Page 100 of First Love, Second Draft

“Come on, man,” Rooster said, licking frosting off his thumb. “You know this may be the only shot at a World Series some of us players ever see. Plus, think what a great story it’ll be.” Rooster waved across the air like it held an invisible headline. “Old fogy pitcher comes back and saves the day.” He smacked Noah on the arm with a grin as he walked past to toss his plate in a trash can.

“He’s going to be there, you know.” Dusty stood and adjusted his cap. “The boy. The one from your perfect game. He’s been in remission for over five years. They’re saying it’s a miracle he survived. When he wrote a letter to the team, our PR person got ahold of it and made some calls. He and his dad have seats to all the games. I know it’d mean the world to them to see you on the mound again. It’d mean the world to all of us.”

Man, Dusty wasn’t pulling any punches, was he?

“Can I think about it?”

“Think fast. First game is in St. Louis tomorrow.”

“I don’t even have everything I need. I’d need to go back to Seattle first.” Was he actually considering this?

Rooster tapped his fist against Noah’s shoulder. “We already got your glove and your uniform. What else do you need? Lucky socks?”

Noah patted his chest. No, but there was definitely something else he never pitched without. And he could kick himself for not following his gut instinct to bring it along with him. Especially since the whole reason he came back was to win another chance with Gracie. “I’m going to have to fly back to Seattle.” He was really considering this, wasn’t he?

Which meant he needed to find Gracie. Now. Give her a chance to talk him out of it. Convince him to stay. Tell him the one reason he should throw the biggest career opportunity of his life away.

One word. That’s all he needed from her. One word and he’d stay.

“Let me make some calls and get the flights arranged, so you’re back in time for tomorrow’s game.” Dusty walked away with his phone already out.

“Make it two tickets,” Rooster called after him. “That way I can make sure this guy doesn’t get any cold feet. Not that you will,” he said, slinging his arm around Noah’s shoulders and guiding him toward the exit. “You’ve always managed to do the right thing when it counts. Besides, what do you have keeping you here?”

When Noah stepped outside the barn, he found Gracie waiting for him with her arms clutched around her middle. Before he could say anything, she lifted her chin and said, “You need to do it. You need to go. It’s the only way for us to finish this memoir with the right ending—which is you back on the mound with your ball and your glove. We both know baseball is where you’ve always belonged.”

What did he have keeping him here?

Sounded like the answer was the same one he’d been hearing the past five years.

Nothing.

62

Luke:Hey Gracie, I just heard about Noah getting added back to the roster for the World Series. That’s wonderful news. I don’t have his number, so will you tell him good luck from me? Take care.

Wombat:Hi Miss Gracie. It’s Wombat. Tell Noah the boys at the firehouse are all cheering him on! (Even the Cardinal fans, but they said not to let that get around.)

Abe:GRACIE! OH MY GOODNESS! LIZZY AND I ARE GOING CRAZY!

Simone:I don’t know how you’re still making progress on the memoir when there’s SO. MUCH. EXCITEMENT!!! I swear I can’t go anywhere right now without hearing Noah’s name! But anyway, just wanted to let you know your editors couldn’t be more pleased with everything you’ve sent them. (They also hinted that if you need someone to go with you to any of Noah’s games for research on the memoir’s ending, they’d be happy to assist.)

Scotty:Grace! Did you get the flowers I sent you?

Unknown Number:Hey kiddo. Mert Adley here. Bowling league wants to know when Noah’s pitching. Also Bobby the Barber says to let Noah know all his haircuts will be half-price if he helps Seattle beat St. Louis.

63

Gracie dropped an armload of clothes into her suitcase. She had to get out of here. Find a place where nobody’d ever heard of Noah, baseball, and text messages.

Nine days.

Nine days since she’d told Noah to leave.

Nine days since she’d told herself it was for the best.

Nine days of trying to forget that man, only to have every single one of her thoughts consumed by that man.

The fact she’d been working around the clock to finish that man’s memoir probably didn’t help. But how else was she supposed to move on? Shehadto finish the memoir.

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