Josh arrived at the stadium for a late-morning workout, the Texas sun already baking the asphalt, radiating heat. He ignored it, Neptune’s predicament still weighing heavily on his mind after Josh and Harv had chatted over breakfast.
He was mulling over all that Harv was planning to do the next few days when he got stopped in the parking lot by a fan hovering near the souvenir and ticket office, clutching a rolled-up poster.
Josh didn’t see him until he practically bumped into him.
“You’re Joshua Malvern! Can you sign my stuff, man?”
Without his normal standoffishness, Josh signed a ball cap, and then a Longhorns poster, continuing on, preoccupied. He waved as the fan said “Thanks!” and took off toward the visitor parking lot.
Normally that would have made him moody and tense, but today, not so much. It was different now. He knew he was a lucky SOB to be here. One wrong move and he wouldn’t have been. All the hesitation and protective barriers he’d put up over the years had paid off. But there had been times he’d been foolish and had simply never gotten caught. Neptune wasn’t as lucky.
The gate security guard let him through with a wave, and as he walked down the concrete underground corridor toward the Longhorn locker room, someone stuck their head out a door.
“Malvern,” he barked.
Josh steered himself around and went back toward the coaching pit, approaching the junior coaching staff. Their manager, Coach Davidson, was there, as well as their fitness manager. This didn’t look good, and he swallowed the tension that immediately hit his throat.
“We want to give you a few days off.”
Well, at least there was no beating around the bush. Josh dropped his duffel and looked at the coaches. None of them looked at him, clearing their throats. Were they expecting a fight?
The story of his temper was no secret, so he assumed his reputation had preceded him. It had been stupidity on his part not to be more in control when the Sixers had optioned him out. It felt like a lifetime ago already.
“Can I ask why?” he replied, settling one hip on a desk. He would not get angry. He would stay calm. This was not a demotion, but it was still stinging. He folded his arms across his chest and took a silent, deep breath through his nose as discreetly as possible. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“Your shoulders are locking again, son. We need you for the series with the Sixers; you’re getting a pass on this one,” Davidson replied.
Josh nodded, swallowing nervously. “Okay then. Am I IL-ed?
Do you need me in the dugout for the games?”
“Nope. Go take some time off, see a girl, go home to your mom and dad.” Davidson grunted and stood.
Obviously they had no idea what his life was like. Go see his mom and dad? Christmas and Thanksgiving were about the only times he saw them. That wasn’t happening.
A woman, on the other hand. . . . He thought about going to see Gretchen, but then shelved it. It was too soon, and she needed more time.
“I know what you’re thinking. We just want you to rest, get some diagnosis on that shoulder, and be back in time to hit against Carlos. He’s the starter for the Sixers series Game 1 and you know him. We’re hoping to put you in fifth. If your shoulder proves to be a stuck pig, then we may IL you, but we aren’t cutting you.”
“Okay,” Josh answered. He shook hands with everyone, picked up his duffel, and left the pit. No temper tantrums and no animosity. How about that? He was exceedingly calm.
He now had four days off instead of one. Last year, that would have felt like a death sentence, but now? He was free and clear to do what he wanted.
He stopped in at the gym and did some mobility on his shoulders, not wanting to waste the reason he was here. They were stiff and he grunted in pain as he stretched them out. The thought that this was not how he wanted to end his season badgered him as he went through the motions. What if this was it? That the wear and tear was finally too much?
He thought about it as he spent some time on the treadmill, slowly jogging, the sweat pouring off him from his big breakfast 1at a local greasy spoon. It was Harv’s favorite, and he’d indulged him. He had eaten far too much protein, which was now haunting him.
His thoughts went from breakfast to the Longhorns. Dallas was a good club. He enjoyed it, but he didn’t really feel like he fit.
He hadn’t made many friends in the short time he’d been here, but he was respected for his longevity in the majors. Teammates often asked his opinion before disregarding it, gave him space to do his thing, and did not engage him on a level that meant anything.
But that wasn’t what he wanted anymore. He wanted to be on a team that wanted him there for the good he could do, not just to fill in the roster with experience points. He thought back on how validated he’d felt playing in Vegas while he was there and how the contributions he made to the Sixers team were valued.
Harv had said Josh could be a free agent next season. He could look around to see where he’d like to finish out his career—either stay put or maybe find a more lucrative club. New York or maybe Boston again. The Longhorns hadn’t indicated if they were re-upping him, but it was a consideration that he could jump ship.
Then he thought back to Travis and his offer to stay in Vegas.
Was he done with the Show? Was he changing his mind about where he wanted to be, what he wanted to do? His entire life was in a bit of an upheaval. Now was not the time to make these decisions, but here they were, butting in.
He zoned out for a few moments, the rhythm of his steps on the treadmill relaxing him, the simple effort of running evaporating the stress. He racked up a few more miles at a slow pace, his mind wandering to Gretchen, wondering again if he could fly to Toronto and surprise her. If she would want that.
He desperately wanted to see her. He could talk to her about all this shit. She’d understand.
His phone pinged in his earbuds and he touched the screen.
A text from Harv.
Headed to Vegas. Got the notice of your days off. Want to join?
Then another ping, and Gretchen’s name popped up. He stopped the treadmill and picked up his phone, her name forcing goosebumps through the sweat. Speak of the devil.
Flying into Dallas tonight.
“Well, okay then,” he said and pulled his earbud out. He knew exactly what to do. Maybe this was what he needed to figure it all out.
Meet me in Vegas instead. Flying there with Harv. I’ll send you the ticket, he typed, then flipped over to his message from Harv and agreed.
. . .
Gretchen stepped out of the cab, her small carry-on behind her, and looked up at the floodlights inside the Neons stadium. They were playing tonight; the game was already well along.
She had canceled her ticket in the nick of time, and with very few details from Josh except for a quickly emailed direct flight from Toronto, she flew into Vegas instead. This time, flying in, she didn’t feel the excitement. This time she had no idea what she was doing.
She walked toward the west gate, where he’d texted to pick up the pass he’d left for her. The ticket agent looked bored, and Gretchen had to clear her throat twice and say excuse me before the woman looked up from her screen.
“I have some tickets here for me? Under Gretchen?”
The woman handed her a pass with a lanyard. “Over there, honey, that small gate. Show it to the guard.”
She looked down at it. A temporary staff pass? What? She slung it over her neck and strode over toward what was obviously a service entrance. The guard there took one look at her, his eyebrows rising, and he let her in the door, no questions asked.
As she tapped down the hall, dragging her suitcase, she could hear the crowd and smell the hot dogs cooking. This stadium was magical in a way. It was what baseball was supposed to be: the roar of the people cheering on their favorite team under the floodlights at dusk, stale popcorn, greasy food—
“Over here, Ms. Harper,” called a female voice.
She turned and saw an older woman dressed head to toe in a black-and-red velour jumpsuit with the Neons logo. She was curvy and spunky-looking, with pom-pom socks peeking out of her sneakers and her fingernails painted bright red to match.
“You must be Felicia,” Gretchen guessed, remembering Travis’s story. Who else could it be? Josh had mentioned the woman a few times, saying how much fun she was, how she kept the team on the straight and narrow, like a den mother.
“I am.” Felicia opened her arms. “Now you come here. I’m a hugger.”
She pulled Gretchen in, giving her a squeeze before letting her go, studying her from head to toe. She made a sound in her throat that Gretchen couldn’t quite translate. Was it good or bad? She tucked some of her hair behind her ear and looked back at the woman.
“That boy,” Felicia said, not elaborating. “Follow me. We’ll go up to the box.”
Gretchen lugged her suitcase up the wooden stairs, narrow and curving, until they reached a door. From the look of memorabilia and plaques on the walls, the upholstered seating, and the prime view, they were in the owner’s box. It was empty except for Josh and Harvey, both leaning on the bar, each with half-finished beers. Felicia went to the back of the box and let herself through another door, and Josh looked up and saw her. He was a thirst-quenching relief, her entire body thrumming with warmth as his eyes met hers.
Mischief promised, she thought, her body tingling everywhere.
Josh quickly bridged the distance between them. She tilted her head up and he broke into that smile that always made her lose all her thoughts.
“You’re here,” he murmured and took her bag from her, setting it aside, his other hand hovering and hesitant to touch her. She reached out to him, giving him permission to do the same. He was clearly as nervous as she was. Well, of course he would be, after what they’d said to each other.
He put an arm around her, pulling her close with a groan that came from his toes, and kissed her with a roughness that felt possessive, sending her senses whirling. She clenched his jacket lapels in her hands, not only signaling to him that she liked what he was doing, but holding herself up, which was difficult because he was turning her to jelly. Josh slid his hand down her back and then up to the nape of her neck, burying it in her hair as he deepened his hold on her. If they had been alone, she would have already been working on getting him naked. They were ridiculously combustible when they touched, apparently.
“All right now, you two, no hanky-panky in the box,” Felicia said as she came back in. She held a cardboard tray with a slice of 1pizza, some popcorn, and what looked to be beer. She set it on the counter. Gretchen detached herself from Josh, who immediately pulled her into his side, not ready to let her go yet.
“Eat. You must be starving,” Felicia ordered, and then winked at Josh.
Gretchen’s phone buzzed. Sharla. She opened it, typed that she was fine, on the ground, and to butt out. Then she put it away.
She still hadn’t spoken to Josh directly, and he was completely quiet, watching her. She eyed the pizza, the smell of it making her stomach rumble. Lunch had been on the plane. A long time ago.
He pulled her over beside him, and she touched Harvey on the shoulder as she sat, dragging the pizza over in front of her.
“Harvey. How lovely to see you again,” she said softly. He was half engrossed in the game, his phone in front of him, his email open.
“Ms. Harper. Josh didn’t tell me you were flying in,” Harvey said, flicking a glance at Josh, who had a hand on her back, the other on his beer. She could see him grinning out of the corner of her eye. He hadn’t told Harvey she was coming? Sneaky. And worrisome. Josh was here for Neptune, not her, and she suddenly hoped that she wouldn’t be in the way.
“I’m sorry to hear about Neptune,” she offered. “I hope you can sort it all out. It seems like he was set up, or maybe it was just bad luck.”
Harvey grunted, his eyes on the game. “We’ll figure it out.”
“Harvey thinks that Nep telling the cops whose car it was will help,” Josh added, his own eyes back to the game. “We think this friend might have some information they can use to bring in someone bigger.” He muttered under his breath as a player walked.
Gretchen folded the slice and took a bite, washing it down with possibly the best beer ever. She was hungry.
The two men on either side of her were bristling tension now that she was there. Silence enveloped them as they watched the game, both Harvey and Josh muttering or letting out random swear words. It seemed the Neons were not having a good night.
She left off conversing, feeling intrusive.
“When is the arraignment?” Gretchen finally asked once she had finished her food.
“Tomorrow afternoon. The club lawyer is on vacation, so they’re trying to secure someone else,” Josh replied, his hand sliding up and down her back. “He deserves more than a county-assigned dimwit because the club’s regular lawyer isn’t here.”
“We’ll find someone,” Harvey said with grunt as Gretchen’s phone buzzed and she picked it up. It was Sharla.
“My protector,” she murmured, and Josh chuckled.
“Oh my God, Gretchen, are you insane?” Sharla spat into the phone the moment she took the call.
“Hi, Shar,” Gretchen laughed, flicking a glance at Josh who was still chuckling. “I’m fine. Say hi to Josh.”
Sharla huffed on the other end. “If he fucks with you, I will personally end him. No good, hot-shot assh—”
Josh, who could obviously hear both sides of the conversation, leaned over to Gretchen’s phone and interrupted her.
“I certainly hope to, Sharla. You have my word,” he said playfully.
Gretchen blushed as Josh moved his hand all the way down to pat her ass, and Sharla growled on the other side.
“Fine. It is a lucky thing he is ridiculously good-looking. I trust my girl here.”
Gretchen heard Kevin ask Sharla who she was talking to, she muffled some words to him, and suddenly Gretchen was on speaker.
“Gretchen, darling. How are you? I hear you are back in Las Vegas with your Mr. Sunshine?”
Gretchen laughed at Kevin’s use of the nickname Sharla had inadvertently given Josh. It had stuck. He’d never live that down now.
“I am,” she replied. “He’s here to support a friend. I was flying to see him anyway, and, well . . . here I am.”
“Well, keep us posted,” he said, and then Sharla took the phone off speaker.
“I need to go. Love you, Gretch. Be careful, okay?” Sharla said quickly and hung up.
Josh was absorbed in the game, standing at the edge of the box, his beer in one hand and the other in his pocket. He looked relaxed except for how square and high his shoulders were.
Gretchen was looking forward to maybe running her hands over them later. The thought made her stomach flip.
Cheers came up from the stadium, and they turned back to the game. It looked like the Neons had loaded the bases, and the opposing team manager was walking out to the mound, the fielders converging on the pitcher. From where Gretchen was, she could see gloves covering mouths as they discussed what to do, bobbing heads with ball caps and gesturing coaches.
“They’ll pull him and put in a fresh closer now,” Josh remarked.
“I really hope they can convert this. Will do good for the morale on the team.”
The phone on the wall rang, and Josh reached to grab it. A few uh-huhs and then a No, you have it right, I think that is a good call.
“Who was that?” Harvey asked when Josh hung the phone back on the cradle.
“Coach. He wanted my opinion on switching out a player to face the closer they’re bringing out from the bullpen. I batted against him a few times last year, and the guy they have up next in the rotation won’t do well against him. He’s a leftie.”
“Have you thought about moving to coaching when your playing days are done?” Gretchen asked carefully. She didn’t want to poke the bear, but she was curious. The look on his face and the change in energy around him was evident. He had a head for the game; he was able to see things that maybe others couldn’t.
“It was a path I had contemplated,” Josh replied. He thinned his lips.
“You’d be good at it, son,” Harvey remarked. “You’d be a good agent too. But not yet. You got play in you left.”
“Thanks, Harv,” Josh said quietly and moved to the railing to watch the play.
The batter moved into position, and even from where they were standing, they could see how nervous he was. This was a huge play. If he could convert, they would win the game. Gretchen put her hand on Josh’s arm, and his forearm muscles corded.
Two pitches went wide. Another fouled off. Then the batter swung for the stands and the ball went up and hit the back decking, bouncing back on to the infield warning track. The crowd was thundering, and the Neons on base were booting it as an infield grand slam was a distinct possibility if they moved their asses.
“Jesus,” Josh said, gripping the railing. “Now this is baseball.”
They added three runs while the batter was tagged at second, enough to tie the game with two outs. Josh turned to Gretchen.
“We don’t have to stay if you’re tired. I’m booked in at the Delano, near the Mandalay Bay,” he whispered and covered her 1hand with his. His touch felt so good she almost dragged him out of there with his offer. But she didn’t. He wouldn’t want to miss this. It was good ball, and she was enjoying it too.
“We can stay until the end. They could win!” she replied and stepped into him as he lifted his arm, breaking their touch, to surround her shoulders. He let out a big, contented sigh and slouched against the rail as they watched the next batter step up.
“Okay, we’ll stay,” he said and kissed the top of her head.