Page 13 of Burn the Wild

“And you thought of me,” I say dryly.

“We did.” I hear the flick of a lighter. Jim inhales—most likely a Cuban cigar. “You’re the type of voice we need, Ford. Hell, you’re the voice of the team. One of the greatest pitchers of all time. A former star player with a massive ego, but that’s what America wants. America wants to watch you strut your stuff from the broadcast booth. Our team always loved your straightforwardness and Southern drawl.”

I laugh roughly. He’s determined, I’ll give him that. “Compliments, Jim? Don’t seem to remember getting much of those back in the day.”

A long silence. I’ve pissed him off. Perfect.

“It’s a new day, son.”

I close my eyes and clench a fist. I wish he’d stop calling me that.

“A new chance. That’s why we want you. It’d be a two-year contract. You’d work out of New York. A nice salary. Not as much as when you were in the major leagues, but you can’t go back, can you?”

I grit my teeth and stare down at the dizzying drop.

No, you sure fucking can’t.

“No one wants me.” Frowning, I attach a hook to the side of the rock. “Not after that video.”

A smug smile in his voice. “Which video?”

Which video is fucking right.

Jim’s voice shifts from carefree to alert. “We buried the one of you and Savannah. It wasn’t good optics for either of you.” He clears his throat. “And no one remembers that other video anymore, Ford.”

I swallow. Maybe he’s right. But I fucking remember it.

“It was an accident. In baseball, collateral damage comes with the territory. Hell, yesterday, Nico Dolan’s bat struck the catcher. You can’t escape accidents.”

Except what I did wasn’t a fucking accident.

An image of that day pops into my mind. The whip of my arm, the roar of the crowd, the chaos that followed.

“What do you say?” Jim asks, pulling me from my memories. “Come back to your brothers.”

“Can’t commit,” I say, watching a red tail hawk soar through the sky. “Not yet.”

“You’re on a ranch, son.” Disdain stains his voice. “In Montana.”

Annoyance prickles my spine. That’s the bastard he’s always been. A smug, rich asshole who thinks the entire world is a cement city.

“I’ll take the ranch any day of the week.”

“That’s your brother’s place,” he argues. “Yougotta make a place for yourself. You did it once. You can do it again.”

Restlessness rattles beneath my skin. A grudging admittance that he’s right. “You think pissin’ me off is really the way to my heart, Jim?”

He chuckles. “You saying no?”

I grit my teeth. As much as I dislike the guy, the offer’s tempting.

But I don’t know. Leaving my brothers doesn’t sit right.

“Give me the summer,” I say. “You’re not gonna put anyone new in a booth, especially with it bein’ mid-season.”

He blows out a rush of air. “I’ll wait. Just make it worth my while.”

I roll my eyes. “Right.”

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