Page 109 of Playboy Pitcher
Finally, she lifts her head, tears streaming down her face. “Sooner or later, everyone leaves.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
The collective moraleof Storm players at the end of Spring Training is usually somber at best. We know what lies ahead of us in the regular season, and it’s not anything to cheer about. Getting our asses kicked while sportscasters drum up baseless theories on what curse could be floating in the Florida sawgrass doesn’t create enthusiasm as much as it does dread.
Play the games. Take the hits. Cash the check.
But this year, with only two days left in Jupiter before we all pack up and head back to Miami, there’s a buzz in the air. A spark of excitement thrumming through everyone’s veins and reigniting the steady heartbeat of this team.
I hope that continues. I hope my friends are handled with the care and respect they deserve and given a chance to perform. To go on to be the professional athletes they are. To be champions.
But my ride ends here.
Fifteen minutes ago, Doc confirmed what I already knew. My season is over. I’m headed back under the knife for my second Tommy John surgery. Few come back after one, no one comes back from two.
He didn’t have to say the words. I saw them in his eyes. And then I saw it on the paperwork he tried to hide.
Career ending injury.
I know I need to tell the guys, but not today. Call me a pussy, but I want them to ride this high as long as possible before breaking it to them. Of course, that’s if they don’t already know.
Ned was a little too giddy after Doc gave him the news. I don’t think he was halfway out the door before he was already on the phone with the MLB office, arranging a meeting with a free agent out of Atlanta.
So, here I am, leaving Spring Training for one of the last times, thinking over the past few weeks of my life. Wonderingwhy me, or bitching about it won’t change a damn thing, so I don’t bother. Besides, hopping on the pity train isn’t my style.
I stop beside my truck and suck in a deep breath. Humidity and salty air, I’ll miss that. The air in New York is thick, but for a whole different reason. I wonder how long it’ll take to get used to it again.
“Tough break, Playboy.”
Oh, for Christ’s sake.Bracing my good arm against the truck, I tip my head back. “Do you have some kind of obsession with me, Prescott, or do you just want to trade early retirement stories?”
Chuckling, he circles around me and props his back against my truck. I glare at him and grind my teeth, trying to control my temper with pleasant thoughts.
Like getting behind the wheel and using him as a speed bump.
“Jokes, yeah, that’s good,” he says, flashing a smug smile. “You’ll need that sense of humor, LaCroix. Especially when the news breaks.”
“What news?”
“Come on, let’s not kid ourselves, shall we? You didn’t actually think you were ever going to own this team, did you? You really didn’t think you’d get her so addicted to your dick, she’d fall in love, and you’d live happily ever after, did you?”
“Shut up,” I growl, jerking the rear passenger’s side door open. As I throw my bag inside, he claps his hands together and laughs.
I swear to God, if I had two good arms…
“You did, didn’t you? Oh, LaCroix, that’s just sad. Willow wanted to sell to me all along. What do you think we were talking about by her car that night you interrupted?”
Unwanted memories flash through my mind. Of Willow and Prescott leaned against her car. Of him pressed close against her. Of him touching her.Of him giving her his business card.
Of a conversation that’s now taking on a whole new meaning.
“This has nothing to do with you.”
“I watched you throw a punch at his face, Willow. He grabbed your arm. I saw you fighting him.”
“No. It was just a misunderstanding, that’s all.”
“You heard the lady. Now get your hands off me before I sue you for assault.”
