, reaching for his radio. "Please, folks. Step back." But then the car suddenly comes to a

screeching halt in front of us, and my heart almost stops beating right along with it. I know this car. It was parked outside my house last night. The window lowers and Roberta cries out, "Luke, there you are! What the heck took you so long? Can we please go home now?" Okay, what in the world is she talking about? But when she motions with her head, it's clear she's not alone inside the car. There's someone with her—someone I never expected to see. Utterly stunned, all I can do is obey. I don't even feel my legs as I jog toward the car, my heart thudding in my chest with every smack

of my feet against the pavement. From a distance, Roberta appears annoyed, irate even, but as I get closer, her eyes start telling me a different story. She's anxious as her gaze keeps flicking back to the guard. Only when I come to rest my elbows on top of the open window, essentially blocking him from view, does she sit back and allow me to peer inside. And there's Mom, disoriented and wetter than wet. She's shivering, which means she hasn't been safe and dry and warm in Roberta's car this whole time. "Ma, it's me… It's Luke!" But she just gazes out at the rain, not even acknowledging me.

Roberta turns to her in concern, and her curls hit me square in the face. For a moment, my eyes, my nose, my lips are all buried in her hair. And I stand stockstill. She's wet, too. They both are. I lean back and she rubs Mom's hand between the both of hers, holding it up to the heater. "If you want to keep this quiet, then get in your car and follow me to your house." "Why? Where were you? How did you find her?" She shakes her head at me. "Not here. We have to go." "Okay, okay, but tell me one thing…" I stare down into her eyes. "Is she gonna be okay?"

Roberta looks up at me. "She will be, but time is of the essence." I start walking backward, digging my keys out of my pocket. "I just have to take Mrs. Jenkins home. She lives right next door. She won't say anything." "What about him?" she inquires, jutting her chin at the guard. "He doesn't know about her condition." I shrug deeper into my hoodie as I start getting pummeled by a cold, driving rain. "I'll just tell him she was with you and we got our signals crossed or something." "All right, see you there." She rolls up the window, and I wave as she drives by me toward the stadium exit.

"Oh, Luke! What happened?" Mrs. Jenkins asks, struggling to keep the umbrella aloft in all the wind. "She got caught up talking to some of her old friends at Beaver Field and lost track of time." I chuckle for the guard's benefit. "You know how it is being Mr. Beaver's wife. She knows everybody in Stockton, and everybody knows her. Sorry to have troubled you." I cross my fingers inside the front pouch of my hoodie. I've kept Mom mostly out of sight over the past year, ever since her mind began to deteriorate rapidly. I didn't want anyone to see what she was going through, in an attempt to keep things as private as possible. Being

recognized around Stockton didn't help matters. The added attention in public only made her agitated, muddling her thoughts even more. It just wasn't worth getting her so upset if she could just as easily stay at home with Mrs. Jenkins and watch TV for a few hours when I had to go somewhere. Today was the rare exception, and one I wish with all my heart, I could take back. The guard is getting pelted in the face with rain. And it's clear he doesn't intend to stand around and argue with me. As long as I'm happy, he's happy. "Well, if that'll be it, then, I'll leave you to it." He nods at us. "Have a safe ride home."

He begins marching back toward the stadium, probably eager to clock out and call it a day. Only then do I breathe a sigh of relief. "Luke, can you ever forgive me?" Mrs. Jenkins asks the minute we get inside my Subaru. I run my hands over my face and pull down my hood. Mrs. Jenkins is an old lady herself, and I know just how fast Mom can disappear in a crowd. I can't blame her for this. It's not her fault. "Yes, of course. I forgive you, Mrs. Jenkins." I give her a sad smile. "I don't know what I'd do without you." She beams back at me gratefully, but everything's spiraling out of control

faster than I can keep it together. I can't do this on my own anymore—or put so much responsibility for Mom's safety on Mrs. Jenkins. I need help. And I'm hoping Roberta will be willing to give it to me.

Chapter Eight Roberta I lean back into the steady stream of hot water, finally feeling some warmth seep into my bones. Luke's mom is resting comfortably in her room after I bathed her and got her ready for bed. Luke was underfoot the whole time I was tucking her in, but I guess it's understandable. She gave him quite a fright today, and he didn't want to let her out of his sight. Still, I insisted that he hop in the shower ahead of me, needing some time away from him in order to think. Is this a job I'd be willing

to take on on a more permanent basis? Dipping my head back in the shower, I sigh as the numbness leaves my body. I've never been so cold for that long before, and I don't even want to think about what would've happened to Luke's mom if nobody had found her in time… The pipes start to clang, and I cry out when a frigid blast hits me. What the…? I hurriedly rotate the taps beneath the spout, forgetting which one's which, yet somehow managing to turn the water off. I step out and bury my face in a towel. It's an older home; things happen. But I don't think running out of hot water has anything to do with the sorry state of their kitchen. I pat myself dry. All the

signs are there; I just don't want to see them. Wiping the condensation from the mirror, I know I need to have a good talk with myself before I come to a decision. Luke's mom is slowly fading away, and his heart's only going to break more and more with each passing day. So I'd better make damn sure I'm up for this before I go making him any promises. I stare at my reflection. God, who am I kidding? My mind was made up the minute she called him little Lukey. Knock, knock, knock. "Roberta, are you all right in there?" Christ, it's Luke…and I can't remember if I locked the door or not. My

cheeks start to burn as I hastily reach for the silky robe he lent me until my clothes are dry. His mom's so petite, and this is probably the only thing of hers that'd fit me. I keep my eyes trained on the doorknob until my body's completely covered. "Uh, yeah. I'll be right out." "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking," he groans. "It's just been so long since I had to listen for anyone in the shower before turning the washing machine on." I smile. "Well, since you did wipe down the shower for me when you were done, why don't we call it even?" I rest my forehead against the door and listen to him laugh on the other side.

So many guys aren't considerate, not like he is. My ex-husband certainly wasn't. I cram my feet into his mom's fuzzy bedroom slippers and sigh. I can either leave Stockton like I was planning on doing or I can keep lying to Luke's face. But if I go out there and tell him the truth about me, there's a very real possibility that he'll tell me to leave and never come back. And after today, there's no way I can put his mother's care back in the hands of their elderly neighbor, not when I can step up and do something about it. Slowly, I open the door, and I'm taken aback to find him standing there, holding a tray with a china tea set on it. "What's all this?"

He crinkles his brow at me. "An apology." "An apology? For what?" "For last night, for today, for everything." He gestures toward the two large throw pillows he has propped up against the wall. "Please, take a seat." I wrap my arms around myself. "You want me to sit on the floor?" He juts his chin toward the end of the hallway. "Just so I'll be able to hear Mom, in case she gets up again." "Luke," I protest. "She's fine. She's sound asleep. You don't have to—" "I know. But it'd just make me feel better," he says, handing me a saucer with a beautifully painted cup on top.

"Do you mind?" I step out of the steam-filled bathroom, feeling very self-conscious. "Playing tea party, are we? Looks like someone's trying to butter me up for something." He shrugs. "Mom always did things right. And I know this is how she'd like to thank you…if she could." I'll be the first to admit I've never been attracted to shorter guys. But there's something intensely intimate about being able to look directly into Luke's eyes like I am now. It's disconcerting because there's nowhere to hide. They're clear and open and honest, the eyes of someone who, despite all his problems,

is at peace with himself. And for a moment, I can't bring myself to look at him. Sensing my discomfort, he lowers the tray onto the floor and eases himself onto one of the pillows. "Your tea awaits, milady." I smile awkwardly, having no choice but to join him. He crosses his legs, and his shorts, which before were hitting him almost at mid-calf, have now ridden up to his knees where they belong—which is about where this tiny robe is on me. As demurely as I can, I bend down next to him, first with one knee and then the other, before quickly bringing my legs back together again.

"Did anyone ever tell you that you look pretty in pink?" He winks at me. "Yeah, well." I glance down at the loud floral pattern on his Mom's robe while filling my cup. "In case you haven't noticed, black's more my color. It makes me feel strong and powerful, not like a wilting flower floating atop a fruity drink." "So you're a girl who never liked pink?" he teases, taking the teapot from me. I deliberately take a sip before responding, "I swore I'd never wear pink again." I stare at him over the rim of my cup. "And look at me now." Just like I told Landry I was done

with hot, young baseball players…and here I am. Before coming to Stockton, I got rid of everything that was tying me to my past —including my favorite pale-pink sweater a certain someone gave me for Christmas one year. But he wasn't the man who broke me. He was just one of my many reckless rebounds in my vain attempt to forget the one who did. Luke gives me an appraising glance. "Well, you don't need to wear black in order to impress me. I'm already impressed by you." And my guard immediately goes up. Please don't tell me he's coming on to me. But there's no heavy-lidded trace of

lust or hint of flirtation in his eyes. Instead, they seem to be glowing with genuine admiration for me, reinforcing the sincerity of his compliment. And that vexes me more because I don't deserve his kindness. "You're impressed by someone who wipes wrinkled asses for a living?" And there it is, my inner tough girl, ready to reassert herself whenever I get the least bit scared. I don't know what comes over me, but whenever I feel cornered, my snarky side emerges, striking out full force at whatever target's in front of me. Even when it's a nice, unassuming guy like Luke Singleton.

But his eyes crinkle with merriment. "I'll have you know I work out, so my ass isn't saggy or wrinkled, but this isn't about me. It's about my mom—and her saggy ass." I will my hand to stop shaking as I put my cup down. I've been dealt a lot of tough breaks in life, and I survived with a sharp enough tongue to prove it—but that doesn't give me the right to go around insulting people. "Luke, I didn't mean—" "I know you didn't." He smiles at me, placing his cup next to mine. "But now that you mention it, today was a major wake-up call for me, in more ways than one. And there's something I need to ask

you." "Okay…" Here we go. You knew this was coming. So just breathe… breathe… "Roberta, do you think I can hire you to move in here and take care of Mom?" Breathe… If I don't tell him who I am now, there'll be no going back to fix it later. If he ever finds out, he'll never forgive me for deceiving him. But he'll never find out, right? I stall. "Is it so you can play? Because I don't think—" My eyes unconsciously travel to the side of his neck, while his gaze remains fixed on me, not wavering in the

slightest. "I'm not afraid of getting hit again, Roberta, if that's what you're thinking." I stare at him, letting him know that I know he's bluffing, even if he wants to believe what he's saying is true. "It's just a reflex, my brain trying to protect my body, that's all. But the more at-bats I get, the quicker I'll adjust. You'll see." "Luke, with the type of injury you sustained, no one would blame you for —" "For what? For giving up?" His eyes darken considerably. "Well, you're too late. Your boyfriend already talked me out of it." I run my hands through my hair,

agitated. "If you mean Landry, then you can relax. I'm not going to tell him about your mom." "So he is your boyfriend?" "God, what does it matter?" He gets to his knees and rests his hands on both sides of the pillow I'm sitting on, caging me in with his arms, arms that are strong, sinewy limbs of corded muscle. I know; I felt them yesterday. Meeting my eyes, he states, "It matters because I need to know if I can trust you." I raise my chin at him. "Well, if you already believe every single rumor there is flying around about me, then how do

you expect me to trust you?" He sighs, "Roberta, he's my boss. So if we're going to be living together, I feel I have the right to know if you're dating him or not." "Well, I'm not," I retort. "So does that answer your question?" He sits back on his heels. "You're not?" "No, I'm not." "Wow, that's great!" he blurts out, nodding his head. "I mean, it's good… that there's no conflict of interest when it comes to hiring you." "And I guess I don't have to ask you about having a girlfriend." I smooth the robe down over my thighs. "Since you

already answered that one for me yesterday. They don't call you Single for nothing, huh?" He blushes. "Point taken. No more personal questions, I promise," he responds, placing his hand over his heart. "So you consider yourself married to the game, is that it?" I ask, lifting my eyes to his. "I do. And with your help, I intend to get back to where I was." He removes his hand from his heart and offers it to me, and something about that simple, yet meaningful, gesture touches me deep down inside. "What do you say? Do we have a deal?"

I press my palm to his and hope to God he can't feel it trembling. "Deal." Little does he know that once upon a time I was married to the game too. My name just wasn't Roberta Bennett. Oh, no, back when I was young and trusting and foolish, it was Bobbie Jo Nichols. Making David—the guy who almost ended his career, the guy who almost killed him—my ex-husband.

Chapter Nine Luke It's happening again. I'm falling, and I can't see a thing. I flail through the air, but there's nothing to grab on to, nothing to slow my descent. The wind whips by my face as I pick up speed, and I think to myself, this is it. This is how I'm going to die. However, my downward plunge suddenly stops, and it's like I was never falling at all. Instead, I'm standing upright in a shallow pool of water. It's dark down here, cold and wet. Scared, I run my hands over the brick

wall, turning around in a complete circle, realizing I'm boxed in. I splash around, desperate to find a way out, but there isn't one. Sloshing through the ankle-deep water, I look up, only to see a lone star, shining down on me. I smile up at it. It's the only source of light I have to dispel the thick curtain of darkness that's surrounding me. Until little by little, someone starts covering the opening above my head. "No! Please don't!" I yell up. "I'm still down here!" Whoever it is pays no heed to my cry. Instead, all I hear in response is, "Lukey! Where are you? Lukey?" My heart starts pounding even

harder inside my chest. "Ma? Ma, is that you?" "Lukey…help!" Mom needs me. I need to get out of here. I need to get to her. "It's him!" Mom calls down, absolutely terrified. "He's going to take you away from me." "Who, Ma? Who is it? Who's up there with you?" "It's him," she whimpers back. "The pitcher who hit you." Nichols? But her voice gets drowned out once he slams the lid down on top of the well, the echo of finality reverberating all around me.

Nichols has Mom, and I can't protect her. I start to panic when all I sense is a steady drip of water falling on me from above. I move to avoid it, but no matter where I go, it just keeps hitting me smack dab on the side of the neck. "No…no…NO!" I scream, clawing the walls. "NO!" "Luke, shhhh. It's okay." My eyes fly open and I find Roberta hovering over me, shaking me awake. For a moment, I just stare into her pretty blue eyes that hold the same shade of light as the star as I try to grasp what she's doing in here. "You were having a nightmare," she whispers, kneeling down beside my bed.

"I hope you don't mind that I barged into your room like this, but when I heard you yelling through the wall, I was worried." I sit up, kicking the covers aside, agitated that she had to see me like this. "Sorry," I mumble. "I didn't mean to disturb you." She sighs, sitting back. "It's okay." The night-light in the hall is extending a diagonal beam of light from the door across my bed. Though now that she's outside its reach, I can't really see her, but I can feel her eyes on me. I run my hands over my face, needing to reassure her somehow. I don't want her to be scared of me. I don't want her to leave. "Living here…" I start, unsure of

where to begin. "You may hear me call out in my sleep sometimes, and if you do, please…just ignore it." It was kind of her to check on me, but she really has to be regretting her decision to move in with us right about now. Getting up with Mom in the middle of the night is going to be hard enough on her, and I'm not about to have her lose any more sleep on account of me. "So tonight isn't the first time this has happened?" she asks. Resting my head in my hands, I let out a low groan. "No." But she keeps questioning me, seemingly undeterred. "When did they start?"

I lift my head to answer her. "Right after I got hit. Can you believe it's the same thing I saw when I blacked out?" I pause, not sure how she's going to handle that much truthfulness. And when she remains silent, I get nervous and chuckle halfheartedly. "I guess having a near-death experience at home plate will do that to a guy." I wait for her to bolt, make some hasty excuse to get up and leave, but instead, she asks gently, "What is it that you see?" I run a hand over my jaw. I've never really talked about this to anyone before, and I'm not sure how to put it into words. Usually, I don't remember much after I

wake up, just the main points, mostly the fear. "Well," I begin slowly, talking faster as I go along. "I fall into a deep, dark well. Someone covers it up and I'm trapped inside. That's about it." I'm convinced she thinks I'm crazy, until she says, "I used to have nightmares too. I know what it's like." I hone in on that. "Oh, yeah? About what?" "Well, I didn't find myself buried alive inside a scary, abandoned well. The place I dreamed of didn't feel dangerous or frightening. It felt more like an escape," she replies thoughtfully. "I was actually more afraid to wake up." Perplexed, I sputter, "You're telling

me you didn't want it to be over?" The honesty in her voice tugs at my heart as it reaches me through the darkness. "No. I'd have to say the moment when I knew I was leaving that nice, safe place was always the worst part." I ponder what she said for a moment. "So your nightmare was basically the complete opposite of mine?" She stands, her body skimming the light. "A nightmare is a nightmare. They're certainly not any fun." She's going back to her room. She doesn't want to talk about it anymore because I let things get too personal. She was okay when we were talking about

me, but once I started questioning her, it's like she can't get out of here fast enough. I need to make a mental note never to bring this up again. I understand. Reliving your worst nightmare isn't something I particularly want to talk about either. But there's something I need to know, something that maybe she can help me with. "Hey, wait," I whisper and she pauses in the doorway, keeping her back to me. "How did you…?" I cough to clear my throat, my voice strained from all the yelling I was doing in my sleep. "How did you get them to stop?" She looks back at me, her face in silhouette as the glow from the night-

light spills over her shoulder. "I found a safe place for myself outside the nightmare." She shrugs. "But it's a temporary fix. It's not to say they won't come back." I stare at her. "Are you afraid they will?" She nods. "All the time, but I don't let it stop me from moving forward with my life. I've just learned how to be smart about it." She taps a finger to the side of her head. "Mind over matter." I breathe sharply through my nose. "Can it really be that simple?" "It can be, if you let it." I allow her words to sink in as she reaches for the doorknob. "Good night, Luke."

"Good night, Roberta," I whisper as she closes the door, taking the light along with her. This time, I'm not alone in a dark well, not anymore. She came in here and succeeded in igniting something a whole lot brighter inside my heart, a radiance that, for now, nothing can extinguish. Not my nightmares of Nichols, not even my fear of losing Mom. What Roberta passed on to me is a flame that, once lit, never really goes out. A flicker of hope that no matter how hard things are now, they will get better. I just have to believe they will.

Chapter Ten Luke I lift the barbell over my head and hold it there. It's only a fifty-pound set, and even though I can easily bench-press a lot more, I know better than to push it without having someone to spot me. I grunt, yet another drawback of being stuck with a basement home gym. I'll just compensate by doing more reps because, boy, oh boy, do I have a lot of pent-up frustration in me right now. A good workout is exactly what I need. I didn't get one hit in the doubleheader yesterday against the Jackalopes—

although, I didn't end up on my ass again either. Unfortunately, the Beavers' manager and his coaching staff don't consider that progress. With Landry back in Texas, they held a team meeting today and called me out in front of everyone, showing video of all my at-bats and pointing out in excruciating detail everything I did wrong. "You can't keep bailing on the fastball up and in." "I guarantee the advance scouts already have you pegged." "You mark my words, Singleton. If you don't man up and whack the hell outta something soon, every pitcher's gonna think they can get you out."

My arms start to burn, proof that my competitive fire hasn't gone out completely; it's still smoldering. The Beavers' manager is new. I don't know Rex Carlson, and he doesn't know me. He wanted the guy who tore his ACL to be his second baseman this year, not me. That's why I got designated for assignment. To him, I'm just Landry's little pet project. But he'll be sorry. I'll show him and his staff what I can do. I'm more than ready to prove them wrong. With my iPod cranked up and my eyes closed, I'm startled when someone takes the bar right out of my hands. Blinking, I look up and there's Roberta, placing it back in the rack over my head.

And I immediately jump up…because I don't have a shirt on. I keep forgetting that I can't do this kind of stuff anymore, not with her around. I feel her eyes on me just like I did two nights ago when I awoke to find her in my bedroom. But I didn't try to cover up then because she really couldn't see me in the dark. But now she can. I hastily reach for my tee, and for a half a second, I wonder if she likes what she sees. But I'm too embarrassed to turn around and find out. I'm not ultrabuff like most sluggers out there. I pop out my earbuds and give her a tentative smile. "Hey." But she's having none of it. "Didn't

you hear me calling you?" she asks, waving whatever it is she's holding in front of my face. "Your mom got into your suitcase and all of your crazy taped-up pants are all over the living room!" Okay, her finding out that I have to hem my pants is way more humiliating than anything my coaches could've dished out during that meeting today. Having any added attention brought to my height, or lack thereof, is never a good thing. I shrug, trying to make light of it. "And here I thought I was all packed. Besides, how'd you even see the tape? I put it on the inside."

She groans, "Luke, the cuffs are all bunched up. They look terrible. You cannot go around looking like that." "Well, in case you've forgotten, I'm leaving on a six-day road trip after the game tonight, and with everything that's been going on around here, I haven't exactly had time to make an appointment with my personal tailor." I roll my eyes at her. "Besides, I have no clue how to sew. Mom used to fix them for me before…" I stop, forcing back yet another memory. Her eyes soften. "So that's why she won't let me put them back." She folds them over her arm. "Sorry, Luke. I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm able to thread a

needle thanks to the home ec class I took in high school. So when you get back, remind me to take a look at them for you and I'll see what I can do." She hands them over to me, and a card falls out of the pocket. I bend down to pick it up, but she beats me to it. "Heidi Foster, speech therapist. Wow, she's pretty. If you like blondes…" she says, scrutinizing the photo on the front of the card before flipping it over and spotting the handwritten message on the back. "And you said you didn't have a girlfriend." She gives me a pointed look before passing it back to me. I blush, not knowing what to do with it. "I don't."

"Uh-huh, that's why she gave you her personal cell number to 'call her anytime,'" she mimics, shooting me a contemptuous glance. "It's not like that," I protest, rubbing the side of my neck. "She helped me after the accident…when I had to relearn how to talk again." Her eyes go wide. "Luke, I didn't—" "Yeah, not many people know about that," I admit, feeling more exposed than I did without my shirt on. I let out a breath. "But now you do." She takes a seat on the exercise bench. "Do you still have to see her?" "Every few weeks or so." I try to meet her eyes, but she won't look at me.

"Roberta, it's okay, really… I'm fine. Now you can't shut me up if you tried." I sit down next to her and bump her foot with mine. "Hey, I didn't realize you were such a softie." Her head shoots up. "I'm not," she declares, glaring at me. "I'm just sick and tired of hearing about bad things happening to good people." I smile. "So, you think I'm a good person?" The light shining in her blue eyes strikes me right in the heart. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't." There's nothing I'd like more than to lean in and kiss her. All I have to do is tip my head, move in, and… No, it

wouldn't be appropriate. I hired her to take care of Mom. Just because I'm interested in her doesn't mean she's interested in me, and things could get messy in a hurry if I make a move on her and she shoots me down. We're practically living together now. I can't go blurring lines that shouldn't be crossed. I grin to myself. She'd probably slap me across the face for trying anything anyway. "What are you smiling about?" she asks. "Nothing." I stand, resisting the temptation of being so close to her. "Liar," she chides, her eyes never leaving my face. "You have a thing for

Heidi, the speech therapist, don't you?" No, I have a thing for you, and I have for quite a while. But I can't very well say that to her, since she doesn't even remember meeting me in Arnold's office. Still, my cheeks remain red-hot, knowing that she's watching me. "I knew it," she groans. "Players like you are never really single. Are you?" She shakes her head, heading toward the steps, and I reach for her arm to stop her. But I'm too late, and my fingers grasp nothing but air. I want to tell her she's got it all wrong, I'm not like that—I am single—but my true relationship status doesn't seem to be something she's all that interested in.

She waits for me to catch up to her, giving me a sly grin. "You know what? I can't wait for us girls to have the house all to ourselves while you're gone." I cringe, fearing she's referring to my late night outburst. So I try to play it cool, act like whatever she says isn't going to bother me. "Is that right?" I smirk at her as we trudge up the stairs together. "You're not gonna miss me?" "Nope," she chuckles. "I look forward to having some bonding time with your mom, one-on-one." Instead, her remark causes my emotions to veer off in a completely different direction. I'm not worried about

what Roberta thinks of my nightmares. I'm more concerned about how Mom is going to handle being separated from me. "Even if she can't remember you from one day to the next?" I can't help but ask. "So far, I've had to introduce you to her twice, and you've only been here two days. What if she wakes up tomorrow and panics when I'm not there to remind her who you are and what you're doing in her house?" "Then you'll be receiving an early morning wake-up call from us." She smiles at me. "But I don't think that's going to happen." I run my hand across my forehead,

grumbling, "We would have to be playing two teams out of our division the first trip out. I'll be an eight-hour drive away if anything should happen. Are you sure you're going to be all right handling her on your own?" "Positive," she proclaims as we come to the top of the steps. And there's Mom, kneeling by my suitcase. She doesn't even look up, she just keeps methodically folding and unfolding the same pair of pants, while the rest of my clothes are haphazardly strewn across lampshades or lying in crumpled heaps on the floor. Roberta reaches for my hand and gives it a squeeze. "I promise you. I've

got this." She lets it go just as quickly as she took hold of it. But the sensation of how nice it felt to hold her hand in mine stays with me as she rushes forward to begin cleaning everything up. "Mrs. S., we need to get Luke ready to go," she says, smiling down at her. "He has to leave for Beaver Field in about fifteen minutes. So what do you say? Do you think we can do it?" "He's going…where?" Mom asks, clutching my pants in her hands, wrinkling them even more. "He has a game tonight, and we really want him to get a hit now, don't we?" Roberta encourages, keeping her voice friendly and light.

Mom nods. "Of course, we do." Roberta kneels down and gently slides the pants out of her grip. "Good, because we have to let him know we're behind him one hundred percent. So how about we give him a, 'Gooooo Beavers!'" Mom turns to look at me. "Go… Beavers?" Roberta laughs, and so does Mom, and I feel my throat tighten up when they smile at each other. Roberta's treating Mom like a person, not like a nuisance or a burden. And that's all I ever wanted when it comes to her care. For the first time since Dad died, I feel like I have someone I can lean on,

like maybe I'm not alone in this anymore, that she's someone I can trust.

Chapter Eleven Roberta When it comes to men, look at how they treat their mother, and you'll have a pretty good idea of how they'll treat you. I scribble furiously across the page of my journal. It's not really a diary, per se, more like a compilation of life lessons I've been keeping for my daughter, the one I'll never have. I run a hand across my stomach. I've lost two babies, one stillbirth, one miscarriage. Yet a deep, maternal yearning remains, even though I swore I wouldn't allow myself to think

about it. But right now, that seems just as unlikely as starting over does. I close the cover of my journal and stretch out in bed, waiting for Luke to call. So far, I haven't had to call him, but he's checked in faithfully with me every night after the game, once he's back at the hotel. Occurring well after midnight, our conversations have been brief, mostly about his mom. Up until now, we haven't talked at all about baseball, but I intend to change that tonight. I reach for my phone and scroll through the Beavers' Twitter feed again, tapping the update from three hours ago: Singleton doubles to right center field. He finally got a hit, his first of the year,

and I'm really looking forward to congratulating him. But it's going on one o'clock in the morning, and my eyes are starting to close. I really wanted to hear the excitement in his voice, but it looks like I'm going to have to settle for sending him an emoji-filled text. The Beavers are traveling to another city tonight, and I'm guessing he doesn't want to talk to me on the bus within earshot of his teammates. He doesn't want it getting back to Landry that he hired me, so the fewer Beavers who know I moved in with him, the better. I run a hand through my hair, pulling my curls away from my face. It all went

down so fast. I agreed to go along with Luke's plan without really thinking how it would affect things between Landry and me. The poor guy's been leaving me all these lengthy voice mails, wanting to know how I'm adjusting to Stockton, telling me what the kids are up to, and all I've done is send him a few short texts in response. I haven't exactly been a good friend to him lately. Out of habit, I switch to a window I have saved in my web browser, the one displaying the latest search results for David Nichols. Ever since I left the ranch, the need to know where he is and what he's doing at all times is always in the back of my mind. Keeping tabs on

him now that he's out of prison is the only thing that helps me feel safe and in control of my life. I hit refresh, but tonight, the headlines that pop up aren't his usual pitching line after a game. Oh, no, the news is far more disturbing than that. Nichols hits three batters in one game. Nichols sent down after anger issues resurface. New York Titans' look foolish for taking a chance on ex-con. I click link after link, each confirming my worst fear. David's back in Triple-A which means he'll eventually have to play a game in Stockton. And suddenly

it's hard to breathe, like the world's caving in on me. Shaking, I raise a hand to my mouth. I can't believe this is happening. All I wanted to do was make a fresh start in some sleepy, out-of-the-way town, instead of hiding behind the gates of Arnold's mansion, or for that matter, Landry's ranch. I couldn't stay in the Kings' universe, not after David got out and was immediately picked up by New York's other major-league team, the Titans. And when Landry started talking about Stockton, I thought, why not? But now, everything's coming full circle, converging in a perfect storm. In the baseball world, secrets rarely

die. I was only married to David for six months, right at the start of his career. And even though I routinely color my hair from blond to brown and go by Roberta Bennett, my mother's maiden name, instead of Bobbie Jo Nichols, somewhere along the line, I have no doubt David will find me. He has before. The phone vibrates on the bed, and for a split second, I hesitate in answering it. But I can't do that to Luke, not when he's so worried about his mom. Not when he's finally had a good night. "Hey," I manage to croak out. "Hey, yourself," he chuckles in my ear. "I finally got a hit!"

My eyes dart around the room, my mind a million miles away. "Yeah, that's great." "Oh, c'mon. Doesn't that warrant a 'Gooooo Beavers'?" "It's late, Luke." I put him off. "I don't wanna wake your mom." Although, as I listen to the baby monitor I have set up on top of the bureau, it's clear she's snoring away peacefully in her room. "How's everything going?" Luke asks, concern quickly replacing the teasing quality in his voice. "She has her moments…but on the whole, pretty good. She only asked where you were today forty times

instead of fifty." He groans heavily, "You should've called me." "It's all right." I massage the tension out of my forehead. "She was nowhere near meltdown territory." "Yeah, but you sure sound beat," he sighs. "Three more nights and I'll be home. And don't forget, I have a day off on Monday. How about I get in touch with Mrs. Jenkins so I can take you out for dinner or something? It sounds like you could use a break." "Ah, Luke. I dunno." I trace my finger along the stitches of the patchwork quilt that's covering my lap. "I don't think that's such a good idea."

"Why…why not?" And I swear I can hear his voice shake as he swallows, even over the engine of the bus. But before I have a chance to answer, we're interrupted by some agitated mumbling followed by some pretty colorful language. "What is it?" I whisper. "What's going on?" "God, Danny just showed me something on his phone. That's why you've been so quiet, isn't it? You knew, and you weren't going to tell me." My stomach turns over. "Luke, let me explain—" "There's nothing to explain," he huffs, and it feels like my heart is going to

ricochet right out of my chest. I falter. "Luke, I—" "I don't want your pity or anyone else's," he says defiantly. "I'm not afraid to face David Nichols again." And I feel terrible, because up until now, I didn't even take into consideration how the news about David would affect Luke. I was too caught up in thinking about myself. "Nichols nearly beats a guy to death in a bar fight and only ends up serving ten months for it?" Luke seethes, all fired up. "My dad played his entire career in the minors, and the Titans offer a jerk like that a major-league deal right out of the slammer? I'm glad he got sent down.

As far as I'm concerned, bring it on." A cheer goes up in the background, his teammates, no doubt, egging him on. He's certainly not about to cower in front of them. But unlike all of them, I know what it feels like to get hit by David. Not with a ball, but with his fists. That type of fear doesn't go away. It stays with you. And I don't want Luke going anywhere near him.

Chapter Twelve Roberta Seven years earlier "Where were you?" David asks the minute I step through the door. He's slouched in the recliner, and from this angle, I can only see his knee bouncing up and down, the heel of his cross-trainer pounding against the floor —a clear signal that I should stay away, far away. But I didn't do anything wrong, and his implication that I did rubs me the wrong way. Tossing my purse and keys onto the table, I make my voice heard over

whatever game he's watching. "I went to the movies. I wasn't about to sit around all day, waiting for you to get up." "I went to the movies," he mocks me in a grating, high-pitched voice. "So that's what you do around here when I'm gone—absolutely nothing." When I move to stand beside him, he stares straight ahead at the TV, clenching his jaw. He's still in the Hooters tee he was in last night, the one he knows I can't stand. And based on the amount of stubble on his face, he still hasn't showered or shaved yet, even though it's almost three in the afternoon. I see red, unable to stop the words from flying out of my mouth. "Don't you

dare say I'm lazy when you're the one who's been lounging around in front of the TV all day!" "I just got back from spending two weeks on the road," he growls under his breath. "I think I have the right to kick back and relax a little." I cross my arms, my hands coming to rest atop my baby bump. "Give me a break. You didn't even pitch last night." He sits up with a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Well, I'm not exactly wellrested after you made me sleep on the couch—again." I shake my head as I walk away from him. "Tell it to the woman you had draped all over you in Jacksonville

'cause I don't wanna hear it." He turns off the TV, flinging the remote across the room. "I was just having a drink in the hotel bar. She came on to me." "Sure, she did," I spit back. "And I bet she just so happened to stumble back to your room with you too." He slaps his hands against his thighs before getting up and coming toward me. But I don't back away. I stand my ground. "Yeah, that's what I thought. You can't even bother to come up with a halfway decent excuse anymore." He towers over me, clenching his fists and breathing hard. I shouldn't provoke him, but I can't help myself. "If you're gonna

lie to me, David, at least make it somewhat believable." Wham! Before I know what's happening, the back of his hand collides with my face and I'm sent sprawling to the floor. For a moment, I just lie there, too stunned to move. He's hit me plenty of times before, but not like this, not since I told him I'm pregnant. I lick my lips, and the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth. Gingerly, I reach up and touch my cheek. It's already beginning to swell, and one of my front teeth feels like it's loose. It's sad, but the first thought I have is, How am I going to be able to hide that? "Get up," he orders, looming large

above me. I moan, unable to move, and that's when he really loses it. "I said, get up!" He grabs me roughly by my elbow and pulls me to my knees. Dizzy, I'm unable to stand as the room starts to spin. But he doesn't care, he continues to wage his assault. "Since you can't seem to get off your ass and find yourself a job, I'm the one left paying all the bills around here—me! So that gives me the right to do whatever I want. You got that?" I clutch my stomach, staring up at him. "Please, David…the baby." He runs his hands through his hair before dropping them to his sides. "That's what I mean—more pressure!

That's all you ever do is give me more headaches, more things to worry about." "Then why'd you marry me?" I confront him with the question that's been on my mind for so long now. "How come you couldn't just screw me and leave me like the rest of the women you keep picking up in bars?" He leers down at me. "'Cause I thought you were a caregiver. You were supposed to take care of me. I'm your husband, yet you turn me out of our bed, flat-out refusing to perform your wifely duties, leaving me to seek comfort elsewhere. It's all your fault. You did this, Bobbie Jo. Not me!" "And I'm just supposed to go along

with your infidelity and keep my mouth shut? Is that what you're saying?" I glare at him. "I don't think so. You went too far this time, David. I don't have to put up with this anymore. I'm done!" Scooting away from him, I lean back against the wall, panting. I swore to myself the moment I found out I was pregnant, I'd leave him if he ever laid a finger on me again. For months now, I've had to tiptoe around him, turning a blind eye to his endless philandering. But today, he's gone above and beyond the amount of heartache I'm able to endure. He may think he can walk all over me, but I'm not about to stand back and let him hurt our baby.

"And where are you gonna go, huh?" He quirks his mouth at me. "You have nothing—no job, no apartment, no car, no friends, nothing. So don't even think about it, Bobbie Jo." I hold my fingers up to my bleeding lip. "I'm a caregiver, not a slave, David. You can't treat me however you feel like treating me. That's not what I signed up for. That's not what marriage is." He nudges my leg with the toe of his shoe. "Oh, really? 'Cause if anyone's being taken advantage of, it's definitely me." "What…?" I sputter, but I stop when he grazes his foot along the length of my calf.

Aware of the fear he's building inside me, he plays with me, taking his time. "Don't you remember the night we first met…and how I told you I was so close to making it to the majors?" "Well, you still haven't made it…have you?" I throw back in his face, hating how weak and vulnerable he's making me feel, and how there's absolutely nothing I can do about it. "Yeah, but I watched your eyes light up at the thought of the millions that are bound to come my way." He gives me a wicked grin when, without warning, he steps down hard on my ankle, making me cry out in agony. He continues to twist his foot, grinding it back and forth like

he's putting out a cigarette, relishing the pain he's inflicting on me. "That's how all women look at me, like I'm their meal ticket. I don't know why I thought you'd be any different." When he pulls me up from my knees by my hair, I realize what a terrible mistake I've made in provoking him. I just should've kept my mouth shut. "Please, David," I beg, tears beginning to fall. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it." "Really? 'Cause I think you did." I just about stagger to my feet when he grabs hold of my shoulders and hurls me into the wall. The back of my head collides with it, hard. I see stars when he wraps his large hands around my neck

and begins choking the life out of me. I brace myself against the wall, trying to generate the force I need to break free of his grip. But I can't breathe. A strange gargle issues from my lips, and still, he doesn't stop. And by the savage look in his eyes, I have no doubt he's going to kill me. Yet right at the brink, right when I feel like I'm drowning with my head being held underwater, he releases me and I sink to the floor in a heap, gasping and coughing. With a groan, I don't move, hoping it's over, but instead, he bends down and starts pulling me out of the living room by my legs. I kick and flail, doing anything I can to resist, but he's too

strong. He clasps my ankles together and starts dragging me back with him toward the bedroom. "David, no! Please! Not like this," I wail as the rug chafes against my stomach. But he doesn't listen. He's in the zone now. There's no stopping him when he gets like this, his thirst for violence driving him, fueling his rage. As he hauls me around the corner, I grab on to the doorframe for dear life. He's done a lot to me in the past, but I can't let him do this…I can't. Incensed, he flips me onto my side. "Come on!" he seethes, trying to yank me free of the door. "Let go!"

But I can't talk, my throat is too sore, so I dig my nails into the wood even harder. His eyes darken and there's a lethalness to his gaze, the same kind of detachment he shows whenever he drills a hitter on purpose. I shudder because he's looking at me like that, his pregnant wife, like it makes no difference to him, like I'm no different to him. But still I don't expect it when, frustrated at not getting his way, he rears back and kicks me in the stomach. Instinctively, I crumple in on myself, but it's too late. By the second kick, I feel something warm start to trickle down my legs. And by the third, I black out completely. It's the only way my

brain knows how to protect itself. It shuts off, taking me under so I don't have to experience this moment, so that I don't retain any memories of it. I escape into a state of oblivion, a safe place where I'm no longer able to grasp what's going on outside my body, where I don't have to be conscious of the fact that the father of my unborn child is beating me to a pulp. I'll mourn the loss of my poor, innocent baby when I wake up. Right now, all I want to do is dream about the life I might've known.

Chapter Thirteen Luke This is just to thank Roberta for the good job she's been doing… I repeat for about the twentieth time inside my head. I pace in front of the door while Mrs. Jenkins eyes me curiously from the couch. If not for the fact that Mom is dozing beside her, I'm sure she'd be telling me to sit down already. But, seriously, what am I doing, going out with a woman who has no idea that I have a major crush on her? I must be a glutton for punishment. Yeah, we now share this common bond of taking care of

Mom together, but I want this to be a fun night out for her. And honestly, I'm nervous because I don't know what else to talk to her about. Maybe I can open with inviting her to join my David Nichols fan club or something. Anything to make her laugh. The steps creak and I look up as she makes her way down them, playing with the fringed ends of her scarf. Wow, she looks amazing. Tight jeans, quilted vest, shearling boots—yep, all in black, her signature color. And I feel like a total schlub in a windbreaker and sweat pants. I purposely didn't get dressed up for this because I didn't want to give her the wrong idea because this isn't a

date…right? "Just so you know," Roberta greets me, crossing her arms in front of her. "Under any other circumstances, I'd be soaking in a nice, hot bubble bath right about now before crawling under the covers." I gulp, getting a good visual of what she's describing inside my head and blink, needing to get my mind out of the gutter. It's a chilly spring night, the type where even the most diehard socializer doesn't want to go out. But I'm not about to pass up spending some time with her so she can get to know the real me, away from the boatload of responsibilities I'm always carrying around on my shoulders.

I hold up my hands in surrender. "All right. We'll eat and come right back. But… I did promise to show you around Stockton, didn't I?" She gives me the vaguest hint of a smile. "So where are we off to?" Mrs. Jenkins coughs, pointing at her watch. "Don't forget, Luke. You're on the clock. You have exactly fifty-seven minutes before I have to leave for bingo night over at the church." "Gee, thanks for reminding me," I chuckle, a tad bit irritated by the way she's rushing things along. I give Roberta a sheepish grin. "I thought we could grab something quick from the food truck on the square."

She purses her lips at me. "And here I was hoping for a meal at a nice restaurant with tables and chairs and everything." I open the door for her. "It's a Stockton tradition. You're gonna love it." "A greasy spoon on wheels? Great," she mutters halfheartedly, tucking her scarf more securely around her. "Probably offering junk food a single guy like you most likely subsists on— burgers, fries, shakes, the whole lot— not the kind of fare I care to indulge in." "Don't knock it 'til you've tried it, honey," Mrs. Jenkins whispers loudly from the couch. Roberta rolls her eyes at me as she

steps out. "How far of a walk is it?" "Only a few blocks." I give her a sidelong glance as the wind whips around us. "Why? Are you cold?" "A little," she admits. "Are you sure you really want to eat outside? Isn't there somewhere else we can go?" "I know it's a miserable night, but trust me, the food's worth it." "If you say so." We turn the corner, and I'm at a loss for words. She's not feeling it, and she's not one to fake being in a good mood for my sake. I don't know much about girls. Do they all act like this? Maybe it's her time of the month or something, or maybe she's tired. I just hope this wasn't

a big mistake. What if it turns out we have nothing in common? I'm a lowmaintenance guy. I'm cool with eating food that's cooked inside a truck, but if she's not… We're walking down a street lined with family-owned stores that have been in Stockton for generations, and she stops to look at a display case in a jewelry shop window. I come up beside her and jut my chin at all the diamond engagement rings. "Which one do you like?" "None of them," she groans, walking on ahead of me. I laugh. "Then why'd you stop to look at them? Something must've caught your

eye." She shoves her hands in the pockets of her vest. "Sorry to disappoint you, but marriage really isn't my thing." "Like Mrs. Jenkins said, 'Don't knock it 'til you've tried it,'" I tease, hoping to melt through her reserve. But she just exhales loudly. "I have tried it, and I didn't like it." I come to an abrupt stop. "Hold up. You were married before?" "Yeah, a long time ago." I'm completely floored. I wasn't expecting her to say that. Clubhouse gossip had her linked at one time or another to Jake Woodbury and Scott Harper on the Kings, but I never heard

that she was married before. True, she warned me not to believe every rumor I've ever heard about her. But this isn't some rumor. What she's telling me is coming straight from her own lips. And I have to admit, it's kind of throwing me for a loop. She can't be more than twenty-five, and she's been married and divorced already? I go for a dose of humor to mask my anxiety. "So tell me… Who's the lucky guy?" "A sweet guy who picked me up in a bar, and who turned out not to be so sweet after all." She gives me a pointed look. "Can we not talk about this anymore?"

"Yeah, sure. No problem." "Good." I don't want to pry into her personal life, but she's the one who brought it up. It's like she's already lived this full life and experienced so much—while I haven't even gotten out of Stockton. No wonder she's bored with me as we walk in silence the rest of the way. It's like she's telling me not to get any big ideas. As far as she's concerned, this most certainly is not a date. She needed to eat. I needed to eat. End of story. But I can't resist nudging her shoulder when I catch sight of the food truck. "There it is." And I'm surprised when her eyes light

up and a satisfied smile crosses her lips. "Oh my God, they have Mexican! You don't know how much I've been dying for Mexican food!" She runs ahead of me to read the menu as a group of young guys, who just got their food, spot me. "Hey, Single, my man! Blast one outta the ol' Beaver hole for me tomorrow night, would ya?" "Single, you're my dawg, yo. Keep on keepin' on, brotha." One of them casts a suggestive look back at Roberta. "It ain't the size of da playa, it be the size of his stick. Oww, owww!" And they all start laughing as they

walk away. Roberta turns around and glowers at them. And I can't resist. "Okay…when it comes to me? Believe everything you hear." She snorts, and I start chuckling, and suddenly it feels like the tension's gone and we're finally having fun together. I place my hand on her back, urging her to get in line, and that thrill of excitement shoots through me again when I suddenly feel warm all over. It's nice, coming up with yet another excuse to touch her. I'm not going to lie. "They have spicy Korean BBQ, tofu tacos… I think I'm in heaven," she sighs.

I drop my hand onto her arm when she goes to pull out her wallet. "Please, let me." I think she's going to put up one heck of a fight, but when she sees the determined look on my face, she steps aside and allows me to pay for her. And I don't know why, but it feels like I just scored a major victory. So I follow it up by carrying our food over to a brick alcove along the square. We're out of the wind, and it's actually kind of toasty in here thanks to the dryer vents from the adjacent laundromat. "You had all this planned out ahead of time, didn't you?" she ribs me while loosening her scarf.

"Just as long as you're comfortable." "Very." She nods, leaning against the side of the building. I join her, opening the bag and handing over her short rib burrito. She takes a bite and closes her eyes, moaning in appreciation. "Have a taste for the hot stuff, I see." "Living in Texas for the past few months has spoiled me," she admits, licking a bit of sauce from her fingers. "But this is pretty darn good too." I watch her and experience that same nervous, jittery feeling in my stomach again. "So how are you liking your stroll through Stockton?" I ask, digging into my

chicken taco. She dabs at her mouth with a napkin. "There's plenty of local color, that's for sure." "You haven't seen anything yet." I point to a nearby corner of the square. "See that statue over there…the bronze one? It's of my dad." She pauses mid-bite. "You're kidding?" "Nope, he was Mr. Beaver." And she nearly chokes on her food. I pat her on the back while she hastily reaches for her bottle of water. "It's okay. I know it sounds ridiculous. How would you like to go to school with all the kids knowing you're the son of Mr.

Beaver? I guess it could've been worse. He could've named me after the mascot." I pause, holding back my smile. "Bucky Beaver." The water spews out of her mouth, and I laugh uproariously. "Gotcha!" She wants to be mad at me, but she can't. It's just too damn funny. When she's finally able to speak, I bust her some more, "Just wait until I have kids. There'll be a whole bunch of little Buckys running around." But my remark seems to kill the merriment in her eyes. She takes the empty wrapper out of my hand and begins cleaning up. "We should probably be heading back now."

Man, things were going so well, and I had to go and ruin it. I reach for her arm. "Roberta, what is it? What did I say?" "Nothing." She shrugs my hand away. But I'm not about to let her blow me off so easily, not when we were finally starting to enjoy ourselves. This time, I pull on the corner of her scarf and end up drawing it down over her shoulder, spinning her around. I have her offbalance, trying to find her footing, when she falls into my arms. Her eyes never stray from mine when her hand comes to rest on my neck at the exact spot where I got hit. I swallow hard, never believing anything in the

world could feel as good as this. If given the choice, I'd go through all the pain and rehab all over again just to have her do what she's doing to me now. She glides her fingers along my jaw and across my goatee before lightly skimming them over my lips, making me shudder with pleasure. I lean in, and she lowers her hand, her eyes burning into me. Intent on capturing her lips with mine, I'm close enough to feel her warm breath on my face when suddenly she pushes me away from her, taking a step back. Holding a hand to her forehead, she's unable to look at me. "Sorry… I tripped and—" "Roberta," I gasp, struggling to catch

my breath. "It's okay. I—" Yet all she says is, "C'mon, Mrs. Jenkins is waiting," before turning and leaving the alcove. I run a hand across my face, trying to make sense of what just happened. I almost kissed her… And for a split second, I could've sworn by the fire in her eyes that she'd really wanted me to. God, could she possibly have feelings for me? No… That's just crazy. She probably didn't want to hurt my feelings, and to save me the embarrassment, she graciously backed away before anything could happen. Yeah, that sounds more like it. Now we can just pretend like she tripped and I

caught her and go on our merry way. My fingers stray to my neck, right where hers were. Because that's what she wants, right?

Chapter Fourteen Roberta "Stand still," I implore, tugging on his pant leg. "I'm never going to get this right if you keep moving around." "How much longer?" Luke moans from atop the footstool. "C'mon, Roberta. I'm beat." I remove a pin from my mouth and stick it in his cuff. "Don't blame me. Blame Landry. He came up with this crazy idea for auctioning off dates with his players, not me." Luke groans, tipping his head back. "I just played eleven innings, and I have a

day game tomorrow. Right now, I don't really care what I wear to this thing." "Well, I do," I state emphatically. "If this is Landry's way of generating interest in the team, then you're gonna have to look the part. Besides, I'm the one doing all the work here. So quit complaining, would ya?" His posture stoops a little as he sulks above me. "I don't wanna go on a date with some girl I don't even know." A sudden pang seizes my heart, because I don't want him to either. I sling the tape measure around my neck. I need to get a grip. Luke is a cute, single ballplayer who's extremely popular in Stockton. Of course, he's

going to get a ton of girls to bid on him. Who can resist that shaggy hair and those expressive eyes? He's like catnip to women. Add in the life-threatening injury, and they'll be fawning all over him, vying to put their nurturing instincts to good use. Yet helping him get ready for this date auction is bothering the hell out of me. It's not like I want to win him for myself or anything, but at the same time, I just can't stomach the thought of someone else winning him either. "Owww!" I cry out. He looks down at me in concern. "What is it? What's wrong?" "Nothing… I wasn't watching what I

was doing and I pricked myself," I grumble. "Maybe we should call it a night. I don't wanna bleed all over your new suit." I suck my thumb between my lips. "All right, I'm gonna need you to take your pants off for me." "Uh…here?" he asks, his cheeks reddening adorably. And for a naughty moment, I wonder what he'd do if I said yes. I can picture his shaky hands pulling down his zipper, the clink of his belt as it hits the floor… Okay, Bobbie Jo. Stop. What the heck has gotten into me tonight? But I know exactly what it is… It's that kiss we almost had, the one I haven't stopped thinking about for the

past week and a half. "No, you can go change in the bathroom and bring them out to me." I duck my head and get busy putting things away. He steps down and the force of his body rattles the dishes in the china cabinet. We exchange a nervous glance, our ears trained to the baby monitor on the coffee table. But thankfully, the noise didn't wake his mom. When he moves away from me, I whisper, "Be careful of the pins." "Yeah, I know," he responds. When I steal a glance back at him, I can't help but smile. He's walking slowly, holding his pants up by the knees

so as not to disturb the work I've done. Before shutting the bathroom door, he calls out, "Can you put the—?" I get to my feet. "Already on it." It's crazy, but we've developed this shorthand way of communicating with each other. It's gotten to the point that he doesn't even have to finish his sentences anymore. I already know what he needs me to do. Pulling out my set of keys, I unlock the side closet and slide the sewing box back inside. After Luke told me how his mom got her hands on the toaster and almost burned the house down, I've added as many items to the closet as possible, filling nearly every shelf to

capacity. I really have to commend Luke for taking every necessary precaution. He did his homework, going above and beyond the caregiver role of a typical family member. And up until recently, he was meeting both of his goals: keeping his mom safe and keeping her with him. Even before I arrived, without receiving any professional training or outside assistance, he was getting the job done. Yet as I pass by the kitchen, I can't help but notice the black rim of smoke still visible on the wallpaper, knowing that all it takes is one mistake in order for tragedy to strike. Honestly, I don't know how much

longer Luke's mom will be able to stay at home. I can only do so much and there's no way around it, her condition is going to worsen. It's a subject I haven't yet broached with Luke, afraid of how he's going to take it. For now, all I can do is try my very best and give him and his mom my all in order to keep them together for as long as I can. I reenter the living room, trying to dispel my gloomy thoughts, when I notice he has his pants hanging neatly over the back of the couch. I lightly finger the bottoms, and there's not a pin out of place. I stare at the back of his head, which is tilted to the side like he's concentrating really hard on something,

and I'm engulfed by such a warm feeling of tenderness for him. All I want to do is tousle his hair, reach out and touch it, because I'm dying to know if it's as soft as I think it is. But if I've managed to resist this long… "What are you doing?" I ask, coming up behind him. He smiles up at me. "Returning a favor. If these big fingers of mine will let me…" He sticks the tip of his tongue out of the corner of his mouth as he tries to open a Band-Aid. "Gosh, this is even worse than those plastic produce bags in the supermarket. I swear, I'm all thumbs." I sit on the edge of the couch and

cross my legs. "Let me try." "Nah, it's my turn to patch you up. I'll get it, eventually," he protests, waving me off. He scoots forward, unconsciously spreading his legs even farther apart. And when the side of his mesh shorts glides over the top of my foot, the breath leaves my lungs in a rush. Oblivious, he keeps on focusing on the Band-Aid, bending over and holding it between his knees. "And I'm a player who's known for his hands," he groans, low and deep in his throat, that utterly masculine sound that's usually heard in the bedroom. I squirm uncomfortably beside him, causing him to look up at me.

And when he sees the way I'm looking at him, all flushed and with my lips parted, his Adam's apple bobs in his throat. Resting his elbows on his knees, he turns to me and I watch his hair fall across his face. But he doesn't push it back, his eyes refusing to leave mine for even a moment. I lick my lips and he shifts, now fully aware of the reaction he's stirring within me. And I wonder if he's going to act on it when his chest starts to heave under his white cotton T-shirt. We haven't spoken about that night when he almost kissed me, yet there's no denying the heightened sense of tension that's been building between us ever since. After I

rejected him the last time, he's not about to make a move without receiving some kind of confirmation from me first. It's like he's waiting for me to give him the go-ahead. But all I do is hold out my finger to him. "It's this one." And he just stares at it, a sharp crease forming between his brows. Impatient, I wiggle my finger in front of him, and he glances up at me from beneath his eyelashes, his gaze penetrating. "Well, I haven't got all night," I bluster, trying to maintain some semblance of self-control. "C'mon, if you're gonna do it, get on with it." He gives me a slow, confident smile

before tearing the Band-Aid open with his teeth. I stare dumbfounded as he places it on his knee, before reaching for my hand and lowering his head to it. I gasp, completely overwhelmed, when he brings my finger to his lips, giving it a soft, gentle kiss. His breath is warm on my skin, his goatee lightly tickling my hand, and all I know is—I want more. But when he raises his head, he doesn't look at me. Instead, he takes the BandAid and carefully wraps it around my finger before standing up from the couch. "Good night, Roberta." Okay, what the…? I'm panting as he backs away from me with a twinkle in his eye. And I want to

hurl something at him, a pillow, the remote—anything. But as he climbs the steps and heads toward his room, all I can do is sit there, too stunned to move.

Chapter Fifteen Luke I think she was going to let me kiss her this time, and I should've gone for it, but my pride wouldn't have survived another direct hit. If I'd tried it and she rebuffed me…again, there'd be no moving forward from there. And I want to keep the dream of us alive, that maybe somehow I can still get her to like me like that. "Can you believe Hoff is wearing his wedding tux?" Dan snickers next to me as we stand with the rest of our teammates on the auction block. "His

marriage is long over, but he claims it's the only one that fits him right." "Well, I can relate to that," I reply, looking down at my perfectly hemmed cuffs, the ones Roberta finished sewing for me this morning. "I don't even recognize you, man," Dan busts me. "Living with a woman has really cleaned up your act." "Yeah, but what good is it?" I mumble. "If she's not here to bid on me." I glance over the heads of the attendees filling the seats of Beaver Field's VIP lounge area. We're all lined up in a row, and our collective mood is not good. We lost the day game we played in, and based on the amount of

muttering in the clubhouse as we changed into our formal wear, everyone wants to get this over with as quickly as possible. Most of the guys have wives or girlfriends who aren't too happy about this whole "win-a-date-with-their-man" thing. According to most of them, if some smokin' hot babe snaps them up, there's going to be hell to pay when they get home. But I don't have that problem. I don't have a girlfriend. The only one waiting for me at home is the one woman whom I'd like to see in that role, but the truth of the matter is I don't think Roberta cares who I end up with tonight. "C'mon, man." Dan pokes me in the

ribs. "Does Landry even know you hired her yet?" "No." Dan shakes his head. "Dude, you're playing with fire." "Mom needs her," I protest. "Yeah, more like you need her," he scoffs. "All right, enough about me. Who do you think you're gonna get?" I elbow him in the ribs, a lot harder than he jabbed me. "Just you wait," he chuckles, rubbing his side. "The horseplay doesn't stop just because we're all dressed up, Danny Boy," I retort. "C'mon, which one?"

He does a quick scan of the room. "I don't know about you, but I wouldn't mind getting to know that blonde a little better." I gaze in the general direction of where he's looking. "Who?" "Very funny, Single," he groans. "She's like the hottest girl here. I think every guy's head turned the minute she walked through the door, and you're telling me you didn't even notice her? Typical. She's staring right at you." And that's when I make eye contact with Heidi, my speech therapist. She waves at me, and I have no choice but to wave back. Dan turns to me. "Jesus, you know

her?" I shrug. "I know everyone in Stockton." "Yeah, well. Tell me how you know her," he demands. I look away and shove my hands in my pockets. "She has a job at the rehab center downtown, and she worked with me after my injury. No big deal." I feel the weight of his stare on me. "So you have a history with her?" I smirk up at him. "I went to high school with her, if that's what you mean." "So are you telling me to back off?" he asks flat-out. "That you didn't take her out for coffee to thank her for helping you or ask her to dinner to celebrate

your recovery?" "Well…" "I know you, Single. You're too nice a guy not to do something like that." "But I didn't lead her on… I didn't—" "Will you two morons shut up already?" Hoff steps forward and glares at us from farther down the line. "It doesn't matter who you end up with because it's not like either one of you is gonna get laid." A lot of the guys laugh at his remark, and I think it's the first time anyone's smiled since we've been up here. "Well, at least we're not wearing a brown, ugly-ass tux like you are," Dan taunts him.

Hoff proudly tugs on his lapels. "This right here is a genuine baby-maker. Every time my ex-wife saw me in it, she couldn't keep her hands off me." The snorts of laughter only get louder. "Well, good luck with that because that guy in the front row who's wearing your jersey? He looks like he's waited his whole life to go on a date with you," Danny zings him mercilessly. "I don't know why. It's not like a beat-up old catcher like you will be able to bend over for him." A hint of a smile crosses Hoff's lips as he straightens his shoulders and buttons his jacket. "At least, I don't have to indulge in the Kings' sloppy seconds.

Unlike your friend." A nervous rumble goes down the row. "Single, don't," Danny warns me. But no way am I backing down. I turn to face him. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Hoff." "Oh, no? First, you're calling her on the bus. And now she's what…living with you or something? I wonder how much you have to pay her for her to get down on her—" I get out of the line and position myself right in front of him. "I pity your ex-wife." "Oh, yeah? And why's that?" "Because you're obviously obsessed with the kind of woman you'll never

have, the kind who'll never give you the time of day." His eyes flare in surprise, and I know that I guessed right. "For the second time, let me remind you that you don't get to talk about her like that." I glare up at him. "Or any other woman, for that matter, including your ex. Danny's right. No wonder she left you. She probably couldn't stand to look at you in that ugly-ass suit." Sometimes the only way to get a bully to back down is to stand up to him. If there's anything Dad taught me, he taught me that. I stride back to my place as the rest of the team falls silent. Everyone's aware

this isn't over. There's going to be hell to pay for me dressing down Hoff in front of everybody. "I was taking care of it," Danny whispers to me as the bidding gets underway. "You didn't have to go and do that." I throw back my shoulders and smile out at the crowd. "Oh, yes, I did."

Chapter Sixteen Roberta "That's it." I nod at Luke's mom from the chair I'm standing on. "Keep dabbing the corner." "Like this?" she asks, completely immersing a sponge…and the sleeves of her nightgown, in a bowlful of water. I jump off, hoping to stop her before she tips it over. "Yes, but you have to wring it out first," I say gently, before taking the bowl away from her. It's ten o'clock at night, and I'm wallpapering Luke's kitchen. It's insane, I know. But I needed something to keep

my mind off of what's going on at Beaver Field tonight. "Where are all my pretty flowers?" his mom wails, gazing at the burnt scraps that are all over the floor. "I like my pretty flowers…" "They died," I mumble, too tired to think of a better excuse. "So we're putting up new flowers." "They died?" she cries. "Then we have to bring them to the funeral home. Bury them with my husband." She gets up from her chair. She rarely, if ever, remembers that her husband is dead. And when she does, it greatly upsets her. Now look what I've done… Just because I'm too busy thinking

about the outcome of that stupid date auction doesn't mean I should just say things off the top of my head. I drop what I'm doing and hurry over to her. "Mrs. S., please sit down. They didn't die." I hold up one of the blackened pieces I've already ripped down. "See? They're still here. I thought it was time for you to look at different ones…prettier ones…ones that are painted on cups and saucers, just like your favorite tea set." I turn over a portion of the new pattern and glide her hand over it. "Aren't they beautiful?" "I'd say." I turn around and there's Luke, standing in the doorway, staring at us.

He's in his suit, and man, oh man, does he look good in it. The crisp white shirt, the black silk tie, the leather belt cinching his taut, trim waist—he's all man in that suit. And I can't help but swoon over how perfectly it accentuates the compact, yet powerful, lines of his body. However, what's really getting to me is how his hair's been combed-out straight. It's hitting him at his shoulders and bringing out his natural red highlights, big-time. Right now, there's nothing I'd like more than to take it between my fingers, smooth it behind his ears, and… "What are you two girls doing up so late?" he inquires, crossing one foot

over the other as he leans back against the wall, taking everything in. My face feels like it's on fire, and I turn away from him. "I'm sorry. I know I should've asked you first." "It's okay," he replies softly. "But just so you know, you don't have to do all this. I don't expect you to." I keep my head down. "It's no bother. I like having something to do." He strides into the kitchen to get a better look. "Where did you get the wallpaper?" "When I took your mom to her doctor's appointment today. There was a hardware store across the street. And I thought, why not?" I look up and gaze at

him expectantly. "Do you like it?" I nervously await the verdict as he looks it over. "Yeah, it's nice," he says, smiling at me. "Really nice." His mom smacks his hand away, all too ready to scold him. "Don't touch." "Yes, Ma," he chuckles, winking at me. "Your kitchen, your rules." "Not anymore," she grumbles. "It's hers now." "Whose?" he asks, playing along. "Hers," she cries, shoving her finger in my face. "Mrs. S.—" I start. "Oh, why did you go and marry someone, Luke, and not even tell me?" she moans, clutching her stomach.

Luke shoots me a plaintive glance before kneeling down beside her. "Ma, we're not married. Roberta's here to help you. She's your personal care aide, remember?" "I don't care who she is." She rests her head on the table. "She has her eye on you. I know it. All the girls in school like my little Lukey." Luke bursts out laughing. "That's because I'd always listen to them when they sobbed their hearts out about the boys they really liked." "No, no, no…" She shakes her head. "They were all in love with you. They were all in love with you. They were all in love—"

Luke talks over her when she keeps repeating herself. "How did her appointment go? What did the doctor say?" But I don't want to get into that now— not in the middle of one of her episodes. "She's just overtired—long day. It's my fault for not putting her to bed sooner." I place my hands under her arms and urge her to sit up. "C'mon, Mrs. S. It's time to go to sleep." "No, I'll sleep right here," she moans, scrunching up her eyes. But I don't want Luke to think that I'm incapable of managing her when she gets like this. The last thing I want is for him to harbor any doubts about what goes on

around here when he's not home. "Mrs. S.," I try again. "When you wake up tomorrow and come downstairs, all your pretty flowers will be waiting for you." She lifts her head. "No, they won't. They won't!" Luke puts his hand on my arm. "Why don't you let me take this one?" "But I—" He rises to his feet. "When she gets to this point, trust me, it'll be easier on everybody if I just step in before she works herself into a frenzy." Before I can respond, Luke bends down and scoops her into his arms. She flails at him and starts screaming, "Put

me down! Put me down!" "It's okay, Ma," he whispers by her ear. "I've got ya. Everything's gonna be all right." She pounds on his back, yanks at his hair, and I can't bring myself to watch as he carries her, struggling against him, out the door and up the stairs. I push my hair away from my face and stare at the mess I made out of the kitchen. There's wallpaper everywhere. Half of it's up, half of it's down. Bottom line, I'm going to be up all night trying to get this done. But with no other choice, I get to work, and a half hour later, Luke returns with his jacket off and his tie undone. He

sighs, heading toward the refrigerator and pulling out the orange juice. Raising it to his lips, he groans, "That was rough." "Hey, not from the carton," I call out, my two hands firmly pressed against the wall. He lowers it sheepishly. "Oh yeah, I forgot." But when he sees what I'm doing, he puts it down and hurries over. "Here, let me help you with that." "No, I got it," I insist. But he doesn't listen. Instead, he stands directly behind me, the heat from his body rolling off him and hitting me square in the back. He splays his hands beside mine, careful not to touch me.

"What do you want me to do?" he asks, his breath inadvertently fanning my hair across my face. I let go of the wall. "Smooth it out so there are no bumps or ridges underneath." I shake my head. But he's so close, my hair winds up hitting him in the face. He trembles before taking a deep breath. He doesn't move, and I don't know what to do as his whole body tenses around me. Flustered, I back right into him, and he lets out a low groan. Realizing my mistake, I duck to the side and slip under his arm while still managing to step on his foot. "What, are you trying to kill me here?"

he moans, resting his forehead against the wall. Frazzled, I lash back at him. "Well, you didn't have to go frisking me like that. Save it for your date with Heidi." He looks back at me over his shoulder. "What…? How do you even know that she…?" "That she won you?" I retort. "Maybe because Landry texted me the photo of 'the hot babe' who spent nearly a thousand dollars for the pleasure of your company." He narrows his eyes at me. "Now why would he do that?" "I don't know, maybe because every penny from the auction is going to the

cancer foundation he set up in honor of his late wife, and let me tell you, that Heidi of yours certainly got his attention. She placed the highest bid of the night. $999.99 to be exact. C'mon, number ninety-nine. How cute is that?" "Would you quit saying that? She's not my Heidi." Luke releases his hold on the wallpaper, and the top corner droops over. "Roberta, it's not what you think." I drag the chair over and push him aside. "Oh, don't get me wrong, Luke. I think it's wonderful how you pimped yourself out to raise money for charity. How very noble of you." "I did?" he whispers heatedly. "You're the one who dressed me up and sent me

out there." He holds the chair steady as I climb onto it to press the wallpaper back into place. "So sue me, but I just don't understand why you're getting so upset over this. God, now I know what the other guys were talking about when they said…" I glower down at him. "Oh, don't stop there. Go on. Tell me what they said about me." He raises his hand to his neck, something he always does when he's nervous. "Nothing. Forget I even said anything." Angrily, I clomp down to the floor. "Wow, it must've been pretty bad if you can't even repeat it."

"Kind of like how you won't tell me what Mom's doctor had to say today." My eyes meet his. He didn't forget. Of course not. No matter what, his mom is always the first thing on his mind. And I don't want to argue with him anymore, not about something as important as this. It's time to give him the abbreviated version, at least for now. "He doesn't think having me here is going to be enough, especially with you being gone all the time," I admit. "He feels you should add a security system to the doors so that she'll trigger an alarm if I'm upstairs and she tries to go outside." "Did you tell him about…" He swallows before continuing, "About

how you found her in the woods outside Beaver Field?" "No," I reply, and he sighs in relief. "But he did find the burn marks on her hands and I had to tell him how she got them, Luke. I couldn't lie to him." "And I bet he handed you brochures from every nursing facility in a ten-mile radius, didn't he?" Luke mutters. "That's his usual solution whenever something goes wrong." "He did mention it." "And do you agree with him?" "I don't have a wall full of medical degrees to back me up," I state plainly. "My opinion doesn't matter. His is the one you should trust."

He starts collecting all the scraps of singed wallpaper off the floor and crumples them into a ball. "Don't." I reach for his arm. "You're gonna get your suit all dirty." "Like I even care anymore." He shoves the wad into the trash before turning to leave the room. "I know you're trying to help, Roberta. But right now, you're just not." I let him walk away from me. He's left me alone again, but unlike last night, I don't feel frustrated. Instead, I feel so very, very incomplete.

Chapter Seventeen Luke I wish I were going out with Roberta tonight instead of Heidi. I take one last glance at myself in the mirror. I guess I look all right. I need to come across as strong and in control, so I took a page right out of Roberta's playbook. Black jeans. Black tee. Black boots. I even tied my hair back, which is something I never do. I just have to get through this one date with her—that's all. That's what she paid for. It's just that all Heidi ever seems to do is talk about herself. Should she

reschedule a hair appointment to squeeze in an extra Pilates class? Should she accept her friend's destination wedding invite or invest in getting her teeth whitened? And on and on and on…her only problem being what to spend money on next. In the beginning, I had no choice but to listen to her since I couldn't really speak after my injury. Then after she worked with me for a while, and I started getting my voice back, she began throwing hints, wanting me to ask her out. At first, I was flattered. The hot girl from high school was actually interested in me. But still, it's not like we had anything in common. I couldn't relate to her carefree lifestyle,

and she had no clue what I was dealing with at home. If she did, I'm sure I'd be the last guy she'd ever want to get involved with. Let's just say, she's the type of girl whose day is ruined if she breaks a nail. Then when the Beavers started to lose interest in me, so did she. At first, there was a lot less chitchat between us during my appointments, and then she started passing me off to the other therapist in her office, claiming she was swamped with new clients. I hadn't seen her in weeks until she showed up at the auction. And what makes things even worse is that Roberta's really mad at me over the

whole thing. I just got back from a weeklong road trip, and I'd promised to give her the night off. However, my good intentions were thwarted when Landry called me at the last minute and asked if I'd be willing to take Heidi out tonight. Apparently, she's been pestering the staff at Beaver Field to no end, wanting to know when her date with me was taking place. So what could I say…no? He's my boss. But I have the feeling I'm in for a rough night when the doorbell rings and Mom immediately begins to shriek downstairs. Thank you, Heidi, for blatantly ignoring the "Please knock" sign I have taped to the door.

I fly down the steps, only to find Roberta at the bottom, cradling Mom and repeating over and over, "It's all right. It's all right. It's all right," as she punches the code into the brand-new security system I had installed. When the alarm stops, so does Mom, and I couldn't be more grateful. "Did she try to get out?" I ask, coming up behind them. "Yeah," Roberta mutters, her nerves fried. "You know how she always tries to bolt whenever she hears the doorbell." "Tell me about it," I mutter. "Thanks for stopping her." She shrugs. "That's what you pay me

for, isn't it?" Another cool rebuff—probably because she's aware of who's standing on the other side of the door. She slings her arm around Mom's shoulders, ready to take her back to the kitchen. "C'mon, Mrs. S. Let's finish our dinner." But I take heart when she flicks the end of my hair as she guides her past me. "Nice ponytail." The back of my neck tingles to life at her touch. "I'm glad you like it." Her blue eyes sparkle up at me, until an impatient knocking interrupts the moment. "I have to—" I fumble. She nods with a sigh. "Yeah, I know."

I'm crushed by the amount of hurt in her eyes. Life shouldn't be playing out like this, but it is. I reach for the doorknob, my stomach already in a full-on nosedive. And it doesn't get any better when I open the door and the first words out of Heidi's mouth are, "Luke, I just can't get used to you with that fuzz on your face. Ugh… when are you gonna shave that thing off?" as she brushes past me and steps inside. Never, I think, when I picture Roberta running her fingers through my goatee that night in the alcove and how much she seemed to like it. But daydreaming about Roberta with

Heidi standing there, staring at me, throws me a little. "Ex-ex-excuse me?" I stutter, and I haven't stuttered in a long time. "Breathe. Take your time. Sound it out. Really open those lips," she issues her familiar string of commands, the ones I haven't heard since the last time I was in her office. "I don't know, Luke." She taps a finger to her lips. "I think I should pencil you in for an emergency session. How about tomorrow morning? Before you head over to the stadium? It'll be fun, just like old times…but not." She smiles at me while grabbing on to my shirt. Okay, I have to put a stop to this

before things get ugly. I clasp her wrists and gently pry her hands away from me. "I'm fine. Really." "Oh, I don't mind," she says breezily. "Besides, after tonight, I'm sure we'll be seeing a whole lot more of each other." "Umm…y-y-yeah, about that," I stumble, hating how, in her presence, my speech keeps faltering right when I need it the most. "I'm superbusy, since I'm back playing and all. I don't think I'll really have time for any more dates after this." She returns her hand to my chest and gives me a playful shove. "Well, I can come to you, anywhere, anytime." "Heidi, I—"

"I brought wine and everything." She slides the bottle out of her bag. "Let's just see where the night takes us, shall we?" I blush red-hot because it seems Heidi has no intentions of going out tonight. She came over here thinking she could seduce me into letting her spend the night. Backing away, my eyes dart to the clock. "Yeah, umm…we should get going." She suggestively bites down on her finger while continuing to smile at me. "I don't care if we eat or not." Something clatters to the floor behind us.

Heidi gasps, "What was that?" "Uh, I'm having my kitchen remodeled." I think fast. "It's a mess back there, stuff falling all over the place. I haven't had a decent meal all day. I don't know about you, but I'm starving. Why don't we go?" "Not until you tell me if your refrigerator's still working," she simpers. I blink, perplexed. "What for?" "For the wine to chill." She gives me a saucy pout. "For later…" Dream on, Heidi, because there isn't going to be a later. I'm only committed to dinner. That's it. I take the bottle and force myself to

smile back at her. "Why don't I meet you out by the car?" She sashays up to me, rubbing her hand up and down my arm. "Now, Luke, don't be silly. I can wait." "But I have to make sure the alarm's working." I enter the code that Roberta set, 9999, and hold the door open for her. "It's been acting up all day, and I don't want it going off the whole time we're gone." "Ah, the joys of living alone, right? No one to depend on but yourself. I know the feeling. But I don't think either one of us will have to worry about that for too much longer." She winks at me before stepping onto the porch, her pink

skirt flouncing behind her in the breeze. I shut the door and bash my head against it. That was close. Gathering myself, I head toward the kitchen, and Roberta snatches the bottle of wine away from me the minute I enter the room. "What the heck are you doing?" she asks, smacking my shoulder. "I have no idea," I reply. "But that doesn't explain why you're standing here, listening to our conversation." "Your mom dropped her fork, and I was on the lookout. I didn't want her coming back here, nosing around." Mom is at the table, eating the chicken and rice dish Roberta prepared, the one I can't get enough of. I ruffle the top of

Mom's head as I stroll around to the other side and steal Roberta's fork to scoop a mouthful off her plate. "Hmmm, this is so good. Save me some, would ya?" Roberta looks up from putting the wine in the fridge. "Hey, that's mine." "And just what were you gonna tell Heidi if she wandered back here?" I inquire, sliding another delicious bite into my mouth. She takes an empty plate out of the cupboard and begins dishing out a portion to set aside for me. "I'm the hired help, so I guess I'm whomever you need me to be. Your interior decorator, your tailor, your bodyguard—"

I start to chuckle. "Bodyguard?" "The only way I was letting her barge in here and frighten your mom was over my dead body," she declares, forcefully tearing a piece of plastic wrap out of the dispenser. I give her a slight shake of my head. "Trust me. I wasn't even going to invite her in, but she got here fifteen minutes early, and I was unable to cut her off at the pass." "Just like you tried to do with me," she scoffs, covering the plate. I bow my head. "Until you became the keeper of all my secrets." We stare at each other for a beat too long, and she's the first to look away.

"Well, don't let me keep you from your date." She gives me a sarcastic little curtsy, extending her hand with a flourish. "It's time for the hired help to get back to work." I close my eyes and breathe. "Roberta, I don't want to go out with her, but I don't have a choice." "Like it's such a hardship for you to have to spend a night with a beautiful woman." She rolls her eyes. "Luke, you don't have to explain yourself to me. It's not like we're in a relationship or anything. I just work for you, remember?" Yeah, I think, except that I wanna kiss you so bad—I can't breathe, I can't

sleep, I can't think about anyone else except for you. I get up from the table and let out a dissatisfied breath. "I guess we all have our duties. You have yours, and I have mine." She looks at me, tucking her chin into her shoulder. "But why does it have to be so hard?" Backing into the hallway, I stop, intrigued. "What does?" She sways back and forth, sticking her hands in her pockets. "I don't know. Life, love…you name it." And I can't look at her because what she may be implying is almost too much to hope for. I turn and guide my hand

down the cheery new wallpaper, gathering the courage to say what my heart is urging me to say. I tap my knuckles against the wall and whisper, "Because anything worth having usually is." When she inhales sharply behind me, I step into the hall and just keep going, too afraid to stop and find out what it could all mean.

Chapter Eighteen Luke "A double date… Really?" Heidi wrinkles her nose at me. "Why? Aren't you having a good time?" I ask brightly, swirling some extra syrup onto my fork from the side of my brownie à la mode. "You're at a table with not one, but two, Stockton Beavers." Right as we got into the car, Danny texted me that he'd decided to cross his date off his to-do list too and asked if I wanted to meet up with him at Russo's. I couldn't type yes fast enough. But as it

turns out, the woman who won him— Chrissy—is a happily married mother of three, a huge baseball fan, and a Beaver Field season ticket holder to boot. In fact, her husband was the one who placed the winning bid on Danny for her as a surprise anniversary present. So Danny didn't need me to be a buffer for him after all, but boy, I sure needed him. I think his initial interest in Heidi has long since worn off, her good looks not enough to sweeten her bitter tongue. Heidi sits back, annoyed. "Yeah, but Russo's? I've been coming here since I was two." She slides the basket of breadsticks away from her across the red and white checked tablecloth.

The waitress returns, setting a cannoli before Chrissy, who smiles up at her. "Thank you," she says before eagerly passing the breadbasket to her. "Do you think I could take these home, too? My kids absolutely love 'em." "Oh, they're the best," Danny readily agrees. "I'm surprised there are any left. I thought I ate them all." We all start laughing, while Heidi just sits there, twirling the straw in her glass. She starts mumbling under her breath, just loud enough for me to hear her, "At least, that's one food item that didn't end up in his beard." I nudge her, making one last valiant attempt to get her to lighten up. "Are you

sure you don't want anything for dessert? I can tell the waitress while she's here." "I already told you—no," she snaps at me. "I can't eat that stuff. I'll get fat." Chrissy pauses with the cannoli halfway to her mouth. And even though it's only one of many snide comments Heidi's made throughout the evening, this is one I can't ignore— because it has nothing to do with me or Stockton or baseball, and everything to do with a nice, sweet lady who doesn't deserve to be treated like that. I remove my napkin from my lap and turn to face her. "Take it back." Bored, she plays with her phone like she can't be bothered with me.

Sensing the tension brewing between us, Chrissy puts her cannoli down and hurriedly licks the filling from her fingers. "It's okay. She's right. These babies go straight to the hips. I guess you can tell I eat way too many sweets." She lets out a nervous giggle, and Danny shoots me a look that speaks volumes. "Well, if your daughters are anywhere near as beautiful as you are, then you must have the best-looking family in all of Stockton." Danny lays on the charm, causing Heidi to exhale loudly beside me. Danny frowns at her, ready to say something when Chrissy intervenes. "Ah,

thanks, Danny. Our girls are beautiful, but I had nothing to do with it," she chuckles. "You see, they're all adopted." "Really?" Danny responds. She smiles at him. "Yeah, I guess I tend to bring my work home with me. I'm a social worker at the foster care agency downtown." The waitress returns with Danny's credit card along with Chrissy's wrapped-up breadsticks and several more takeout containers for the rest of the table. "The food was great. The service was great." Danny signs his name across the receipt and smiles at the waitress before smiling at Chrissy. "But my date was

phenomenal." He brags, getting Chrissy to laugh. "I really hate to call it a night, but…" "Oh, I know it's getting late. Time to vamoose." Chrissy nods, quickly placing her uneaten cannoli into one of the extra containers. "It's a school night, and I still have to get the kids to bed." She raises a hand to Danny's ear, chuckling, "Just between you and me, they never listen to my husband." Heidi snickers but doesn't say anything. Chrissy stands up and Danny, gentleman that he is, helps her on with her jacket. "You hold on to that signature of his, miss. It's gonna be worth

something someday." Chrissy winks at the waitress as she looks up from clearing the table. "I have a feeling this boy's gonna be a star." She fluffs out her collar and grins at me when she catches my eye. "The two of them are. You mark my words. I know talent when I see it. Remember their names—Dan O'Malley and Luke Singleton." The waitress glances over at me, propping her tray against her hip. "Not the Luke Singleton? The guy I talk to practically every night on the phone?" Heidi sits up, leaning her elbows on the table. "You two know each other?" "Yeah, well…sorta," she says, getting flustered. "I think I know the delivery

order for 44 Cedar Crest Lane by heart. How's your mom doing, by the way? I always make sure to remind Billy not to ring the doorbell." Heidi shifts next to me. "Your mom…? You still live with your mom?" I give the waitress a stiff nod. "She's good. Thanks." Danny comes to the rescue, more than willing to snag the waitress's undivided attention. "Do you think you could give me a stack of your takeout menus? I'd love to leave them in the clubhouse for the rest of the guys. A lot of them are new to the area, and they have no idea where to go to get a good meal around here."

"My pleasure." She gestures toward the counter. "Right this way." Danny offers Chrissy his arm then throws a worried backward glance in my direction. I shrug, not knowing what else to do as he leaves me alone with Heidi. "What, do you keep your mom locked in the basement or something?" Heidi clicks her nails impatiently on the table. "I haven't seen her in ages. I thought after your dad died, she moved to Florida or something. Isn't that where all the old people go?" I drain the water that's left in my glass all the way down to the ice. "Nah, she still lives at home."

"Well, why the paranoia about the doorbell, then? What is she, part attack dog?" Heidi laughs. "So you did see the sign…" I grumble. "Yeeeah," she whines, like she's fourteen. "But I didn't think it applied to me." I grimace and push what remains of my brownie aside. "There was like this squealing noise coming from inside your house, and I got scared. But then there were voices…female voices…more than one, actually." Great. She heard more than I thought she did. The alarm didn't drown everything out.

Angling her body closer to mine, she rests her chin in her hand and stares at me intently. "It seems like you're trying to hide something, Luke. But what?" "I'm not trying to hide anything." She studies me with a coy gleam in her eye. "Just like you didn't want the Beavers to know you were seeing a speech therapist, right?" "That was different. That was—" "Luke, you paid for my services out of your own pocket. You didn't charge them to your health insurance or to the Beavers or to anyone else, for that matter. I checked." "That information's supposed to be confidential, Heidi."

And that's when Russo's piped-in music switches abruptly from Dean Martin's jubilant "That's Amore" to the soft opening of The Godfather theme, and my voice rings out through the whole restaurant as everyone turns to stare at me. Heidi waits until we're not the center of attention anymore before whispering, "That's why they weren't going to take you back, wasn't it? They didn't think you'd make a full recovery." I pull back to look at her. "Well, I did. Thanks to you." She slides her hand onto my knee. "Oh, you're gonna thank me all right. Or else those nice folks I've been chatting

with over at Beaver Field are gonna find out that something fishy's going on at your house. Maybe they'll even put me through to Mike Landry this time." "You wouldn't—" "Try me." She looks at me through narrowed eyes, her curtain of blond hair spilling over her shoulder. "If you make it to the majors, I think it'd be a pretty nice gig to be your girlfriend. The best and brightest always leave Stockton, and I'm not about to be left behind." She picks up my fork and breaks off a bite-sized piece of brownie before dipping it in the whipped cream. "Open up, Luke," she entreats, holding it in front of my mouth.

The people at the other tables continue to throw us curious glances, and I have no choice but to let her feed me as she slides the fork between my lips and smiles once I begin to chew. "Hmmm, now doesn't that sound good?" She pats the corners of my mouth with her napkin, fussing all over me. "Now I can't wait to discover all the things you're going to do for me. Count this as the first of many, many dates to come."

Chapter Nineteen Roberta When you first meet him, a selfish man will sweet-talk you into believing that the world revolves around him. Don't fall for it. A man who takes without giving will never put you first. His one and only priority will always be himself. Under the glow of the upstairs nightlight, I nibble on the tip of my pen. Is that advice too harsh? I lift my teacup off the tray and sip at it as I ponder my words. It's not like I've given up entirely on the idea of love, but I expect any young girl

to date with her eyes wide open. Some men are devious and hurtful and cruel, and I'd be doing a grave disservice if I didn't include any warning about them. Guys like that are full of tricks, and no girl deserves to be unhappy just so she can have someone in her life. A key jiggles in the lock down below, and I hastily put my cup down before slipping my journal under the folded-up blanket I'm sitting on. Fresh off another road trip, Luke spent the entire day running errands, fixing the leaky rain gutter on the side of the house, and going on his date—so we haven't had time to catch up. That's why I waited up for him, but he's most likely exhausted and

craving his own bed. It's just that I missed him, more than I thought I would. His soft footfall hits the stairs as he tries to make as little noise as possible. My heart turns over. Uh-oh, he thinks everyone's asleep. What in the world is he going to think when he finds me out here in the hall? Probably that I'm snooping for information on his date, which I totally am… But when he reaches the top, it's apparent that something's not right. His hair's no longer pulled back. His face is red, and his shirt's untucked. Yet his eyes light up the second he sees me. "If I had known I'd have a tea party for two waiting for me back at home, I

definitely would've skipped dessert." He groans, kneeling down beside me. "Man, I could really use some kinda pick-meup right about now." "How'd it go?" I ask, filling his cup before adding a splash of cream and four lumps of sugar to it. He shakes his head in amusement as I hand it to him. "You remembered how I take it." "Well, not many guys drink tea. You stand out," I tease him. He presses his stocky shoulders up against the wall as he sits down next to me. "I'm really liking this tradition we started." He takes a mighty gulp before wiping

his mouth with the back of his hand, and I can't seem to draw my gaze away from his lips, utterly enthralled by the way the facial hair around his mouth is now slightly darker than the rest of his goatee. I have the unbelievable urge to kiss him just to see what it'd feel like, how sweet his lips would taste. Instead, I move the tray in between us and cast a quick glance at his unsuspecting profile. "So tell me about the date. Was it that bad?" He sighs, stretching out his legs. "Do you know I jogged around the square ten times just now? After I brought Heidi back to her car, I just couldn't come in yet. She had me so worked up, I had to

go blow off some steam first. Figure things out." "And did you?" "Yeah, I think I did," he whispers, turning his head and resting it on his shoulder to look at me. "Roberta, there's something we gotta do together. I'm afraid we can't put it off anymore." I inhale sharply. Is he saying what I think he's saying? Is he finally going to kiss me? "By any chance, do you have your phone on you?" I try my best to hide my disappointment. "Yeah…Why?" I turn my head, and we're so close our foreheads are practically touching.

Immediately, I find myself drowning in those gorgeous eyes of his, losing whatever grip I have left on my selfcontrol. Those eyes… Damn it, girl. Get it together. Luke's really cute—so what? It's just that every time I realize it, it seems like a brand new discovery. Before that day at Beaver Field, I never really thought about him like that. In all the online video clips I ever saw of him, he always had his batting helmet on. And he didn't exactly blow me away in the DMV-style mug shot on the Beavers' website. But in person, he exudes this…I don't know what… A quality none of the "studs" I've dated in the past ever came

close to possessing. It's like he's grateful for every breath, every moment, and through that gratitude shines a spirit that takes in everything around him. He's not caught up in how he's coming across. He's more interested in acknowledging the person in front of him. And somewhere deep inside my heart, I recognize that for what it really is— complete and utter selflessness. Without another word, I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, willing to give him anything he asks for. He sits up, looking me square in the eye. "We need to tell Landry that I hired you." Anything but that, I think, as panic

floods through me all at once. "Are you crazy? You said—" "Forget what I said." He gently puts his hand over mine. "It doesn't matter now…Heidi knows." I yank my hand out from under his. "You told her?" "No, of course not," he insists. "She heard you and Mom when she was standing on the porch. She knows something's up, and she's threatening to tell the Beavers if I don't cooperate." He meets my gaze, and I can't look away as his eyes peer into mine. "Please, Roberta. We have to tell him. It's the only way I won't have to go on any more dates with her. Because as far as I'm

concerned, what little downtime I have belongs to you and Mom and no one else." There's no mistaking that he means every word of what he just said. He basically admitted that he has zero interest in getting involved with another woman, and it makes me tingle all the way down to my toes. He wants to be at home with me and not go out with anyone else. Trying to hide the warmth that's creeping into my cheeks, I bend my knees and bring them up to my chin. "Okay, so what exactly are we going to tell Landry?" "Just that Mom got sick, and you'll be taking care of her for a little while."

"But Luke, you don't know Landry like I do," I protest. "He's going to want details." "Roberta," Luke pleads, reaching for my hand again. "He can't find out she has Alzheimer's. He'll want to get involved, and I—" "You can't risk it." I nod, placing my hand on top of his. "I understand. I wouldn't be here if I didn't." Lowering his head, he nods, whispering, "I know." Having my hand on his is a heady feeling. It's bigger than mine, stronger than mine. And by him reaching out to me, it's evident that in the span of a few short weeks how much he's come to trust

me. And the sad thing is he's been nothing but open and honest with me, when I've been keeping so much from him. Reluctantly, I release his hand and set my phone on top of the tray. "Just follow my lead, okay?" He stares down as I hit the speaker button before he quickly glances up at me again. "Thank you for doing this." I give him a wry grin. "Don't thank me yet." It starts to ring, and for a moment, I close my eyes, not wanting to have to lie to my good friend, but knowing how much Luke may need me to. And it's not like Luke's completely wrong in his

assessment. Landry lives to fix people. He did it with me. He did it with Luke. And I'm sure he'd like nothing more than to barge in and save the day by "helping" Luke's mom. It's just the kind of guy he is. He means well, but at the same time, he can be extremely domineering. I think, ever since his wife died, it's the only way he can demonstrate some control over this crazy thing called life. "Bobbie Jo?" Landry greets me with his familiar twang. And for a moment, I feel a sharp pang in my heart. It's been a while since anyone's called me Bobbie Jo, and I didn't realize how much I'd missed it until hearing his voice. I shut my eyes

and breathe. Right now is not the time to dwell on the fact Landry's the only person in my life who knows my real name. It came about the morning he drove me home from the hospital. Any other person would've wanted to know what I had done and why, but he came to trust me after watching how I eased his wife through her final moments. He didn't ask questions when he picked me up after my surgery, and he never pressed me for answers later. He was simply there for me at a time when I needed a friend, and he's been in my corner ever since, respecting my privacy enough to support me, while at the same time, knowing

well enough to let me be. In return, although I never confided in him about David, I asked him if, from that point on, he'd call me by my real name, Bobbie Jo. A part of me I wish I could share with Luke. "Is it really you, darlin'? Where in tarnation have you been hidin'?" I roll my eyes for Luke's benefit and receive a jittery smile from him in return. "Now, Landry. What a thing to say. It's not like we haven't texted each other since you've been back at the ranch." "But it'd still be good to hear your voice once in a while," he scolds me. "I miss you. The kids miss you. It's not the

same around here without you." And my heart lurches again because I hated having to walk away from those kids, my maternal instincts crying out, especially for his daughter, Taylor. Truth be told, whenever I write in my journal, she's how I envision my daughter to be —smart, blond, full of life. Luke's smile falters somewhat when he sees how much Landry's words are affecting me. Panicking, I rush on, needing to get a grip on my emotions. "Now don't go telling me any tall tales, cowboy. It seems there's still plenty of hubbub going on around you. Was that a splash I just heard in the background?" He chuckles. "Yeah, I'm grillin' up

some steaks by the pool for a late dinner. Ruby's comin' over and—" "Hold on a minute… Ruby Brier?" A sly grin crosses my lips as Luke's eyes meet mine. "Now, Bobbie Jo, don't you start," Landry drawls. "We were over at the cancer center, droppin' off the check from the auction, and the kids invited her over. Since she's been helpin' me set up the patient advocacy side of the organization and all, I thought, why not? Now's as good a time as any to thank her for all she's been doin' for me." "Well, as it turns out, I'm not alone here either." I wink at Luke. "I'm sitting next to your big auction draw, himself."

Landry spits out whatever it was he was drinking. "Single?" he chokes. "You're there with Single?" It's hard to decipher what's going through Landry's head right now, even for me, but Luke leans forward and gamely jumps right in. "Hey, man. What's up?" But Landry rudely ignores him. "Bobbie Jo, am I on speaker?" When Luke's face goes white, I attempt to laugh it off. "Well…yeah." "Take me off, please." And that's when I start to get worried because this isn't the Mike Landry I know. I can't even look at Luke as I lift the phone to my ear. "What is it?"

"Bobbie Jo, just what do you think you're up to?" Landry starts in on me. "What? Nothing!" "He was supposed to be goin' out with the auction winner tonight. So what's he doing there with you?" Luke's face is turning from white to green, and I place my hand over my beating heart. "Relax, Landry. He did go on the date with her. I can personally vouch for him." "And do I even wanna know how you're able to do that?" "Because he hired me to take care of his mom," I blurt out. "That's what we were calling to tell you about." Landry sighs heavily on the other end,

and all I can do is shrug at Luke as he buries his head in his hands. The steaks are sizzling on the grill, and I wait for Landry to turn them over one by one, before he responds, "I thought we had a pact, Bobbie Jo." I sit up straight, like I just got caught doing something wrong. "We do." "Then why are you there with one of my players?" he asks, point-blank. "It's not like that." His phone dings and he doesn't answer me right away. Instead all I hear is a chair scraping over the cement as he drags it closer to the kids yelling in the pool. I wait, growing increasingly anxious, until he finally retorts, "It's not?

'Cause right now I'm readin' an email that's just been forwarded to me. You wanna know who it's from?" He pauses briefly only to groan in my ear. "The young lady who won him in the auction…Heidi Foster. She's complaining about how disappointed she was in the whole evening—and I haven't even gotten past the subject line yet. So I wanna know, Bobbie Jo: why would Luke end his date early and come a runnin' to you?" I groan, and Luke looks up, clutching his forehead. "He didn't come a runnin' to me. He came a runnin' to his mom, Landry. I can't help it if the three of us happen to be living in the same house

together." Landry goes through the roof. "What?!" "You heard me," I reply calmly. "Bobbie Jo, what can possibly be wrong with Carla Singleton that you had to go and move in with them?" Luke chews on his lip, watching me. This is it, moment of truth. I can't screw this up for him. "She had an accident in the kitchen and burned her hands. So she can't do much of anything. That's why I'm here." All right, I didn't flat-out lie to him. I wouldn't do that. But will the little I told him be enough? "So it's only a temporary arrangement,

then?" he prods. "I really can't give you a time frame, Landry," I dodge. "Every client is different." "But that doesn't explain why I'm the last person to know about this," he huffs. "You're not," I respond more gently in order to smooth his ruffled feathers. "Luke just didn't want to bother you about it. He offered me the job the night you had me deliver the tickets to his house, and not having any other immediate employment opportunities, I decided to take him up on it." "You're tellin' me that you'd swear on a stack of Bibles that's all it is? That it's nuthin' more than a job to you?"

I cross my fingers behind my back as I glance over at Luke. "I swear." "'Cause I don't need any more drama when it comes to Single, Bobbie Jo. What I need is for him to start firing on all cylinders so I can get the front office off my back about him," he mutters. "They don't like how he's scared of his own shadow, especially when there's been no noticeable spike in ticket sales for bringin' him back." Wow, Landry's even more frazzled working for the Heimlichs than he was playing for them. But at least now his irritable behavior's starting to make sense. He didn't want Luke on the line because he's been facing a lot of heat for

sticking by him, and he wasn't about to let one of his players see him sweat. "Landry, I get it, and so does Luke. That's why he hired me. To give him the peace of mind he needs so he can go out and play every day." "Bottom line, Single has to start hittin' the ball the way he did last year," Landry replies. "So if you're able to take some of the pressure off of him at home and keep him focused at the ballpark, then I guess you being there is a good thing." "Really?" I squeak, and Luke shifts his head to the side, like he's trying to decipher my reaction. "Yeah, just remember, no funny business, Bobbie Jo," Landry taunts me.

"Single's comin' around, but he's not there yet. His confidence is still extremely shaky. So don't go tying the poor guy up in knots with your feminine wiles, all right?" "Landry, you make me sound like… I'm not even going to say it." And I'm finally greeted by that big, booming laugh of his. "What kinda big brother would I be if I didn't watch out for my little sis?" "A good big brother," I chide him. "Oh, and…enjoy your date with Ruby." "It's not a date—" "Uh-huh… Bye, Landry," I mutter, hanging up on him, bratty kid sister that I am.

But it's clear Luke's still on edge because, before I can even put down the phone, he asks, "What did he say?" "Well, he's not thrilled about the whole situation, but he'll get over it," I reply as diplomatically as I can. "The big thing is that I was able to avoid the subject. For better or worse, he still has no clue about your mom's Alzheimer's." In the midst of his excitement, Luke stands, pulling me up with him, and his arms immediately go around my waist. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," he whispers into my hair. "Thank you sooooo much." He envelops me in a big hug, and I rock back and forth for a bit on my toes.

It feels nice and safe, and my knees buckle as I melt into him like there's no other place in the world I'd rather be. It's only when he leans back a little that I'm aware of how tightly I'm gripping his sleeve that I'm actually tugging the collar of his shirt down over his shoulder. Unable to look away, my eyes hungrily follow the path of skin I've exposed on his body, running from his chiseled bicep across his collarbone and up to his neck. My heart tightens when the nightlight shines on something I hadn't noticed before—a tiny scar left over from his injury—and all I want to do is run my lips over it, ready and willing to do whatever it takes to make it disappear

forever. Seeing the way I'm eyeing him, he glides his thumb along my cheek and whispers, "Landry's right, you know. I did leave my date and come a runnin' to you." And I swoon like I've never swooned before. This is crazy. He's not my type. I'm not into short guys, sensitive guys, guys who wear their heart on their sleeve. But being eye to eye with him as we stand here, he sees me and I see him. I don't have to look up. He's not dominating me. We're equals. And I've never felt that with a man before, ever. He moves in, and I blink, knowing this isn't a good idea. In the end, I'm only

going to break his heart. I can't let this happen. I can't… But, oh… I moan against his mouth as he presses his full lips to mine. They're so warm, so tender, I can't get enough of them. Reaching up, I do what I wanted to do and stroke the scar on the side of his neck, and he gasps, opening his mouth to me even more. When I feel his hot breath on my face, I don't hesitate. I deepen the kiss, groaning against him as I taste the sugary sweetness of his tongue, not stopping until my hands are buried in his hair, loving that it's even softer than I thought it'd be. "Lukey! Where are you? Lukey!" And just as suddenly as we came

together, we break apart. Pulling his shirt back into place, he gasps for breath, somewhat comically hanging his head. "Good night, Roberta." I roll back on my heels, my chest heaving. "Not again…" "But think about it. Isn't that what made this so good? The anticipation?" He smiles at me. "Just wait until next time." "Oh, yeah?" I smirk back at him. "Who said there's going to be a next time?" "Your lips." His reply is so matter-of-fact that I start to giggle, and as he moves down the hall toward his mom's room, I'm

rewarded with the low, sexy rumble of his laughter. Every man I've ever been involved with has made me cry. I lean against the wall and savor the lingering heat of Luke's body on mine. I never thought I'd find one who'd make me laugh. But the question is: with so many things working against us, can I allow myself to believe he really can be mine?

Chapter Twenty Luke I plunge my hands into the basin of the sink and splash cold water on my face. Letting it drip from my goatee, I try to cool down a bit. For the past hour, I've had to sit on the couch with Roberta, watching TV with Mom in between us. She's so tantalizingly close, and yet I can't touch her, can't ask her where we stand, because I can't seem to snag any alone time with her. I shake the water from my face. It's been a week since I kissed her, and every time I try to steal a private moment

with her, all these obstacles keep popping up. Either I'm home and she's out, or I'm free and she's busy. The few times we've actually been in the same room together, Mom always seems to be there too. Is life really getting in the way, or is she purposely avoiding me? Either way, I'm going out of my mind. After that kiss, living in the same house is turning out to be a lot harder than I thought it would be. It's killing me knowing when she's in the shower, or worse yet, hearing her roll around in bed while I lie wide awake on the other side of the wall. Let's be honest. I didn't expect one kiss to change everything, but I never

imagined we'd go on just the same as before. And I don't know how to go about moving forward. Don't women usually take care of this kind of stuff? They're the ones who put labels on everything, indicating which boundaries need to be crossed and when. But Roberta's not doing any of that. It's like she's leaving it up to me to define what we are. "Luke, are you all right in there?" I grip the sides of the sink, thinking back to when I said those exact same words to her after I inadvertently gave her a cold shower—something I could really use right about now. I have half a mind to open the door and pull her in

here with me only to ravage that soft, sweet mouth of hers. That's what a strong, confident man would do. "Yeah, I'm fine." But I'm not a strong, confident man. Right now, I feel more like a scared little boy. For one very big reason— David Nichols is pitching against the Beavers this weekend. "Are you sure?" she asks again. God, why would she ever be interested in having a wuss like me for a boyfriend? I should be fired up, gunning to put a guy like Nichols in his place— but I'm not. "I'm sure," I reply. I hold my breath, but all's quiet. And

I'm glad she's gone because where do I even begin to explain what I went through to her? The debilitating pain I suffered at Nichols's hands is seared into my senses. Tipping my head to the side, I finger the scar on my neck, remembering what it felt like to have to gasp for my next breath and not knowing if it was going to come before I blacked out. But I can't exactly stay in the downstairs bathroom all night either. With a frustrated groan, I step out. And there she is, standing there, waiting for me. "You were in there long enough." I scramble for a response. "Yeah, I'm not feeling that well. I think I'm just

gonna call it a night." She reaches for my arm. "What's wrong?" There it is, that electricity. I feel it the second she touches me, and there's no denying the intensity of the feelings I have for her. I take a deep breath and try to keep it together. "Nothing, just a headache." I make a move to walk past her, but she doesn't let go of my arm. "Why don't you take something for it?" Raising my eyes to hers, I give her the faintest hint of a smile. "I don't think aspirin will help." "You're nervous, aren't you?" "About what?"

"About this weekend." I sigh, and she knows she has me. "Luke, it's okay." Her hand travels up my arm to my shoulder, and my muscles ripple in response. Her hand stops, and I exhale loudly, shuffling my feet. But still, she doesn't say anything, not giving me the least sign of encouragement. I drop my eyes, skimming them over her body, and based on the beautiful blush rising up her neck, I'm certain I'm not the only one who's feeling the heat simmering between us. I give it a moment, waiting for her to tell me what she wants. But she remains quiet. In fact, she doesn't even move. "I'm going to bed," I whisper.

And I swear I hear her whimper, but it's so soft, I can't be sure. Oh God, if it was the sweet sound of submission falling from her lips, there's nothing I'd like more than to scoop her up in my arms and carry her upstairs with me. Right now, she's the only thing that can make me forget about Nichols coming to town. All I want to do is drown in those clear, blue eyes of hers. I'm ready to lose myself inside them. She takes a step back. "Good night, Luke." And it guts me to hear her take the promise that's been building between us and just walk away. "Roberta…" I moan.

She starts ambling backward, giving me a weak smile. "It's okay. Get some rest." But more alone time's not what I need right now. What I really need is her.

Chapter Twenty-One Luke Like Landry told me, all I can do is take it day by day. And after the night I've had, hitting a home run in my first at-bat, I splash through the puddles that are popping up all over the infield, feeling like a kid again. After being away from the game, I've come to appreciate the little things even more. But my teammates aren't too happy about it, even with Landry's opening day lecture still fresh in their minds. "Isn't it a little late for this?" our hulking behemoth of a shortstop, Rob

Reardon, grouses next to me. He's the number one prospect in the organization, 6'5" and 235 pounds of sheer muscle. And apparently, he's not too keen on indulging in a little Beaver Field tradition, the one that requires the position players to help the grounds crew drag the tarp onto the field. So maybe it's up to me to set a good example and do what Dad would've done. "Yeah, it probably is." I grin up at him. "But it's one of the things I love about being in the minors. You get to pitch in. Feel like you're a part of things." "You really think this is fun, don't

you?" He reaches for a piece of the tarp that's billowing above my head and yanks it down for me to grab on to. "It's better than having to play nine innings with you," I manage to say with a straight face. As my double-play partner, Rob bungled an easy out right before the umpires called a rain delay. He couldn't get a good grip on the ball, no doubt because his fingers were as wet as mine. But committing a defensive error wasn't how he was hoping to end the day. He glances back at me over his shoulder, rain streaming from his cap, down his nose, and off his chin. My bottom lip starts to quiver because he

looks like he's bawling his eyes out. When he slips and nearly falls, I crack up, and goofball that Rob is, so does he. "God, that must've looked ridiculous from the stands," Rob moans. "I hope nobody got that on video." "Aww, R-squared doesn't want any embarrassing footage of himself out there when he blazes onto the New York scene," Hoff heckles him. "Some of us know how to laugh at ourselves, Hoff," I'm quick to reply. "You should try it sometime." It's a group effort as we struggle to unfurl the rain-laden plastic over the field. The monstrosity of a tarp is flapping in the breeze behind us,

seemingly alive and refusing to be tamed. My cleats are sinking into the soggy dirt as I struggle to keep up with the pace Rob's setting as he leads us across the diamond. "Laugh all you want, Single," Hoff counters, breathing hard. "'Cause you sure as heck won't be laughing tomorrow." "So, what's the plan?" Rob asks, lowering his voice. "Is the first guy to face him gonna toss his bat and charge the mound?" "Don't be an idiot, kid," Hoff sputters. "If anybody's challenging him, it's gonna be me." "I don't think so, fellas," I scoff. "I

don't need you fighting my battles for me." Rob glances down. "Well, you're not taking him on yourself, Single. You can just forget about it." "Although, he would try something stupid like that," Hoff mutters to Rob over my head. "Talk about a Napoleon complex." "Yeah, well, he didn't hit you. Did he, Hoff?" I glare at him. The head of the grounds crew is directing the team through the roar of the storm, rhythmically chanting, "Heave ho! Heave ho!" Not that it's going to make much of a difference, the field conditions are already so bad there's no way we'll

be resuming this game. Which means the next time we take the field, it'll be tomorrow night against the New York Titans' Triple-A squad, the Clearwater Clash. And I have every intention of handling David Nichols myself. I don't care if I have to play the fool. I don't care if I get fined. Whatever the consequences, I'm ready to do what I have to do. "Single, I get it. It's personal. But Nichols is insane. You can't just make a run at him. You need a plan," Rob exhorts. Oh, I have a plan, Rob. You just don't know what it is yet. "And I bet he's learned a thing or two

while he was in prison," Hoff mumbles. "He's only added to his bag of dirty tricks." "You gotta grab him by the front of the jersey and hold on," Rob advises, demonstrating what he means, strong enough to manage his share of the tarp with one hand. "It'll help you stay upright, so you can keep your balance for as long as possible. Whatever you do, don't let him get you down on the ground." "'Cause then it'll be over," Hoff concurs. "Guys, c'mon. Lay off," I groan as I struggle with the heavy, rain-soaked tarp.

"If it turns into a bloodbath, we're not gonna leave you out there for Nichols to pummel you to death," Hoff groans, his face turning red with exertion. "We'll come drag him off you if we have to." I turn my head to glower at him. "Gee, thanks, but that's not gonna happen. I guarantee it." Rob reclaims the tarp with both hands, and even though Hoff and I are way too proud to admit it, I think we both breathe a sigh of relief. The kid's as strong as an ox. We make it across first base, completely covering the infield, and the fans sitting in the seats with their ponchos and umbrellas start cheering and whistling their approval, some with

their phones aimed right at us. Giving them a big wave, I bump Hoff's arm. "See, old man. Wasn't that fun?" He reluctantly raises his hand to acknowledge them. "Oh, a blast." When a deafening crack of thunder booms overhead, Rob eyes the sky warily. "Okay, the Beavers' star player needs to get off the field, pronto." "You mean me?" I rib him as we run alongside each other, leaving Hoff and his creaky catcher's knees in the dust. I'm just about to overtake Rob's lumbering strides when I'm forced to pull up after he smacks the brim of my cap down over my eyes, blinding me.

He chuckles as he sprints by. "Don't worry. We have your back, Single. Nothing's gonna happen to you. Not this time." I lift my head and kick the dirt with my foot. When I found out David Nichols was back in Triple-A, the last thing I wanted was for it to become a distraction. Being injured taught me a lesson in humility. I'm not the hitter I was before I got hurt; that much is certain. At .195, my batting average sounds more like an interstate number than a respectable baseball stat. And I refuse to be the weak link who holds the team back. David Nichols isn't going to hurt anyone else on the Beavers, not if I can

help it. I throw a hasty glance at section 110, and my stomach turns over when I don't see Mom anywhere. Relax, idiot. Roberta probably just moved her out of the rain somewhere. I wanted to get them tickets for tomorrow night's game against the Clash. With the threat of Nichols looming before me, I wanted them here with me for moral support. But Roberta talked me into letting them come tonight instead, insisting that she couldn't bear to watch me face Nichols again. And the thought of causing her any more distress strengthens my resolve for what I'm about to do. I sit on the top step of the dugout and

stare out at the tarp, and the idea taking shape in my mind is the one way I can solve this without any more violence. Dad was well-known for clowning around, juggling balls during warmups, racing Bucky Beaver in between innings. He was all about having fun and creating an atmosphere that's enjoyable for the fans. And right now, there are a lot of grumpy faces in the stands, thanks to yet another rainout. That's not going to help Landry when it comes to doubling last year's attendance. And now I'm about to hijack tomorrow night's highly anticipated matchup, but maybe if something positive comes out of it, it'll appease his

anger at me somewhat. "Looking mighty fine, ninety-nine." And there's Roberta, holding an umbrella over Mom's head and smiling at me from the row above the dugout. "Ladies." I tip my cap at them. "The clouds just seem to open up around here whenever you two are in the house." "Rain, rain, go away," Mom chants to herself. "Come again another day." "That may be so, but it doesn't explain what the heck you're doing." Roberta raises an eyebrow at me as I kick off my cleats and proceed to remove my stirrups and socks. "Landry wants to keep the fans happy, right?" I look up at her, a grin tugging at

my lips. "Well, then someone has to give them a reason to be." "What do you mean?" she demands as I push the pants of my uniform up and over my knees. I stand, rubbing my hands together. "Baby, it's time to slip 'n slide." Just when she realizes what I'm about to do, I run out of the dugout in my bare feet, taking heart when the guys on the field start cheering me on. They're so loud that the fans who are left pick up on it. Feeding off their energy, I jump over the pitcher's mound and belly flop across the slippery surface of the tarp. With water splashing up all around me, I spread my arms and legs and glide all

the way to home plate. When I come to a complete stop, I prop myself up on my knees and wipe my face on the front of my uniform, raising a fist to the crowd. And they go crazy, a huge grin on each and every one of their faces. And it feels good to make people smile, even though this isn't the kind of star player Landry's after. That's Rob— not me, not anymore. The torch has been passed. Now I'm just the guy coming off one of the most horrific injuries in baseball history. And with David Nichols's impending return to Beaver Field, that's something I don't want to be known for, just like Dad was so much more than Mr. Beaver.

But apparently the fans aren't done with me yet when another huge roar goes up from the crowd. I look up and quickly realize they're not cheering for me, not anymore. Instead, their attention is focused on whatever's going on behind me. I turn just in time to see Roberta come barreling toward me, her wet Tshirt clinging to her body, her mass of ringlets bouncing around her shoulders as she copies my dive, stretching out and completing a perfect slide. She's laughing hysterically when she rolls over onto her back and squints up at the sky, the rain hitting her in the face full-on. I bend down to shield her as much as I can, looking into her eyes.

"Roberta, what in the world did you do that for?" Her eyes twinkle up at me. "Why did you?" She has me there, but there's no time to discuss it. The security guards are starting to approach us, and she shouldn't be out here with me. Technically, she's not allowed. I wave them off, shouting, "It's okay. She's with me. She's my—" And I can't believe I almost say…girlfriend. She stares up at me, her chest rising and falling. "I'm you're what?" she asks coyly. I need to stop while I'm ahead and leave it right there. We kissed. That's it.

We never talked about it. I don't know what she's thinking, and I'm too afraid to find out. I offer her my hand to help her up. "You're my…lifeboat." "Wow, Luke. How poetic." She wraps her fingers around mine, nearly pulling me down on top of her as I lose my footing. Dropping to my knees, one of my hands lands alongside her hip, while the one that's clasped tightly in hers comes to rest on her stomach. My heart is beating hard and fast. I can't breathe. With raindrops collecting on her skin, her hair, all over her body—I've never seen anyone look as beautiful as she does right now.

The crowd is hooting and hollering as they watch us, and my neck prickles in embarrassment. They expect me to kiss her. I know they do. But I don't want an audience. If we ever get around to picking up where we left off, it's going to be for us, not for them. I brace myself, using the muscles in my legs this time so she can't get the upper hand on me, as I bring her to her feet. She clings to my bicep, and I keep it together somewhat until her other hand slides down my chest. I stare at her, wanting so much to touch her like she's touching me. But she backs away to wring out the ends of her hair. Shot down, I look away, and the

thought that's usually always at the forefront of my mind comes rushing to the surface. "Oh my God! Where's Mom?" Roberta places her hand lightly in the center of my back. "Luke, I wouldn't have come out here if your friend Danny hadn't come over to say hello. She's fine." I take a deep breath to steady myself. "Okay, why did you come out here? You still haven't given me an answer." We head toward the dugout, and she crosses her arms in front of her, suddenly conscious of just how thin her T-shirt really is. "C'mon, Luke. You're just trying to get in trouble so you won't

have to play in the series against the Clash. Am I right?" I remove my cap and scratch the back of my head. "No…" "Oh, really?" she confronts me. "Luke, it's okay to be scared, but you're not some joke, so don't act like one." I cringe inwardly at her assessment, knowing that she's dead-on, but I don't feel like admitting that to her. "You sound like a psychiatrist," I groan. "Well, I'm not, but I do know what it's like to be scared to death of someone." What? Just who is she afraid of? She's not afraid of anybody. She's fearless. I want to question her more, but I can't, not with Danny standing right there.

"I feel so left out." He pouts from underneath Mom's umbrella. "Yeah, right. You're the only one who's still dry," I rib him. "Since you wouldn't even come out to help with the tarp." "Hey, man." He shrugs, lifting the umbrella and causing Mom to grab his wrist and bring it right back down. "You know as a pitcher I don't have to do it. I gotta save my arm. All I need is to blow it out doing something stupid like that." "Did you get hit too?" Mom asks, glancing up at him. "Nah, Ma. He's just being a prima donna." "He did, didn't he?" she continues.

"He hit my Lukey. He hit her too." She points at Roberta, and for the first time since I've known her, she looks downright terrified. "No…no, he didn't." "Yes, he did." Mom stomps her foot. "He did… He did… He did!" Contradicting Mom only ever seems to rile her up. Roberta knows that. So why'd she choose to do it now, when we're in public, no less? "I think it's time to go," I mutter, casting a furtive glance around, hoping that nobody's watching her. "But, dude," Danny argues as Roberta takes the umbrella from him. "You can't leave in your uniform. It's against the rules."

Good. Another infraction. I definitely won't be playing tomorrow. I tuck Mom's arm under mine. "Oh, yeah? Watch me." I glance at Roberta, but it's like she's lost somewhere inside her head. Yeah, she's disappointed in me for not copping to my fears, but it's not about me. It's about the safety of my teammates. I don't want them getting hurt in some brawl over me. But I wonder if that's all I did wrong. Is it also because I didn't kiss her out there? Luckily, I know how to rectify that. Just wait until we get home…

Chapter Twenty-Two Roberta My blood runs cold the minute we step out of Luke's Subaru. "Hi, Mrs. Singleton! It's Heidi. Heidi Foster. Don't you remember me? I went to high school with your son." "What's she doing here?" I mutter to Luke. "I don't know, but she's not staying." He guides his mom over to me, letting his hands linger on both of our shoulders, like he's trying to draw whatever strength he can from us before having to deal with Heidi. "Take Mom

inside for me, would ya? I'll get rid of her." Up past her bedtime, Luke's mom nods against me, half asleep. She's basically incoherent at this point, and it's obvious she doesn't recognize Heidi. The last thing she needs right now is for her memory to be put to the test. "What's wrong with your mom, Luke?" Heidi calls out as her heels click up the driveway. "She doesn't look too good. Is she sick or something?" Luke reluctantly turns to face her. "Heidi, now's not a good time. You should go." "But I came all the way over here to bring you these brownies." She holds up

the box she's carrying. "I was slaving away all night. Aren't you at least gonna taste one?" Under the porch light, the crease in Luke's brow deepens. "What did you do that for?" I stick the key in the lock, but I turn back just in time to see her lay a hand on his arm. "To wish you luck, silly. You're going up against the guy who hit you tomorrow night, aren't you?" He removes her hand from his arm. "Sorry, but I don't need a dozen storebought brownies in order to do that." She shoves the box against his chest. "So what if they are? You liked the one at Russo's well enough."

I snort from the porch, and she glares over at me. "Who's she…the housekeeper?" I stare her down, and she gives me a haughty little smirk through her perfectly applied lipstick. But before I can really give it to her, Luke responds for me, "Drop it, Heidi. It's not your concern." "So you're telling me she's your girlfriend? Funny how that never came up on our date." "That's because our date wasn't real, Heidi. Or don't you know that?" I wince; that's not the approach he should take with her. Getting her angry is only going to make her even more

curious about me. I open the front door for Luke's mom and let her enter in front of me. Should I go back out there or should I just stay out of it? Inwardly debating what I should do, I follow Mrs. S.'s shuffling feet into the living room and get her settled in front of the TV, keeping the volume on low so I can catch bits and pieces of what's going on out there through the partially open door. His mom's eyes are already starting to close as I draw an afghan over her legs. She's on the verge of drifting off. There's no way she's going to move from this couch, and I can't just leave Luke out there with Heidi as I listen to her fire off question

after question at him. I have to help him get out of this jam. If I'm going to do this, now's the time. With purpose, I stride across the room and back onto the porch. Shutting the door behind me, I interrupt her interrogation by calling out to her, "Yep, you guessed it. I'm the housekeeper." Heidi raises her head and shoots me an icy glare, none too pleased with me for butting into what she assumed was a private conversation between her and Luke. "Really? Then why were you riding in the front seat of the car and not the back?" She smiles at me, her white teeth gleaming when I unknowingly fall right into the trap she set for me.

Luke fumbles for a reason. "My mom…likes to sit in the back." "And you don't?" she asks, her attention riveted on me. "I'm sorry. What's your name again?" Her phoniness sets my teeth on edge. "Roberta. Roberta Bennett." She taps a finger to her lips. "Now why do you look so familiar? Have we met before?" "I don't think so." "Are you sure?" "Positive." She smiles smugly at me. "Interesting." "What is?" Luke asks, getting overly defensive.

"I never forget a name, or a face. I'm sure I'll figure out how I know you eventually, Roberta. Then we'll have a good laugh over it, I'm sure." A tremor of uncertainty enters my head. She can't know who I am, can she? It's not possible. Nobody knows that I was married to David, not even Landry. She saunters closer to Luke, and before he even knows what she's doing, she places a hand on his shoulder, rises up on her toes, and kisses his cheek. "There's more where that came from." She steps back, grinning at him. "Call me." Tossing her hair, she shoots me a

contemptuous look, letting me know in no uncertain terms that it's on—it is so on. She's not giving up on Luke without a fight. She wants him, and she's determined to have him, regardless if I plan on stopping her or not. And a sharp stab of jealousy knifes me in the stomach when I realize she's so petite she had to stand on her tiptoes in order to kiss him. And that caveman side that's in every hot-blooded man had to find that flattering. Guys always prefer girls who are smaller than they are. It's Biology 101. After she pulls away in a Volkswagen Jetta that's sickeningly the same shade of red as her lipstick, Luke strides down to

the curb and throws the brownies inside one of the trash cans. He dusts off his hands, making me laugh. Okay, maybe he's not feeling her so much after all. He stomps onto the porch, his jaw set in annoyance, and I can't resist teasing him, "I would've eaten those brownies if you didn't want them." A welcome light enters his eyes as the corner of his mouth starts to twitch. "Now you tell me." I laugh, and I'm glad when he does too. All I want to do is help him relax and not think about tomorrow. Lifting my arms, I grab on to his biceps and spin him around. "What are you doing?" he asks,

immediately tensing up now that my hands are on him. "Loosening you up. You're a nervous wreck, Singleton." I grind my hands into his shoulders, ready to work out all the kinks. As I continue to touch him, he takes on the same tortured stance that he did last night. I can feel the tension he's carrying in his muscles as I begin to give him a much-needed massage. It's like every time I go near him, he feels the need to hold himself back because of how I've been rebuffing his advances. With the thought of David coming to town, I've been feeling so unsure of myself, giving in to my doubts about pursuing any kind

of relationship with Luke. Now on the eve of the biggest night of his career, I have the poor guy all strung out. I have to fix it. I have to make it right. But as soon as I rub the side of his neck, he groans like a man on the brink. I bite down on the inside of my cheek, but not before a breathy sigh escapes my lips. Hearing it, he turns his head ever so slightly, allowing the soft ends of his hair to brush against my fingertips, and I feel it deep down inside me. Splaying my hands, I take hold of him, increasing the pressure of my fingers. I bend my head and sigh when the back of his shirt skims across my forehead. He remains stock-still, yet there's a slight slackening

of his posture, so I know my fingers are working their magic. But when I run my nails down the length of his back, he spreads his legs far apart and starts shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Roberta," he whispers, fisting his hands at his sides. "Maybe we should…" "Take this inside? I couldn't agree more." In one fell swoop, he turns around and picks me up, and I blush when he cups my backside in his hands. I knew he was strong, but knowing it and experiencing it are two completely different things. I cross my ankles behind his back, locking my legs around his waist, and it's like I

can't get close enough to him. I want more…so much more. He opens the door and we step inside, and I can't help but whisper, "Luke, what about your mom?" My chest is pressed against his as he takes a deep breath, but he makes no move to put me down. Instead, he heads for the stairs. "Luke! We can't just leave her down here," I protest against his ear. Reluctantly, he lowers me to my feet. "How long?" I smile at what he's suggesting. "Twenty…thirty minutes, tops." He runs his hand over his mouth as he stares at me. "Make it twenty." I smack his elbow as my phone

chimes through my handbag. "Ugh, I'd better get that. It could be Landry." Knowing that Luke's watching me bend over, my face gets hot. I'm just about to answer it when a missed call message pops up onscreen. "Was it him?" Luke asks. "No," I reply, attempting to hide my phone from him. But he's too quick for me. He takes it and studies it a moment before handing it back to me. "Rhode Island. Who do you know in Rhode Island?" "No one. It's probably a wrong number." He gives me a lopsided grin. "All right. Then why are you so freaked out

about it?" "I'm not!" I argue, backing away from him. "It's just that…" He steps in front of me. "What?" I pull my hair away from my face and flip it over my shoulder. "Maybe now's not such a good time. It's late. I have to get your mom ready for bed. You need to —" He reaches for me. "What I need is—" I place my hand over his lips. "Please…don't say it." A shudder runs through me when I feel his warm breath on my fingers, but I do my best to contain it. "Luke, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. I can't…We can't." I turn away from him, hating myself

for it. But I'm not about to take the next step with him, not when I know very well who played in Rhode Island tonight.

Chapter Twenty-Three Roberta Seven years earlier I pull the lasagna out of the microwave and smile. I've been looking forward to this all day. After working through a double shift at the nursing home, all I want to do is unwind in my new apartment with a glass of wine and the delicious takeout I picked up from the little Italian deli down the street. I'm still learning all that the neighborhood has to offer, but even so, it already feels like home to me, more than living with David ever did.

Placing my plate on the table, I sit down, ready to dig in. Tonight is all about celebrating being a single woman again since my attorney called today to tell me that David had been served with the divorce papers. It's official. I've taken the first step toward dissolving our marriage. Still, I'm a bit anxious, knowing that my current address had to be listed in order for the paperwork to be filed. I could've spoken up and raised concerns about my safety, but I was too embarrassed to explain to my attorney the real reason why I left my husband. No woman in her right mind would've stayed as long as I did, and I knew my attorney, along with the rest of the

world, would probably judge me for losing our baby, thinking it was my fault. It's been hard. I'm not going to lie. Starting over in a new place, working sometimes sixteen-hour days in order to make ends meet, well, I haven't exactly been living the life of Riley. But it's my life—mine—and no one can take it away from me. I'm free. I can breathe again. And even though I'm alone, with no one to depend on, I'm doing it. I'm supporting myself. I'm beholden to no one. And boy, does that feel good. I raise the fork to my lips and blow, watching the steam curl away from the noodles. In the past, I would've burned my mouth in my haste to satisfy my

rumbling stomach, but I know better now. I can wait. I've gotten quite good at being patient. Then I hear a strange little noise coming from the back door. I'm still getting used to the sounds of living in a new place, but I admit I've never heard anything like this before. It's a steady sort of tinkling sound, so faint I almost didn't hear it until the motor on the refrigerator kicked off. Lowering my fork, I stand up to investigate. Cautiously, I approach the door and stare through the curtain on the window, and for a moment, the noise stops. It's dark outside, and with the light on in here, it makes it quite easy to see in, yet almost

impossible to see out. I step away. I was probably just imagining things. There's no one out there. I'm just about to resume my meal when the jangling picks up again, this time louder. Unnerved, I creep back toward the door on my hands and knees, staying well below the vantage point of the window. And as I get closer, I notice for the first time how the knob is moving ever so slightly, like someone's on the other side of the door, attempting to pick the lock. And a chill runs down my spine. Panicking, I stand up and rush toward the phone on the wall. And that's when the noise on the other side increases

dramatically, going from a subtle jingling to a loud, heavy thud as something with force begins to strike against the base of the door. With my hand shaking, I punch the numbers on the keypad. "911, what is your emergency?" "I think someone is trying to break in to my apartment." The pounding halts, as if whoever's out there is straining to listen to what I'm saying. "Is your address…?" the operator begins. But I can no longer hear what's being said when the entire doorframe starts to rattle and shake like it's being pulled off

its hinges. I cower on the floor, clinging to the phone. "They're getting in!" I scream. "I have a trace on the call. An officer will be there momentarily." "Oh, God…What do I do?" I wail. "Stay on the line with me, ma'am," the operator commands, before she starts robotically reading off a list of suggestions to me. "Do not engage your attacker. If your attacker has a weapon, do not try to take it from them." But at that point, I stop paying attention when a flash of red and blue lights reflects off the window, and the door goes still. "Ma'am, our officer is on site. He'll

be knocking on your front door. Please let him in when he does." "Are you sure it's safe?" I whisper. "What if they're still out there? What if…?" "Backup is en route, ma'am. ETA within two minutes or less. Can you please answer the door?" I force myself up off the floor when the knock comes. "Okay." "Don't hang up. Please let me know when the officer's inside." I drop the phone and run toward the front of the apartment, disengaging the dead bolt and throwing open the door. Upon seeing my terrified expression, the gray-haired officer gives me a

reassuring smile. "It's all right, ma'am. I already had my partner check around back. Whoever was out there is long gone." I take a shaky breath. "Are you sure?" "Positive," he affirms. "Let's walk through and he can show you what he found." He taps his walkie. "Front of the premises secure, victim unharmed, 104." I feel like I'm in a trance when he guides me through what I had already come to consider my sanctuary, the remainder of my dinner left on the table, the end of the phone hanging from its cord. The officer, knowing what to do, scoops it up and begins talking to the

operator as he points at me to open the back door. It's all such a blur as I untwist the lock with my heart in my throat, only to be greeted by the full, round face of the officer's partner. "Good evening, ma'am. I already did an initial sweep." He scours the backyard with the beam of his flashlight before letting it come to rest on the base of the door. "And the only thing I found was this," he says, lighting up a series of muddy footprints, one overlapping the other. I gasp, and he gives me a sympathetic look. "Someone was determined to get in here. Do you have any idea of who it could be?"

I clutch my throat, hearing David's voice inside my head. See, they already think it's your fault…your fault…your fault… When I start to tremble, the officer reaches out a hand to me. "It's okay, ma'am. You're safe now." I shake my head. "No, I'm not," I mutter, looking up at him sadly. "I'll never be safe again."

Chapter Twenty-Four Luke "And would you look at this folks. Stockton's own Luke Singleton decided to shake things up in what turned out to be the Beavers' fifth rainout of the season. The weather hasn't been kind to Beaver fans this year, but Single sure put on a show for the hometown crowd last night. This woman even jumped out of the stands to get in on the action. Brenda, have you ever seen a tarp used like that before?" "No, Phil. I haven't. But it sure looks like fun!"

"Well, folks if you thought about heading out to Beaver Field this weekend—don't. All three games against the Clearwater Clash are already sold out. How loud do you think the boo-birds are going to be when David Nichols jogs out of the bullpen?" "Deafening, Phil. The amount of buzz surrounding these three games is pretty incredible. Here's hoping that Mr. Beaver's son can hit one out of the park off of Nichols. Phil, don't you agree? Winning is the best revenge." I turn off the TV and rub my eyes after getting little, if any, sleep. After Roberta went to bed, I pulled up the video of

when I got hit, watching it for the very first time. And once I started, I just couldn't stop. I watched it again and again, reliving the slap of the ball smacking against my neck, and the blazing shot of pain that followed soon after, before everything went black. But no matter how many times I watched it, I still couldn't comprehend how Nichols could just stand on the mound as I lay on the ground, unconscious, unresponsive, unable to breathe. Is the guy even human? Roberta yawns her way into the kitchen and heads directly for the coffeepot. "What are you doing up so early?"

"Watching you on the morning news." Her shoulders stiffen, while her hand remains motionless over the sink. "I was on the news?" "Yeah, we both were." She turns the water on. "Did they mention my name?" "Nah." I absently stroke my goatee. "You were just some anonymous woman who got in on all the fun." "But could you tell it was me?" she asks, still not turning around. "I guess. They did zoom in on us at the end." She moves over to the refrigerator and peers inside, hiding her face from me. "Yeah, but for how long?"

"I don't know, a couple of seconds. Why?" I hold the door open for her. "Don't tell me you're camera shy." She looks up at me, her eyes flashing with anger. "Are they so hard up for news around here that they'll put anything on TV?" I chuckle. "It doesn't take much to make the news in Stockton. They need something to talk about besides the weather." "Yeah, because there's no better visual than a woman in a wet T-shirt, right?" she grumbles. I let go of the door as she backs away. "Hey, don't get mad at me. I had nothing to do with it."

She shoves her hand into the bag of coffee, dumping at least three scoops too many into the filter. "You certainly did have something to do with it. I wouldn't have run out there, if not to save your butt." I take my phone out of my pocket and wiggle it at her. "Well, it didn't work because my manager already sent me a text that, although he's fining me $250 for the stunt I pulled, I'm still playing today." She whirls around. "What?" "My bright idea didn't work," I respond glumly. "I guess it all comes down to ticket sales. I'm what everybody's coming to see this weekend. If they don't put me out there, they'll

never get the fans back." Forcefully punching the on button, she stands there, thoughtfully chewing her lip. The inviting aroma of freshly brewed coffee begins to permeate the kitchen, but I move over to the counter and rummage a tea bag out of one of Mom's floral canisters, removing two mugs from the shelf in front of me. "Chamomile…really?" she asks. After filling my mug at the sink, I place it in the microwave, hit ninety seconds, and wait. "I'm in desperate need of a pregame nap." "You can't let it get to you. You're stronger than you think you are." "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah." She reaches for my hand. "Don't let him win, Luke. You've been through so much for it not to count for something." I meet her eyes. "You really want me to step in there against him?" She releases a shuddering sigh. "No, of course not. But I don't wanna see you back down either. You're the better man, Luke. You're worth more than a hundred Davids." My lip quirks up. "You talk about him as if you know him." The microwave goes off and she drops my hand, turning back to her coffee. But not quick enough to hide the glimpse of pure terror that just washed

over her face. "Not so fast." I tug on the back of her top. "C'mon, Luke," she sighs. "Let me go." I slide my hand down to her waist and pull her flush against me, nuzzling her hair. "What is it?" "Nothing," she says flatly. "It's funny how you know basically everything there is to know about me, and I still know hardly anything about you," I whisper. "It doesn't have to be that way. You can open up to me, Roberta." She shakes her head adamantly against my chest. "No, that's where you're wrong, Luke. I can't."

"Why? I won't betray your confidence. I won't." "That's not it," she replies, her body tense. "Listen, if you're regretting what almost happened between us last night…" I manfully clear my throat. "It's okay. I just want you to know I'm here for you. As a friend, whatever. It doesn't matter." She turns in my arms. "I don't regret it, but…" I tremble when her hands come to rest on my chest, their warmth hitting me through my plain white tee. "But…?" She ducks her head, but I tilt her chin up, needing her to look at me.

"Luke, years ago…" She hesitates. "I was m—" The house phone rings on the wall, interrupting her. Shaking, she backs out of my arms. "I'll—" she starts, combing her hands through her hair. "I'll get it." And before I can stop her, she moves across the room from me and picks up the phone. "Hello?" Her eyes nearly pop out of her head as she grips her stomach. "How did you…?" Whatever color that was left in her face vanishes, and realizing that I'm watching her, she turns her back to me. "I don't care. Don't you ever call here again."

She slams the phone down, startling me, then reaches out and holds on to the wall. An awkward few seconds go by without either of us saying a word. I swallow, deciding to tease her, not knowing what else to do. "What? You're getting calls here now?" "Stupid telemarketer," she replies in a low voice. "I think…I think I'm gonna go wake your mom now." "Roberta," I murmur. "Wait… We're not done here." But she's already gone.

Chapter Twenty-Five Roberta I get up and go to the door again. Peering through the curtain, I scan the street, searching for any cars that don't belong to the neighbors. Sit down, Bobbie Jo. He's not out there. He's at the game. Chewing on my thumbnail, I open the Beavers' Twitter feed. T7: The Clash go down in order. Clearwater leads 4-3. Hoffman, Singleton, Reardon due up for Stockton. The stage is set. According to every report I've read online, that rubber arm

of his has been eating up the late innings whenever the Clash have the lead. He's going to come in to the game. I know it. And as if reading my mind, a new tweet rolls in. B7: Nichols takes the mound. I can't stay on the couch. I stalk around the living room, holding my hand against my forehead. I think I'm going to be sick. And I know it's not just the thought of pitching in front of a sold-out crowd that's pumping David up tonight. Right now, he's hurling his warm-up tosses at the catcher, adding an extra pop to his already intimidating fastball. It's personal now. Luke's not just random target practice to him anymore. He's the

guy his ex-wife's shacked up with. If only I didn't take a turn on the slip 'n slide… If only I didn't end up on TV… If only he hadn't been in Stockton to see it and start asking questions… All the "if onlys" in the world aren't going to change anything. He found me. He knows I'm staying at Luke Singleton's house. The hows and whys of what I'm doing here don't matter to him. I'm with another man, a man who's not him. In his twisted mind, that's all that matters. Crash! My head darts toward the stairs. "Luuuuukey! Where are you?" Without another thought, I run up the steps. My heart starts pounding. Please

don't tell me… I barge into the bedroom at the end of the hall, only to find Luke's mom leaning halfway out the window. I gasp, rushing toward her. "Mrs. S.! What are you doing?" "I wanna fly with your pretty butterflies," she moans. "They said they'll take me to Lukey." "My butterflies? Mrs. S., there aren't any butterflies out there." "Yes, there are! I've seen them, the blue and green ones." My heart lurches. There are blue and green butterflies on the cover of my journal. I've written in it in front of her plenty of times, but up until now I never thought she noticed it. But then there was

that offhand comment she made last night at Beaver Field, the one about David hitting Luke…and me. Oh God, has she read what I've written inside? "I'll get the butterflies for you." I bargain with her. "I know where they are, but you have to step away from the window." I expect her to thrash against me, resisting any attempt to pull her out of harm's way, but instead, she limply collapses into me, sobbing. I steal a glance over her head, and the screen's lying on the ground below. What if I was too late? What if she jumped before I could get up here? I hug her to me as she cries her heart out, trembling.

In order to pacify her, I rock back and forth with her in my arms, humming gently. Of all times for her to do something like this…it's like she somehow knows her son's in danger and she's trying to get to him any way she can, all thanks to me. I clutch her tiny body to me and smooth her hair away from her face. "It's okay, Mrs. S. I've got you." She hiccups, trying to catch her breath. "But Lukey…" I lower us onto the foot of the bed and reluctantly reach for my phone. "Let's see how he's doing, okay?" She buries her face in my shoulder, almost like she's afraid to find out.

Gathering my courage, I turn it on. B7: Hoffman K looking. *PITCHING CHANGE* Nichols out. Juarez in. Singleton due up next. Tossing my phone aside, I let out a yelp of joy and Luke's mom stares up at me. Covering my mouth, I rub her back, too overwhelmed to speak. David's not going to pitch to Luke. He's safe. "Is Lukey all right?" she asks, her eyes shining up at me. "Yes." I nod, smiling at her. "He's fine." She snuggles up against me. "Good. I knew your butterflies would get to him in time." Alzheimer's patients tend to grow

more childlike in their behavior. Some family members find it incredibly hard to deal with, but right now I don't think I've ever witnessed such a genuine feeling of contentment in anyone before. Without rhyme or reason, she trusts me. Like somehow, someway, she knows I'd never lie to her about her son, that we both care about him, each in our own way. That's what motherhood is—a lifelong bond between mother and child that defies explanation. Her love for Luke rises above everything, even her illness. It's powerful, eternal. My eyes start to well up because I'll never get to fully experience what that's

like. Any chance I had of having a child of my own has passed. And being in this room, with Luke's mom clinging to me, I do something I haven't done in a long time. I have an ugly cry and just let it all out. Tears are streaming down my face. My nose is running. My breath's coming out in jagged spurts. And Luke's mom doesn't even pick up her head this time, she just holds on to me, as I hold on to her. "What is it, dearie?" she whispers once I begin to quiet. "Why are you so sad?" Do I dare tell her? It'd be so nice to get it off my chest and have someone listen to me.

I blink up at the ceiling, trying to piece the words together. "I was a mom, too." "It's dark out." She shivers. "Why aren't you home with your kids?" I wipe my eyes with my sleeve. "Well, I still consider myself a mom, even though I never actually gave birth. One of my babies was stillborn, and the other…" Twisting up her face, she thumps her fist on the bed. "What? Why?" "Well." I exhale deeply. "You were right when you said, 'He hit her too," because my husband at the time used to beat me up whenever he got mad. My baby was stillborn because he kicked me

in the stomach." She lifts her eyes to mine. "No man has the right to hit a woman." I nod, swallowing back my tears. "That's why I divorced him. But he never really accepted that it was over. He's done stuff, terrible stuff, and I'm afraid, Mrs. S. I'm afraid of what he's gonna do next." She kisses the top of my head. "Don't worry. My Lukey will protect you." I let out a shaky laugh. "I know he'd try, Mrs. S., but if you only knew who my ex-husband is…" "Lukey's not afraid of anybody," she shushes me, pushing my head down onto her shoulder and stroking my hair. "He

doesn't back down from a fight. I bandaged his cuts. I iced his bruises. I know." My mind is bombarded with a barrage of images, the clip of him getting hit, the scar on his neck, the fear in his eyes before he left for the stadium. He's already taken David on—and lost. I can't let him do it again, not for my sake. "But if he hurts you…or Luke…" I gasp for air. "I could never forgive myself." "Have faith in my son," she says, her voice suddenly strong and sure. "He never lets anyone down. He won't let you down either." I glance up at her, and she smiles at

me, her eyes the most lucid I've ever seen them. It's like she's still right here with me, cognizant and aware. Until she pats my cheek and crawls behind me, getting back under the covers. "I'm going to bed now. Can you close the window?" she sighs, shutting her eyes, thoroughly exhausted from our conversation. I immediately feel the loss of her, even though we're still in the same room together. I'm so affected by it that I can't imagine how tough these moments must be on Luke. Alzheimer's patients are here one minute, gone the next. It wreaks havoc on your heart like nothing else can, especially when it involves the love

of a parent. Sliding the window down, I flip the lever on top, locking it, and stare out into the night. David's in town for the next two days, and I'm not taking any chances.

Chapter Twenty-Six Luke I go down the line and fist-bump my teammates, celebrating our three-game sweep of the Clash. We'll have to battle it out with them again in August, but for now, victory is sweet. "Twinge in his elbow, my ass," Hoff mutters behind me as we walk off the field. Danny starts ambling backward. "Yeah, and he had to go all the way back to New York for an MRI? Bullshit. You're the only guy he ended up pitching to, Hoff."

Rob jogs up to us and squeezes my head through my cap. "That's 'cause he's scared of our boy here." I shove his hand away. "C'mon, guys. It's not over, not by a long shot. Do you really think that it was his decision to come out of the game? I don't. There's a ton of bad publicity surrounding him right now. But once things cool off— which they always do—he'll be back, ready to go." Hoff pounds his glove. "And we'll be ready for him." "And here I thought the old man hated all of us," Rob jokes. "But just mention a brawl, and he's all over it." Danny nudges Rob's shoulder. "Did

you see his eyes light up? He can't wait for the dog days of August to roll around." Hoff shrugs. "When it comes to choosing sides…yeah, I'll stand with punks like you over a headhunter like him any day. 'Cause no player has the right to mess with a guy's career. I've suffered enough concussions to know that." "So that's why you are the way you are," I rib him. "One busted head too many?" He smacks me on the back as he passes by. "Watch it, kid. Just 'cause I'll go to bat for ya doesn't mean I have to like ya."

Rob and Danny snicker as they follow him into the dugout, but I stop when I spot Roberta and Mom. A steady stream of warmth flows through me at seeing them there. It's been a rough few days all around, getting stressed out over nothing. But Roberta seems like herself again, and I'm really glad of it. I'm just about to hoist myself over the fence and join them when an annoying voice cuts through the air. "I know who you are, now! You're David Nichols's ex-wife, aren't you?" Heidi smiles brightly at Roberta, and my blood burns red-hot. In one swift leap, I'm up and over the other side, inserting myself in between them.

"Nice try, Heidi." I glower down at her. "Now get outta here." Heidi ignores me, studying Roberta intently. "Although, she did have blond hair then…" "Luke, I—" Roberta starts. But I'm not done with Heidi, not by a long shot. I stalk toward her, getting her to back up. "Really? That's the best you can do?" Her eyes flicker at me in amusement. "She went by a different name then. What was it? Oh yeah…Bobbie Jo." I halt in my tracks because with that one careless remark, Heidi successfully sews a poisonous seed of doubt in my mind. The only person I ever heard refer

to Roberta by that name was Landry, a man she trusts with her life. Heidi gleefully claps her hands. "I knew I was right." "You have no proof!" Roberta cries as Mom begins to stir beside her. "I don't?" Heidi scoffs, whipping out her phone and shoving it in my face. "Luke, tell me that's not her." I feel the weight of Roberta's eyes boring into my back, and I can't bring myself to look at it. "Luke…" Heidi whines. "C'mon." Roberta advances toward her. "Just what exactly are you showing him?" "Your wedding photo," she gloats. "Don't tell me you don't remember

walking down the aisle on your big day?" "And I'm just supposed to believe that what you're showing me is real?" I argue back heatedly. "For all I know, you could've had someone Photoshop her face onto someone else's body." Heidi rolls her eyes. "Like I'd go to all that trouble." Roberta eyes me sadly before taking the phone out of Heidi's hand. "Yeah, but you'd go through the trouble of hunting it down in the first place." Holding it up to me, her voice starts to crack when she says, "Go ahead, Luke. See for yourself." Forcing myself to look, there's no

mistaking her clear blue eyes, the determined set of her chin, her arms wrapped around the man who nearly ended my life. And it tears me apart inside, not because she kept it from me, but because I hate having to see her so in love with someone who isn't me, someone as ruthless as David Nichols. Heidi shrugs. "I found it on a blog that keeps tabs on all the wives and girlfriends of Major League Baseball players." "A site you frequent often?" Roberta mutters in disgust. "Trust me, being a player's wife isn't all it's cracked up to be. I think I'd find another ticket out of Stockton if I were you."

"Well, I'd do a much better job holding on to my man than you did," Heidi retorts. "What, were you married to Nichols for like six months or something?" I turn Heidi's phone over and stare at Roberta. "Were you ever going to tell me?" "How could I?" she whispers back. And that's when the whole picture snaps into place inside my head: her passing mention of an ex-husband, the revelation that she was deathly afraid of someone, her reticence to pursue whatever feelings she may have for me. It all adds up. She really was married to that monster.

I flex my jaw. "Why did you leave him? What did he do to you?" "Nothing." I glance up at her stricken expression, and my heart stops at the truth she's no longer able to conceal from me. She may have been in love with him at one time, but now more than anything, she's terrified of him. And if what he did to me in public is any indication of how cruel he can be, I can't imagine what he must've done to her in private. And it kills me knowing she was bound to a brute like him. "He's a bad man!" Mom yells, stomping her foot. "He is. He is. He is." "Mrs. S., shhhh…" Roberta whispers.

But I know the signs when Mom is trying very hard to remember something important. Roberta must've confided in her…but what? "Ma," I encourage, blindly passing the phone back to Heidi. "Why is he a bad man? What did he do?" She angles her head to look at me. "Who?" Heidi snorts. "Good one." Mom lets out a pitiful whimper, and Roberta's quick to intervene. "Stop it. You're upsetting her." Heidi bends down and coos in Mom's face, "Awww, Mrs. Singleton. Are you okay?" "Get away from my mother, Heidi," I

warn. "But Luke, something's wrong with her." Roberta steps in, enfolding her arm around Mom. "We'll meet you out by the car, okay?" All I can do is nod when she starts guiding her toward the exit, Mom's face buried in the crook of her neck. Enraged, I round on Heidi. "Happy now?" "What?" she sniffs. "I was only trying to help." "No. You weren't," I reply with blunt honesty. "You just wanted to stir up trouble, just like you always do. But we're not in high school anymore, Heidi.

It's about time you grew up." "You'll be sorry you treated me like this," she fumes. "'Cause I know a lot of people around Stockton, as well as certain individuals in the Beavers' organization, who would be very interested to hear that your mom's gone off the deep end." I'm not about to let her get away with that, and I reach for her arm. "Don't you dare say a word to anyone about her." "Or what? What are you gonna do, Luke?" Her eyes take on a devious gleam. "Hit me?" I immediately let go of her arm. I don't threaten women, that's not who I am, even one as manipulative as her.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," she laughs, breezing by me. "I think ensuring my silence entitles me to a lot more than your contempt, don't you?" When I don't say anything, her voice takes on a much harder edge. "Face it, Luke. Bobbie Jo…Roberta…whatever you wanna call her…is damaged goods. Nichols has her so beaten down and scared of her own shadow that she couldn't even tell you she was married to him. Is that really what you want, when you can have a woman on your arm who's confident enough to be honest with you about who she is?" I clench my teeth, willing myself not to get in a shouting match with her. She

saunters up the steps, grinning back at me, thinking she has me right where she wants me, under her thumb. But she has another thing coming if she thinks I'm giving up on Roberta so easily. She'll always be my fearless girl, whether she's still traumatized by Nichols or not. All I can do is hope against hope that, whatever she went through with him, she'll find the courage —the courage I know she possesses—to find it in her heart to open up to me about what he did to her.

Chapter Twenty-Seven Roberta Never lie to a good man about your past. It may seem like the right idea at the time, but you'll only end up hurting him in the end. Take heed and listen— he's the one who deserves your trust, not the one who came before him. A bad man can warp your heart, but a good man can open it up again. Don't deceive him like you were deceived. The both of you deserve better than that. I underline the last sentence, once, twice, three times. I can't turn my mind

off, no matter how hard I try. I really botched things up with Luke, and the only comfort I can give myself now is to tell my imaginary daughter not to make the same mistake I did. So I'm surprised when there's a knock at my door. It's late, really late, but I slide out of bed and tiptoe across the room. Hesitating, I rest my cheek against the door and whisper, "Yeah?" Luke's husky rasp greets my ear. "It's me… Can I come in?" "Why…does your mom need me for something?" "No, she's fine." I panic, terrified of the finality of what this could mean. "I don't know, Luke.

Now's not exactly a good time." But his deep, soothing voice reverberates through me. "I'm not asking as your boss. I'm asking as your friend." We didn't talk at all on the way home. I was too busy trying to calm his Mom down. Yet after putting her to bed, I knew he was downstairs watching TV, and I didn't join him. I didn't even bother saying goodnight. I made the conscious effort to avoid him by sneaking into my room. And now he's standing outside my door in the middle of the night, just as restless as I am. It's pointless trying to convince myself I can hide from him. But, God…what must he think of me

now? "Roberta," he sighs. "Please…" Slowly, I crack the door open, only to lose myself in the churning depths of those soulful, brownish-green eyes. I can't move. I can't think. We just stare at each other, to the point where I'm unnerved enough to ask, "What…no tea?" He shakes his head ever so slightly. "Not tonight." "Oh…" Fidgeting, I clutch the deep neckline of my top, suddenly selfconscious. "Bobbie Jo…" he whispers, catching himself. "Is it all right if I call you Bobbie Jo?"

I nod, leaning against the door and holding it open for him. Oh, I love how my name sounds coming from his lips— but I can't tell him that, not now. Instead, my gaze drifts down to his shorts, and as usual, they're hitting him well below his knees. But I'm no longer comparing him to some physical ideal of what the perfect man should be. I only see him and how much I'm responding to his presence in my bedroom, my body completely attuned to his. "Thank you," he says, stepping forward, his sleeve lightly skimming my arm. Blushing, I press my forehead to the door as I close it behind him, needing a

second or two. "Please…you don't have to thank me." He takes in the state of my rumpled sheets and sticks his hands in his pockets, shuffling his feet. "Umm…about before…" I glance over at him cautiously. "Luke, I know you have every right to fire me, but please, I beg you—hear me out. I'll go, but I can't walk away until you've hired someone to replace me. Your mom's care is what's important here, not what happens to me." He walks toward my bed and stares down at my journal. My heart just about stops when he picks it up and turns it over. "What's this?"

I approach him, reaching for it. "Nothing." But he's too fast for me and hides it behind his back. "More secrets, Bobbie Jo?" "No…" I stab at it, but he just holds it above my head. "It's just…personal." "Yeah, I know all about getting personal," he mutters. "I let you into my home. I shared with you everything there is to know about Mom. And yet—" "I'm sorry, okay? It was wrong of me to keep it from you. I just didn't know how you'd take it. I didn't want you to hate me." A sharp line forms between his brows. "Hate you?"

"Yeah," I mumble. "Not that you don't have every right to hate me." He puts my journal back down on the bed. "Is that what you think?" And when he looks up at me, the hurt in his eyes is even more pronounced than before. "I could never hate you." "But after what David did—" He moves closer to me, his eyes never leaving my face. "That was him. As far as I'm concerned, it has nothing to do with you." I clasp my arms tightly to my chest. "But I was married to him, Luke. Some part of you has to blame me for that." He slowly lets out the breath he was holding. "Just tell me. Was Mom right in

what she said about him?" "Do you really have to ask?" I whisper. "Because I think you already know the answer to that." Placing his hands on my elbows, he peers deeply into my eyes. "But I want to hear it from you." I jerk away from him. "Trust me. You don't want to know." He remains silent as I head toward the window and look out, my eyes drifting up and down the street, searching for anything that seems out of place. David will never stop hunting me. He may have retreated for now, but he'll be back. And I'm determined not to be here when he returns. Meeting my reflection in the

glass, I know what I have to do. "Luke, now that he knows I'm here, I can't stay. It's not safe…for you or your mom." He crosses the room in two strides and spins me around to face him. "You're not going anywhere, you hear me?" But there's no denying the fear in his eyes, and I push back against his arms. "How can you say that when you're afraid of him, yourself?" "You've got it all wrong. I'm not afraid of him." Sliding me between his arms, he locks his hands behind my waist. "I'm afraid of you. You leaving me and going some place where I won't be able to protect you." I struggle against him because it's

inconceivable that I'll ever be able to lay down this burden I've been carrying around for so long. Life doesn't work that way. I'd just be another problem for him to have to deal with, one he doesn't need. "You don't have to keep me safe, Luke. I can watch out for myself." He hugs me to him. "You're not alone in this anymore. You've got me now, and I'm not gonna let anything happen to you." My lungs expand against his chest. "You don't even know what he did to me, what he—" "Then tell me." He pulls back to rest his forehead against mine, stilling me

with his plea. "No matter how bad you think it is, I'm not going anywhere." His warm breath caresses my face as his thumbs gently trace circles along my back, urging me to open up to him. But can I do that, when I'm still so ashamed of myself? I hold on to him, willing myself to do this for his sake. "I was young… I thought I was in love." "And…?" "And…" I sigh. "I guess if I'm being completely honest, I wasn't all that different from Heidi." I stiffen in his arms. "I was seduced by the idea of being with a baseball player. When he came on to me in the bar, I was like,

wow, out of all the women here tonight, he's into me—a guy who's going places, who's doing something with his life." I think back to the rebellious girl I was then and shudder. I was so determined not to live an ordinary life, even though I was all set to go to college in the fall to become a registered nurse, just like my mom. I was firmly set on the path to getting a nice, stable job and living in a nice, boring neighborhood. And the thought absolutely terrified me. I felt like I was falling into a carefully constructed trap, one that would determine how I would live the rest of my life. I didn't want to become my mother, and I burned with resentment

inside. I wanted to choose my future. I didn't want what everybody else settled for. I wanted excitement, mystery…even a hint of danger. And when David offered me what I thought I was looking for, I grabbed onto it with both hands, lacking the wisdom to realize just what it was I was throwing away. And just how long it would take me to find my way back to a place like 44 Cedar Crest Lane. Drawing me out of my memories, Luke asks softly, "And then?" I bury my head against his chest. "To make a long story short, when he was promoted from Double-A to Triple-A, he asked me to go with him. I was excited

to be starting over in a new town. I didn't even care that we ended up living in some crummy little apartment. I just didn't realize I'd feel so alone all the time." Luke runs his fingers through my hair before cradling the back of my head. "But he sure wasn't lonely for company. It didn't take me long to figure out he was cheating on me. In fact, he didn't even try to hide it. It was like he was leaving me clues to uncover his infidelity. Whenever he was on a road trip, women would start friending him like crazy on Facebook. Then when he'd come home, there'd be these crumpledup receipts in his pockets with phone

numbers scribbled on them. He'd even get out of bed to take their late-night calls out on the fire escape." "Did you confront him about it?" Luke whispers against my ear. I shut my eyes tight. "Yeah, and that's when his true colors emerged. He wasn't the nice guy I thought he was. The first time he hit me…" I swallow hard. "It was such a shock." I stop and listen to the steady rhythm of Luke's heart as it beats deep inside his chest. David left Stockton days ago. He's miles away in New York. He can't get me. He's not out there, prowling around in the dark. I just have to keep telling myself that.

"I don't understand…" Luke trails off. "If you knew what he was like, why did you marry him? Why didn't you leave?" "Because…" I mumble, and Luke tightens his hold on me. "I waited too long, only because I thought maybe the baby would make things better…" "Baby?" he sputters. "But you don't have any… You're not a…" "Luke, you have no idea what he's capable of… What he did to me." When a lone tear rolls down my cheek, I shudder when he gently reaches up to wipe it away. His hand shakes as he tenderly clasps my chin. "I swear to God, as long as I draw breath, he'll never touch you again."

I raise my eyes to his. "But I can't stay here, Luke. You gotta understand— David will never let me go. For years, I've managed to stay a step ahead of him, but things are different now. He knows where I am and he's coming for me. He said so himself." Luke lowers his hand from my face. "Wait a minute…you talked to him? When?" "Yeah, he called here that morning we were on the news. He saw me and…" I clasp his wrist, feeling his pulse thunder through his veins. "He made contact with you…in Stockton…in my house…and you still didn't tell me?"

I glide my fingers over his knuckles. "That's why you have to find someone to take my place. But I can't leave unless I know your mom's going to be okay…" I lower my voice. "Until I know you're going to be okay." The guilt I have surpasses the tenuous grip I have on my emotions. I don't want to hurt the one man who gave me the purpose and strength to live again. I want to comfort him. Slipping my arms around him, I nestle myself against his body, and he sighs before pulling me closer to him. For a few glorious minutes, we just hold each other, neither of us wanting to let go. He feels so right, the gentle cadence

of his breath tickling my ear, the bristles of his goatee brushing against my forehead. But it's not enough. If this is really goodbye, then I'm going to need a whole lot more from him. I nuzzle his neck and a hot surge of desire seizes me like I've never known before. I kiss his scar and his breathing becomes labored, but I don't stop until I guide him over to the bed and pull him down onto it with me. He starts to tremble. "You can't leave. Not now, not when I've… Not when I've fallen in love with you." I bring his face down to mine. "Love… I never thought I'd get to experience what that really feels like."

"And now?" he whispers, touching my cheek. "And now…" I smile into his eyes. "I finally have." What starts off tentative and unsure soon turns all-consuming. I want him, more than I've wanted any man before. And by the way he's kissing me back, I know he wants this just as much as I do. He doesn't resist when I roll him on top of me, and I savor in the delight of having every inch of his body come to rest fully on mine. Moaning against his lips, I wrap my legs around his waist, ready to give myself to him completely, and just let go.

Chapter Twenty-Eight Roberta I watch Luke's eyelashes dust his cheeks as he sleeps, and his vulnerability tugs at my heartstrings. Last night, every protective instinct I possess was telling me to flee, to not put him in any more danger, to get out of Stockton and never come back. Yet upon waking and finding his face next to mine on the pillow, I know I can never leave him. Not after last night, when he was so generous and giving, attuned to my every need. He heightened my senses with everything he did—the tender way he

kissed my stomach before he interlaced his fingers through mine, his eyes never leaving my face. He let me know just how much I've come to mean to him. Honestly, I'd never felt anything like it before, and I know no man will ever be able to make me feel like that again, only him. It's a revelation I wasn't expecting. I was simply seeking a memory of him to take with me, wherever I ended up. But something changed between us, something big. He shared that innermost part of himself, giving his heart to me without any intention of taking it back. Now as his eyelids flutter open on the pillow, he gives me the smile of a man

who's been given everything he could ever want, and that glow of happiness I see on his face binds me to him down to my very soul. I shiver when he caresses my face, nudging my nose with his. "I'll keep you safe," he murmurs. "You can count on me." And when he makes that sweet, whispered vow, I believe him. After that, the weeks go by in a pleasurable blur. Some nights we end up in his room, other times in mine. I ache for him whenever he goes on the road, and our late-night phone calls extend well into the wee hours of the morning, neither one of us wanting to say goodbye to the other, both of us coming up with

excuse after excuse to stay on the line and talk. During that span, something miraculous happens. Luke begins to pound the tar out of the ball. It starts with a bloop single here, an infield hit there, but his confidence steadily grows as his batting average climbs from .200 to .250 to .275. Tonight at Beaver Field, he celebrated the Fourth of July weekend in grand style, hitting for the cycle—belting a single, a double, a triple, and a home run, all in one game. And let's just say that when he got home, he was determined to create some fireworks of his own when he picked me up off the

couch, tossed me over his shoulder, and carried me upstairs with him. Now we're both on our backs, breathless and panting up at the ceiling fan. He turns to me. "Thank you." I tilt my head to look at him. "For what?" He peers deeply into my eyes. "For helping me find my game again." I exhale sharply, getting flustered. "I had nothing to do with it. It's all you." He rolls onto his side to stroke my face. "I beg to differ." "But, Luke, I—" His eyes crinkle in laughter. "You can never accept a compliment, can you?" I knit my brow in frustration, knowing

he's right. I've given him so much of me, more than I've given to any other man. Yet, I'm still holding a part of myself back, and he can sense it. I'm so afraid of allowing myself to be vulnerable that I've trained myself to be tough, hardening my heart against all comers. Yet something inside of me shatters when he whispers, "You can lower the walls around your heart now." "And why would I wanna do that?" My stubborn streak is not going down without a fight. It's rallying to make a final stand, knowing full well it's been beaten. I pierce him with my stare, and his gaze softens even more. "'Cause I'd never hurt you, Bobbie Jo.

You can trust me." Surprising even myself, I let out a whimper, moved beyond measure. He gives me a tender smile before silencing me with his lips. His kiss is sweet, gentle, but so full of meaning. Melting for him, I reach up to touch his face, just like he's touching mine, thanking him just like he thanked me. When we break apart, he runs his thumb across my cheek. "Are you hungry?" And I can't help but laugh. "Starved." With a mischievous gleam in his eyes, he asks, "Then how 'bout I throw something on the grill for us?" I grin back at him, liking where he's

going with this. "We'll have to be quiet. Your mom's asleep." "We'll take everything out to the patio." He winks at me. "Aren't you used to dining al fresco with me by now?" We sit up, and I kiss his cheek when he slides his T-shirt over my head and gently flips my curls out from underneath the collar. "Yeah, but it's so much nicer on a hot summer night." He gets out of bed and hikes his shorts up over his hips. "And it's only gonna get even hotter…once I get you back in this bed." He gives me a devilish grin before offering me his hand. "But for now, let's eat." I groan. "Why is the way to a man's

heart always through his stomach?" I smack his butt and try to scurry by him, but he's too fast for me as he wraps his arms around me from behind, kissing my neck. "You don't have to worry about that because you already have my heart, all of it." I lean back against him as his hands traipse over my stomach. Closing my eyes, I savor their strength and their warmth. Outside the bedroom, Luke's not a touchy-feely guy. He doesn't have to have his hands all over me every minute of the day—and I like that about him. He doesn't smother me. He gives me space. And he's always respectful in front of his mom. But he's not above stealing a kiss

whenever he can or lightly running a finger down my arm when he thinks his mom's not looking. But the midnight hours are a different story. They belong to us, and when we're alone, he's not shy in expressing his desire for me. As a woman, it's flattering to know just how much he wants me. "Will your hunger for me ever be satisfied?" I tease him. "Never," he whispers, close to my ear. "I'm just hoping I'm enough for you." I spin around in his arms. "Of course, you are! How dare you say that!" "I dunno." He shrugs, lowering his head. "It's just that beautiful women like you aren't usually into guys like me."

I grab ahold of his chin and tilt it up. "Luke Singleton, you rock my world. You know that, right?" Despite how confident he was when he was singing my praises, he blushes, and I realize I should be complimenting him a whole lot more than I do. He shouldn't have any doubts when it comes to how much I'm attracted to him. I graze my thumb over his chin. "Luke, being with you…" I stop, groping for the right words, and he tentatively raises his eyes to mine. "What we have…? It's never been as good for me as it is with you. Does that answer your question?" And I know I've said the right thing when his eyes immediately light up. He

reaches for my hand and kisses it, and I feel it all the way down to my toes. "Good," he whispers shyly. "'Cause I feel exactly the same way about you." Now I'm the one blushing as I tug on his hand, grabbing the baby monitor off the bureau before pulling him out the door with me. We creep quietly downstairs and tiptoe into the kitchen. I stand behind him as he begins pulling things out of the fridge—hot dogs, veggie burgers, cheese, ketchup, mustard, two bottles of beer, the works. I tap him on the back. "Are you sure you don't need me to carry anything?" Turning around with his arms laden, he laughs at me with his eyes. "Just the

buns," he teases, before lifting his leg and nudging my butt with his toe. "Stop it!" I swat his foot away as I enter the four nines on the security panel. "Well, you do have a pretty great one." He flirts with me. "One you couldn't stop staring at the day we met, if I recall." I hold the door open for him and usher him through, but he just stands there and gives me a searching look. "What?" I ask. "Nothing," he replies, before quickly looking away and heading into the backyard. I stare at the dips and slopes of his naked back as he puts down what he's

carrying before bending over to fire up the grill. But I decide not to press him on it. He's always so forthright with me, so if there's something on his mind, he'll tell me. I don't need to badger him about it. If being in a relationship with Luke Singleton has taught me anything, it's that he usually does things in his own sweet time, like making me wait so long for our first kiss…and our second. I start arranging things on the picnic table, popping the lids off the beer bottles and handing him one. "It's been a long time since I've done this." He glances at me over his shoulder, raising the bottle to his lips. "You're telling me Landry never barbecued for

you the whole time you were in Texas?" I take a seat in the chair his dad made out of baseball bats. "Okay, let me rephrase. It's been a while since I've felt this relaxed." I take a sip of my beer and look up at the moon. "It's nice. I could get used to it." "Well, you can, you know… He's not coming back until next month," Luke mutters, stoking the coals. I hug my arms to my chest, not wanting to get into David right now. Noticing my unease, Luke drops the subject. "So tell me…how'd you spend the Fourth when you were a kid?" he asks, adding a veggie burger to the grill for me, automatically knowing what I want

without having to ask. Ever since I moved in, I've been harping on him, that since he's a professional athlete, he needs to make healthier choices when it comes to his diet, and for the most part, he's been following my good example, except on nights like tonight when he's the one doing the cooking. I smile to myself. Okay, I'm not that tough. I know it's a holiday, and I'm willing to let him indulge in his junk food craving just a little. The package of hot dogs wouldn't even have been in the fridge if I didn't bring them home from the store with me. I take another swig of my beer before I reply, "We always went to my

grandparents' house. My grandma made the best barbecue chicken this side of the Mississippi." "Were you close to your grandparents?" "Very… I guess that's why I became a caregiver. I always got along with the elderly, a lot more than people my own age." He slices one hot dog down the middle, then another. "You don't have to tell me you're an old soul. I knew it from day one." I furrow my brow. "You did?" He clears his throat. "So why didn't you make this world-famous chicken for me?"

I laugh. "I might have to since we're eating what I planned to serve tomorrow." I put my beer down. "By the way, I think you're the first baseball player I've ever seen eat a hot dog outside of a ballpark." He chuckles. "Well, only on special occasions. I sure ate enough of them at Beaver Field when I was growing up." I study the chair I'm sitting in. "What was your dad like?" He flips my burger, shaking his head. "He was a character, that's for sure. He was gruff, but everybody liked him because he didn't force people to like him. Do you know what I mean? He was who he was, take it or leave it."

"But he seems like he must've had a great sense of humor." I grip the knob at the end of the armrest. "If he built something like this." Luke nods, opening a package of rolls. "He was a practical joker, especially around the house. He'd get me involved in his pranks, and it used to drive Mom nuts. We'd leave plastic spiders in the bathtub and wait for her to scream. He'd attach a string to a dollar bill then have me drag it across the floor as soon as she bent down to pick it up. Mom had the patience of a saint, putting up with the two of us." A bittersweet grin crosses my face as I gaze up at the stars. "I'm afraid my

dad's way more serious than that." Luke spears a hot dog onto a bun. "Oh, yeah?" "Yeah." I reach for my beer. "He's basically had nothing to do with me since I was eighteen." I sigh. "He wanted me to go to college, get a good job, but instead, I chose to run off with David." Luke clenches his jaw as he presses the spatula down on my burger. "Is that why you couldn't leave him? 'Cause you couldn't go home?" I nod. "Partly. That, and my own stupid insistence that David would change. I guess I was running away from being controlled by my father, only to end up being controlled by a man who

was far worse than him." Luke exhales, sliding my burger onto a plate. When he turns around, he walks straight toward me before kneeling at my feet. "I don't want you ever to think that I'm like them. You're free to do whatever you want. I'd never presume to tell you what you can and cannot do." I wink at him, taking the plate from him. "Good, because I'd like to eat my burger now." He leans forward and kisses the tip of my nose. "Get ready because it's the first of many I plan on making you this summer." He stands up as I take a bite, aware of how I tend to back away from too much sentimentality. "How is it?"

"I think summer just became my new favorite season," I say through a delicious mouthful. He gives me a loving glance, one I don't turn away from, one I allow myself the pleasure of basking in. "I know it's my favorite season. It's the one that brought me to you." I pause with the burger halfway to my lips. "But we met in April. That's in the spring." He stops squeezing mustard onto his hot dog. "Yeah, well… I've always considered the start of the baseball season to be the start of summer anyway. And summer just has an all-around happier vibe to it, don't you think?

Freedom from school…" "It's been a long time since I've had to worry about school." "Well, someday when you're an old married lady with kids of your own—" I hurry to interrupt him. "How about we just stick with liking summer for summer's sake?" "Fine, fine, fine," he says, sitting in the chair next to me. "Let's just say it can be a season blissfully free of responsibility." The baby monitor cackles to life. "Lukey…?" He sighs, "Except for Mom." I chuckle, getting to my feet. "I'm on it."

"Are you sure?" he asks. "You didn't even get to finish your burger." "Positive. Your mom's the one responsibility I'd never give up, not even for the lazy days of summer." "I love you," he whispers, his eyes shining up at me. I give his shoulder a quick squeeze as I hurry by him. I can't even find my voice to tell him that I love him too as I blink back the tears that are threatening to spill forth. I rush into the house with the implications of Luke's dream of having kids and starting a family running through my head. I start to tremble, knowing I'll never be able to give him the happy, tranquil summer he's

imagining.

Chapter Twenty-Nine Luke Six weeks later "You're gonna keep all these women away from me, right?" I ask, shifting Roberta onto my lap from where she's standing in front of me at the bar. She leans back, dusting her lips along my jawline. "I don't think Landry would like it too much if I kept the Beavers' hottest hitter all to myself." I laugh, tilting my lips closer to hers. "Well, you can tell Landry to—" Before I can say anything else, she kisses me and I immediately lose all

sense of time and place. I don't care if anyone's watching or that there's a line of fans, patiently waiting for me to amble over to the autograph table that's set up in the corner. Instead, I slide her sideways on my lap and groan as she snakes a hand behind my head to play with my hair. I'm in the midst of tasting the sweet goodness of what remains of the strawberry daiquiri on her lips when Danny whistles sharply in my ear. "All right, enough love birds!" He claps his hands while waiting for us to separate. "C'mon, up and at 'em, Single. I don't feel like doing this meet-and-greet with a bunch of inebriated fans either, but I'm damn well not doing it alone."

Heat fills my face, so Roberta has to speak for me. "He'll be right with you." She smiles, her arm still wrapped possessively around my neck. "In the meantime, why don't you go over and warm up the crowd? I'm sure they're dying to find out if that beard of yours is real or not." His hand flies to the red scruff that's hanging a good six inches beneath his chin. "Nobody's touching the beard. Why does everyone think they have the right to pull on it? It hurts!" I chuckle into Roberta's curls as he makes his way through the cluttered tables surrounding the bar. When he finally reaches his destination, a rousing

cheer goes up, cutting through the blaring music and the multiple TVs on all the walls, showing practically every majorleague game going on right now. "Aren't you glad you stayed in Stockton?" I tease her. "So your boyfriend can do stuff like this on his night off instead of spending it with you?" "You are spending it with me," she protests. "Mrs. Jenkins is holding down the fort so we can have a night out together." "But this isn't my idea of a night out," I grumble when she slides off my lap. Putting her hands on her hips, she asks, "And what is? Dining à la food

truck?" I smirk, loving when she gets sassy with me. "You know what I mean." She takes another sip of her daiquiri. "We all have our responsibilities, Luke. And these meet-the-player events at the local bars are a part of yours." I stand, placing my hands on her waist and drawing her into me. "But are they really driving the hard-working people of Stockton to come spend their money at Beaver Field?" Smiling up at me, she shakes her head. "Probably not. But the winning streak you guys have put together? Now that's something I can get behind." She caresses the scar on my neck with her

fingers. "'Cause even though I'm putting on a brave face, I don't particularly enjoy sharing you with a bunch of drunk, horny women." Staring down at her, I peer into her bright, blue eyes. "I wish you didn't have to. But you have nothing to worry about. I'm not like—" She presses her fingers to my lips. "Shhhh, you don't have to say it. I already know you're nothing like him." And there it is, the elephant in the room. David Nichols is due back in town in the next few hours, which is why I insisted on her coming with me tonight. I'm not about to let her out of my sight for a moment. All week long, she's been

trying to hide her anxiety from me, but based on the amount of kicking she's been doing in her sleep, her nightmares have come back full force. She's about as emotionally prepared for his return to Stockton as I am—with one crucial difference. I'm not afraid of having him pitch to me anymore. In fact, I'm more afraid of not being able to control myself when he does. I wanted no part of him before. But things are different now. It's not about what he did to me. It's about what he did to her. I cup her face in my hand. "I'm going to keep you safe, Roberta. He won't get within ten feet of you. I promise." Her eyes shine up at me. "You mean

business if you're calling me Roberta again." I sigh, running my hands down her arms. "I'm serious. I wish you'd bring Mom to the game tomorrow night." She shrugs. "C'mon, Luke. What could possibly happen? He's going to be at the game, too. We'll be fine." Needing her to reassure me some more, I take her hands in mine. "That may be, but I still don't like it." She gives them a tender squeeze, lacing her fingers through mine, and I swear there's no better feeling in the world. "Luke, we've already discussed this. Anything could happen at the stadium. He could be waiting for me in

the parking lot. He could walk right into the stands if he wanted to. You can't protect me there. Trust me. Your home is a much safer environment." I nuzzle her nose as her breath dances across my lips. "Yeah, but it's your home now, too." "Then let me stay at home if I want to." Really needing to kiss her again, I groan when she takes a step back. "At least, come with me now," I beg, refusing to let go of her hand. Her mouth turns up at my request. "I think you owe me a night at the food truck for this. No, two nights!" "Done. And a night at Russo's…if

you're lucky." Grinning, we walk hand in hand over to the autograph table, and all I can think about is getting her home, turning off the lights, and… "Oh, my God! It's Luke Singleton!" The woman who spotted me hoists her glass in the air while the others who are waiting in line behind her blind me with their camera flashes. Most bars are pretty dark, and this one's no exception. Blinking in embarrassment, I lose my grip on Roberta's hand. Catching my deer-in-the-headlights expression, Danny gets up from behind the table and directs me over to it. "It's cool, man. She's standing up

against the wall. See her over there?" He points in the general direction, and my heart only slows its rapid pace when I catch sight of Roberta waving at me. I rub my hands over my face. "Danny, if you only knew what the last few days have been like." He pulls out the chair next to him. "Well, he's not here yet, so you can just relax." When I take a seat, he gives me an encouraging nod before bestowing a dazzling smile on the soccer mom who's wearing a Bucky Beaver jersey. Getting into the act, Danny gives her a big thumbs-up. "Bucky Beaver, all right! Now that's the jersey to get."

"And why's that?" I banter back, familiar with his shtick. "'Cause, unlike the rest of us, he's the one Beaver you can count on. He'll always be on the team." She laughs uproariously at him, and he winks at me. "Where would you like me to sign, ma'am?" She turns around, positioning herself as close as she can to him. "I'd love it if you could autograph one of the zeros on the back, and I'm hoping Luke can sign the other." Danny's smile gets even bigger. "Only Bucky's cool enough to wear double zero. Right, Single?" But I'm distracted, watching some guy

try to hit on Roberta. "Yeah, whatever you say, Danny Boy." The woman giggles when the point of Danny's Sharpie skates over her back. He gives it an extra flourish, elongating the loop of the Y in O'Malley before tapping me on top of the head. "You're up, my man." The guy rests his elbow against the wall, hovering over Roberta, and as I get to my feet, I have half a mind to charge over there and push him away from her. "Luke, I simply adored your father," the woman coos at me over her shoulder. "He'll always be Mr. Beaver to me." "That's nice of you to say, ma'am," I reply, staring over her head.

"And I so enjoy watching you play too, sweetie, and all the success you've been having lately," she gushes. "I think you're finally gonna break the curse." She raises her fist in the air. "I can feel it!" Roberta turns her back on the guy, and he stands behind her, bewildered. "Uh…what curse, ma'am?" I ask while adding #99 under my signature. "You know…" She whirls around. "About making it to the majors! Your dad never did, but, Luke, you're well on your way. The Kings would be crazy not to name you as one of their September callups." My stomach flips over. As chaotic as

things have been lately, I haven't even thought about that, probably because my hard-ass manager hasn't even mentioned it to me. But she's right. My average has risen to almost .300, and I've stolen twenty bases over the course of the season. My name will no doubt be in the mix when the Kings expand their roster next month—which means I'll have to go to New York and leave Roberta and Mom. The guy taps Roberta on the shoulder, refusing to give up, and I'm seconds away from going over there. She says something to him, keeping her back turned, and he hangs his head as he walks away in defeat.

It's a good lesson for me. I have to remember she's more than capable of taking care of herself. But after what she told me about Nichols, it's hard for me not to want to be there for her, every second of every day. I'm used to being the guy she and Mom can depend on, and I really don't like the idea of not being around when they need me. So how am I supposed to be happy about taking the next step in my career when it means I'll be leaving them wide open to the threat of Nichols coming back here the second he hears I'm in New York? Danny follows my gaze and holds up his hand to the crowd. "Hang tight,

ladies. We'll be right with you." His announcement is met with a chorus of groans, but he just tunes them out, positioning his chair closer to mine. "Hey, man, what are you gonna do if you do get called up?" I let out an exasperated sigh. "There's no way Rex is gonna give me the nod over one of his favorites." Danny takes a swig from his water bottle before answering, "I dunno. Forget the first half of the season. You came on mighty strong at the end. And the bonus for getting called up would be sweet. We're talking about a nice chunk of change, Single." "I know. It's like a year's salary for

most people in Stockton, for four weeks' work," I reply sullenly. Danny clutches his chest. "You're killing me with your enthusiasm here. What I wouldn't give to make it to The Show. I'd trade places with you in a heartbeat." I stare him down. "No one said I'm making it, and no one said you're not." He stretches his arms out in front of him and cracks his knuckles. "Single, my earned run average ballooned to 6.36 in July. I'm not goin' anywhere but back home once the Beavers' season's over. You gotta live the dream for the both of us, man." "You just don't wanna get rid of the

beard." I glance over at Roberta again, and Danny kicks my foot under the table. "Single, if the opportunity comes your way, you cannot—I repeat, cannot—turn it down. Do you hear me?" But when Roberta's eyes lock with mine, all I can do is shake my head. "No can do, Danny Boy. I can't leave her… I can't leave Mom." Danny turns his chair so that he's facing me. "If you want me to stick around Stockton until you get back, I will." I smile at him, touched by his offer. "Thanks, man. But I can't ask you to do that. No one knows what Nichols is

capable of, and I don't want you getting mixed up in it." "But—" I silence him with a look. "It's up to me to keep her safe, and I'm damn well gonna do it." The corner of his mouth turns up. "You really love her, don't you?" "More than life itself."

Chapter Thirty Roberta My head goes up and down on Luke's chest. He's snoring contentedly after drifting off about an hour ago. Once we got home from the bar, he took his time and put me to bed the right way. It was heaven on earth and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Afterward, knowing how worried I am, he waited for me to fall asleep first. But it just wasn't happening. Not tonight… Which is why we're in my room, instead of his. The window directly overlooks Cedar Crest Lane. If a car

door so much as slams or a dog barks, I'll hear it. I glance at the clock and the red numbers read 4:07. The Clearwater Clash played a team in upstate New York tonight. They had no more than a three-hour trip south. In all likelihood, their bus has already dropped them off at the Sheraton for the night. I shut my eyes to the reality of what that means— David's back in Stockton. Earlier, not wanting to alarm Luke, I'd snuck my phone into the bathroom with me while I was brushing my teeth and found out that the Clash's starter went the distance tonight, pitching a complete game shutout. David wasn't used at all. So he'll be rested and available for the

series against the Beavers. There'll be no getting out of it this time. He's injuryfree and hasn't hit a batter in months. He's been on his best behavior, patiently biding his time. It's a pattern I'm familiar with. He'd always butter me up to get what he wanted. While he was on the road, sleeping with other women, he'd always send me flowers. He thought he could buy my silence, that I'd just turn a blind eye to what he was doing. So when I didn't greet his return by warmly welcoming him back into our bed, I had several black and blue marks to cover up the next morning because of it. I roll onto my back and run a hand

across my stomach. Tears prick my eyes as so many painful memories flash through my mind. I start to sob silently, shaking the bed, and Luke reaches for me, half asleep. Smacking his lips, he turns toward me, peering at me through heavy-lidded eyes. "Bobbie Jo? Are you crying?" I shake my head, tossing my curls about on the pillow. His fingers skim along my cheek, feeling the evidence of my tears. "What is it, baby? Did you have another nightmare?" he murmurs, reaching for my hand under the covers. I shouldn't have moved. He's grown accustomed to falling asleep with me in

his arms. Whenever I shift out of his embrace, he always tosses and turns until he's snuggled up against me again, his legs tangled in mine. He hasn't had any nightmares since we started sleeping together, and I don't want him to think he has to comfort me now. So I flip onto my side. But he's not giving up so easily and his hand remains on top of mine. "I'm fine," I mutter, hoping he'll go back to sleep. Unconvinced, he circles my belly button with his thumb. But when I flinch, he stills his hand. I've always delighted in his touch. I've never once rejected it because I've had no reason to. And my heart breaks when he

whispers, "Do you want me to go back to my room?" "No," I say vehemently, wrapping his arm around me. "Then tell me why you're crying. Talk to me." Confessions are always easier in the dark. Eye contact's not required. Facial expressions are hidden. All he has to go on is the tone of my voice. "Just knowing he's nearby…" I pause, taking a deep breath to steady myself. "It just brings it all back." He kisses the nape of my neck. "Forget about him. You're safe here with me." I sigh. "That's the problem. I can't

forget what he did to me. Oh, how I wish that I could." "What can I do?" Luke pleads. "Tell me." "Nothing," I groan. "When he came after me the first time, I did everything I could think of to feel safe again. I changed my phone number. I took a class in self-defense. I went to the cops. I filed a restraining order. But he still managed to find me again, after all this time." There's always been this strange, magnetic pull between David and me. I felt it the night we met, and I feel it even now. But his feelings for me never amounted to love. They were dark, bordering on obsession. When I first

found out he was cheating on me, he said all those other women meant nothing to him. He claimed he only did it because when he was on the road, he couldn't be with me, and that I was always the one he was thinking about whenever he was with someone else. It was sick, and I allowed myself to believe him. Until it started happening in the offseason. And when I refused to put up with it anymore, that's when the beatings began. He didn't want to get married so young. I was eighteen. He was twentyone. But when he found out I was carrying his child, things changed. I threatened to go back home and beg my

parents to forgive me if he didn't stop hitting me, and he knew he was in danger of losing his most coveted possession —me. I don't think the concept of being a father to an actual child ever really hit home for him. It had more to do with ownership than anything else. In his mind, it wasn't the marriage vows we exchanged that bound us together. It had more to do with the fact that something that belonged to him was growing inside me. And if he could give life, he could also take it away. I think he was jealous of our unborn child because he was supposed to be the most important person in my life, not some baby. Luke props himself up on his elbow

and stares at me before speaking, "When you talked to the cops about him…what did they say?" "Since I didn't report the abuse from the beginning, they said I didn't have much of a case," I reply into the darkness. "After they made me get undressed so they could photograph my stomach… I swore I'd never put myself through that again." His hold on me tightens. "Why would they wanna do that?" I bite my lip, cursing my loose tongue. "Roberta, did he…?" He can't even say it. "Yes," I respond, my voice devoid of emotion. "When I was pregnant, he

kicked me in the stomach when I told him I was leaving him. And it took a long time for the bruises to go away." Luke buries his face in the crook of my neck, exhaling loudly. He can't take what he just heard, but at the same time, he doesn't want to see me any more upset than I already am. He's trying valiantly to stifle his anger, putting me first like he always does. But there's a sensitive subject that's been looming in the air between us for quite a while, and it's one he can't resist bringing up now. "What you went through…I can't even imagine how terrible it must've been for you. But don't believe for one moment that you're not

gonna be a great mother someday because I know you are. I can feel it." I love Luke. I treasure what we have beyond measure. But what I say next could upend the life we've been building together. There's a natural progression in any relationship—attraction, dating, marriage, kids. And it kills me that I won't be able to give him everything he's dreaming of. "It's not that simple, Luke," I hedge, pushing his hand away. "Don't do this," he begs. "Don't hide away inside yourself—not when I'm right here." I struggle to draw air into my lungs. "Luke, please. You don't understand."

"Just like I thought no one would understand about Mom," he whispers softly. "Until I met you." I sniffle back a sob and clutch his arm. "It's not that I want to give David so much power over me." "Then, Roberta, why do you?" I take a deep breath. "Because of him, I had to have a—" WAH! WAH! WAH! The sound of the security alarm cuts me off midsentence. For a moment, we're both too stunned to move until he bolts out of bed and reaches for his pants. Scrubbing his hands through his hair, his eyes take in my startled expression. "Stay here. I'll go see what's

up." I slide my feet into my bedroom slippers. "No, I'm coming with you. Your mom could be halfway down the block by now." "Roberta, it's not Mom," he says, his tone firm. "What do you mean? Of course it is! We're both up here, and the alarm—" "I reconfigured it to go off in case someone tried to get in, not out. So until I know what's going on, I want you to wait upstairs. Don't follow me." A chill runs down my spine as he pulls a baseball bat out of the hall closet. I run up to him and lay a hand on his arm. "Luke, don't."

He hurries by me. "There's no time." "Why do you need a bat?" I demand, standing in front of him. We exchange a look as he says, "You know why," before hustling past me. "Luke!" I cry out. But he doesn't stop. He just keeps going. It's David. I know it is. And now's he's going to hurt Luke again and… But first, I need to make sure his mom is okay. Hastily, I whip one of Luke's plain white tees over my head—the soft one that smells like him, the one I'd stolen out of his drawer weeks ago, the one I've been sleeping in whenever he's on the road to make me feel safe. I'm

already halfway out the door as I shrug into my robe, scared to death of the danger he may be putting himself in for me at this very moment. With the alarm blaring and my nerves on edge, I rush into his mom's room, only to find her bashing her head against the wall. "Mrs. S.! Stop!" The high-pitched wail has thrown her into a frenzy, and I don't even think she can hear me at this point. I grab the back of her nightgown, but to no avail. When Alzheimer's patients work themselves up into such a state, their strength can be superhuman at times. With no other option, I wrap my arms around her waist and forcibly pull her away from the

wall, the backward momentum causing us to fall in a heap on her bed—and that's when I feel something warm drip onto my fingers. Blood. Her blood. Oh, no, she's busted her head open. Struggling to sit up, I hurriedly remove the robe I just put on and hold it against her forehead. But she's not having any of it. She wants out. "You can't leave, Mrs. S.," I groan, holding her back. "Lukey wants you to stay right where you are." The alarm is still going off. Is Luke okay? What if David is down there beating him senseless? I need to check on him, but how can I leave his mom? Not knowing what to do, I'm thankful

when the alarm finally stops. Now that the source of her distress has ended, she goes limp in my arms and issues a soft moan. "Lukey?" I reapply the pressure to her wound. "Yeah, Lukey. He'll be right up, okay?" "Okay." At least, I hope he will because I don't even want to consider the alternative. My nerves are about at their breaking point when someone comes in and flicks on the light. Momentarily blinded, I raise a hand to my eyes and squint against the glare, my heart in my throat. Please don't let it be… "The back door was wide open. Someone kicked it in."

My hand flies to my chest. "I didn't see anyone." Luke smacks the bat against his palm before propping it up against the wall. "I only found a big, muddy footprint on the door, nothing in the kitchen. The alarm must've scared them off." "But he'll be back…" "We don't even know that it was him." "I do." Luke throws me a startled glance. "Why do you say that?" "Because he's done it before." "Roberta, I—" "Don't you see, Luke? That's why I shouldn't have stayed. He always comes back."

He sits down beside me, taking the bloodied robe out of my hand to examine his mom's face. She gazes at him in adoration as he dabs at her forehead. I duck underneath his outstretched arm, too keyed up to remain seated any longer. "I'll go get the first aid kit." "Just so you know, I called the security company," he says once my back is turned. "I told them it was just a false alarm." I pause halfway to the door. "Having the police come wouldn't do any good anyway. It never does." "But if it was him, he has a record now. He just served time… Why would he risk going back to jail by breaking

and entering?" "Because he's obsessed with me." Luke sighs, the kind of sigh that makes me want to turn around and do nothing but curl up in his arms. But he has his mom to worry about, and she needs to be tended to. I can't collapse on him now. I need to be strong. But what he says next makes me grip the doorframe for support. "Roberta, I swear I'll never let him get anywhere near you. He'll have to kill me first." All these horrible scenarios flash through my mind, each one worse than the other. "Luke, please," I moan. "Please don't

say things like that." "I mean it. He's taken enough from you. He's not going to take any more." I glance back at him. "But you'll let him take you away from me?" He clenches his jaw and turns back toward his mom. "Luke, promise me now that you won't do anything stupid. That…" I start choking up. "That you'll never leave me." When he finally looks up at me, his usually hypnotic eyes appear tortured, his mouth forming a thin line. "I promise," he whispers. "No matter what, I'll never leave you." I nod before walking out of the room,

not feeling the least bit better.

Chapter Thirty-One Luke When Hoff catches strike three to end the top of the seventh, I remain at second base, waiting for the PA announcement I know is coming. "Now pitching for the Clash, number nineteen, David Nichols." As if on cue, everything goes black around me. But I don't panic. I'm able to recognize it for what it is. I've experienced this kind of crippling fear before, and my survival instincts have burned the memory into the farthest recesses of my brain. I only think that

I'm trapped at the bottom of a deep, dark well—but I'm not really. Now I know there's a pinprick of light to guide me out. I just have to look for it in the form of those shining blue eyes. I'm due up first. I shouldn't still be out here. I close my eyes and breathe as the sinking sensation that's been plaguing me all night long engulfs me. I've been trying to be strong for her, but my fear is hitting me full on. I can't run from it anymore. But this isn't how my nightmares started. It's not like the last time. I'm not caught off guard. I know what's coming. I'm the one in control, not him. Blinking, my vision starts to clear and I zone in on the familiar row of seats

above the dugout—my haven, my sanctuary. Roberta is standing, clutching Mom's hand, and my heart starts beating again. I may not have the guts to step into the batter's box for myself. But for her, I'll find the courage to do anything. Hoff thumps me on the back, still in his catcher's gear. "C'mon, Single," he says, taking my glove off my hand and squeezing my fingers around my bat. "Time to hit." For a moment, it's like I'm right back where I started, sprawled on the ground, fighting for my life. I can't feel my arm. I can't talk. I can't breathe. "He'd be an idiot to try anything," Hoff mutters. "Look at all your

teammates over there. They're ready to charge the mound if he even so much as thinks of coming inside on you." My legs start to function again as he leads me toward home plate, firmly planting his hand between the two nines on my back. And for the first time, I notice that Roberta and Mom aren't the only ones who are on their feet. The entire stadium is giving me a standing ovation, and I haven't even done anything yet. That's Stockton for you. They always turn out to support one of their own. "Hoff," I croak, finding my tongue. "He's not gonna change how he pitches me one bit."

Hoff shoots me a puzzled glance. "Single, he may be crazy, but nobody's that stupid." "He is." I grip the bat, taking comfort in the weight of the smooth, solid wood in my hand, and the damage I can do with it. A thunderous chorus of boos rains down from the stands, signaling Nichols's arrival, and Hoff has to practically scream in my ear, "Single, what do you know that you're not telling me?" But the umpire clearly wants to move things along when he shouts at the batboy to bring out my helmet. However, there's something I have to do before I dig in.

Quickly, I find Roberta in the stands again. If I'm scared, she has to be absolutely terrified. But as I let my gaze come to rest on her, she's not even looking at him—she's looking at me. That's my fearless girl. I didn't want her and Mom staying behind, not after what happened last night. I insisted on them coming to the game. So Roberta bravely put her fears aside for me, and I'm determined to do the same for her as I tip my cap at her. "Single," Hoff grunts, grasping my shoulder, ready to offer me one last piece of advice. "Just take three pitches and get outta there. No one's asking you to play the hero."

I hand the batboy my cap and plunk my helmet down on top of my head, adjusting the extended chin protector. The Beavers' equipment manager added it, thinking it'd make me feel more secure. I didn't have the heart to tell him, "Thanks, but my neck's still exposed." All night, everyone's been trying to pick me up. Even Rex, my manager, offered to send in a pinch hitter for me if Nichols came into the game, but I said no. This is something I have to do. Tapping the toe of each cleat with the head of my bat, I take a few practice swings before offering Hoff a shaky grin. "Enough chitchat, old man. You're up after me."

Hoff glares at me. "You're so close to making it to the majors, kid, so don't let this asshole take it all away from you." His eyes soften inexplicably. "What you've been able to achieve this season? Your father would be proud of you. I know I am." He heads slowly toward the dugout with a hitch in his step. This is probably the end of the line for Hoff. His body's giving out on him. He doesn't have much left in the tank. His wisdom's sound because it's backed by some pretty hardwon experience. But making the Kings isn't my focus anymore. Something else is driving me now. "Now batting, second baseman,

number ninety-nine, Luke Singleton." The crowd erupts, and I nod at the umpire as I draw a line in the dirt with my bat, marking how far off the plate I plan on setting up. Blood rushes to my head, and I can hear my heart thudding in my ears. I square myself even with the plate. If he hits me, he hits me. Let him throw as hard as he can. I survived it before. I'll survive it again. Taking one last breath, I extend my bat like a samurai sword toward the pitcher's mound and will myself to look at the thug who thought he could knock me down so hard I'd never get back up again, at the coward who thought he could barge into my home uninvited and

hurt the woman I love. I can't even see his eyes, the brim of his cap is down so low. He's a shadow, a phantasm of my imagination. Although, he's bigger than I remember, probably having bulked up while in prison. But I'm not intimidated. According to the advance scouting reports, he doesn't throw over a hundred miles per hour anymore. He's lost velocity on his fastball, only handicapping himself by adding all that extra muscle. While I've worked on streamlining my swing, getting the bat head through the zone quicker than ever before. I smile at him. I may be smaller, but I'm faster. A mouse will always be able to outrun an

elephant. The Clash catcher peers up at me. "Watch out, man. It's August and he still hasn't memorized the signs. I've had more passed balls this year thanks to this idiot than I've had my whole career." I spit into the dirt. "But for as long as you've been catching him, he hasn't hit anybody, right?" "Not yet," he replies glumly. I don't have time to digest his warning when the umpire calls, "Play ball." Immediately, Nichols winds, sets, and delivers. And I almost can't believe it when the ball breaks in on me in a hurry, and my body acts of its own accord. Before I know it, my backside is

smacking against the ground so hard, my teeth rattle inside my head and a sharp burst of pain shoots up my spine. "You were warned, Nichols!" the umpire yells above my head. He's seconds away from ejecting him from the game, but I can't let him do that. I force myself to stagger to my feet. "Stupid reflexes. It wasn't even close." The umpire shoots me a skeptical look. He knows it was way inside, and so do I. But Nichols isn't bullying his way out of this. It's going to take a lot more than one pitch to settle the score. Tipping up his mask, the ump says to me, "Take as much time as you need," before leisurely strolling toward the

backstop. Using the moment to my advantage, I sneak a glance at section 110. Mom's on her feet, mimicking the actions of the people around her, booing Nichols along with everyone else. If I were in a laughing mood, I'd be cracking up at her wagging her finger in the air. Unsure of what she's supposed to be shouting at the pitcher who nearly hit her son a second time, she gazes at the man next to her who's screaming his head off, trying to figure it out. Roberta, meanwhile, is back in her seat with her hands covering her mouth. She's depending on me to keep her safe. If I go down, Nichols will have a clear

path to her, and that's just not going to happen. Motioning to the umpire, I dig back in. This time when I stare out at the mound, I detect a hint of a smirk on Nichols's face. He clearly enjoyed knocking me on my ass again. My blood boils as I lift my bat over my shoulder. He's not going to get away with it, not this time. He rears back, putting a little extra on his delivery, and the ball flies so quickly out of his hand, I'm unable to pick up his release point. I can barely make out the whirling red-and-white blur as it comes hurtling toward me. I force myself to stay back on it, waiting until the last possible moment to follow through on

my swing. And lo and behold, I make contact. The ball shoots off my bat like a bullet, reversing trajectory and heading straight back to where it came from. The resulting crack isn't from the shards of my bat breaking. It's Nichols's pitching hand as he writhes in agony on the mound, the ball at his feet. A collective gasp goes up from the crowd, but his teammates stay right where they are. They don't make a move toward him, or the ball. The umpire sighs behind me, "Go on. Take your base." "But…" "I said, take your base," he barks. "And if they don't wanna defend, take

another. It's still a live ball." Reluctantly, I drop what's left of my bat and jog toward first. "How could you do this to me?" Nichols cries with tears rolling down his cheeks as I hustle by him. "Oh God, it hurts…it hurts! Look at it!" He holds up his hand and his fingers are hanging at an awkward angle while a giant, circular bruise is swelling across the front of it. "Wow, um, I didn't mean—" "Oh, yes, you did! You wanted me to look pathetic in her eyes." "You don't need me to do that. You did it all by yourself." I keep striding forward, and when my foot touches first base, the catcher

dutifully strides to the mound and scoops up the ball. The trainer sprints toward Nichols, and when he bawls like a baby that he'll never be able to grip a baseball again, that sinking sensation finally starts to leave my stomach. If he can't grip a baseball, then he can't make a fist, which means he won't be able to hurt Roberta, not anymore. Whether he knows it or not, it's over. And based on the way Roberta's back on her feet, her head slowly turning from him to me, it's clear that she doesn't realize it. Because knowing her as well as I do, it's obvious she's still afraid.

Chapter Thirty-Two Luke This ends tonight. I stand in front of the reception desk in the hospital emergency room in my baseball uniform, waiting for the nurse behind the window to pick up her head and acknowledge me. But I'll wait all night, if that's what it takes, because I never want to see that look of fear on Roberta's face ever again. That's why I'm here. That's why I asked Danny to cover for me. He's probably driving Roberta and Mom home right now. But I'm not worried.

Danny knows the plan. I gave him the line to feed Roberta after the game, that I had to talk to the media and I didn't know how long I'd be. I don't know if she bought it, but at least it bought me some time. I knock on the glass and the nurse's eyes nearly bug out of her head when she sees me. Slowly, she pushes back the window, ignoring the ringing phones going off all around her. "Can I help you?" I don a penitent face. "Yeah, hi. My name's Luke Singleton. I'm a player on the Beavers." "Oh, you don't have to tell me," she interrupts. "I know who you are…and

what you just did." Thinking my hopes are already dashed, I take heart when she gives me a coy little grin. "Don't tell anybody I said this, but good for you!" But I don't let my contrite expression falter. "It's just that I feel terrible about what happened. And it'd mean ever so much to me if I could just go back there and tell him I'm sorry." She frowns. "Well, technically, I'm not allowed to let anyone in who's not an immediate family member." I give her a plaintive look. "Please… for me? Just this once?" She looks around to make sure nobody's watching. "All right, but make it quick."

I do my best to remain somber, when really I'm jumping up and down inside. The nurse is around Mom's age, and before she got sick, Mom always said she could never resist my sad, puppydog eyes. I guess this nurse couldn't either. She braces herself against the door, holding it open for me. "He's behind the fifth curtain on the left. The ambulance brought him about an hour ago. The attending doc shot him up with some painkillers until the surgeon's able to examine his X-rays, so he might be a little out of it." Great. I really need him to be in his right mind when I say what I have to say

to him. "Will he know it's me?" I ask. She shrugs. "I'm not sure. When we asked him if he wanted us to call his wife, he shoved the orderly next to him so hard, he fell on the floor." Even after being seriously injured, his violence knows no bounds. I made the right decision to come here tonight. He needs to be put in his place, once and for all. I smile at her. "Okay, thank you, ma'am, for all your help." She gives me a quick nod. "Just remember. Keep it short. In and out." I stroll by her. "I will. What I have to say won't take long."

The latch of the door clicks behind me as she returns to her desk, and my ears are immediately assaulted by loud moans of pain coming from the center of the room. I count the curtains as I move down the row while staff members hustle by me, and I'm not surprised that the noise is originating behind curtain number five. Grabbing hold of it, I draw it aside, only to find Nichols groaning and sweating on the other side. His eyes nearly roll back in his head when he sees that it's me. "You… What are you doing here? You little wimp… you little coward…you little piece of…" He clearly knows who I am, no

worries there. "I've come to deliver a message," I respond coolly. "Get out," he growls, his broken hand resting limply on his stomach as he tries to sit up. "I said, get out!" Closing the curtain, I step toward him. "Not until you listen to me." "Nurse!" he cries out. "Nurse!" I glare at him. "Yell all you want. No one's coming to help you after you decked that orderly." Breathing heavily, he leans back against the pillow, eyeing me with suspicion. "What do you want?" I grip the bed rails and lean over him. "I want you to stay away from Bobbie

Jo. You're not to call her, text her, go anywhere near her. You got that?" "And what are you gonna do about it?" he mocks me. "Break my other hand?" I narrow my eyes at him. "Sorry, I'm not like you. I don't go around hurting innocent people for kicks." He snickers. "I've hit a lot of guys over the course of my career, but you're the only one who refuses to know when he's been beaten." I get right in his face. "That's where you're wrong. You don't have a career anymore. You're the one who's been beaten." A glimmer of uncertainty crosses his

face before he can hide it. The worst fear of every ballplayer is suffering a career-ending injury. I should know. For a while, that was my life, thanks to him. But I made it back, and he's not going to be so lucky, for one very important reason—he doesn't have Roberta to help him through it, and I did. "It's over. She's with me now. She doesn't want you anymore." I shake my head as I stare down at his misshapen hand. "Can you blame her?" He glowers at me. "You don't know Bobbie Jo like I do. You may think you do, but you don't." And that's when I go off on him. "What? Like kicking her in the stomach

when she was pregnant with your child?" His eyes lock on mine. "She told you that?" I nod, but I'd much rather knock that ugly smirk off his face. "Yeah, well. She's lying." I ease off the bed rails and take a step back because it's the only way I'll be able to restrain myself. "Keep telling yourself that. But we both know what happened, don't we? She may have been too afraid to press charges then, but she has me now. And I swear to God, if you ever hurt again, you're gonna rot in jail for a long, long time." He scowls at me sullenly, and I make

sure to drive my point home so there's no confusion. "You have a record now. You've served time. No judge is gonna take your side over mine. So if you ever try breaking in to my home again in the middle of the night, know this—I'll be ready for you, Nichols, and I'm gonna enjoy taking you down for good this time. Do we understand each other?" He stares daggers at me, stubbornly remaining silent. I move closer to him. "I repeat, do we understand each other?" "Yeah, we understand each other," he snarls back, intent on getting the last word. "Besides, no real man is gonna

want her now, not after she lowered herself to be with the likes of you." This time, I'm the one smirking at him. "Really? That's the best you can do?" His eyes are like slits as he simmers with rage on the bed. "Get the hell out." "With pleasure," I mutter, turning on my heel and tossing the curtain aside. It took every ounce of courage I possessed to go in there. Before, I let him get away with what he did to me. But now, I was able to do what had to be done, ready to stand up for what's right. But Roberta can never find out about this. It'll be the only secret I'll ever keep from her, but it's one I have to keep. She wouldn't have wanted me coming here to

confront her ex-husband. But I'm the man in her life now, and it's up to me to draw the line in the sand. I stride through the door, and when the nurse at reception spots me, she calls out, "How'd it go? Everything okay between the two of you now?" I nod at her. "Couldn't be better."

Chapter Thirty-Three Roberta "Bobbie Jo, it's two a.m. What are you doing down here?" Luke asks when he finds me in the kitchen. It was late when he got home, and I pretended to be asleep, not wanting to talk about David when my mind was all jumbled up and confused. So I snuck down here to write in my journal, which is what I've been trying to do for the last two and a half hours. My body's on high alert like I just downed three espressos. Usually, I'm able to collect my thoughts on paper, but tonight, even that's not

working for me. I'm still wired, tense, anxious. I've scribbled everything out because nothing I've written makes sense. I take in his messy hair and the wrinkled state of his tee and wonder why the heck I'm down here when I could be upstairs with his strong arms wrapped around me. I don't have an answer to that, and I need to keep writing until I do. He ambles toward me, barefoot. "Come to bed." "I can't, not yet." "Bobbie Jo…" He reaches behind me to massage my shoulders, and I quickly shut the cover of my journal. "He's not

coming back, not tonight, not ever." But that's not what I'm afraid of. I stare straight ahead at the picture of Luke's father on the wall. When Luke showed me his statue on the square, he joked about having to grow up as the son of Mr. Beaver and what it would be like when he had kids of his own someday. After he said that, I was torn. Should I tell him or shouldn't I tell him? I was so conflicted I didn't even let him kiss me that night, despite how much I wanted him to. He breaks in to my thoughts, stepping around to the other side of the table, getting me to look at him. "I didn't even know you were down here until my

phone went off. My crazy manager felt the need to text me that I've been chosen as one of the Kings' September callups." His good news gives my spirits a much-needed lift. "Oh, Luke. That's wonderful!" I'm halfway out of my chair to give him a hug when he says, "Thanks, but I'm not taking the spot." "What?" I ask, slumping back into my seat. "It's an honor and all, but there's no way I'm leaving you and Mom." "Luke…" I groan. "It's only for a few weeks, a month at most. We'll be fine." "But what if it's not?" he asks. "What

if I make the playoff roster and the Kings go all the way to the World Series? Then we're talking more like eight weeks instead of four. And that's not even taking next season into account. There's no way I can uproot Mom and move to New York. It's just not possible." I clasp his hand. "That's why you have to tell Landry. He can help you. I know he can." "No." He slips his hand out of mine. "Roberta, you know how I feel about this." "But this is too big of an opportunity for you to pass up. You can't turn it down, Luke. I won't let you." "But it's not just about Mom." He pins

me with his gaze. "I don't wanna be away from you." My heart beats strong and true in response because I feel exactly the same way. I don't want to be separated from him either. This life we've carved out for ourselves here in Stockton has become my whole world. But he's making a monumental decision without having all the facts. I fidget, playing with the cap on top of my pen. "This thing with David…you think it's over, but it's not." He shifts his head to the side. "What? Of course, it is. The ball shattered his hand. Even with surgery, he won't be able to hurt you ever again, I swear."

I hold my head in my hands. "But Luke, you don't know…" I moan. "David always wins. In fact, he's already won." Luke laughs, breaking into a big grin. "You're letting your mind run away with you. I know you've been running scared for a long time now, but you don't have to be afraid anymore. Trust me. Things will look a whole lot brighter after a good night's sleep." He offers me his hand, but I don't take it. "Tell me, Luke. What do you really want? Do you even know?" He kneels down beside me, taking the pen out of my hand. "Yes," he whispers, his eyes changing from an intense amber golden brown to that tender shade of

green I love. "I want you." I have to just drop it on him. It's the only way I'll find out the truth. "Even if I'm not able to have children?" He falls into a stunned silence, and I have my answer. Pushing back my chair, I head to the window, putting some distance between us. As I peer out into the backyard, the outline of the miniature baseball diamond is visible in the moonlight. It's the one Luke's dad made for him, the one he no doubt wants to share with his own children someday, the children I won't be able to give him. When he finally does speak, his question strikes hard and it strikes deep.

"It's because of him, isn't it? Because of what he did to you?" I have no reason to be scared anymore. David no longer poses an immediate threat to us. He can't hurt me. He can't hurt Luke—only I'm capable of doing that now. But it doesn't mean Luke's wrong. Taking a cleansing breath, I release the sigh that's pent up inside me. "Yes, David had something to do with it." When Luke slams his fist down on the table, I jump. "I should've broken his other hand when I had the chance!" But when he sinks down into my empty chair, the energy fueling his toughguy bravado quickly fades. Luke's not a

violent man. He's not like David. Out on the field tonight, I saw how guilty he felt for what he did to him. Even though it was a freak accident, he doesn't take joy in anyone's suffering. That's not who he is. And that's why I love him. And that's why, no matter how painful it is for me to say, he deserves to know the truth. But the flicker of hope that's burning inside of him is slow to die. "But what if there's a doctor, a specialist somewhere, who can help you?" And it hurts to have to extinguish it. "Luke, there's something you should know. After I left David, I had a series of…what I guess you would call… rebound relationships. I was just in a

bad place where I bounced from guy to guy because I was so mixed up inside. I was working for Arnold Heimlich at the time, and I started sleeping around with…some of the Kings." He ducks his head, rubbing his hand across his jaw when it starts to hit home that some of the rumors about me are actually true. "But I didn't fall in love with any of them. To me, they were more like flings than anything else. So no one was more surprised than I was when…" I trail off in order to gather myself. "When I ended up getting pregnant again." The hand he was running over his goatee falls to the table.

"But you have to understand," I plead. "It was the wake-up call I needed. Even if I didn't care about myself, I had no choice but to pull my life together for the sake of the baby. It was my chance to start over. I pinned all my hopes on it." "Who was the father?" "Jake Woodbury." Hearing that, his face remains blank. And now, this is where things get hard. I could just leave it there. I don't have to go on. And if it were anyone else, I probably would shut down and close myself off, hide from him what I don't want him to know—but I can't with Luke. He let me all the way in, and he deserves the same from me.

I lower my head. "But very early on, I suffered a miscarriage." I take a moment, digging deep to find the strength to go on. "The mental anguish I went through after that was the darkest period of my life. I know it sounds crazy, but in my head, I kept hearing David telling me: it's your fault, Bobbie Jo, it's always your fault. And I believed that voice inside my head because I had no one to tell me otherwise. Luke, you have no idea how much I wanted that baby after what happened with David… And when I lost it, it hurt…it hurt so much. I was experiencing a great deal of physical pain too, but the heartache hurt more. Aware of my medical history, my doctor

was worried and he put me through a series of tests. What he found out wasn't good. There was a lot of residual scarring in and around my uterus from the emergency Csection I had after what David did to me. I didn't even know because when I woke up in the hospital, all I was told was that's the way they chose to handle the stillbirth." I pause, my voice starting to tremble. "So when I got pregnant again…and eventually miscarried…" I stop, reliving it all over again in my mind. "The tests revealed that the placenta wasn't able to fully dislodge the way it was supposed to. A part of it was still attached to the uterine wall, to the

scar tissue, with a very real danger of hemorrhaging." I take a deep breath. "I had no choice. I had to have a hysterectomy…so that's what I did. I didn't even think twice about it. I guess at that point I was ready to do just about anything to make the pain go away, regardless of what it would cost me." Luke's brow furrows like he's not exactly sure what I'm trying to tell him, and it kills me to have to explain it to him. A sob rises up in my throat. "Luke, don't you see? I can't give you the children you want. I can't give you a family. What I had done can't be undone." The tears start flowing in

earnest now, and I can't hold them back. "It's just, at the time, I convinced myself that I was okay with it because I never thought I'd meet someone like you. I gave up on life, on ever falling in love again, on ever being happy again." I take a shaky breath. "And now, I'm half a woman…with nothing left to offer you." "Don't say that," he cries, getting up and reaching for me. "You're everything I could ever want and more. Don't you know that?" I shy away from him, not allowing him to pull me into the warmth of his embrace. "And do you really think I could be happy, knowing that you threw away your future on account of me?

Luke, I refuse to hold you back. I want you to have everything you've ever dreamed of because you deserve it. That's why I want you to tell your manager yes. You owe it to yourself, your mom…your dad…to go and play in New York." I sigh deeply. "If you don't, I don't think I'd ever be able to forgive myself." Hugging my arms to my chest, I slowly back my way out of the kitchen. "Roberta…" he whispers. But with silent tears streaming down my face, I keep going. Once I get inside my room, I lock the door before throwing myself down onto the bed, tugging the sheets around me that are still warm from his body.

Chapter Thirty-Four Luke When you get to be around twelve or thirteen, don't even think about shaping your own eyebrows. Come to me and I will take you to have them done by a professional. The hair you pluck today, you'll be wishing you had back when you're older. When life gets overwhelming, never lash out at those around you. Drive around. Crank up the music. Go for a walk. Words said in bitterness tend to leave a permanent mark. They're always the ones you wish you could

take back. Happiness isn't one big concrete thing that once you find it, you'll have it forever. It's more of a collection of fleeting, yet perfect, moments. Eating ice cream under the stars on a summer night. Tramping through leaves on a crisp, autumn day. Catching a snowflake on your tongue and laughing when you do. Fame, success, money, power—none of them will give you what you need—that pure, uncomplicated sense of bliss—that allows you to be able to live with yourself and forgive yourself for the choices you've made. I put down Roberta's journal. I stayed

up all night reading it. When she walked out of the kitchen, I didn't know what to do, what to think, what to say. Then my eyes fell on the blue and green butterflies floating across the cover, and I just had to find out what was inside. She thought by telling me she couldn't have children that I wouldn't want her anymore, but I can honestly say, after reading all of her warm, funny, heartfelt entries to the daughter she'll never have, I want her now more than ever. Her strength, her insight, her compassion—her soul—came pouring out onto these pages, and it tears me up to hear her call herself half a woman. She's a survivor, enduring the kind of

hardship that would've broken the spirit of many. Yet here she is, still holding on, refusing to let go of that goodness inside of her. The doorbell rings, and Mom's wail immediately reaches every corner of the house. I raise my eyes to the ceiling as her panicked footsteps start pitterpattering frantically overhead. I don't know who's at my door at seven o'clock in the morning, but it's probably someone I don't want her to encounter. I can only hope Roberta stops her before she makes it downstairs. The race is on as I sprint out of the kitchen. But when I catch a glimpse of who's standing on the porch, I groan.

And my heart sinks even further when Mom comes bustling down the steps, making a beeline straight toward me. "Lukey! What's going on? Did your father forget his keys again?" she asks all in one breath. Her eyes are overly bright, signaling to me her brain is scrambling to make sense of things. Her cognition is never good first thing in the morning. Add in being startled out of a sound sleep, and I know there's no chance of hiding her condition. There couldn't be a worse time to invite this person in. I cradle Mom's face in both hands. "Ma, listen to me. It's not Dad… It's one of his friends."

"His friend…?" she whispers. "He doesn't have any friends." "Yes, he does." Even in the midst of impending disaster, she gets me to smile in spite of myself. "You like this man. You told me so yourself." She scrunches up her nose. "I don't like men. They're loud and messy and…" "You like me well enough, don't ya?" Grasping my wrists, she lowers my hands from her face. "You're not a man, Lukey. You're my baby boy." I close my eyes, her remark affecting me on a much deeper level after learning what Roberta told me last night. "I know," I whisper. "Why don't you go upstairs and find Roberta? Can you do

that for me?" "Who…? No, I wanna stay with you." But I don't have much time to contemplate where Roberta is right now and why she's not down here. "All right, just let me do all the talking, okay?" She nods. "Okay, Lukey." My fingers dance over the keys of the security panel as I punch in the code. I don't know how I'm going to explain this to him if things go south, but here goes nothing. Yet as soon as I open the door, Mom says in a hushed voice, "Wow… Would you look at that? There's a cowboy standing on our front porch! Where did he come from?"

Landry glances from her to me with a sadness in his eyes I've never seen before. "So…it's true, then?" And just when I thought I'd escaped my nightmare, that terrible sensation of being buried alive at the bottom of that deep, dark well overwhelms me. My mouth goes dry, yet somehow I manage to utter, "You know?" "Your girlfriend told me." "Bobbie Jo?" His eyebrows shoot up, way above the rim of his hat. "Nah, I was talkin' 'bout your auction date—Heidi." I bump my head against the doorframe and Mom sneaks past me. "Where's your horse? Did you leave him in the

backyard?" He sticks his fingers in the belt loops of his jeans and just stares at her for a moment. "Well, shucks, Carla. I'm really sorry you don't remember me." "Am I supposed to?" She scratches her head. "Who are you—the Lone Ranger or the Marlboro Man?" He doffs his hat and holds it over his heart. "It's Mike, Carla…Mike Landry. We had so many good times together, you and your husband, me and my wife." "Where is your wife?" she asks, looking around. Landry crumples his hat against his chest. "She…she died, Carla." "Oh, yeah? I think my husband left me

for another woman," she replies matterof-factly. "He's never home anymore. I don't know where he goes." He lays his hand on her shoulder. "Your husband's a good man, one of the best I ever met." He winks at me. "And his son ain't too bad either." "Landry! What are you doing here?" Roberta asks breathlessly. She stands in the doorway, amazed, still in the clothes she was in the night before. Her hair hasn't been combed. She has dark circles under her eyes. She's a mess. I'm a mess. Mom's a mess. From his perspective, this must look really, really bad. "I came to have a heart-to-heart with your new boyfriend here. Mind if I come

in?" He steps in between us, his boots jangling as he walks. "Carla, the house looks great, just the same as I remember. It really is like comin' home again. I only wish I made time at the beginnin' of the season to come and see ya." Mom follows him in, and I exchange a worried glance with Roberta. "Is he just making small talk or does he really disapprove of—?" "Of course, he disapproves of us," she groans. "Yeah, but Heidi tipped him off, told him something was wrong with Mom. That's why he's here. To investigate. To see if it's true." I sigh. "And I'm afraid it didn't take him long to figure it out."

She rests her hand on her lower back, trying to piece it together. "His daughter just went back to school, and with his son away at college, he'd never just up and leave her." "Well, he's here, isn't he?" I close the door and my mind jumps ahead, running through all the possible scenarios of what his showing up on my doorstep implies. Is he here to take Mom away from me, or is there some other reason behind his surprise visit? "Single, why don't you take a seat?" he commands, his deep baritone resonating with authority. My hackles immediately go up. Where does he get off, ordering me around in

my own home? Reluctantly, I prop my hip on the armrest of the couch, half complying with his request. "It sounds like you're about to deliver some pretty bad news." "I'm afraid that I am." He grimaces. "That's why I came to tell you in person. Did old Rex happen to contact you last night?" I lean forward. "Yeah, about the September call-ups. Why?" Roberta jumps in. "He's going to New York, Landry. We've already discussed it. I've got everything under control here." "Yeah," he drawls. "Carla's burns healed up real nice, Bobbie Jo."

And it's like he's the one putting the cover on the well now, blocking out even the tiniest speck of light. Right now, I'm about ready to do whatever it takes to get him to back off. "Landry, we shouldn't have lied to you," I blurt out. "But Bobbie Jo's not to blame. It was my idea to keep quiet about Mom's Alzheimer's, not hers." He broods as he painstakingly rolls up the sleeves of his plaid shirt, showing off the pitching arm that made him a household name. He's a guy who holds a lot of power over the direction of my life. How he decides to wield it will affect not just me, but the other two people sitting in this room.

In his eyes, I'll always be a kid. He first met me when I was playing with my Tonka trucks under the kitchen table. To him, I'll always have junior attached to the end of my name. He considers Mom to be one of his dear friends. If he feels like I'm in over my head, he's not going to rest until he eases his conscience about her living situation. But Roberta, he trusts. She's the only one who can sway him to my side. He kicks back his heels and studies me. "So…if you were to play in New York, Bobbie Jo's just supposed to live in Stockton with your mama… indefinitely?" I don't hesitate. I come right out and

say what he needs to hear from me. "I don't want to play in New York." "You don't?" "Luke, shhhh." Roberta glares at me. "Landry, don't listen to him. Of course, he wants to play in New York." "No…" I reiterate, making it as plain as can be. "I don't." The corner of Landry's mouth twitches as he sits forward, swinging his hat between his knees. "Is that how you really feel, son?" "It is." Roberta sighs, shaking her head. "He's only saying that because he's afraid." "Afraid?" Landry chuckles at her while shooting me a sideways glance. "I

didn't tell anybody I was comin' to Stockton. But I made it a point to fly in 'cause I wanted to be here in case Nichols tried anything. Though, I needn't have worried. Your boyfriend slew Goliath—literally. If that didn't prove he has the biggest pair of balls of anyone I know, I don't know what does." He turns back to her. "So tell me what's he so afraid of, Bobbie Jo?" "You!" She throws up her hands. He looks at me in disbelief. "Me?" "Yes, you!" she huffs. "Of you, sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. Landry, I know you mean well, but you can't go around dictating how other people should live their lives.

Luke doesn't want to put his mom in a nursing home. And until the time comes when he absolutely has to, I support him one hundred percent." My eyes flash to her agitated profile. When exactly was she going to tell me this? She never mentioned that one day her assistance might not be enough. Landry, thoroughly chagrined, crosses his arms and says nothing. "And another thing," Roberta goes on. "So what if Luke and I are dating? It shouldn't matter to you. You're not my boss anymore." "Yeah, but I'm his," he says in response, getting more of a rise out of her.

"But that doesn't give you the right to —" "Bobbie Jo." Landry halts her right there. "I'm not here about that. I'm here to tell Single that the Heimlichs wanna call up Rob Reardon, instead of him." I blink, trying to take in what he just said. He rests his hand on my back. "My sincerest apologies, Single. Rex spoke outta turn. Last night, over a few beers in the hotel bar, he was tellin' me what you did to Nichols like he couldn't believe it. I guess he didn't think you had it in you. But I knew. I knew it all along. I mentioned that you were on the list of names the Heimlichs were considerin',

but I made it perfectly clear to him that things were still up in the air, nuthin' was final yet. But Rexy was feelin' guilty over how rotten he treated you all season, and he's never been one to hold his liquor. This morning when he told me he'd texted you about it as a way of makin' amends, I came right over." He grips my shoulder. "The Heimlichs are pretty sure the Kings are gonna make the play-offs, and they want Rob to get some postseason experience under his belt. As you know, they're groomin' him to be their up-and-comin' star." Landry sighs. "But, Single, I want you to know that I fought for you. I really did. I hope it goes without sayin' that I couldn't disagree

more with the Heimlichs' decision." "Oh, Luke," Roberta moans, her anger instantly receding as she pushes Landry aside and throws her arms around me. "This is so unfair. You deserve it more than anyone on that team." "It's okay," I mumble through her hair. "I'm actually kinda relieved." She steps back from me. "Please don't say that." "Single…" Landry intervenes. "I know how much it meant to your dad, and now you gettin' so close after all that you've been through… I'm tellin' ya, it breaks my heart." "Don't be silly." I wave them off. "There are things a whole lot worse that

can break my heart, and trust me, this isn't one of them." Roberta's eyes find mine. Her gaze is troubled, automatically assuming that I'm referring to what she told me last night. But she couldn't be more wrong. I just can't talk about it in front of Landry. "Well," Landry coughs, seeing the way we're staring at each other. "Last night's sellout topped the season attendance mark the Heimlichs set for me, which means they extended my ownership agreement for three more years. And I promise ya, Single, you'll have a place in the Beavers' organization for as long as I'm a part of it." I extend my hand to him. "Thanks,

man." He shakes it warmly. "About your mom…" He casts a glance to where she's rocking in place on the couch. "You're in good hands with Bobbie Jo. She's the best." "She certainly is," I say, unable to wrest my eyes away from her. She blushes, looking down at her hands. "So, that's it?" she asks. "That's it," Landry responds. She hands him his hat. "So, you'll be leaving, then?" "And here I thought you'd wanna hear all about my date with Ruby," he teases. "I thought it wasn't a date?" "That night wasn't…but the time after

that, and the time after that…" She covers her ears as his eyes twinkle down at her. "All right, enough! I get the picture." "She sure got this ol' cowboy to loosen up. I tried to take charge of her cancer treatments, and she soundly put me in my place," he chuckles. But Roberta doesn't. "She's still receiving chemo?" "Nah, scratch that," he says, placing his hat atop his head. "What I should've said was her follow-up care. She's been cancer-free for a little over a month." Now that's a risky relationship if I ever heard one, and it only makes me admire the guy even more. Not because

Danny thinks he's the G.O.A.T. but because his wife, the mother of his children, died of cancer, and now he's dating a woman who's on the road to recovery. But he's not afraid. He's going for it. And I find that inspiring. Landry grins broadly. "She's actually at the hotel, waitin' for me to get back." Roberta punches his arm. "You're telling me you brought her to Stockton and you didn't even bring her over here with you?" "I really wasn't here on a social call, Bobbie Jo," he mutters. She stabs the number nine button on the security box before throwing open the door. "Well, get out, then."

And we both burst out laughing. "You've got a live wire there, Single. You sure you can handle her?" "I'm pretty sure I'm up for the challenge, considering the alternative." He cocks an eyebrow at me. "And that's…?" "Heidi Foster." He guffaws as Roberta glowers at me. "I've already told my assistant not to accept any more calls from her. That girl is straight-up crazy." "Yeah, thanks for setting me up with her," I deadpan. He touches the brim of his hat. "I owe you and Bobbie Jo a night on the town for that one. On my dime, wherever you

wanna go, just name it." I smile at him. "I'll be in touch." "Don't I get a say in any of this?" Roberta speaks up. "No," we respond in unison, laughing. Roberta places her hands on Landry's back and playfully shoves him out the door. "And don't come back." "Oh, I will," he calls over his shoulder. "You can be sure of it. Hey, wait a minute. Since you're datin' Single now, does that make you…Bobbie Jo Beaver?" And she promptly slams the door in his face.

Chapter Thirty-Five Roberta I rest my back against the door, my eyes trained on Luke's face. "So you get to stay with the Beavers…and you're really okay with that?" He strides up to me, taking my hand and raising it to his lips. When he kisses it, a delightful tingle races through me as his eyes burn into mine. "I don't need to play in the big leagues in order to validate my career." I frown. Great. He thinks I'm disappointed in him. But that couldn't be further from the truth. I'm disappointed

for him and how the breaks never seem to go his way. He's talented, dedicated, with the heart of a champion. I just want to see him get rewarded for that. I squeeze his hand. "Luke, I just want you to know that I'm so proud of you. What you've accomplished this season? The comeback you made? No one else could've done what you've done." His eyes sparkle at me. "Well, it wouldn't have been possible without one very important thing…" I hold my breath. "You." I crumple in on myself, pressing my shoulder against the door. "Luke, don't say things like that."

He rests his shoulder next to mine so I can't hide my face from him. "Why? It's true. I couldn't have done it without you. You're the glue that held me together." "But when you heard last night that you'd made the Kings, the first thing that had to go through your mind was that one day you'd tell your kids about it." I close my eyes and whisper, "Please…don't deny it." He sighs, "That's what you don't understand. One day, I am gonna tell my kids about it." He shoves away from the door and leaves me standing there, and my heart aches as it's never ached before. When I told him I couldn't have children, I knew

there was a very real possibility I could lose him. What man doesn't want kids of his own? But to hear him talk about it so casually hurts way more than I thought it would. However, when he runs out of the living room and into the kitchen, screaming, "Ma! Where are you? Ma!" I know something's terribly wrong. I clutch my throat. "She's not in there?" "No!" "Where could she possibly have gone?" He grips his forehead. "The alarm was disabled for a few moments when we let Landry out. She must've slipped

out the back door." "Oh my God," I whisper as he enters the code and rushes into the backyard. Following him, my mind begins to race. She couldn't have gotten far. How long were we talking in the foyer? Five…ten minutes, tops? I should call the police. I should… "Ma! Don't move! I'm coming!" I glance up to see Mrs. S. perched precariously on the ladder that's hanging against the side of the house, the one Luke was using to repair the leaky rain gutter for the millionth time. She has something in her hands, some kind of book that she's ripping pages out of and letting them float away on the breeze.

"Fly, butterflies! Fly!" she cries as she lets go of another page. Butterflies? My heart stops. No, God, no…not my journal. "Luke!" I utter a strangled cry. "I know…I know." He tries to steady the ladder beneath her, but when he starts to climb up, it begins to sway when she leans to the side, narrowly avoiding his grasp. They're going to fall, is the first thing that goes through my mind. The two of them are going to fall. And with a burst of speed I didn't know I possessed, I reach the ladder and hold on to it with all the strength I have in me. But their combined weight is too much. It's

starting to go. I dig in my heels and bend my knees to brace myself, struggling to keep it upright as Luke climbs up another rung. "I've got you, Ma," he shouts up to her. "Let the journal go." She laughs as she flicks the cover away from her like she's tossing a Frisbee. The ladder shakes and sweat drips down my brow as it creaks underneath my fingers. "Take a step down," Luke commands, grabbing the back of her nightgown. "I'm right behind you." His arm, the one that was paralyzed after his injury, is dangerously exposed. If the ladder tips, it's going to take the

full brunt of the impact. I can't let that happen, not after how far he's come. But I don't think I'll be able to hold on for much longer. He has to get her down —now. I grind my teeth and the back of Luke's feet start to descend, one rung then two rungs then three. And Mrs. S. is right behind him, taking each rung with a lot less care than he is. When his foot is practically in my face, I step aside and he hops off, bringing her down on top of him as the ladder clatters onto its side. She stares at me, sitting atop Luke's chest as I stand there, trying to catch my breath. When Luke groans, I hurry over, extending my hands to her to help her up.

But she doesn't take them. She continues to stare at me instead. "You're the keeper of the butterflies, aren't you?" she asks. I nod. "Yes, but you have to get up now." "You keep the butterflies. But now, I set them free. I let them soar out into the world." She stares down at her son. "Now you have to let me go, Lukey. You have to let me soar with the butterflies too." Luke's head turns to the side, his gaze landing on her, and I feel like crying because not making the Kings may not have broken his heart, but realizing the state his mother's in crushes him like

nothing else can. He tried so hard to keep her with him, but it's like she's giving him permission to do what needs to be done, like she's setting him free. I take hold of her hands, and she lets me hoist her up. And I'm surprised when she gives me a big hug. "You're a good girl. And that's what I want for my Lukey, a good girl." She smiles until that absent look steals across her features again as she wanders aimlessly over to the chair her husband made for her and sits in it. I kneel down next to Luke as he sits up. "Are you okay?" He gives me a half smile. "Yeah, I just got the wind knocked out of me. That's

all." He curses under his breath as he gets up and starts bending over to retrieve some of the pages that are littering the lawn. "Don't," I insist, grabbing his arm. "She's right. Just let them go." He looks down at the smudges of indecipherable ink, the pages all wet from the dew on the grass. He screws up his face in consternation. "She ruined everything. She—" But I place my hand on his face. "Don't be angry with her. She didn't know what she was doing." His eyes sadden, but I keep going. "Luke, it's better this way. It's not like I need my journal anymore. It was just a means of

keeping my regrets alive." He takes my hand from his face and presses it to his heart. "And what if I can't let go of the dream of her, that daughter you write to all the time?" I take a shaky breath while clutching the front of his shirt. "She doesn't exist, Luke. She'll never exist. What about that don't you understand?" "Well, I'm not giving up on her. She's out there somewhere, just waiting for us to find her," he says so ardently, my heart throbs anew within my chest. "What are you saying?" "I'm saying our daughter, a child we can love with all our hearts, can still come into our lives," he whispers,

running his thumb lightly across the back of my hand. "Do you mean—?" I stutter. "Are you talking about—?" He smiles at me with his whole heart. "Adoption? Yes…I am." I shut my eyes tight. "But she won't be yours. She won't be—" "She'll be ours." He cups my chin, stretching out his fingers until I turn my cheek into the warmth of his palm. "Do you really mean that?" "Family's everything to me." He lowers his head. "It's why I felt so strongly about keeping Mom at home, why I went through so much trouble

when most people wouldn't be bothered." But one word in particular jumps out at me. "Felt?" I question him. "I can't ask you to do this anymore, Roberta." Luke has that look on his face. I recognize it because I've seen it on so many family members. There comes a moment of revelation in every family when the condition of an Alzheimer's patient goes downhill so rapidly there's no longer any denying that things are only going to get worse instead of better. It's a sobering reality having to admit defeat in the face of a disease that has no known cure. No one wants to give up on

someone they love, and no one loves deeper or truer than Luke. He's a man who loves with all his heart, and it breaks mine to know that this moment has come for him. He glances over at his mom as she stares off into space, lost in her own little world. Dropping his gaze, he slowly raises his eyes to mine. "It's just…have you seen some of those places?" He lowers his hands from my face, stepping aside. "People walking around like zombies, herded into rooms like cattle." "Not all nursing homes are like that. I worked in one, remember?" I respond softly, and when I draw closer to him, he

stops pacing. "Luke, I was only able to give you a temporary solution. There was always going to come a time when her needs would become greater than the level of care I'm able to provide. And after today—" I bite my lip. "It's something you can't put off much longer." "How long are we talking?" "It could be years, months, weeks. I don't know." I place a hand on his arm. "She was originally diagnosed with Alzheimer's…when was it, about two years ago?" His mind's reeling, and he starts rambling. "Yeah, right around the time I saw you in—" "You saw me?" I exclaim. "Where did

you see me?" "In Arnold Heimlich's office." I stare into his eyes that are alive with a memory I wish with all my heart I could recall. "It was only for a moment. But I don't know…the way you took care of him? That's what I wanted for Mom." My heart responds to him, recognizing a part of itself beating outside my body, making my connection to him seem even more special than it did before. I cast a guilt-ridden look at him. "I'm sorry I don't remember. There was just so much going on in my life at that time —new job, new boss, new place to live, new…everything. At that point, I probably couldn't even have told you my

name if you had asked me." He laughs it off, like the last thing he wants is for me to feel guilty about anything. "It's okay. You inspired me, that's all that matters." I whisper, almost to myself, "It's just funny." "What is?" "How you can make an impact on someone and not even know it." "You did…" He pauses, his voice starting to crack. "I just thought that everything was going to be okay once you arrived in Stockton. That somehow you were here to save the day." He bends his head. "But I guess what you're trying to get through my thick skull is that

in the end, neither of us has what it takes to keep Mom out of a nursing home— and it's just devastating to have to come to terms with that." Gently, I touch his face. "Luke, listen to me. I promise you that we're going to find a good place for her. I give you my word." I run my thumb over his cheekbone as he struggles to hold on to his composure. "Okay?" His eyes are glistening with unshed tears as he nods back at me. "Okay." If he's willing to give me the hope of a daughter I never thought I'd have, I'll stop at nothing to find a good place for his mom. I may have inspired him then, but now he's the one inspiring me.

Chapter Thirty-Six Luke Eight months later "This wasn't what I had in mind when Landry said he'd pick up the tab on one of our date nights," I tease Roberta as she cuddles up next to me. "So what did you have in mind?" she murmurs, brushing her lips against my ear. "A long weekend at the ranch?" "Well, it certainly didn't include the row of wheelchairs lined up behind us." I glance back at the handicapped section of Beaver Field, and there's Mom snuggled in a blanket and proudly

sporting one of Dad's old ball caps on her head. The other Alzheimer's patients around her are showing varying levels of interest when it comes to the preseason exhibition game the New York Kings are playing on our field. One is concentrating on a plane flying overhead, while another is licking her lips at the cotton candy the little boy in front of her is eating. I'm impressed that Mom's attention is on home plate, like she doesn't want to miss Dad stepping out of the dugout and into the batter's box. On a night like tonight, I could swear she remembers all of the games she's attended here over the years. Memories

like that don't just leave their mark on the mind, but on the soul as well. She loved Dad. She stuck by him through thick and thin. It couldn't have been easy for her, being forced to stand by and watch his dream of making it to the majors slip away. But she didn't allow any bitterness to dampen her outlook on life. She may not have been as vocal as Dad was in telling me I could do anything I set my mind to, but she was always there to support me, whether she agreed with my decision to follow in Dad's footsteps or not. Like Dad, I may never reach the lofty heights of the major leaguers we're watching tonight, but I'm fine with that.

Two nights from now, I'll be on this very same field when the Kings' three-game series against the Titans concludes and the Beavers' regular season gets underway. I've made my peace with it because, deep down, there's nowhere else I'd rather be. Stockton's where my heart is, and the lure of New York and the big leagues just can't compete with what I have here. Roberta smiles at me. "You can't fool me, Luke Singleton. You wouldn't want to spend tonight any other way…and neither would I." I tip my head in Mom's direction. "But I see now how stubborn I was being, how scared I was to ask for help.

Without you, none of this would've been possible." "Are you kidding? I live for stuff like this," she teases, resting her head on my arm. "And once I found the perfect Alzheimer's residence for your mom, there was no way I was going to let you turn it down when you thought you wouldn't be able to afford it." "I wouldn't have felt comfortable leaving her anywhere else," I whisper. "I would've done anything for her to be able to stay there. Even sell the house." She reaches up to kiss my cheek. "I know. I'm just glad you didn't have to." Last year, Roberta and I went looking at various nursing homes in the Stockton

area, and we weren't pleased with what we saw. Stepping through their doors did nothing to ease my fears. Either we were bowled over by the smell of unwashed bed linens or assailed by the number of residents groaning from their beds as we walked by their rooms, watching them futilely ring their call buttons for assistance. Good impressions were hard to come by, and I was just about to give up hope when we came across the Guardian Angel Senior Center, a private, ten-bed facility that had just opened, the brainchild of a local woman, Gloria Walker. After her mom succumbed to Alzheimer's, Gloria went back to school

in order to become a registered nurse. Having gone through what we were going through, Gloria knew there weren't many viable options in and around Stockton. So she decided to open a facility of her own in order to provide those with Alzheimer's a safe and compassionate environment in which to live. But it was still hard. When Mom left home, we were both heartbroken by how much we missed her, but the transition turned out to be a lot harder on Roberta than I expected. Every time visiting hours were over, I had to practically drag her home with me. The guilt over not being able to care for Mom anymore

was eating away at her. She kept telling me she felt like she'd failed her somehow. And I felt the same way. Although I liked everything about Gloria's facility, I knew when I checked Mom in that she wouldn't get to stay there indefinitely. The long-term cost was well out of the range of my budget. Mom's insurance didn't cover the whole thing, and unfortunately, I just didn't make enough with the Beavers to make up the difference. All I had was the house, and I thought I had no other choice but to put it up for sale. Then unbeknownst to me, Roberta went and talked to Gloria and they

worked out an arrangement where she could come and work for her in exchange for what I owed for Mom's care. By doing so, I wouldn't have to sell the house, and Mom's future would be secure. Before I met Roberta, I thought finding the perfect situation for Mom was virtually impossible—but Roberta not only delivered, she made it happen. I only wish I had the same amount of confidence right now as I reach into my pocket for my phone. There's something I want to ask her. Now that Mom's squared away, we're ready to take the next step in our journey together. I turn on my phone and a picture of a one-year-old with little blond tufts

sticking out of her pigtail holders fills the screen. I take a deep breath before I hold it out to her. I swallow, getting choked up. "What do you think of her?" Nonchalantly, Roberta takes the phone out of my hand. "Aww, Luke. She's adorable. Whose is she? One of the Beavers?" "Uh…no." I clear my throat, realizing I need to explain things, and fast. "She could be… She could be ours." Roberta sits up to look at me. "Luke, what are you saying?" "Do you remember Danny talking about his date from the auction? A woman named Chrissy?" Wrinkling her forehead, she asks,

"The mom with the cannoli?" And by the puzzled expression on her face, I can tell I'm really blowing this. Whenever I get nervous, I tend to talk in circles and the important details get lost coming out of my mouth. Probably because I'm scared to death she's not going to go for my idea. That's why I showed her the picture first. How can anyone say no to that face? I shove my hair behind my ears. "Yeah, the mom with the cannoli. She's a social worker at the foster care agency downtown." Roberta's jaw drops, and I just keep talking. "After that day in the backyard last summer, I went to her and filled out the paperwork that would

register us to become foster parents. Once it went through, Chrissy started putting out feelers for us." "And you didn't even tell me about it?" she demands. "You were so busy getting Mom settled." I scratch my neck. "And Chrissy said it could take months to match us up with the right child. I didn't want to get your hopes up until she hit on something." Roberta props her elbows on her knees, and I give her a moment to let it all sink in. "Bobbie Jo," I say softly. "I know you didn't want to adopt a newborn." "Luke, we've talked about this," she

cuts in. "You know why I couldn't do it. It'd be too hard." "I know…that's why I think Summer's perfect for us." She glances at the photo again, and her voice catches. "Her name's Summer?" "Summer Rose," I reply. Roberta's shoulders rise and fall with every breath, and I take it as a sign to continue. "Her mom can't take care of her anymore." And here's where it gets tough because what I have to say now is going to make or break what happens next. "Summer's mom died…" Roberta bends her head, concentrating on the photo. "How?"

I glance down the row at Mom. I wish she could give me some advice on how to handle this. I'm just glad she's here because right now I need her more than ever. I've never been as scared as I am at this very moment. I want this child. This child needs us. But when Roberta hears about what happened, she may very well say no. When I don't answer right away, Roberta picks up her head, locking me in her steady blue gaze. "Luke, how did she die?" "In a domestic violence incident," I whisper. Roberta gasps as my phone falls off her lap and onto the ground. But I don't

even reach for it. Instead, I reach for her hand. "The police found Summer in the next room, crying in her crib. She wasn't hurt," I'm quick to add when Roberta's fingers tighten around mine. "But she has no next of kin. Her mother's gone. Her father's in jail. And Chrissy said the sooner she can find love and kindness in a stable home, the least amount of trauma she'll suffer in the long run." My heart aches when Roberta lifts her tear-filled eyes to mine. "But Luke, we're not married. Why would they even consider us?" I reach for both of her hands, pulling her into me. "Because we will be

someday." "But…" Leaning in, I kiss the top of her head. "I know that you're not looking to get married again anytime soon, and I understand why you feel that way. I'm not rushing you into something you don't want to do, but we can't lose her, Bobbie Jo. She's the one. She's the one who needs us." Slowly, Roberta nods, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Is it possible to love someone so much, so quickly?" "Yes," I whisper against her forehead. "Because it's the same way I felt about you." "Oh, Luke." She collapses into me,

sobbing as Mom's fellow residents begin to take notice. "Why's she crying?" "Who's crying?" "She is." "Who?" "That woman down there." Upon hearing them bicker, Mom stares down the row and immediately gets out of her seat when she catches sight of Roberta's tear-stained face. Bypassing the line of wheelchairs, she doesn't stop until she's at Roberta's side, clasping her protectively from behind. Roberta glances up in shock when she feels her pat her on the head. "Mrs. S.! What are you doing over here?"

"Stop it, Lukey!" Mom scowls at me. I raise my arms in self-defense. "Ma, I swear. I didn't do anything." "What's wrong with you? Don't go making all the girls cry!" "It's okay, Mrs. S. You wanna know why?" Roberta blubbers up at her while wiping her eyes, a grin stretching across her lips. "You're going to be a grandma!" She picks up my phone and Summer's face smiles up at her. "What do you think about that?" My heart clenches when Mom tries to make the connection between Roberta's joy-filled statement and the picture of the adorable little girl she's looking at. I hold my breath, waiting for how much

it's inevitably going to hurt when she's unable to put the two together. But Mom surprises me when she strokes Summer's hair on the screen and murmurs, "She's absolutely beautiful." Roberta squeezes my arm, and I struggle to blink back my tears when I realize that, for this one moment in time, everything feels…right. "Thanks, Ma. I think so too." I hold out my hand to her and wrap the three of us in a big hug, our love for Summer uniting us even closer together. That's what family's all about. And for me, family always comes first. It has to.

Chapter Thirty-Seven Roberta "I can't believe you let my two exboyfriends into your home," I whisper in Luke's ear. "Excuse me…our home," he says before winking at me. "Besides, you should know by now, I'm not the jealous type." "I know, and I'm glad of it, but I still can't wait for this night to be over." I glance at him. "I can't believe we didn't cancel this party for the Kings after we found out we were getting Summer today."

I pat Summer's soft, sweet head that's currently nuzzled against Luke's chest, and he smiles at me before surveying the noisy horde that's filtering in and out of the kitchen, eager to sample the spread of sandwiches and salads arranged on the table as a makeshift buffet. "It's amazing she's able to sleep through all this, isn't it?" He rubs Summer's back while rocking her gently in his arms. "But it's how Dad would've wanted it. His door was always open to any ballplayer who happened to be in Stockton." I grunt. "Yeah, and based on the way they're filling their plates, they're certainly not shy about accepting our

hospitality. Do you think there'll be anything left for us to eat?" He grins at me over Summer's head. "With the Beavers and the Kings, as well as both coaching staffs here, there must be over sixty men in the house right now. I don't think there'll be a crumb left by the time they get done." I cast a worried look in his direction. "What if Summer gets hungry?" He kisses her soft, blond hair. "She's out like a light. There's no way she's waking up anytime soon." He reaches for my hand. "Don't worry, Mama. Daddy's got it all under control." My attention is focused on Luke and what a natural he is when it comes to

being a father when someone taps me on the arm. Reluctantly, I turn around. "Yes…?" But the word dies on my lips once I see who it is. "Umm, Roberta? I'm sorry to bother you, but how the heck are ya?" Scott Harper gives me his most captivating smile, while Jake Woodbury stands sheepishly behind him. "Oh, is that your little girl?" Scott moves in, bending down to peer into her face. "She's a cutie. Hey, little one. What's up?" Jake clubs him on the back. "Stop it, Scott. You're gonna wake her up." He shoots me a nervous glance before stepping alongside me. "Hey, Roberta. It's good to see you again."

I awkwardly press my lips together. "Yeah, you too." There's no getting around it. I feel guilty being around Jake again, guilty that through me, he unknowingly became another victim of David's violence. I never told Jake what David did to me, and I never will. But I didn't treat Jake as well as I should have. I let David's evil influence poison my life for far too long. It's true I never loved Jake, but I never set out to hurt him either. I just wasn't able to deal with the emotions that getting pregnant again stirred up inside me. Jake always called me his wounded bird, but I think before I met Luke I was

more like an injured bear, slowly bleeding to death in the wild. I was someone Jake should've stayed far away from. I was hurt, scared, thinking I had to claw at anyone who tried to help me in order to defend myself, believing that even though Jake meant well, he would only hurt me in the end. Luke was able to succeed with me where Jake couldn't, for one very important reason. From the beginning, I always viewed Luke as a fellow victim. He was someone who knew what it meant to suffer at the hands of David. In my mind, Luke wasn't above me or below me. We were the same. While, where Jake was concerned, I just wasn't

able to get there with him. I wasn't ready, and bottom line, we just weren't right for each other. He couldn't understand what I was going through because I never let him in. I was broken, and until I was able to heal, the only thing I was capable of was breaking him too. David may have been the root cause behind it all, but when it came to Jake, I take full responsibility for being the one who caused him so much pain. That's why I'm apprehensive about seeing him again. I know just how much I hurt him by walking away after I miscarried, fleeing to Landry's ranch in Texas, leaving him to cope with the loss all alone. Now that he's married with a

new baby son, I hope his wife and child have healed his wounds, just like Luke and Summer healed mine—the ones I didn't mean to inflict, but did. I can only pray that the two of us have found happiness each in our own way. Jake jams his hands into his pockets, his eyes quickly leaving my face and traveling to Summer. "What's her name?" "Summer Rose," Luke answers for me while smiling back at Jake. Encouraged by Luke's response, Jake loosens up. "You guys really brought her home today? Wow, that's amazing. Congratulations." Luke is practically beaming he's so happy. "Thanks, man. The foster care

system wanted to place her in a good home as soon as possible, and we jumped at the opportunity to take her in. She's only our foster daughter for now, but we're hoping to adopt her." Scott nods enthusiastically. "That's awesome, bro." But I'm surprised when Jake doesn't reply. Instead, he just chews on his bottom lip while his eyes drop to the floor. Scott, sensing Jake's discomfort, starts wrapping things up. "Yeah, thanks again for everything. It was nice meeting you, Single. Maybe we'll get to turn some double plays together in New York, once the Heimlichs get their heads outta their

asses." Luke laughs at him. "Aren't you married to a Heimlich?" "Yeah." He leans in. "But it doesn't mean I agree with everything they do." He rocks back on his heels with a knowing gleam in his eyes. "C'mon, Woodchucker. Let's grab some cake before Jilly comes in and devours the whole thing." But Jake stays firmly rooted to the spot. "You go on ahead. I'll catch up." Scott shrugs. "All right. Suit yourself, but don't say I didn't warn ya." Stepping back, he positions himself directly behind Jake's back in order to mouth to me, "Go easy on him."

I roll my eyes, just as Jake looks up at me. Unsure of himself, he gives me a timid smile before running a hand through his thick, dark hair. "Roberta, I just want you to know how happy I am for you." He throws a hasty glance at Luke. "For the both of you." Overwhelmed, I just stand there, not knowing what to say. I've never been good at handling my emotions, and Luke knows that. When I don't respond, he covers for me. "You have a little boy of your own now, don't you?" Jake's smile matches Luke's. "Yeah, his name is Caleb." "Well, hopefully, we'll be able to introduce him to Summer someday,"

Luke replies warmly. Jake nods before looking at me. "I'd really like that." Luke subtly nudges my arm with his elbow, urging me to respond, and I jab him back before sputtering, "Yeah… that'd be great. Really great." Summer shifts in Luke's arms, and Jake takes that as his cue to leave. "All right, cool. I think I'm gonna go grab a piece of that cake Scott mentioned. Take care, you guys." "See ya, man," Luke responds. Summer yawns, snuggling her face under his chin, and when he gazes at me, he looks as content as can be. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Not for you," I moan, still mentally beating myself up over it. He chuckles, gazing at the clock above my head. "Okay, I know you were dreading that. But it's over now, and you got through it. More than that, you made the guy feel good." He smiles at me. "So what do you say we put this little lady to bed?" I raise an eyebrow at him. "What about our guests?" He gives me a sly grin as he begins walking out of the kitchen with Summer clinging to him. "I think I know who'd be more than happy to take over for us." I follow him, wondering what he's up to, when he strides over to Landry. "Hey,

man, feel like playing host for a while?" Landry staggers up from the couch, where a moment ago he was precariously balancing a plateful of food on his lap. "Are you kiddin'? I know a thing or two about keeping these ruffians in line." "Oh, yeah?" I challenge him. "And how are you gonna do that when you can't even eat without getting it all over yourself?" I point at the stain he has on the front of his shirt. He looks down at it helplessly, his plate in one hand, a plastic cup in the other. "Gosh, darn it. I didn't even see that." He glances across the room anxiously before calling out, "Ruby!"

An attractive woman with a cute pixie haircut looks up and smiles over at us, and the group of Beaver players who were hanging on her every word warily glance at their boss, hoping they're not in trouble for flirting with his girlfriend. Landry juts his chin at her proudly. "Look at 'em all. They're spellbound just listenin' to her." "She really is wonderful, Landry," I don't hesitate to admit. "I don't know how we would've pulled this off tonight, if not for her. She ran around Stockton all day, helping us put everything together." A huge grin stretches across Landry's face. "And you wanna know the best

thing? My kids are absolutely crazy about her." "And you're not?" Luke teases. "I'm not even gonna try to deny it. She has me hook, line, and sinker," he gloats as she walks over to join us. "There you are, baby. We were just talkin' 'bout ya." She reaches for his napkin, dipping it in his cup before going to work on the stain on his shirt. "Oh, no, not again. Mike, enough already," Ruby says bashfully as her hands come to rest on his chest. "Roberta and Luke need to get that little one of theirs to bed." "Isn't she great?" Landry sighs dreamily. I shake my head in amusement. "You

are so whipped, cowboy. I hope you know that, Ruby." She giggles, smiling up at him. "I think I have a pretty good idea." Luke calls back to them when we reach the foot of the stairs. "We're still on for dinner tomorrow night, right? Russo's after the game?" Landry gives him a big thumbs-up, once Ruby takes his plate out of his hand. "You know it, Single. It's all about celebrating another opening day. And since you're the team captain now, I intend to bounce some ideas off ya. Get your input about helping Hoff adjust to his role as backup catcher, and how to keep Rob focused down here now that

he's had a taste of the big time." Luke nods. "Sounds good, boss." I give them a wave, and just as we start to climb the stairs, the front door opens and Danny steps inside. "Hey, you two…or should I say, you three?" He grins at us. "Oh man, is Summer asleep? And here I was hoping I'd get to hear my boy, Single, put his mad, bedtime-story-reading skills to use." "Well, you'd be the perfect person for me to practice on," Luke fires back. "Since I can't tell you how many times I've woken up on the bus to find you drooling all over my shoulder." Danny glances at me, looking for

sympathy. "Do you see how he treats me, Roberta?" "Yeah," I mutter. "And you totally deserve it." He clutches his chest dramatically, like I just ripped his heart out, and Summer lifts her head to stare at him. Danny gulps, going rigid. "Oh, crap… she's up." Summer stares at him, her eyes going wide when she sees his long, red beard. Luke's eyes dart between the two of them. "Danny, I think you're scaring my kid." He backs up slowly with his hands in the air. "Okay, I'm outta here. The last thing I wanna do is make her cry or

something." "She'd be the first female to ever cry over you, since it's usually the other way around," Luke taunts him. "Hey," he says, sticking his head around the corner and waggling his eyebrows at us. "Did I tell you I met someone?" "You did?" Luke and I reply, snickering when Summer's head whips between the two of us, not sure what to make of our reaction. "Uncle Danny finally convinced some poor girl to go out with him." Luke raises Summer's arm in victory when she wraps her fingers around his thumb. "You actually went on date…for real

this time?" I question him. "Hey, guys, it's not funny," Danny protests, his feelings obviously hurt. "I really like this girl, and she really likes me." "If you say so, dude," Luke responds, trying to hide his smile. "Just wait until you meet her," he insists. "You'll see. She's perfect for me." I exchange a doubtful glance with Luke, knowing how, when it comes to relationships, nothing ever seems to last for Danny. "Yeah, you'll have to bring her over sometime." He nods. "Well, she's coming to a game next week, so maybe we can all

meet up afterward." "Okay…" I trail off. "Goodnight, Danny," Luke groans as he starts up the stairs again, and I have no choice but to follow him. "What was that all about?" I ask as we walk down the hallway. "I have no idea," Luke says, stepping inside the room at the far end. "But it can't be good. Danny has the worst luck when it comes to women. Every time he starts dating someone new, he always thinks she's the one. And all that ever happens is he gets his heart trampled on, over and over again." "Well, maybe this time—" I stop short when he shoots me a skeptical look as he

lowers Summer into her crib. He pulls the tiny blanket over her as she settles in. "Danny's like a brother to me. I care about him. I really do. But right now, I'd like to concentrate on us." He holds out his hand to me, and I readily lean into him as he wraps his arms around me. "I can't believe this is real. That she's here…in your mom's old room." Luke swallows, tightening his hold on me. "I only wish Mom could be with us too." "We're gonna see her tomorrow before the game," I remind him. "I can't wait for her to meet Summer." "Yeah, me too," he sighs.

I give him a minute, knowing it's still hard on him at times, not having his mom here with us. That's why I decorated the room the way I did. I rub his arm, urging him to look around. "What do you think? Does it look like a real nursery? I know it's not done yet…" He glances at the wall beside the crib. "Hey, aren't those the butterflies that were on the cover of your journal?" I nod, happy that he noticed. "Yeah, I thought they belonged in here." I take a deep breath. "I kinda like the thought of them watching over her. Of your mom watching over her." He manfully keeps it together, even though his arms start to tremble around

me. I reach down to smooth Summer's hair away from her face as she sucks her thumb in her sleep, dreaming sweet dreams after finding a safe place to lay her head. Somehow, she found her way to us, and now it's like she's come home, to a home that's full of nothing but love for her. "Do we have to go back to the party?" Luke asks, staring down at her. "'Cause I don't know about you, but I think I could stand here and watch her all night long." I smile, whispering to him softly, "I think you're gonna be the greatest dad ever." He kisses my hair. "And you're gonna

be the most fantastic mom…" He turns his head, pressing his cheek against mine, gazing at the butterflies and the dream they represent. "You already were." I clasp his hand and squeeze it as I start to get emotional. And this time, I don't fight it. I give in to my feelings, allowing myself to speak straight from the heart, holding nothing back. "No, first I had to learn from the best. Your mom taught me how nothing can break the bonds of love. It goes on, touching me, touching you, touching our new baby girl. Its reach is never ending… I didn't believe that before, but I believe it now with all my heart. Love never dies. It

goes on and on." I sniffle through my tears. "That's the life lesson I needed to learn before becoming a mother, and it's the one I can't wait to teach our daughter —how much her grandma loves her, how much you love her, how much I love her, how much love we have for one another as a family. To know she's loved—that's all I could ever want for her. If she has that, she has everything."

For More Information The National Domestic Violence Hotline 1-800-799-7233 (SAFE) www.thehotline.org Alzheimer's Association 1-800-272-3900 www.alz.org

About the Author Collette West grew up as somewhat of a jock-nerd hybrid. Entering the world three weeks premature, her dad nearly missed her birth because he had seats behind the dugout for a sold-out, highlyanticipated match-up between two of baseball's biggest rivals. Not to be outdone, her book-loving mom taught her how to read by the time she was three. A love of the game coupled with an appreciation for the written word were instilled in Collette's impressionable brain from a young age. No wonder her characters believe in the philosophy: sports + romance = a little slice of

heaven. Splitting her time between the Pocono Mountains and Manhattan, Collette indulges her inner fangirl by going to as many games as she can from hockey to baseball and downloading every sports romance novel in existence onto her iPad. When she's not clicking away on her laptop, she enjoys walking her dog in Central Park, satisfying her caffeine craving at the Starbucks on Broadway and keeping an eye out for Mr. Right. But above all, she loves dishing with her readers. She is the author of the Stockton Beavers series and the New York Kings series.

Email her [email protected].

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Acknowledgements Thank you—Ashley Bodette, Carol Clarke, Cha Delfin, Liza Dequilla, Jody Faltys, Charity Foster, Chris Gross, Ambur Hostyn, Nicole McCurdy, Crystal Napper, Jennifer Quenga, Gennifer Reiter, Kawehi W. and Stephen Walton—for being the fantastic people you are. Thank you—Nicole Blanchard, Damaris Cardinali, Alisha at Damonza, Amanda Harris, Lisa Hollett and Amy Logg—for being a joy to work with. Thank

you—readers—for

your

continued support. This series is a bit of a departure for me. The romance is more inspirational, and therefore more emotional. I hope you consider your journey with these characters to be time well spent.

Copyright © 2016 Collette West All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. They are not to be misconstrued as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark

owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. This ebook is licensed for your personal use only. It may not be resold or given away. If you would like to share this ebook with another reader, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.

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CONTENTS Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-One Chapter Thirty-Two Chapter Thirty-Three Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five Chapter Thirty-Six Chapter Thirty-Seven About the Author