Prologue
Drew
“You’re up, Carter.”
Coach nudged me out of the dugout. No words of encouragement. No more words at all. Didn’t need them.
This was the moment.
Final game. Two outs. Bases loaded. Down by three runs.
I was a pitcher, but the best hitter on the team, and it was my turn at bat. Judging by the chin nods from my teammates as I passed, they believed in me. If anyone could knock it out of the park, my teammates had faith that it was me.
I took my time walking to the plate. Saw my mom, dad, brother, and girlfriend on the front row of bleachers, clapping and cheering like crazy people. God, I loved them. My brother tipped his hat, and I nodded back. This was for them.
Get ready to be College World Series champions, boys.
I tapped the bat on the dirt twice. Got in my stance. Waited.
The pitcher wound up and the ball sailed straight into the catcher’s glove.
“Strike!”
These people wanted a photo finish. I couldn’t hit a homer on the first pitch. Everybody knew that.
The second ball came.
Swing and a miss.
I looked toward the fences. Hit the bat on the dirt again. And swung for my life when the ball zinged toward me.
Crack.
I took off for first base. By the time I reached it, I realized the ball landed just inside the fence.
Damn. Mitchell home.
When I was halfway to second, the outfielder had reached the ball. He fumbled it as I rounded the base. Jackson home.
I ran to third with a speed I didn’t realize I possessed. Ryker crossed home plate.
All tied up.
I sped past the plate just before the third baseman caught the ball.
The noise of the crowd spurred me on. Almost home.
I dove headfirst for the plate. Pain shot through my shoulder and my knee, but it didn’t matter as I stretched to touch the plate.
The catcher tagged me.
I looked at the umpire.
“Safe!”
* * *
I opened my eyes. The soft whir of a machine was the only noise in the otherwise quiet room.
Mama jerked up in her chair. “Drew.” Worry and relief tainted her tone.
Dad spun around from his place by the window. Lines of concern surrounded his eyes. Or maybe he hadn’t slept?
I looked down. Scratchy linens covered me up to my chest. My leg was propped up in a sling, and my shoulder throbbed like a bitch.
“Mama.” My voice didn’t sound like my own. It sounded as if I hadn’t spoken in days.
“Oh baby. How do you feel?”
Like crap.
“We won, right?” Had I dreamed the whole thing?
Her smile was sad as her eyes glassed over. “Yeah. You won.”
Dad stayed rooted by the window, his expression closed off.
“You’re awake?” My brother came in with two Styrofoam cups.
“Apparently.”
“Thought you’d be out longer after surgery. How bad does it hurt?” He pulled up the chair next to Mama.
“Pretty bad. Did the doctor say when I can get back on the field?” I wasn’t entirely sure how long I’d been in this hospital, but I couldn’t wait to get back on the mound.
Mama’s face fell. “Baby, they did all they could but—”
“A month? Six weeks?” Panic rose. That was an eternity. And what about my deal?
She shook her head and put a hand on mine. “I’m sorry.”
Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes.
No.
Dad turned away, and my brother looked down at his feet.
No.
The future. My dreams. Shattered into a million shards that felt like I was being stabbed to a slow death.
I’d heard the tear when I slid home. But there had to be some way to fix the damage. Baseball couldn’t be over.
No.
A figure paused in the doorway. My angel. A semblance of relief at the sight of her penetrated through the pain and shock.
“We’ll give you a minute.” Mama stood, and the rest of my family followed her out of the room.
My angel leaned against the doorframe for support. She was perfect. Beautiful. Sweet. Her support was what I needed more than anything. Just like always, she was there. And as soon as I got out of there, we were getting married.
“I can’t do this.” The words were harsh with no remorse.
“I didn’t mean to scare you, sweetheart. I’m gonna be fine.” I wasn’t sure of that, but the need to reassure her outweighed all else. Together, we would be fine.
“You’re not going to be fine. You’ll never be a baseball player again.”
“We don’t know that—”
“I heard the doctors. Your career is over. The Rangers don’t want you. Neither do I.”
What?
Surely, she didn’t . . .
“You don’t mean that,” I said quietly.
Her stance in the doorway—folded arms, pursed lips, cold stare . . . What was she saying?
“I’m supposed to be a baseball player’s wife.” Not . . . it doesn’t matter. I love you, Drew.
I balled the sheets in my hand. Pain lanced through my shoulder.
I opened my mouth to speak, but words wouldn’t come. It didn’t matter anyway.
She was gone.
She’d turned on her heel and was gone. Vanished.
I could have torn every muscle. Fractured every bone.
But nothing could hurt like this.
Baseball—gone.
Erin—gone.
What was I supposed to do with my life now?
Why. Fucking. Me?
My two great loves . . . gone.
As I stared at the empty doorway, my heart shriveled into nothing.
Pain.
That was all that was left. It was all I could feel.
It would be what I’d always feel.
Chapter One
Drew
“What have you done to my apartment?”
I stopped as soon as I crossed the threshold, the scent of eucalyptus hitting me. It smelled just like the house I’d grown up in.
“Reminding you who you are.”
Mama tacked a photo on the refrigerator with—was that the magnet I’d made in fourth grade? The entire surface was littered with pictures and ticket stubs and mementos of a life it seemed as if I’d never lived. All the reminders in the world would never make me into the person she thought I was. I didn’t deserve her efforts.
How had she gotten in anyway?
And why would she bother?
Especially after what I’d done.
A quilt my nana on her side had made was draped across the back of her old sofa. The pink and blue flower-patterned cushions were as ugly now as they had been when I was a kid. Had this thing been in storage all this time? She’d died, hell, it had to have been a good fifteen, twenty years ago. Yet something about it immediately brought back memories of playing dominoes with her. She never let me win. The one time I’d beaten her, Easton and I had celebrated with ice cream.
Easton.
Fuck. Not thinking about him. Too much guilt.
I threw down my briefcase onto the counter, an old, decrepit laminate that should’ve been removed two decades ago. Everyone else I knew in this building had swank apartments. I’d been told this outdated one was all that was available. Even though I’d known it was a lie, I hadn’t been in a position to argue.