Homestands (Chicago Wind #1)

Homestands

© 2016 by Sally Bradley

Visit Sally Bradley at
www.sallybradley.com

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews and articles, without the prior written consent of the author.

Cover Design by © Jennifer Zemanek/Seedlings Design Studio

Edited by Christina Tarabochia

Author Photo © 2014 by Janene Snyder, Top Spot Photography

Published by Salena House Publishers

Scripture quotations taken from the New American Standard Bible
^®
(NASB), Copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation

Used by permission.
www.Lockman.org

This book is a work of fiction. When real establishments, organizations, events, or locales appear, they are used fictitiously. All other elements and all characters in the novel are drawn from the author’s imagination.

The end came, as it nearly always did, when his thoughts were elsewhere, his focus on other things. When life seemed okay, if not good.

This time he was staring at the years-old picture he held of himself with Meg when he realized that someone had, several seconds ago, sat down beside him on the bed.

And that it could only be Sara.

It was too late to hide the picture.

But he did anyway.

Sara drew her eyes slowly to his, her lips pressed together. “This isn’t working, is it?”

“I just found it. I was packing and—”

“Mike Connor.” She laughed and eased to her feet with the same calm reaction she gave all of his jokes. “Who do you think you’re lying to here?”

“No one. I’m not lying.”

“Well, you’re definitely not lying to me.” She wandered across the room, then turned in front of the bathroom doorway and watched him.

He tried not to squirm.

Her crossed arms said control, not self-preservation. She pursed her lips. “I’ve seen this coming for a while, you know.”

He played dumb. “Seen what coming?”

“The end of us.”

“Sara.” He forced all the emotion and love he could into her name. “I told you. I was packing and I found it.”

“Why is it even here, Mike? You brought everything into this place six weeks ago when you came down for spring training. If this were your house, then maybe—maybe—I could see you stumbling across it.”

He glanced around, his gaze finally landing on the black Samsonite peeking from the bottom of the open closet. “It must have already been in a suitcase.”

“Right.” She leaned against the doorjamb, sending him a sad smile. “You’re not over her.”

“Come on.” He laughed. “Don’t tell me you never think about past relationships.”

“How often are we talking, Mike? Why do I get the feeling that every relationship you’ve had has ended this way? I know what I’m talking about—you’re not over her. You need to see her.”

“No. Nope.” His pulse sped just a bit at the idea. He hadn’t seen Meg in over six years. Six long years in which every relationship fizzled under the memory of what he’d thrown away.

But Sara was right about one thing—the two of them had been over for a while. Back in February he’d been eager to leave her in freezing Chicago and hightail it to sunny Arizona. Nothing to concentrate on but the team and baseball, until a week ago when she’d come down to stay with him over spring break. He rubbed his eyes, suddenly worn out and longing for sleep.

“Do you realize you’re still sitting on the bed? That your hand is still on her picture? You haven’t even bothered getting up to persuade me to stay.”

Wow. He studied the pattern of the carpet. No rebuttal came to mind.

But the thought of going back to his massive home and finding it empty of everything Sara was depressing. He forced himself to stand, knees creaking, and walked across the bedroom to her.

She stayed where she was, eyes on him.

He pulled her into his arms, and she let him, even though her arms stayed folded in front of her.

They really were done.

His throat tightened. There was so much he should say, but his voice would betray him. And what was he really emotional about this time? Was he sorry to see Sara go? Or just sorry that he’d be alone?

Again.

Sara sighed as she moved out of his arms and stepped around him.

He turned, watched her walk to the nightstand.

Her straight brown hair hung down her back in a thick, soft ponytail. She loved her hair, and he’d lied and told her he thought it was beautiful too.

But it was always dark, honey-blonde hair he loved. Meg’s long, wavy hair.

Sara pulled something from her planner and palmed it.

“What?” he asked. “You’ve got an ex-husband you’re going to show me?”

“Stop it. I want you to go see her.”

“This is dumb, Sara. I don’t even know where she is or what—”

She held out her hand. A business card rested in her palm.

Mike stared at the card. She had to be kidding. “No.”

“Take it, Mike.”

He couldn’t.

A moment later it was in his hands.
Meghan Connor Designs
. He read the raised lettering, his heart thudding inside him. This couldn’t be.

“She’s half an hour from you, Mike. From either home.”

Half an hour.

“She’s an interior designer. Another teacher recommended her when we looked into hiring someone. I hear she’s good.”

“She’s very good.”

“Yes.” She cleared her throat. “Well.”

Half an hour away? They’d been in Texas when they’d divorced, and she’d vanished so fast. He’d been traded to Chicago just over a year ago, fresh off another break-up, Meg on his mind.

For the last year she’d been half an hour away.

“I’ll get into O’Hare around six tonight. By the time you get back to Chicago on Sunday, I’ll be out of your place.” Sara picked up her things as she talked—a perfume bottle, her iPad, her flat iron, and makeup bag. She shoved them one after another into her carry-on, the first sign that this hurt. “I’ll mail you my keys. You’ll get them next week.”

Always on top of things. Always ready for anything. “Where will you go?”

“I guess I—” She stopped her stuffing and froze over the bag. Her ponytail slid over her shoulder and covered his view of her face.

He studied Meg’s business card.

A moment later she sniffed and zipped her bag closed.

Mike looked up.

She was wiping her nose.

She jabbed a finger at him. “You go see her. You find out if there’s anything left there. You hear me?”

“Sure.” Not likely.

“And after all that, if there’s nothing left between you two—” Three quick steps, and she was in his arms.

He held her while she shook against him.

But just as quickly, it was over and she pushed herself back. “If it ever really ends between you two, then you call me. Okay?”

“Okay.”

It wouldn’t happen. Sara was already his past. There was no going back.

He looked beyond her at the picture lying on the bed. Not even Meg would take him back.

“I have to tell them about the foundation issues?”

Meg Connor laughed at Dana’s horrified expression. It had been worth hiring an employee, just for this little perk. “It’s best if you go there and show them exactly where the problem is. I’d send the general contractor, but he and his family should be landing in Florida about now.”

“Did he plan that trip before or after he found out about the foundation?”

“Very funny.” Meg slid her chair back to her desk. “They suspected there might be problems. Now that the basement is demoed, we know for sure. They won’t be shocked.”

Dana tipped her head back, her short blonde hair swinging away from her face. “Why can’t you do it?”

“Because I have a date.”

Dana straightened in her chair, her wide eyes saying,
Do tell
.

“With Jill. Girls’ night out.”

“Oh. You need a real date.”

Meg rolled her eyes. “I’m fine, Dana. Be glad I actually get out every now and then, or I’d be a miserable boss.”

“You’re already making me tell these poor people that their foundation is sinking. Can it get worse than that?”

A knock at the office door drew Meg’s gaze.

Jill Ashburn, her best friend, stood in the doorway, a grin on her face. “Time to go,” Jill said. “Any work not done can wait for next week.”

Meg closed her laptop. “More like tomorrow morning.”

“Let’s be honest, Meg.” Dana pointed her pen at the computer. “That thing will be on five minutes after you get back tonight. Wear her out, Jill. Make her forget all about fabric and drywall and crumbling foundations.”

“It’s a lost cause, Dana. The woman loves her job. I’m hoping for a fifteen-minute reprieve before she starts talking shop.”

“All right, all right.” No one ganged up on her like these two did. “I’ll try to not think about work. For a little while.” She grabbed her purse from beneath her desk. “We’re ready?”