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Britt heaved a sigh. He didn’t believe in her. She’d sensed it for a long time, but refused to acknowledge his doubt. Now it was impossible to ignore his unsolicited advice and vague proclamations. Kind of like the one he’d issued just now. “Things are going well at the network, Dad. I called—”

“They could go even better, especially with Joe out of the picture,” Allison interrupted.

“He has meningitis, Al. It’s not like he’s dead.” Britt shook her head.
Seriously.
She could be so callous sometimes.

“But he isn’t going to be back at work anytime soon. You would be wise to forget about this boy and drive on. Stay focused.” Dad sliced his hand straight ahead.

“Focused. Right,” Britt whispered.
All systems go.
Put the last forty-eight hours out of your mind. Sorry, Caleb. You’re old news, nothing but a distraction. It’s all baseball, all the time. My dad said.

Wasn’t Caleb choosing baseball over her? The doubt slithered in, so bold and cunning. Hughes maneuvered the car onto the Bay Bridge and she stared out the window, watching a ferry traverse the green waters of the San Francisco Bay. They were both honoring their commitments.

Baseball came first right now, but it wouldn’t always be this way. Caleb genuinely cared about her. Or else he wouldn’t have taken such a huge risk by opening his heart again. No matter how she spun it, the doubt remained.

The closer they drove to Lafayette and a weekend at home with her family, the more Britt wondered what else they would talk her into. Or out of.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Caleb drained the bottle of Gatorade, the sweet nectar offering the perfect antidote for his parched throat. This humidity was brutal. He tossed the empty plastic container into the bin at the end of the dugout and took his place among his teammates. They lined the front step, watching Taka take a swing.
Thwack.
The Tigers’ catcher caught the ball, much to the delight of the enthusiastic home crowd. Strike two, with the go-ahead run waiting on third base.

The first seven innings had tested Yu, the Rays’ starting pitcher. Shin had taken the ball and informed Caleb he’d finish the game. Try as he might, he couldn’t ignore the dull ache in his elbow that had graduated to a searing pain after his last pitch in the top of the eighth.

Dig deep. Focus.

“How are you feeling?” Kai restocked the paper cups next to the water cooler and cast an appraising glance his way.

“Good.” Now would be a good time to mention his elbow to Kai and his staff. But that meant further evaluation, probably even an MRI. Shin would shut him down for sure.

“Let me know if anything changes.” Kai moved on to assist another player.

It was like he
knew.

They were tied at one run apiece with the Hanshin Tigers. Opening this six game series in Osaka with a win would be incredible, a wave of positive energy they could ride all the way to their next home game at the Dome.

The crack of Taka’s bat connecting with the ball captured everyone’s attention. Every head in the dugout tipped back, following the ball’s trajectory as it soared deep into center field.

“C’mon,” Caleb whispered.

The Tigers’ center fielder sprinted toward the wall, then turned and caught the ball in his glove. The crowd roared their approval.

Caleb’s gut twisted.
Dang it.
Tying run left stranded on base. He turned and grabbed his glove from the bench while his team began the well-rehearsed transition from offense to defense. His elbow craved a longer reprieve between trips to the mound.

Shin clapped him on the shoulder as he left the dugout. “Three up, three down.”

“Right. Got it.” Caleb jogged to the mound, the weight of Shin’s words heavy on his mind. Normally he thrived under the pressure, the demands of throwing heat. Every batter was a mind game, another opportunity to find his opponent’s weakness and exploit it. But tonight he feared he’d come up short. Because that pain in his elbow was his kryptonite.

He gathered some dirt from the mound and sifted it through his fingers, like he did at the top of every inning. Then he dusted his hand on his gray pants, formed a fist and punched it into his glove. Taka stood behind home plate, adjusting his catcher’s mask.

The crowd whittled away at Caleb’s confidence. Everyone was on their feet, chanting, as the next batter warmed up on deck. Yellow plastic bats waved high in the air, banging together in a mind-numbing cadence. The soundtrack to his undoing.

Caleb threw a warm-up pitch while Keisuke Ando, the Tigers’ premier player, waited on deck. Taka threw the ball back and Caleb returned to his place on the mound. Ando walked up to the plate and took a few practice swings. Keisuke Ando led the league last season in runs batted in.

Caleb rolled his shoulders back and tried to combat the pressure with a slow, deep breath. Between that tidbit from the scouting report and images of a certain blonde sportscaster, he struggled to find his groove. The sweet spot that translated to smoking hot pitches.

Ando propped his bat against his leg and tightened his batting glove. Taka signaled for a cutter.
No.
There’s no way his elbow could handle that. One more practice swing and Ando stood at the ready, bat shouldered, staring Caleb down. Taka called the pitch again. A closed fist followed by two fingers extended against his inner thigh.
Fine. Whatever.
Caleb nodded. He’d gut it out. Taka was right. A pitch that broke in was ideal for a powerful hitter.

Dragging his hand across his lip and wiping the excess moisture on his pants, he gripped the ball between his index and middle finger, careful to conceal it in his glove. He rubbed his thumb over the seams, feeling another bead of sweat trickle down his spine.

The pace of his pounding heart would rival a thoroughbred at this point.

Winding up, he lifted his knee toward his chest and braced himself for the pain he’d surely experience. He hurled his arm through the air, and applied extra pressure with his index finger to ensure the ball would drop toward Ando’s hands as it crossed the plate.

He clawed at his elbow, the white hot pain bringing him to his knees. A deep, guttural moan vibrated in his chest. He rolled over onto his back, spots peppering his vision as he writhed on the dirt. This couldn’t be happening.

Britt rocked in the chair, humming softly to the baby girl swaddled in her arms. Sadie Grace slept with her perfect little fingers wrapped around one of Britt’s, while the other tiny hand formed a fist next to her cheek.

This was the life. Her nephews had tumbled out of bed a few minutes ago, hair mussed and superhero pajamas all wrinkled. Now they sat on Lucas and Kristi’s leather couch in the other room, debating the merits of watching
Jake and the
Neverland Pirates
versus
Dinosaur Train
.

Kristi tiptoed in, carrying two steaming mugs of coffee, her long blonde hair twisted into a messy bun. She set one cup of coffee on the side table for Britt, not that she’d be able to drink it.

“There you go.” Kristi’s mouth curved into a tired smile. “Isn’t she adorable?”

“She is. Does Grace come over and hold her very often?”

“Two afternoons a week.” Kristi sat in the opposite chair, tucking her bare feet under her. “She’s busier in retirement than she ever was working for Dad.”

“I bet she’s thrilled.” Grace had served as a mother figure in their lives for so long, it seemed only fair that she get to love on Lucas’s children as much as she wanted. Especially a baby named after her.

“Do you want me to hold her so you can drink your coffee?” Kristi offered. “I’m sure your jet lag’s a bear.”

Britt shook her head. “Not yet.”

Kristi sat back, cradling her own mug of coffee. “That’s what I thought.”

Britt kissed the soft downy hair covering the crown of Sadie’s head. She smelled like lavender and—

“Hey, Britt?” Lucas came in from the kitchen, wearing a Giants T-shirt and black gym shorts. What blond hair he had left was still damp from his shower. He held up a smartphone. “Are you expecting a call? Someone’s blowing up your phone.”

Britt stilled the rocking chair.
Seriously.
Didn’t Marne care that it was Easter weekend? “Can you bring it to me? Let me check the caller ID.”

Lucas crossed the room in three long strides and passed her the phone.

Britt glanced at the screen. “307 area code. I don’t—”

The phone buzzed in her hand and a text message lit up the screen.

Sorry to keep bothering you. Really need to talk to you. Call or text ASAP.

The hair on her arms stood on end. “That’s weird. These calls and texts are all from Ben.”

“Ben?” Kristi arched one eyebrow. “I thought you said his name was Caleb?”

Britt stood and shifted the baby into Kristi’s waiting arms. “He has a twin brother. That’s his number. I better give him a call.”

She crossed to the back door and stepped out on Lucas and Kristi’s screened porch, pulling the door shut behind her. Jabbing the call button on her screen, she pressed the phone to her ear and paced.

Ben picked up after the first ring. “Hello?”

“Ben, this is Britt. What’s going on?”

“Britt. Hey, thanks for calling me back. Sorry if I woke you up.”

“Not at all. I’ve been up for a while. Still on Tokyo time.” She forced a laugh but it sounded hollow.

“So, listen. I’ve got some news. I wanted you to hear it from me before the media grabs a hold of it. Wait, what am I saying? You are the media. Did someone from the network already call you?”

Britt’s heart kicked into overdrive. “Know what? Ben, you’re scaring me. Just tell me what happened.”

“Caleb got hurt yesterday, pitching in Osaka. Sounds pretty bad.”

Britt sank into the nearest wicker chair. “What?”

“He went down after only a couple of pitches. Britt, it’s his elbow.”

“No.” She pressed her fingers to her cheek.

“I know, right? After everything he’s been through, I can’t—”

“What’s he going to do? I mean, is another surgery an option at this point? Will they release him? Surely he won’t stay in Tokyo now …” She got to her feet and resumed her pacing, the options playing through her mind faster than a carnival Tilt-O-Whirl.

“Those are all great questions. Unfortunately, I don’t have any answers.”

“Are you going back?” Britt asked.

“No, I can’t.”

Britt’s heart lurched. Caleb was alone. Again.

“Are you going back?” Ben asked.

“No. Opening Day is Monday.”

“Would you mind giving him a call? He’s bummed. Maybe you can cheer him up.”

“Of course. I can’t believe he didn’t call me first.” She bit her lip. “I’m sorry, that sounded totally obnoxious. It’s just—”

“No worries. It’s not like you were flying across the Pacific or anything.”

“But I’ve been … Never mind. I’ll call him. Thanks for letting me know.”

“No problem. Keep me posted if you hear … anything.” Ben hesitated long enough to let her know he shared her same concerns about Caleb’s elbow.

“I will.”

She ended the call and scrolled through her texts. Three from Ben, a couple from Allison about their plans for the day, one from Marne, and one from Caleb that made her heart ache.

Call me. Text me. Whatever. I need you.

Fighting back tears, she found his number and pressed ‘call’ with a trembling finger. It rang several times.
Pick up. Please.

“Hello?” His voice was gruff.

“Hey, it’s Britt. Ben just called me. I’m so sorry to hear—”

“Hey. Hang on a sec.” There were muffled voices and what sounded like a door closing. “Sorry. I asked Kai and the doctor to leave so we could talk.”

“Did you have an MRI?” She sat back down, heart hammering in her chest.

“Doctor just read the results. It’s my UCL.” Caleb’s voice broke.

No.
That ligament held his elbow together. Without that, he was done—the worst possible news for a pitcher
.
“Caleb, I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

“What about Tommy John surgery?”

Caleb cleared his throat. “I don’t know. Maybe. But not here. I’d have to go back to the States.”

“Didn’t you see somebody in LA before?”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t let anybody but Dr. Weaver touch my arm again, either.”

“Will the Rays let you come here for a second opinion or something?”

“I wish I knew.”

She swallowed back another question. He sounded so defeated. “I’d be there in a second if I could.”

“I know. Thank you for calling. I should go and let Shin get some sleep.”

“Caleb, wait.” She couldn’t let him hang up. Not like this. “I’m so sorry you’re injured. What can I do?”

Silence filled the void.

“I—I don’t even …” He huffed out a breath. “I knew I shouldn’t have pitched on so little rest.

It was only a couple of innings, but my arm’s been sore for a while and I didn’t— I didn’t speak up.”

“You can’t blame yourself.”

“Oh, yeah?” Caleb snorted. “Then who can I blame? It’s my responsibility to take care of my arm and I didn’t do it.”