A League of Her Own (13 page)

Oh.

“I would have stayed for my child,” Heather answered, her anger at him dissipating. “I wouldn’t have waited until years later to start calling. Where was she when I was in high school? A teenager? I needed her.”

“She should have been there.” Something inside her melted at his earnest expression. “But from where I’m standing, you turned out perfect.”

Her breath caught at his sincere tone. “My father didn’t think so.”

Garrett’s eyebrows lifted. “He made you his manager. He thought highly of you.”

Heather’s lips twisted. “He planned to sell the team. I had only until the end of the season to turn things around and make a profit. Now that’s not going to happen.”

He angled his head, puzzled. “You straightened out my arm. No one else has done that before. As for the other guys, they’re coming around. Besides, now that you own the team, you can decide what to do with it.”

She dropped her head. “I don’t.”

Garrett ducked down to meet her eye, but she turned away, close to breaking down. It’d been a heck of a day.

“Don’t what?”

“He left fifty-one percent of the team to my mother.” Her anguished confession startled a warbler from its perch. She watched it disappear across the falls, wishing she could vanish, too.

“Why would he do that? You’re his daughter.” Garrett’s voice hardened, his indignation bolstering her.

“Because he never thought I was good enough. Do you know what he said when I won the National Collegiate Player of the Year award?”

“I’m thinking it wasn’t congratulations.”

“He said, ‘You’ll never get that twice in a row.’” Her stomach lurched, resentment and longing for him mixing inside.

“But he was wrong. You won two,” Garrett responded, surprising her. He’d remembered her father’s long-ago speech. Hadn’t forgotten that about her.

A ray of pleasure pierced her dark mood. “Right. I know Dad loved me. So why would he leave Mom majority ownership? It makes no sense.”

Garrett settled her head on his shoulder and rested his cheek on top. “Maybe she won’t be as bad as you think.”

“Yeah, sure. She was dangerous before. Now she can make every bad decision she wants, drive this team into the ground and walk away for her next fix.”

“You don’t think there’s a chance she’s cleaned up for good?”

“Ha! I know her too well.”

“People can change. It’s not impossible.”

Heather flushed, remembering how she’d warned him that she could never trust him or any addict. Had pushed him away when he’d kissed her. So why, then, was she telling him things she hadn’t even shared with her father?

“How many times did you go to rehab?” she asked.

“Once.”

“How long were you an alcoholic before that?”

“Five years. I was twenty-one when Manny got shot.”

Heather stiffened in his arms, realization spiking through her. He’d turned to alcohol because of Manny.

“You drank so you wouldn’t think about it.”

“Basically.” She felt his head nod against hers. “And, after a while, because I had to.”

“And now you’re never tempted.” She tried keeping the skepticism out of her voice and failed.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t. But I’m committed.” He lifted his head, tipped up her chin and looked her directly in the eye. “I can only promise one day at a time. But I’ll keep that vow. Continue renewing it. I want more out of life than a bottle.”

Heather reached up and touched the sides of his face, unable to stop her impulsive action. It was sending him mixed messages, the same ones she felt.

“What else do you want?” The question came from a part of her she didn’t recognize. Asking a man like Garrett a flirtatious question was playing with fire.

Garrett groaned, longing sharpening his features. “You.”

Without waiting for her response, his lips captured hers. She knew she should push him away, but instead her head fell back, her pulse leaping in her throat. The pressure was exquisite as he nibbled and explored. Soft. Warm. Gentle. His lips moved slowly, gradually exerting more pressure.

This felt incredible. Better than the last time. She had to stop this, but need seized her, shoving aside her good intentions.

Her body hummed and a fuzzy sensation filled her head, making it hard to focus on anything but the feel of him, the evergreen scent of the forest and his aftershave heightening her senses.

His hands gripped her waist as she swayed against him, holding her as his mouth sampled her lower lip, then put pressure on the top. Nerves sent small shock waves through her chest, and her hand rose to stroke the back of his neck, making him tremble against her.

Suddenly his kiss intensified, growing fierce and demanding. His lips moved fast against hers, their tongues tangling, causing warmth to explode in her body, melting every piece of her.

She moaned and Garrett’s arms tightened, bringing her closer still. Her lips maneuvered against his in response, loving his sweet taste. Garrett shuddered, curling his fist into her hair with a groan. She loved how her touch affected him, how it affected her.

At last his lips let her go, and he looked down at her tenderly, pleasure in his eyes, his chest rising and falling hard.

“I wasn’t getting involved with anyone. Planned to focus only on baseball,” he said when his breath came easier. “But I can’t stay away from you. You follow me, even in my sleep. Your eyes.” He kissed each lid. “Your smile.” He pressed his lips to each corner. “These freckles.” His warm mouth brushed her cheeks.

Her chest expanded, taking in his beautiful words. This incredible moment. And then it hit her, reality a cold shower.

She opened her eyes and scooted away. “Garrett. I don’t know.”

His eyes moved out over the falls, tracking the sprays of water as they hit the jutting rocks and tumbled to earth. “You don’t trust me.”

Her mouth opened and closed. He was right. While he touched a chord inside that’d never sounded for anyone else, she still couldn’t put her heart in harm’s way again. And she knew without a doubt that if Garrett let her down, he’d devastate her as much as her mother had. Even more. She’d loved and lost too many times to try again, especially with her father gone so recently.

“I’m sorry,” she said inadequately as he stood and helped her to her feet.

His blank expression gave little away. She wondered if, deep down, a part of him was relieved they weren’t taking things further. He’d said he hadn’t wanted distractions. And now she wouldn’t be one.

“I can’t make you believe in me, Heather.” His voice was steady and strong. “I need someone who’ll give me a chance to earn her trust.”

She crossed her arms and looked down at the falls, speaking from her heart. “You could be sober a hundred years and I’d still be waiting for the one day you slipped.”

Air escaped him. “I’ve never had a drink as long as you’ve known me. Put you in danger.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” he said as they wandered back to the path. “But better to be up front now. So...this is for the best.”

She wasn’t sure if it was pride talking, or she’d convinced him that they were wrong for each other. Either way, incongruously, she felt let down. Had she wanted him to push it harder? Make her change her mind? If he had, she’d only have distanced herself more. No. He’d made the right call.

Only it felt completely and absolutely wrong.

* * *

H
EATHER
STOOD
IN
the doorway and watched Garrett back out of her driveway. An ache filled her now that he’d gone. It took everything she had to turn around and enter the lonely house, the only possession—along with partial team ownership—that had been left to her.

“...so Heather, if you get this message, please call me. My number is—”

Heather clicked off the answering machine message, noting the blinking number 5. She’d bet every one of those messages was from her mother, the last person she’d ever want to speak to.

Garrett, on the other hand...

She dropped onto one of the kitchen stools and pressed her flushed forehead against the cool granite. Why was she always chasing after what she couldn’t get? Or shouldn’t.

If only her father was here. Her feet carried her down the hall toward his room. She hadn’t dared to enter it all week. Why torture herself by going inside? But a need to be near him in some form pushed her to turn the knob and step forward, her heart in her throat.

The room was pristine. His bed was smooth, his belongings stored or carted away for donation. Her wonderful female neighbors had twisted through it like a tornado after the funeral. She sent them a silent thank-you. Organizing it herself would have been too painful.

Still, her head swam, and her breath rasped. Being here felt as if she’d stepped into suspended animation. She expected her father’s loud voice in the doorway, asking her what the heck she was snooping for.

She slid her hand over the blue quilt, but that wasn’t enough to comfort her. She curled up on top of the mattress and buried her face in his pillow, inhaling the subtle musk of his cologne and some other intangible essence that was him. Tears burned her eyes. How strange that his scent stayed after he had moved on.

His clock radio was off, and for some reason she rolled over and plugged it back in. The red digital numbers flashed at her. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

But she didn’t want time to be over for Dad. For their relationship. Her lungs burned. Now he’d never know how well the baseball camp kids were doing—the one thing he might have been proud about. At least for their sakes.

When she reached across to set the clock, an unfamiliar scrapbook caught her eye. Its brown top appeared through the crack of an open drawer, and curiosity took hold. She rarely remembered her father snapping pictures.

When she pulled it out and opened the first page, she gasped. It was a sonogram picture with his neat handwriting next to it proclaiming “Healthy. Large for age.”

Her eyes welled, touched that he’d kept this grainy photo. Why would he do that?

The next page was a birth form that listed her information—her length, weight and so on. And right beside it, he’d written “10 out of 10 Apgar score!” A small smile lifted her lips. He’d always been obsessed with stats.

She flipped to the next page and saw a picture of an infant—her—lifting her head, staring directly into her smiling father’s eyes, his cheeks puffed out, his complexion rosy. The words “Lifted head a week before expected” appeared next to the photo, making heat suffuse her face, turning it pink,too, she imagined. She’d shown some strength, even as a baby. Had her father been proud of her? It seemed so.

Her unsteady hands turned page after page of every accomplishment, meticulously preserved and commented on, from a tooth taped to a page with the words “Fearless girl yanked this out with a string” to a spelling bee award she’d won in fifth grade, to her first license, the one she’d thought she’d lost, with the words “Passed on her first try,” to her acceptance letter to Morro Bay University with a full softball scholarship, and clippings from newspapers cataloging all of her achievements through the years.

It was like looking at a short film of her life, one that showed only the highlights, the good parts, the things to be proud of. Tears misted her eyes. Had he been proud of her all these years?

She thumbed through the pages again, unable to believe that this could be true. It seemed, incredibly, that he had thought highly of her. Despite his constant criticism, her father had been proud of her. A hundred-pound weight seemed to fall from her chest, lightness filling her instead.

She’d worked so hard for his approval, yet she’d had it all along. Now that she knew he had believed in her, she realized that she hadn’t needed it. Her success hadn’t depended on his thumbs-up. She’d accomplished things on her own and would keep doing so...starting with rejoining the team at this afternoon’s practice. It’d be hard to see Garrett again after their latest kiss, but they were both professionals. She needed to fulfill the promise she’d made during the team sale meeting. Not to her father, but to herself.

She wouldn’t quit on the Falcons.

No matter who was the majority owner.

CHAPTER TEN

G
ARRETT
PROWLED
AROUND
the locker room later that day, twenty minutes early for the impromptu players-only meeting he’d called. Although these gatherings let the team vent without management around, he couldn’t get Heather out of his mind. It didn’t matter if she was near or far. He always felt her.

He stopped and leaned against a metal pole. Seeing her back at practice today—the first time since her father’s passing—had shocked him. He’d been all thumbs, his thoughts on their afternoon at the falls. Holding her, their kiss, was unforgettable. But she’d closed the door on a relationship. And a part of him should feel relieved.

Only he wasn’t.

In the quiet, a leaking shower dripped. Clothes were strewn atop wooden benches, heaped on the floor, or half in and out of open stalls. A carton of bubblegum spilled from a gym bag upended in the corner. Baseball bats were propped against walls, name placards above each locker. The smell of sweat and muscle ointment mingled in the air. It was cooler in here than the eighty-five-degree day, dim and peaceful.

Yet his restless mind wouldn’t settle.

Why had he kissed Heather again? He knew better. Wanted to focus solely on baseball and sobriety. Falling for Heather wasn’t in the plan.

He turned and pressed his forehead against the cool metal, wishing he could shake her hold on him. She’d been right to push him away. Both times. It was stupid to think she’d return his feelings. They’d both survived tough childhoods. That didn’t mean she’d overlook his past. And he shouldn’t either. He’d let himself love another person once, and the loss had driven him to drink.

It shook him that his first impulse after dropping off Heather had been his drive to the local liquor store to buy bottles of whiskey. He’d wanted to float her rejection away on malt. Forget her and his anxiety about pitching later tonight. Luckily a call to his sponsor helped. Not wanting to bring attention to himself, he’d put the bag in his trunk and planned on getting rid of it later in an isolated spot. Though a part of him, a dark place he thought he’d shut away, wondered if that’d been an excuse. That he’d kept the liquor as a safety net. A bailout if things fell apart.

Something shriveled inside him. He wouldn’t go back there. Yet he’d taken a step in that direction. The wrong way. Those bottles had to go before he relapsed, especially after Heather had surprised him and shown up to practice.

It took guts for her to attend so soon after losing her dad. Though they hadn’t spoken, their eyes had met plenty. She inspired him. Had given him the idea to call this pregame meeting.

The sound of the second hand ticking on the wall clock jarred him back to the present. His muscles tensed. Ten more minutes and the guys would file in. He had to put aside his emotions for the good of the team. Say what needed to be said, no matter how Heather had turned him inside out.

He’d had plenty of warning to avoid her. If he needed an even stronger warning, today’s trip to the liquor store was it. From now on, she was Skipper only. Forget that she was silk in his arms, the taste of her like wild honeysuckle, her citrus scent driving him insane. Forget that she was the only one who’d made him open up since Manny. That she listened. Understood. Their bond needed to be cut.

When he paced to the front of the benches, he dropped his head into his hands. He’d done the two things the foster system had taught him never to do: felt too much and imagined a different life. Ideas and feelings like that would only lead him astray. Wreck him.

His past promised no future that included a family. Or love. He was a ball player, end of story. That was all he’d ever be good at. He’d tried to be more once, for Manny, and he’d screwed that up. He didn’t have a clue how to enter the world of relationships. Better not to try. It just didn’t work for guys like him.

The door from the tunnel banged open and Waitman tromped in, followed by the rest of the team.

“Since when do we have meetings right before a game?” the left fielder grumped, his face still red from practice, his hair curling beneath his blue Falcons cap.

“You got a problem with it, we’ll talk about it later,” Garrett answered evenly. “Alone.”

Waitman shrugged and hurried to sit. “Hey. No skin off my back.”

“Can’t believe Skipper was at practice today,” babbled Valdez as he and some of the younger players crowded by.

“Yeah. She’s as tough as her old man,” answered another in an awed tone.

“Thought for sure she’d quit and go back to California with Mr. Gadway gone,” put in Rob, their center fielder, as he pushed through the group and shoved in next to Waitman.

“She won’t give up on us,” Valdez said. His crush so obvious it would have been comical if it hadn’t irritated the crap out of Garrett. Not that he had a right to be jealous. But no one thought of Heather that way. Not even him. Not anymore.

“Ready for tonight?” Hopson asked as he ambled by.

“Are you?” Garrett drawled, meeting the third baseman’s eye. He was exactly the kind of player Garrett planned to reach at the meeting. Now that he’d gotten his priorities straight—namely, no Heather—he was doubling down on his career. He’d been winning more since correcting his arm angle, but his teammates’ poor fielding had let him down a few times. They’d allowed runs that shouldn’t have happened, hits that weren’t meant to be.

Hopson dropped his eyes, then nudged the back of Valdez’s striped jersey. “Give me some of those.” He held out a hand, and the shortstop poured sunflower seeds into his palm.

Garrett swore under his breath as he looked at the jabbering crew. Their lack of urgency bugged him. The season was at the halfway mark, and their win-loss record was dismal. Seventeen and thirty. If they didn’t turn things around now, they’d lose a shot at the playoffs. Didn’t they care about that?

“Anyone up for Tailgates after the game?” bellowed Rob, their center fielder.

Garrett held in his angry exclamation. They needed to focus on the game, not their after-hours destination. They played the best team in the league tonight. That called for concentration.

He needed better play from these guys to improve his stats. To impress the scouts and join the Majors, his numbers had to improve. And leaving the farm team meant getting away from Heather, a bonus given how she affected him.

The team needed to accept her. He was done with the lack of effort and commitment under her management. Time to make things right. She was a good leader, and these guys should trust her. Otherwise, they’d end up with a losing season and bad bottom lines of their own.

He held up a hand until the room quieted.

“As most of you know,” he began, “I’m not one who believes in all those ‘Kumbaya’ feelings.”

“Someone pass him a tambourine,” wise-cracked Hopson, whose smile fell when he met Garrett’s hard look. The rest knew better than to laugh.

Garrett took a gulp of his sports drink and set it back on the floor. “But there is something we all realize here,” he continued. “Without pointing fingers, we know we can do better. Today, everyone saw just how dedicated Ms. Gadway is to helping this team succeed. She put us ahead of her grief by coming to practice and promising not to give up on us.”

Valdez leaned forward in his seat and steepled his fingers beneath his pointed chin, nodding.

“We should all look in the mirror and make sure we’re giving the best effort we can.” Garrett stared around the room, daring anyone to contradict him. No one did.

“Like some of you, I was reluctant to take her advice. However, you can see what it’s done for my pitching. Given our record, we can’t afford to let our personal feelings interfere with our performance. She has been a coach in the past. She’s been around baseball, and particularly this team, all her life.”

Several of his teammates nodded while others leaned in, listening. He had them. He could feel it. Heather’s unexpected appearance at practice had already softened them up. He was just making the final push.

“Skipper has an innate ability to spot flaws and mechanics. No one before her noticed that I dropped my arm when I got tired. She’s talented and driven. Follow her lead, do what she’s asked of you during the game, and see where it takes us. We may never be a great team, but we owe it to ourselves, our manager and the late Mr. Gadway to work hard. You never know, we may surprise ourselves.”

Valdez lifted his fist. “For Skipper!”

“For Mr. Gadway!” Waitman hollered.

“For the Falcons!” Garrett called and was gratified when the rest of the guys answered.

Hopson clapped his hands together and leaped to his feet. “Let’s win this thing!”

“Yeah!” roared the group, and, for once, instead of jogging, they sprinted out of the locker room and onto the field.

Garrett raced with them, smiling. Win or lose, he’d already scored a victory.

* * *

I
T
WAS
THE
top of the ninth and the crowd stomped its feet, roared and danced along with Freddy the Falcon, the team mascot. The fur-clad figure balanced on top of a railing, clapping its wings and pointing in time to “We Will Rock You.” In the distance, men bearing boxes of beverages and food climbed up rows of seats.

“Popcorn. Popcorn here!” they called.

“Cold soda. Get your cold soda!”

“Peanuts. Peanuts. Peanuts!”

Garrett jogged onto the field, his hand sweating inside his glove. The spectators were fired up, and they had a right to be. He was three outs away from shutting out the best team in the league. It was the fresh start the Falcons needed, the vote of confidence from the fans energizing the players. They took their places and zipped the ball to one another, the white sphere arcing against the darkening sky, the air so still it seemed the wind held its breath.

Garrett took the mound and snapped his glove around the ball when Hopson winged it.

“Play ball!” someone shouted from the stands, and Garrett bit back a smile, tucking his emotions somewhere he couldn’t feel. He had a job to do. A game to win. He was trying to hold the number one team in the league, the Panthers, scoreless. It was one-nothing and he meant to keep it that way. The Panthers were the best hitting club in the Minors, and it’d be a big deal for the Falcons to beat them without letting one run by.

Garrett put his glove on his hip and watched as the first batter took warm-up swings in the on-deck circle. Martinez, the fastest guy on the team and a left-handed hitter, Garrett mused. Someone to keep off the bases at all costs.

After a couple more practice swings, Martinez stepped up to the plate and raised his bat. Dean’s fingers signaled a fastball away and Garrett wound up, releasing his first pitch.

Martinez turned at the last second, lowering his bat to push the ball down the third baseline.

A bunt.

Hopson charged along with Garrett, who lunged for the ball. He turned and wheeled toward first, firing the ball as hard as he could. Martinez’s feet were a blur as he overran first, just beating the throw.

Not a good start. Especially when Garrett noted the next player on deck was a solid base hitter rumored to be heading to the Majors soon. It was going to be a tough out. He dug his toe into the dirt. Any other game, he would have pitched around him. Given up the walk. But this was do or die.

His first pitch flew just outside.

The umpire hollered, “Ball one!”

The crowd quieted slightly.

Garrett set and delivered again, keeping his frustration off his face when the ball dropped low.

“Ball two!”

He stepped forward and caught Dean’s throw along with the encouraging nod from his friend.

With his glove raised to his chest, he fired off another that appeared to catch the corner of the dish. Strike!

But the umpire’s arm stayed by his side.

“Ball three!”

Garrett’s jaw clenched. Bad call. This far down in the count, he had no choice but to groove one down the middle. A good hitter like the Panthers’ number one batter would be waiting for a pitch like this. If he homered, the Falcons would lose the shutout and possibly the game.

“You can do it, Wolf,” came Levi’s unmistakable voice, his howl disturbing Garrett’s concentration.

The ball slipped slightly from his fingertips as he released it, and it rose high.

“Ball four! Take your base.”

The hitter tossed the bat and jogged to first. The fans moaned, and Freddy the Falcon lowered his head and tucked it beneath his wing, covering his eyes. Garrett wished he hadn’t seen that, either.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Heather’s slim form climbing the dugout steps. He hoped he wasn’t being yanked. Not this close. He’d had shutouts before during the early part of his career, but none he needed this badly.

Dean reached him first. When he pulled off his mask, his red hair spiked straight to the sky.

“Are you okay?” His close-set eyes searched Garrett’s.

Garrett nodded but waited to answer as Heather appeared.

“Do you have anything left, Wolf?”

He ignored the jerk of his heart when he met her dark green eyes.

“Yeah. I can finish this.”

She studied him for a long moment and he kept himself still, thinking about the game, his pitch, this inning, anything but how good it’d felt to hold her earlier.

At last, she nodded. “All right. Don’t forget. Keep that arm up.”

“Got it.”

Her even teeth appeared in a smile that stopped his breath. “Finish them off, Wolf.”

And with that, she and Dean ran back to their places, and he stepped to the back of the mound and grabbed the resin bag. He dried off his hands and replaced his glove as the next hitter came to the plate.

He came with heat on the first pitch.

Smack!

A one-hop smash down the third baseline. Miraculously, Hopson dove, snaring it, then scrambling to the third base bag to beat the Panthers’ fastest runner.

Incredible. Elation filled Garrett. That was real hustle. Just the kind of play the team needed.

One out and men on first and second.