Page 113 of Hot Streak

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

“Well, you got your wish,” Mikey drawled, settling a hip on the corner of his desk. “Major league club wants you up for the next few weeks. Maybe the rest of the season. Congratulations, Connor. You did it.”

There was an unspoken, wasn’t sure you’d get there, but you buckled down and got it done, in the end, in Mikey’s face, but that didn’t matter because he had.

If he was more delusional, he could say all he wanted to do was share this news with Jackson because he’d been instrumental in Connor turning that final corner.

Jackson had been instrumental, but that wasn’t only why.

“Thanks, sir,” Connor said.

“Sheila will get together your travel stuff. And there’s a temporary place for you to stay in Tampa, when you get there.”

“When am I leaving?”

“In the morning, son.” Mikey reached out, patted him on the knee. “Don’t have to look like you’re headed to the gallows. You’re going to be great up there.”

“I wasn’t—I’m not . . .” But he probably did look like that.

“And I know they have great catchers up there.”

Catchers who aren’t Jackson.

“Right, of course. I guess I’d better . . .” He trailed off. Uncertain what he should say. Celebrate? Cry into my locker?

“Sure, son.” Mikey grinned. “And enjoy yourself up there.”

Connor nodded and stood, suddenly, painfully aware that he was going to have to tell Jackson somehow.

And it wasn’t just going to be that kinda catch ya later, babe conversation he’d once imagined—in his very delusional past—they’d have. Instead, it was going to have a very I know we might never see each other again, but I want to. Desperately. Can we do that? flavor.

He didn’t know how Jackson would react to that, but surely it would be good, right?

It had to be good.

But when he exited Mikey’s office and headed back into the clubhouse, Jackson was no longer there. He’d left.

But he couldn’t have.

Deke must have seen the panicked expression on his face, because he walked over. “You alright?” he asked under his breath. “It’s what we thought, right? You got called up.”

Connor nodded.

“We all thought so. Been pitching lights out,” Deke said, and the hug he gave him was clearly sincere.

But it didn’t answer where the fuck Jackson had gone to.

“He left,” Deke said.

Maybe Ro was right and he didn’t have a poker face. Maybe his distress was written all over it, painfully laid bare for everyone in this room to see. Before, he’d have hated being so exposed, but now he didn’t give a shit. He only wanted to find Jackson.

“Did he say where he was going?”

“No,” Deke said, his expression morphing into sympathy. “But if I had to bet, I’d say he headed in the direction of the Strike Zone.”

“Yeah, he’s gonna want to celebrate with you for sure,” Ro said, coming up and patting him on the back.

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