It was another entirely when his dad was being a remorseful ex-drunk.

Pace slung an easy arm around Wade’s shoulders, slowing him down, separating him from the rest of the team. “What was that?”

“No idea.”

“You need to talk?”

“If you suggest a tea, I’m going to hurt you.”

Pace studied him for a beat. “You letting John f**k with your head?”

“No.”

“Sam?”

Wade closed his eyes. “It’s me. I’m f**king with my head. I screwed up. I’m an ass.”

“Hey, knowing it is half the battle.”

Wade tried to shrug him off, but Pace was like a pit bull when he wanted to be. “Fuck, Pace. Now what?”

“Just giving you a minute to collect yourself.” Pace was looking at the entrance to the locker room, where Gage stood waiting, dark eyes fixed on Wade. “Gage’s going to bust your ass.”

“I’m fine.” Wade walked up to Gage to get it over with.

The youngest, smartest, sharpest, shrewdest team manager in the MLB looked Wade over carefully. “Talk to me,” he said.

Wade shrugged. “Bad night.”

“That’s all you’ve got?”

Well, he sure as hell had nothing else.

Gage blew out a breath. “Does the bad night have anything to do with the fact that Sam dumped your sorry ass?”

“How did you know that?”

“Fuck, Wade. I told you this was a bad idea. You don’t even want a woman in your life. Right?”

“Right.”

“So get over it. Get over it by tomorrow’s game or I’ll kick your ass until you’re over it. And if anyone asks, I already kicked your ass.”

Wade showered, changed, and slinked out into the shower room, hoping like hell to just be alone.

He got his wish. It was quiet, and though a few of the guys were moving around, no one was talking. And Sam was nowhere to be seen, which shouldn’t have mattered, but did. She was almost always around after a game.

Not today. She and Tag were gone.

Torn between relief that he didn’t have to face her, and a bone-deep regret that made his chest ache, he drove home.

And was shocked to find Sam sitting on his porch step waiting for him. He sat in his car staring at her through the windshield. Don’t f**k up, he told himself, then had to laugh because that’s all he’d ever done when it came to her. With a sigh, he shoved out of the car and took the walk to the gallows. He sat down next to her and let out a breath, prepared for her to let him have it, and she didn’t hold back.

“You’re either an idiot or a moron,” she said.

He dropped his head into his hands. “Is there another choice?”

“That weekend we went to Mark’s wedding, when we were in our pretendrelationship . . .” She paused until he looked at her. “Up until that point, I had a pretty hardcore crush on you, Wade. I think it was your green eyes. They’re the color of moss on a rainy day.”

Surprised, he blinked. “You had a crush on me?”

She smiled a little sadly. “I know. I always acted like I couldn’t care less, but that was just self-preservation after Atlanta.” She shrugged. “I always felt off balance around you.”

He understood that. Sometimes he had trouble finding his balance around her as well, though she usually located it for him just fine.

“The truth is,” she said. “Pretending to be with you was harder than I could have imagined, because I kept forgetting to pretend.”

He understood that, too. “Sam—”

“I watched you with Tag, saw how you put yourself out there with him, no hesitation. I watched you with your father, how even when you were so angry, you couldn’t turn him out. And I realized my feelings for you had . . . deepened.”

Despite feeling the urge to hide, he couldn’t look away to save his life. “You weren’t alone in that,” he managed. “I told you I was falling for you.”

“Yes. In a light and easy way. But as it turns out, I fell harder. As hard as you can, actually.”

His brain froze, like it did when he drank a slushee too fast or inhaled ice cream. And like a complete idiot, he just stared at her. “Sam—”

She stood up. “I get that I was rough on you. Unfairly so. I expected too much and I’m sorry for that. I just want you to know, I can be a grown-up about this. It won’t be awkward at work or anything.”

Awkward? She was worried about awkward? She had no idea that absolutely nothing was the same when she wasn’t in his life. Awkward didn’t even begin to cover it. How about devastating and empty and . . .

Hell. His mind was spinning and it couldn’t seem to touch down. “Sam.” Shit. He’d already said that. “I—”

“I’m trying to make this easy. Because that’s how you like things. Easy women, easy job, easy everything. I can give that to you. Good-bye, Wade.” With one last look into his eyes, she walked away.

And though he hated himself for it, he let her. Because she was right. He liked things easy. He needed things easy.

Except nothing about any of this felt easy . . . .

Chapter 29

Baseball? It’s just a game—as simple as a ball and a bat. Yet as complex as the American spirit it symbolizes. It’s a sport, business—and sometimes even religion.

—Ernie Harwell

Wade spent several hours slouched on the couch with his remote all alone, which given his last two weeks, should have been heaven. Not only was the silence perfect, but everything was f**king perfect. No demands on his rare time to himself, nobody talking to him, nothing on his plate except whatever he chose. He could call the guys. Hit a bar. Find a willing woman.

Except none of that appealed. He felt restless and frustrated.

And then he realized what the problem was.

He didn’t want to be alone.

Alone felt easy but all of a sudden he didn’t want easy either.

He called Sam to tell her but she didn’t answer. He called his father. No answer there, either. And then he called the one person he knew could help him. “Tag.”

“Yo,” Tag said into the phone.

“You know where your Aunt Sam is?”

“Again? How come you keep losing her?”

“Because I’ve been stupid. But trust me, I’m getting smarter. Where is she?”

“Not supposed to tell.”

Wade sighed. “How about my dad?

“Same thing.”

Well, that was unexpected. “Okay, I realize you probably want me to pay you for the info but from now on, I’m only paying you when you earn it. With work.”

“Ah. That’s no fun.”

“Trying to be responsible here.”

“Really? That’s what your dad’s doing. Trying to be responsible. It’s what he said. Sam drove him.”

“Sam drove him where?”

“Promises.”

Wade rubbed his temples. “I know. You promised not to tell, but he’s my dad, Tag. It’s okay to tell me.”

“No, he’s at a place called Promises. Sam took him.”

Wade made the hour drive south over Highway 1 to Promises, an upscale rehab center in Malibu. But by the time he got there, Sam had already left, and he wasn’t allowed to see or talk to his father, who’d been admitted.

The drive back felt twice as long. The sports news was all over his crappy game, saying he looked tired coming off all the road trips, not fresh, not sharp.

And that he’d been dumped.

Well, they had that right. And yeah, he had lost his edge, he felt it in his gut. It wasn’t a flu, nothing so easy to get over, though he did feel sick to the depths of his soul.

Back at his place, he plopped down by his pool as the moon rose, staring moodily at the shimmering water.

Somehow he’d managed to rise up from the gutter that had been his childhood. For a long time now he’d had it all, whatever he’d wanted at his fingertips. Four shining years in college. Four years playing for Colorado, then nearly four of the best years of his life in Santa Barbara.

Until he’d gotten one little stalker and the press had taken notice of his hard partying ways and had turned on him.

He’d felt restless. Unsettled. Unsure.

And then had come the weekend with Sam at the wedding. That had changed him. She had changed him. Suddenly the things he’d thought he’d wanted—mostly the freedom to do as he pleased—had changed.

It had taken him some time to realize it.

Too much time.

Because now that he finally had it all figured out, the things he’d somehow managed almost by accident to surround himself with, things like the love of a good woman, the love of a kid, the love of a parent, things he now knew he wanted, needed, he’d blown them all apart.

But he wasn’t ready to admit defeat. Not on the season, not on his dad, and not on his life.

And especially not on Sam.

The next day Sam worked her ass off for ten straight hours to get the charity dinner and auction set up. Finally, half an hour before the start, she ran up to one of the hotel rooms to change. Her dress for the evening was a black spaghetti-strapped cocktail dress, clingy in the front, dipping low in the back. She looked in the mirror, knowing she’d picked out the dress for Wade and that it wouldn’t matter.

With five minutes to spare, she raced back downstairs. She purposely stopped to look at the beautiful view of the ocean against the cliff, the moon rising high as she took a deep, calming breath. Security was tight tonight. With tickets costing a grand a pop, they were expecting Santa Barbara’s rich and famous.

Ahead of her, Henry and Joe were checking in, their dates on their arms. Sam was used to seeing the guys in their uniforms, in sweats, in jeans, or even the suits they wore for traveling. Hell, she was even used to seeing half of them nude, given how much she was in the clubhouse during the season, but she’d never get used to the sight of them, big and bad and gorgeous, in tuxes.

Their dates looked beautiful and excited about the evening ahead. Sam wished she could say the same, but as she was dateless, she could summon little excitement. She handed over her ticket to the hotel greeter at the doors, waiting while the woman consulted her clipboard as instructed by Sam herself and frowned. “Says here you’re a party of two,” the woman said. “Where’s your date?”

Ah. Well, wasn’t that perfect? She was going to have to say it aloud. Her heart pinged once, hard, and she opened her mouth to say she was flying solo tonight, and that the way she was feeling, she’d be flying solo until the cows came home, when a warm hand settled on the small of her back. She didn’t have to look to see whose hand, or whose hard chest, was brushing her spine, because both brought a heat that pooled low in her belly.

“Her date’s right here,” Wade said.

The woman took in the sight of Wade in a tux and her mouth fell open.

Sam couldn’t blame her. She was nearly drooling herself. And shaking a little bit. “W-Wade.” Her tongue tripped all over itself because she honestly hadn’t figured on him doing this. She was embarrassed that he thought he had to, and also suddenly incredibly nervous that she was going to do something stupid, like throw herself at him. “I didn’t expect—”

“Excuse us a minute,” Wade said to the woman, and took Sam’s hand, pulling her away from the doors, off to the side.

She looked up into his face, which was tight with strain, and she immediately clutched his arms. “What is it? Your dad? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine. They still won’t let me talk to him, but they swear he’s great. And I got a text from him today.”

Her eyes searched his, waiting.

“He wanted me to know that sometimes the apple does fall far from the tree.” He let out a small smile. “That I rolled all the way down the hill and then showed him the way.”

She felt her throat tighten, and she slowly smiled. “That’s sweet.”

“I texted him back, told him to get the thirty days under his belt, then come back to my house to finish his rehab.”

It took her a moment to be able to speak. “You’re a good man, Wade O’Riley. A really good man.” Her heart was having a rough time. It’d skipped a few beats and couldn’t seem to get back on track. And she was still trembling, shaking from the strain to keep it light, to keep smiling.

“Sam.” His voice was low, husky. “Look at me.”

God. Okay. She slowly met his gaze. She’d promised him no awkwardness, but she was dying at the sight of him, tall and gorgeous and far too close. She gestured to the photographers who were taking so many pictures of them the flashes were making her dizzy. “They’re having a field day with this, the whole are-we-or-aren’t-we thing. Making for good press, I guess.”

“I don’t care about the press.” He pulled her closer. “What I care about is what you said to me on my front steps, about how you feel.”

“Yeah.” She cringed at the memory. “Listen, I’m really bad at telling people how I feel. Please don’t make me explain it again.”

“We’re both really bad at telling people how we feel,” he said softly. “In fact, I never told you at all. That makes me worse at it than you.”

Again she tried to pull free. “I really need to get in there—”

“I know. This first. You’ve been there for me, Sam, and tonight I’m here for you.”

“Okay. Thanks.” She smiled and nodded, but though she could pretend with the best of them, she thought this one last night might do her in. She walked into the ballroom, and though her throat and eyes were burning, she did her best to handle it. She grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing waiter. Though she was tempted to guzzle it, she sipped slowly as she took in the ballroom. It was full and getting fuller, the dance floor beginning to fill up as well.