Thrown By Love (23 page)

“I’m sure he is. He’d be proud of you, how you’ve held up under scrutiny. I wish I could make the transition easier.”

“There is something you could help me with.” She wished she could tell him of her plans to rid them of Fisher, but that wouldn’t be wise. She still needed to line up facts, wait for the vote and get George back so it’d be a swift, clean break.

“Shoot.”

She fiddled with a stack of papers on the desk. Her carefully scripted words became muddled, and suddenly she felt deeply ill at ease.

“Chloe?”

She met his eyes. He was her ally. “I’m not sure how to say this—”

“Best to spit it out. We can untangle any blunders later.”

She hoped he was right. He might be able to help her now, but suddenly she wished he could help her with what was really bothering her. Not Fisher, that she could handle,
would
handle. If only she could tell Charley the truth about her feelings for Scotty. But she couldn’t. He wouldn’t understand.

“I saw something in Scotty’s mechanics.” She couldn’t tell him where. “When he throws out of the stretch, his lead elbow isn’t lining up, and he’s bending his front knee too much when he plants his foot.” She didn’t have to tell Charley that those two things in combination would affect Scotty’s aim and velocity. “He’s losing torque. It’s a small thing, but I think it’s what’s giving him trouble. But more than that, it’s as though he’s getting ahead of himself. Like he’s reaching forward into time instead of being right there with the pitch.”

Charley stroked his chin and stared at her. When he didn’t respond, she added, “Call it . . . oh, I don’t know.” She let out an exasperated breath. “Call it intuition. I saw it.”

“Strange that Mullen didn’t pick it up. Or me. But he’s had his hands full with the bullpen.” He rubbed at his chin. “I saw that he was losing torque and hitters had more time to read the ball. Yet because his shoulders lined up, I hadn’t noticed his elbow angles. Still, I should’ve seen it. But the timing thing, I saw that. Darnedest thing. Didn’t know how to put it into words.” He crossed his arms. “Leave it to our cosmology professor to nail that one.”

“It’s just a hunch.”

“It’s more than a hunch, Chloe. Don’t downplay what you know. You’ve been around the game almost as long as I have.”

“Not as close.” She felt the color rise in her face. If she hadn’t known Scotty’s body as well as she did—if she hadn’t felt him react and move with her—would she have seen the hitch? “As I said, I just wanted you to check it out.”

Her phone rang. Caller ID said Mike Thomas.

“I need to take this, Charley.”

He donned his cap, tipped it at her and walked out, closing the door behind him.

She’d crossed a line by telling Charley what she’d seen in Scotty’s movements. Another one. She’d crossed many in the past few months, most of which she’d never imagined existed. Calling upon her instincts and wisdom should have felt better than it did, but the nagging tug in her belly told her there’d be a price to pay. She prayed she’d have the courage to pay it.

Chapter Eighteen

Chloe hadn’t been in the Crossroads bookstore since the day she and Scotty had run into each other there. Had it only been three months?

The previous night Scotty had pitched a near perfect game. There’d been no hitch, just fluid, confident pitching. He blew the Rangers’ hitters away, and the Sabers won five to nothing. Scotty had texted her at six that morning, wanting to meet for coffee. Though she knew she shouldn’t, she agreed to meet at ten thirty. So much for resolve. They’d made it exactly ten days.

She’d chosen to meet up in San Francisco, thinking it might feel removed from the turmoil in San Jose.

She was early. Walking the aisles, perusing books, might calm the thudding in her chest. But when she saw Scotty walk through the door, her heart picked up its pace. He tilted his head toward the table in the corner of the bookstore café. Clutching her mocha, she joined him at the still rickety table.

“No cookies?” His smile seemed forced.

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“Bad sign,” he said.

“Great game last night.”

He ran his tongue to the side of his mouth and nodded. “Charley told me it was you who figured out my hitch.”

A bottomless nothingness yawned beneath her. She gripped her coffee, brought it to her lips and took a sip. She knew then that whatever she’d imagined this reunion to be, it wasn’t going to take the shape she’d expected.

“It was just a hunch. I saw you do it in Nebraska.”

“And on the field.”

“And on the field.” She wouldn’t lie.

“And the timing thing. Charley said I was reaching into eternity and needed to focus on now.” She couldn’t tell if the expression on his face was a smirk or a puzzled smile.

“I didn’t say it quite like that.”

He didn’t say anything, just pushed back from the table.

She fingered the rim of her cup. “I could bring in that pitching coach you mentioned, the one from the East Coast. Charley likes him. He could work with you. You could—”

“Stop.”

He fisted his hand against the table. He was angry, something she hadn’t expected.

“It’s
my
life out there. It’s not up to you.”

But it was. And that was the problem.

“The team is my responsibility,” she said, wishing for something, anything, to pacify the reeling in her belly.

“
You
could’ve told me. Directly.”

She shook her head, feeling like a rudderless boat cut loose in a storm. “We had an agreement.”

“Chloe, I thought we—” He pressed his fists to the table and leaned toward her. “You should have said something.”

When she only watched him, didn’t defend her decision or admit that he was right, he pushed away from the table.

“I’m getting a coffee,” he said. She heard the barely controlled anger in his tone.

Scotty stood at the counter waiting for his coffee. Chloe had been right about the problem with his mechanics. And she was right about his timing. He’d been getting ahead of himself. In more ways than one, he acknowledged as he looked over at her. He’d spent half the night grateful and the other half wanting to throttle her. He wasn’t sure which steamed him more, the fact that she hadn’t told him herself or that he hadn’t figured it out on his own. Pride had its downside. If he didn’t get a grip, he’d slide right into its abyss.

But she’d stood her ground. Admiration cracked his heart open just when he’d thought he could shut it down. It was bad enough that he couldn’t get her out of his mind, but he also couldn’t return any of the calls from women he’d normally have invited into his bed. He wanted
her
in it—but they’d agreed to cool it.

He’d
agreed.

For a few days he’d even thought it was a good idea. But no longer.

As he’d tossed in his bed last night, he knew he had to see her, even if they had to sneak around as they had at Sunridge.

His anger began to melt as he replayed their night under the stars. That’d been a night he’d never forget. And that was his problem. He couldn’t forget.

The barista handed him his coffee.

“I’ll take one of those croissants,” he said, pointing. “And two of the cookies.”

“Oatmeal or the chocolate chip?” she asked, her hand hovering in the case.

He glanced back to where Chloe sat waiting. “One of each.”

He juggled the pastries and coffee and plunked them down on the table. Chloe watched him with a wariness he wished he’d never seen. Wished he hadn’t caused. Given their respective roles in the game, he’d expected rough spots, but not this sort and not this soon. But he had a plan to win her and he was ready to put it into motion.

“I’d like you to meet someone very important to me,” he said, handing her a cookie and wishing it wasn’t a bribe. “Next week. In San Francisco. I’ll send the invitation to your office.”

“So mysterious,” she said as she nibbled at the cookie.

“You’ll like it. I promise.”

“And this?” She pointed first at him and then herself.

He sipped his coffee to give himself time to think, not wanting to answer too heatedly. Not wanting to scare her off.

“Let’s shelve further discussion for the moment.”

The look she gave him, desire tempered by resolve, provoked him. He’d have her, baseball and corporations be damned.

Chapter Nineteen

Chloe wished she hadn’t told Scotty that she’d attend the Big Brothers fundraiser in San Francisco, but he’d argued away all of her protests. Other players were going. He’d make sure they’d be sitting at separate tables. He wanted her to meet the kid he’d been mentoring. When he told her the boy’s story and she saw how proud Scotty was of his accomplishments, her resolve had evaporated.

The Big Brothers event wasn’t a typical fundraiser. It was a breakfast, and the decorations were sparse. She suspected the boys in the program had made them. Those boys, spit-polished for the occasion, met their guests at the door. The dignity with which they ushered their guests to their seats was palpable. This was their gig and they were proud.

Chloe sat at a table near the front, with Miguel Ribio next to her. One of the boys he’d mentored was receiving an achievement award. Ribio might have given birth to the boy, the way he went on about him.

When the video highlighting the year’s activities was shown, she saw why he was so proud. These boys, with the help of their mentors, had overcome odds that would’ve daunted anyone. Two boys had parents in prison and had been in the foster care system since they were toddlers. Max, the older boy Scotty mentored, was graduating from the program. He’d gone from a grade school dropout wandering the streets to a leader in the program, a go-getter headed to Cal Berkeley on a scholarship.

When the table captains handed out envelopes for donations, she imagined they’d more than meet the morning’s goal. She wrote a check that would ensure they did. The boys served a breakfast of cereals and pastries and took special care when they served the two tables sponsored by the Sabers’ players.

After breakfast, a group of boys approached Scotty’s table. Max held a long box out to Scotty. Chloe turned her seat so she could watch. Scotty lifted his gaze to hers, and damn if her heart didn’t start pounding away. If there hadn’t been such a racket in the room, she was sure anyone at her table could’ve heard it.

Scotty took the box from Max. Four other boys crowded around. Unlike the boys serving her table, they were young, maybe only six or seven. From the looks on their faces, she could see that they held both Max and Scotty in high regard.

“Max got it for you,” one of the smaller boys piped up.

“Hey,” the boy next to him said with a shushing motion. “We all pitched in.”

Scotty tore through the wrapper and lifted the lid. He pulled a bat out of the box and the boys cheered.

“We signed it, see?” the younger boy said. “It has all of our names.”

Scotty’s eyes widened with emotion. She knew that look.

“You can hit with it,” the small boy said, his voice excited and high. “I mean when you have to hit. Or you can hang it on your wall.” He shouldered in closer and fished a bracket from the box. “See?”

One of the other boys jabbed an elbow into his ribs. Even they knew Scotty wasn’t known for his hitting. Chloe hid her grin behind one hand.

Cameras and phones flashed, and each of the boys took his turn having a photo taken with Scotty. Then they lined up for a group photo and called to Ribio to join them. They took no notice of Chloe. It was a relief to be somewhere where no one focused on her. Instead of being tense, she sat back and basked in the adulation being showered on her players.