Throat tight, she hit Print, then leaned the photo up against the plant. Her own little corner of home, she decided, and forced herself to go back to her Word program.

Two hours later she’d gotten a great start. She drove to the stadium where she paid for a general admission seat. At the sight of Pace in the dugout, her heart seemed to swell in her chest. He wore warm-up sweats, not his uniform. He didn’t have on a sling, but from beneath his T-shirt she could see an elastic bandage around his bicep and shoulder, a horrible, gut-wrenching reminder of what he’d been through. Using his right hand—it was working!—he shook someone’s hand and then turned to look in the stands as if he felt her eyes on him. He looked a little leaner than when she’d seen him last, and he had at least a day’s worth of stubble on that strong jaw. He looked so good her heart kicked hard. She waved, but the sun was in his eyes. He couldn’t possibly see her.

Or so she told herself when he didn’t wave back.

The game was a rough one. Henry took a fly ball to the chest and got the air knocked out of him. Wade got kicked in the face when a player slid home, causing a tussle that the ump had to break up. The game ended at a painful fifteen zip, the worst in Heat history.

Holly went home, grabbed a change of clothing for the poker night fund-raiser and headed to the hotel where it was being held, knowing Sam would need help setting up. Indeed she found the publicist looking a little harassed and most definitely overworked.

“Hey.” Holly’s heart pinched at the way her friend looked at her, as if Holly had run over Sam’s dog. Twice. And then backed over it.

“Holly. You didn’t need to—”

“I thought you could use help.”

“That’s . . . generous of you,” Sam said softly.

“Not generous. Greedy. I wanted to see you and the others.” Holly stepped close and reached for her hand. “How are you?”

“As you’d expect after a horrific nine-game losing streak and a wave of bad press that always seems one step ahead of me.”

“I’m sorry about the losses, more than you know.” It’d been devastating to watch from afar; she could only imagine how it felt from the inside. “I looked for you at the game today. I’d hoped we could talk.”

“Yeah. I was with Jeremy, actually. He’s in town for this thing tonight.” Sam’s face twisted in indecision. “Holly—”

“No. Listen,” Holly said quickly. “I get that you’re hurt and furious, and I understand how bad the press has been, how ruthless. I know, and I’m sorry. But I miss you, Sam.”

“I miss you, too,” Sam whispered, squeezing her hand. “So damn much.”

“I know you think I betrayed you, but all I did was expose a truth that would have come out eventually. I’m not your press leak. I’m not a spineless coward. I sign my name to my writing.”

Sam rubbed her eyes, looking so weary she could hardly stand. “I want to believe that.”

“Then believe it. You were my first real friend here in Santa Barbara, Sam. Please believe that, too.”

Sam looked away for a moment, then turned back, her eyes shiny. “It’d be great to have another set of hands right now, especially someone who created the floor plan and knows what she’s doing.”

“Done.”

Sam closed her eyes, then opened them and hugged Holly hard. “Thanks.” She pulled back. “I believe in you. I do, but you should also know that others aren’t so sure.”

Even though Holly had known this, it still hurt. “I understand.”

Sam squeezed her hand and walked off, and with a deep, fortifying breath, Holly turned to face the ballroom.

In a way that guys were masters at, Pace and Red had avoided talking about anything too personal since their last conversation at the bullpen. But when Pace pulled up to the hotel for the poker night and got out of his car right next to Red, he knew they couldn’t keep it up. Not when he was about to see Holly for the first time in too long, not when it was sitting like a block of ice in his gut. “Got a minute, Red?”

Red looked over, clearly saw the determination on Pace’s face, and sighed as he tossed aside his cigarette. “Yeah.”

“You ever think about what’ll happen when you leave baseball?”

“Not until recently.” Red shrugged. “I have nothing but the game, son.”

Pace nodded. He knew that feeling all too well. It didn’t change a thing. “Did you do it? Did you give Ty the stimulants?”

Red closed his eyes. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because it’s wrong.”

The older man, the only man to have been there for Pace through thick and thin, shook his head, then slowly nodded. “I know.”

“You have to stop.”

“I know that, too.” Red paused, never one to use a lot of words. “Ty’s tests came back positive this morning. He’s not going to appeal.”

Which was as good as an admission of guilt, and meant he’d be suspended, leaving the Heat without a strong pitcher to cover Pace until his return at the tail end of a season that had been touted as The Season. “He’s young,” Pace said. “He’ll get through it. We’ll all get through it.”

“Yeah.” Red looked at the hotel. “About that woman.”

“Holly,” Pace said wearily. “Her name is Holly.”