The Sweetest Game

Hands on my hips, I looked my best friend in the eye and shook my head as she turned to reapply her lipstick in the mirror.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Melissa snapped as she forced back a grin.

“Oh, I’ll look at you like that, all right. I’ll look at you like that all night if I want. Are you trying to kill my future brother-in-law?” I teased, knowing that less than two minutes ago she was locked in Dean’s room doing who-knows-what while I sat in Jack’s room waiting for her.

She narrowed her eyes before turning to face me. “Maybe.”

Frustrated, I rolled my eyes. “Try not to. I’ve grown attached.”

After applying a new coat of lipstick, she smacked her lips together before moving next to me. “You look gorgeous, by the way.” Her hands touched the back of my hair as she rearranged specific strands while I smoothed the nonexistent wrinkles from my knee-length white dress.

“Thanks. So do you.” Despite being annoyed with my pint-sized pal, I couldn’t help but smile.

“So, was your dad pissed about not walking you down the aisle?”

I sucked in a breath. The last thing I wanted on my wedding day was to feel bad about any of my decisions. The choice of walking alone or with my father weighed heavily on me at first. But I eventually decided that having my father walk me toward my life with Jack and then handing me over to him would all be for show. And I knew in that moment that I didn’t want anyone to be responsible for “giving me away,” least of all the one man in my life who had disappointed me more than any other.

It only seemed right that I walk down the aisle on my own and join Jack freely to start our lives together, since it was my choice, my decision, my heart waiting for me at the end of that aisle. After all, no one could give me to the one person I’d already given myself to years ago.

“He was definitely hurt at first. But I don’t think he truly got the message I was trying to convey. I think he just wanted to walk me down the aisle because that’s what a dad is supposed to do.”

“Oh well. Maybe he should have been a better dad,” Melissa said in a sharp tone.

I shrugged. “Hopefully after he sees how untraditional everything is today, he’ll understand and be less disappointed.”

Music filtered through the open windows and into the living room where Melissa and I stood waiting. I took in a deep breath and bit my bottom lip as excitement surged through me.

“Oh my gosh! It’s time!” Melissa moved toward the glass patio door and let out a little gasp as she peeked outside. “Ooh, it’s so pretty, Cass!” She gave me a hug and whispered, “I’ll see you out there,” then stepped out and slowly made her way down the makeshift aisle.

After taking a deep breath, I followed her lead, pausing briefly at the doorway. She was right. Gran and Gramps’ backyard had been transformed into a place of wonder. Candles cast tiny shadows everywhere as the sun began to sink behind the trees. A myriad of tiny lights twinkled in the tree branches.

When I stepped outside, my gaze landed on the mason jars filled with quarters and candles that lined the aisle, and I couldn’t help but smile as my heart filled with the sheer amount of love I felt for Jack. Still smiling, I looked down the aisle and immediately locked on to his chocolate-brown eyes. The air whisked from my lungs for a moment at the sight of him standing there in his charcoal-gray suit, waiting for me with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

I had to stop myself from running to him and leaping into his arms. Although I don’t think he would have minded.

Once at the altar, Jack reached out and took my hand in his, caressing it with his thumb in a sensual gesture that sent tingles throughout my body. “You look beautiful,” he whispered as he leaned toward me.

“And you look hot,” I whispered back, then gave him a wink.

Gramps cleared his throat and both Jack and I stifled a laugh. Jack’s grandfather looked serious as he welcomed our friends and family to this “special day,” before diving right into the ceremony.

Looking into Jack’s eyes, I swear I only heard a few things that Gramps said. My mind spun as I thought back to the journey Jack and I had traveled, from the pits of hell we’d been through to where we were now. We had come so far together.

I glanced briefly at Jack’s brother, Dean, who stood next to him, but his eyes were fixed on the petite brunette standing next to me. Shaking my head softly, I smiled before returning my gaze to the man who held my heart.

When it came time to exchange vows, mine a little more tearful than Jack’s. My heart melted at the sight of him getting choked up, and when he cleared his throat to regain his composure, I lost all of mine.

“I love you,” I confessed through my joyful tears.

Jack reached for my face, wiping away my tears with his thumbs as he tilted his head and leaned his face toward me for a kiss.

“Uh-uh! Wait!” Gramps called out, interrupting the moment as Jack froze, my cheeks still held between his hands. Gramps paused a beat, then his face split into a wide grin as he announced proudly, “I now pronounce you man and wife. Jack?”

“Yes, Gramps?” Jack’s voice rose in pitch as he remained frozen in place, and the crowd laughed.

“You may kiss your beautiful bride,” Gramps pronounced before slamming his bible shut.

“It’s about time,” Jack said before crushing his lips against mine. Cheers and enthusiastic shouts filled my ears at first, but they quickly faded away in that moment. Soon, all I heard was the sound of my heart rapidly beating in my ears. And all I could feel was Jack’s hands on my skin, and his tongue gently tasting mine.

Already on shaky legs, I grabbed Jack’s shoulders for balance as he slowly pulled away, breaking our first kiss as husband and wife.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to present for the very first time, Mr. and Mrs. Carter.” Gramps smiled wide.

“Baby-making time,” Jack whispered in my ear before grabbing my hand and pulling us from the altar.

Heat spread across my cheeks as I choked back a response, but followed him anyway. I’d follow that man anywhere.

Bright morning light filtered in through the curtains as I opened my eyes to the sound of Gran and Gramps placing dishes and silverware on the kitchen table. My room was closest to the kitchen, so whenever they banged around in there, it always woke me up. For a second, I was reminded of my high school days, when the smell of Gran’s fresh-cooked waffles would waft down the hallway before school. With a smile, I remembered what day it was and focused my attention on the blonde hair splayed across my arm.

My wife, Cassie, lay curled up next to me, her ass pressed tightly up against my groin.

My wife.

Someone actually loved me enough to not only put up with my shit, but to agree to put up with it for the rest of her life. She was probably insane on some level, but I’d take it. Whatever kept this woman by my side was fine by me. I wasn’t sure what it was about being married, but the pieces that used to spin out of control inside me actually felt settled now. Knowing that Cassie had vowed to be mine forever filled me with a sense of comfort I’d never known I was missing.

In that moment, I felt like I could do anything. I could put on a cape, sprout some wings, and save the whole fucking world if I wanted to. And the best part was, the girl by my side wasn’t going anywhere. She’d sew a J on that cape and watch me fly if I asked her to.

How did I just revert to a twelve-year-old with superhero fantasies? Fucking loser.

I reached my arm around Cassie’s bare waist, my fingers exploring the side of her body I couldn’t see. She moaned and my dick throbbed to life.

“Good morning, wife,” I whispered against her face, before kissing the lobe of her ear and sucking it into my mouth.

Cassie moaned again before turning to face me, her gorgeous green eyes beaming. “Good morning, husband.”

Husband.

Fuck yeah, I’m your husband. I think that means I’m legally allowed to kill anyone who fucks with her, right? Right.

Leaning down, I pulled her lower lip between my teeth and nibbled playfully. Without warning, I pushed my tongue into her open mouth, moving it in sync with hers. I fucking ached to be inside her. Literally. Fucking. Ached.

“I need you,” I breathed out between kisses.

Her hands reached for my lower back, her fingers pulling at my skin to move me into position on top of her. I did as she silently asked, and she pushed her knees apart in welcome. “I guess that’s a yes?” I joked, sliding inside her before she changed her mind.

“Oh God, Jack,” she moaned, then bit her lip. “Go slow.”

“Jesus, Cassie. Do you know how hard it is to go slow when you feel this fucking good?” I attempted to manage my thrusts, but my dick was uncooperative. Like it had a mind of its own, it betrayed the commands from my brain. “I’m sorry, babe, but it won’t listen.”

She giggled underneath me as a line formed between her eyebrows. “What won’t listen?”

“My dick,” I breathed out.

Her hips moved beneath me, rising and falling in perfect time against me, with me, whatever. “I’m not going to last,” I warned, trying my best to slow the inevitable.

Those beautiful green eyes met mine before she gripped the back of my neck and pulled my mouth to hers. Our tongues explored each other with increasingly frantic desperation. I moved in and out of her perfection, my hard-on growing with each thrust.

“I feel you getting bigger inside me.” Her breath was hot against my mouth. “It’s such a turn-on, Jack.”

“You really shouldn’t have said that.” Those words were all it took to send me over the edge. With one last thrust, I lost myself inside of her. Cassie’s mouth fell open as pleasure coursed through her body. I watched as she found her own release and shuddered when it was done.

“God, you’re beautiful. I love you so much,” I said as I ran my fingers through her hair.

She smiled and said, “I love you too. Always,” and I was instantly reminded of how lucky I was to have her.

“Always,” I agreed. “We should get up. I smell Gran’s cooking and they’re already in the kitchen.”

Face flushed, she buried her head into my pillow. “Do you think they heard us?”

I laughed. “They didn’t hear us. But we’re married now, so we can do this stuff.”

“Jack! Don’t be disrespectful.”

“Me? You’re the disrespectful one,” I teased before planting a kiss on her forehead. “Now get up. Unless you plan on eating breakfast naked. Honestly, I don’t think Gramps would mind. Or Dean.”

Her face twisted in mock horror and she smacked me playfully. “You’re disgusting.”

A little while later, we settled into our seats at the table and I noticed Dean heading our way. I palmed a blueberry muffin and waited. He walked through the entryway and I hurled the muffin.

“Seriously?” He looked down to see the crumbled pastry at his feet.

“Jack! Don’t throw food!” Gran scolded and I shrugged.

“Nothing says good morning like a muffin to your gut,” I teased and Cassie swatted me in the arm.

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Hit him harder next time, Sis. Like this.” He walked over to me and socked me square in the right shoulder.

The chair screeched as I scooted out of it and chased after my little brother. He ducked and weaved throughout the kitchen, Gran yelling in the background and Gramps laughing at our antics, before I finally caught him and started whaling on his shoulders.

“Stop hitting me, you dick!” Dean yelled as he attempted to pull his shirt from my grasp.

“Don’t hit me in front of my wife.” I released the death grip I had on his clothes and watched as he stood up straight, brushing off his bicep where I’d just hit him.

“You just wanted an excuse to say that.”

“Say what?” I mocked with fake confusion.

“Wife.” Dean looked over at Cassie for support, who watched us with a grin on her face and shook her head, refusing to get involved.

“Stop acting like you’re twelve again and eat some breakfast,” Gran insisted.

“Yeah, Jack. Stop acting like you’re twelve.” Dean shoved me before running to his seat and slamming his ass down.

“You two are ridiculous,” Cassie remarked. “This smells amazing, Gran. Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome. I’m just so happy to have you all here,” Gran said with a smile before placing full plates of food at the center of the table.

Dean lifted a waffle with his fork and I swatted at it with mine, causing it to fall on the table. “You’re such a jackass,” my brother whined.

“Dean! Language.” The scolding from Gran had become all too familiar whenever we were together.

“He was being a jackass, hon,” Gramps noted and I stifled a laugh.

A voice called out from the front door, and I noticed Dean stop midbite when he realized it was Melissa. “Knock-knock! Anyone home?”

“Yay! Melis!” Cassie jumped up from her seat and ran out of the kitchen as Dean glared across the table at me.

“You could have warned me she was coming over.”

I shrugged and shoved a bite of waffle in my mouth, mumbling around it, “Didn’t know.”

“Liar.”

“It’s not my fault you two can’t get your shit together, so don’t get all PMS’y on me like a little bitch.”

“Jack!” Gran said sharply. “Apologize to your brother right now.”

Gramps pinned me with a disapproving look over his glasses. “That was uncalled for.”

I chewed my food extra slowly, my gaze never leaving Dean’s. “Sorry,” I mumbled before narrowing my eyes and adding, “that you can’t make the girl fall in love with you.”

Dean shook his head and looked away as he finished the bite in his mouth with a scowl.

My beautiful wife walked back into the kitchen with her fun-sized best friend, Melissa, following close behind.

“Hi, everyone,” Melissa said cheerfully.

Gran gave her a big smile. “Good morning, dear. Are you hungry? Let me grab you a plate.” She started to stand but Cassie stopped her.

“I’ll do that. You eat.”

Melissa pushed Cassie toward her chair and shook her head. “I already ate, but thank you.”

“So, Fun-Size, did you have a good time yesterday?” I asked suggestively, trying to get her to admit she actually liked my brother as more than a friend. Dean froze and tipped his head to the side, obviously waiting to hear her answer.

She stared straight at him as she spoke without blinking, “It was the most fun I’ve had in a long time. How about you?”

I laughed. “Considering I married the girl of my dreams, I’ll say I had more than just fun yesterday.”

Melissa slid into an open chair at the table and asked, “So, when are you guys leaving?”

“Our flight leaves tonight at nine,” Cassie answered, her voice deflated.

“Why can’t y’all just stay forever? Screw New York!” Melissa shouted in an overly animated voice, and I noticed Dean rubbing his temples.

“What’s the matter, Dean?” she asked with a laugh. “Head hurt?” She tilted her head as she goaded him playfully.

He glared at her and gave her a sharp nod before turning to me. “You can’t stay any longer, can you?”

I swallowed the food in my mouth, half-wishing my answer could be yes. “We have to get back so I can get ready for the pre-season. I feel like I haven’t thrown in forever, and I need to work out. You know how I get in January.”

Being a major league baseball player probably didn’t appear like it would be that difficult from the outside. But I worked my ass off for the majority of the year. During the off-season, I still had to work out, stay in shape, and keep myself healthy. Not to mention the fact that I had to start mentally preparing myself for the season months before it actually started, which basically meant I sort of checked out from everything else. Cassie has had to learn to deal with an absentee boyfriend, whether mentally or physically, most of the time. And now I’ll be an absentee husband.

“Sucks you’re so far away,” Dean added before reaching for his glass of orange juice.

“You can come visit us anytime, Dean. Just let us know. We’d love to have you,” Cassie said with a smile.

“Thanks, Sis.”

“What about me? Can I come visit anytime?” Melissa cocked her head to the side and Cassie rolled her eyes.

“No,” she said before laughing. “Of course, dummy. Actually, you and Dean should visit together sometime.”

She winked and I seconded the suggestion. “You two should definitely come out together.” Dean’s shoulders tensed noticeably as a grunt escaped his lips.

Despite how much I razzed him, I wanted to help my brother get the girl. Yesterday I had caught them hooking up before our wedding, and if I could do anything to get them together once and for all, I’d do it. The boy deserved to be happy.

Gran changed the subject before I could ask any more questions. “Speaking of Dean and traveling,” she said, “when do you start at the agency?”

“Yeah, bro,” I asked as I kicked Dean under the table. “What’s up with you and my agents?” My agents, Ryan and Marc, had offered Dean a job at their sports management company as soon as he graduated.

“It’s part-time now, but I start full-time at the end of May,” he said with a smile.

“What will you be doing exactly?”

“I’ll be a junior agent. They’re going to teach me the ropes when it comes to dealing with guys like you.” He gave a slight head nod in my general direction.

“Good luck with that,” Cassie said with a snicker.

“But I’ll mostly be researching at first. I’ll be looking at new talent for the guys to check out. It’s going to be a lot of computer work and apparently I’ll be the local contact for any of the players or their families.”

“For everything, or just certain things?” Cassie asked.

Dean shrugged. “I don’t know yet. I’m sure there will be questions I can’t answer, so maybe just helping facilitate their moves if they get traded, or talk about the trade deadlines and stuff.”

Warming up to the subject, Cassie asked, “Do the families call a lot?”

“You have no idea,” he said, shaking his head. “Not everyone understands the business side of things, so sometimes they get really frustrated. I have to literally explain every single thing to them that they don’t quite grasp.”

Cassie’s eyes grew wide as she inhaled audibly. “I bet those are some fun and long calls.”

Dean nodded. “I was on the phone for over two hours the other day with the wife of one of your ex-teammates.”

“Who?” I asked.

“One of the outfielders for the D-backs. She was concerned about him not getting a long-term extension after last season and wanted to know how that would affect his playing time and reaching the full pension package. I had to explain the entire business side of things to her and I think she was still confused. She’s obsessed with the pension.”

Gramps dropped his fork and it clanged against the table. “Sorry,” he said as he picked it up with a funny look on his face. “How many seasons do you have to play before you get the pension?”

“To get full pension benefits, you have to play for ten full seasons.”

“What happens if you get hurt before then, or if you can’t play all ten?”

Dean sucked in a breath. “Then you only get a partial pension, but it’s way more complicated than that. Your contract terms, the number of years you signed for, it all comes into play.”

“Oh, enough of this talk. Let’s let the kids have some time together before they leave.” Gran pushed back from her chair and started collecting her dishes and the plates closest to her.

“Let me help, please?” Cassie asked and Gran swatted at her hand.

“No, dear. You’re a newlywed. Go spend your honeymoon with your friends,” she said with a wry laugh as we filed out into the living room.

The rest of the afternoon flew by as we hung out with Dean and Melissa. Before I knew it, Cassie was reminding me we needed to pack our things and say our good-byes. I hated leaving, but at least I wouldn’t be alone. I’d never be alone again.

Three Months Later …

Engrossed in my work, I fiddled with the key that hung from a chain around my neck, my fingers running across the letters that spelled out STRENGTH across the top. Melissa had given it to me after all the drama with the tabloids and mean fans during Jack’s first season. The rule of the necklace, she told me, was that I should keep it until I saw someone else who needed the message on the key more than I did. I hated the thought of ever giving that special gift away, but had to admit it was a really clever idea.

Sitting in my cubicle, I pored over photos I had recently shot during my last assignment. Nora, my boss, wanted to submit one picture for a highly respected photography award. But as I looked at them, I realized that I couldn’t pick the one.

As usual, I’d become emotionally involved on my assignment, and could no longer see the photo for just what it portrayed. I saw the emotions behind it, the meanings that weren’t necessarily captured through my lens.

When I looked at the photograph of the elderly man desperately clutching a child covered in dirt and blood, I saw the hundreds of other people in the background just as desperate and dirty who didn’t make it into my picture. Just out of view sat houses demolished into piles of debris, and their owners, faces filled with disbelief, digging through the rubble in vain. Several square miles of land that had once held schools, businesses, and homes, were now completely leveled into what could only be described as a war zone. It sounded so cliché, but that description was the most accurate. Mother Nature sometimes brought hell to Earth. And I captured it with my camera.

It was one thing to see devastation on the news or in magazines, but was quite another to walk through the scene and witness the destruction firsthand. There were no words to describe what it was like to feel your feet crunching through the broken glass and debris of what used to be someone’s home. Or what you felt as you saw the shock on people’s faces as they realized that everything they’d ever held dear had vanished into thin air, or been crushed into particles of dust. I’d never felt as helpless as I did the day an elderly woman admitted to me that all her family photos and heirlooms had been lost, and I could do nothing but watch as she crumpled to her knees in grief. There was such raw and exposed pain in those first few days after a tragedy, that I often found it hard to shoot. It was virtually indescribable to witness, and almost unbearable to live through.

It probably didn’t help my career that I didn’t enjoy being intrusive. I wasn’t the type of photographer who pushed into people’s faces, piercing their personal space in hopes of getting the money shot. It didn’t bring me joy to photograph the agony of others. After being with them, experiencing it with them, their pain was forever etched in my memory, and I carried it with me wherever I went. I didn’t see the sense, or what good it brought, to expose that pain for all to see.

But then at some point during the recovery, something almost magical seemed to happen. You could literally feel the change in the thick and dusty air. The immediate shock had worn off and people in the community came together in the most incredible of ways. There was a sense of family and strength that was humbling to witness. Every. Single. Time. The focus shifted from each individual’s loss and transformed into the community’s pulling together as a whole to not only survive, but to come back stronger, more resilient, as a more cohesive whole. Experiencing that transformation was in itself worth all the earlier tears and pain.

That was why it had always been my goal on any assignment to look for the beauty amidst all the heartache. Those tiny moments of peace and happiness, like when two friends see each other for the first time after wondering if the other were dead or alive. When panic turned to elation, that was what I wanted to capture. If I could put hope into a photograph where it looked like none existed, I’d have done my job. At least, I’d have done it the way I wanted to.

“Cassie, come in here.” My phone buzzed to life with Nora’s voice over the intercom.

I pressed the flashing red button and responded, “Be right in.” I rose from my desk and glanced around the workspace. Joey, the guy I had gone on one date with when Jack and I were broken up, moved away a couple of years ago. He got a job offer back in his hometown of Boston and jumped at the opportunity. Jack had wanted to throw a party when he heard that news. Which I never really understood because, really? It wasn’t as if Jack ever had any real competition.

The faces in my office may have changed over the last five years, but the pace remained the same. The floor buzzed with energy of creative people working on layout, designs, and editing. I loved my job and I loved living in this city.

I rapped my knuckles against Nora’s door before twisting the knob and pushing it open. She waved me over and pointed for me to sit, her phone pressed tightly against her ear. I did as she asked and waited patiently. Ever since I moved to New York to accept the job offer with this magazine, Nora had always had my back. She supported me when Jack and I went through hell with Chrystle’s accusations and the backlash that followed. She even offered to do a full spread on our relationship, just to set the record straight.

In the end, we didn’t need to go through with the feature spread because Chrystle’s ex-best friend Vanessa did all the dirty work for us. Vanessa gave an exclusive interview to the magazine and spilled every detail of Chrystle’s plan to use a fake pregnancy to manipulate Jack into marrying her. My reputation got a much needed-boost, and the fans stopped their incessant name-calling and online hatred of me. Actually, the article had proved to be the best publicity for my relationship with Jack, and I had both Nora and Vanessa to thank for that.

“I’ll have them for you by the end of the day. Thanks, Bob.”

Nora dropped the handset onto the phone base, then leaned back and raised an eyebrow at me. “So, did you choose a photograph yet?”

I winced. “I’ve narrowed it down to five. That’s better than yesterday,” I said, thinking back to the thirty pictures I had scattered on the conference room table yesterday afternoon.

“Jesus, Cassie, just pick one! I’m sure they’re all brilliant. Hell, take them home to that hot husband of yours and make him choose,” she said with a hearty laugh.

My mouth dropped open. “I’m not making Jack pick! He’d probably close his eyes and see which one his finger lands on.”

Nora narrowed her eyes at me. “Which is what you’re going to have to do if you don’t choose one by the end of the day.”

“Fine. I’ll pick one,” I said with a slight huff.

Nora pushed her wire-rimmed glasses up against the bridge of her nose while she stared at me with a smirk on her face.

“What are you up to?” I asked warily. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Her smirk turned into a full smile. “I need you to photograph an upcoming feature story.”

I cocked my head to the side, knowing full well we had other photographers to handle that type of shoot. Each photographer had a specialty. Some excelled at taking indoor studio shots with models, but I wasn’t one of them. I worked best with natural light and unconventional settings, pretty much the exact opposite of a posed studio photo. “Like someone local? Who? Why me?”

“Because it’s Trina.”

Now I was the one smiling. Trina was the one Mets players’ girlfriend who actually talked to me the first season Jack played on the team. When we met, she had been dating Jack’s teammate Kyle. She was a model and missed a lot of games due to her travel schedule, but whenever she was there, she was my savior.

“We’re shooting Trina? That’s amazing! What’s the focus of the story?”

Nora waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Something about ‘From Models to Moms in Manhattan.’ I haven’t worked out all the details yet, but she’ll be the focus. And she’ll only work with you.”

As I shook my head in amazement, my mind drifted back to when I’d first met Trina, and the man who became her new husband.

After the fiasco where our driver, Matteo, tried to kiss me and Jack fired him, Jack eventually allowed him to work for us again. In the meantime, Matteo had opened his own car company for exclusive clientele only. Once he began working with us again, Matteo personally only drove and worked for one couple, Jack and me, but his company was rapidly becoming the go-to car service for all the local pro athletes.

Matteo and Trina started dating right after she and Kyle had called it quits. Their wedding ceremony several months later was small, but elegant. Trina claimed the rushed date had to do with Jack’s spring training schedule, so that we could attend the wedding, but I knew the real reason was because she didn’t want to be showing in her wedding pictures. Matteo also insisted that they be legally married before their baby entered this world. I remember him saying, “I could wait and marry you someday, but I’d much rather marry you today. Someday may never come. Today is already here. Please don’t make me wait to make you my wife.”

When Trina had told me she and Matteo were getting married, I nervously asked her if she were certain this was what she wanted. I had clearly gained a deep-seated fear of people marrying for the wrong reasons over the last couple of years; whenever I thought back to the situation with Jack and Chrystle, I shuddered. Putting my fears to rest, Trina had informed me that while they didn’t plan on having a baby first and a wedding second, she didn’t care what order they did things in. They were truly happy and that was all that mattered. And I had to agree because happiness was all I truly wanted for my friends as well.

Nora looked at me over her glasses and raised her eyebrows, obviously waiting for a response.

“The only reason Trina wants to work with me is because if she hates the pictures, she can make me pay for it later,” I said with a giggle.

“You’ll do great. We’ll book a studio with lots of natural light for you, okay?”

I breathed out in relief. “You know me so well.”

“I want pictures of her before and after. Make sure you schedule something with her husband after the baby is born so we can show off the happy family.”

“No problem. Is that it?”

“Go pick out a damn picture already.”

“Fine. But if it sucks and loses, it’s your fault.” I shot Nora a grin as I pushed out of my chair and headed toward the door.

Back at my desk, I was no closer to choosing a photo than I was an hour ago. Glancing up, I spotted one of our interns walking through the elevator doors, balancing two cardboard trays filled with coffee cups.

“Becca,” I shouted and she glanced up, trying not to spill the drinks. “When you get a minute, can you come over here, please?”

She nodded her head as a small smile appeared. Becca was young and still in college, but she had a good eye. And I liked her style.

“Hi, Cassie. You needed me?” Becca sounded nervous and I breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Yes! Thank God you’re here. You have a great eye and I love the way you see things. I need to pick a photo to submit for something, but I can’t choose. I’m too close to the subject matter. Which one do you like best?”

A giant, toothy grin spread across Becca’s youthful face. “I’m honored. Thank you,” she said before hovering over the pictures splayed across my desktop.

It took her all of two seconds to grab a photo and declare it was the one. And I trusted her eye because it meant something in that particular picture stood out above all the others.

“Thank you, Becca. You’re a lifesaver!”

After work, I stepped through the revolving door and onto the crowded sidewalk. Sidestepping the pedestrian traffic, I weaved my way toward the idling black car at the curb. Matteo stood patiently waiting for me next to the car, just like he did every evening. His handsome face broke out into a wide grin as I neared and he held open the passenger door.

“Why are you so smiley?” I asked and he shrugged.

He hopped into the driver’s seat and pulled into traffic. “Life’s good, Cassie. Life is good,” he said in an annoying singsong voice. Matteo’s attitude had been like this ever since he and Trina had hooked up.

“You’re so annoying. Go home to your hot wife.”

“I will. Right after I drop you off at your hot husband’s office,” he said playfully with a wink.

“Ew,” I said with a shudder. “Don’t say Jack’s hot and then wink. It’s weird.”

Unable to respond, he broke out into a huge belly laugh. He was still chortling a little over it as he navigated his way to the field while I scrolled through my personal e-mails on my phone.

A few minutes later, he straightened up and said over his shoulder, “Trina told me about the photo shoot,” which got my attention.

I glanced up to meet his eyes in the rearview mirror. “Yeah. It should be great. You’re in it too, you know?”

Matteo’s posture changed as he shifted nervously in his seat. “I am?”

“Yes. But not until after the baby is born. I’m going to shoot Trina now while she’s showing and then all three of you after.”

“Just make sure you take the most pictures of her. She’s the one who sells magazines, not me,” he offered humbly.

I rolled my eyes. “Oh yeah, ‘cause being forced to look at your mug is really hard on the ladies,” I said with a laugh.

“I knew you wanted me,” he teased and I almost choked.

Rolling my eyes, I shook my head and gave a little snort. “Not this again.”

Since Jack forgave Matteo, acknowledging his hotness no longer made me feel completely awkward. Granted, I wouldn’t be walking around and announcing it to the world anytime soon, but still. It also didn’t hurt that Matteo eventually realized that his feelings for me weren’t based in reality. He figured out quickly that he had gotten caught up in protecting me and caring about me. It muddled his emotions, but once Trina entered the picture, any romantic feelings he thought he had for me were out the window. Thank God for Trina.

The car slowed to a stop as I gathered my things. Matteo reached for the driver’s side handle and I stopped him. “You don’t have to let me out. I got it.” I opened my own door and scooted out before leaning into the open passenger window, “See you later, future cougar prey.”

“Cassie!” Matteo called out in mock indignation as I turned away and walked toward the entry gates of the stadium, laughing. I knew Matteo would love every minute of attention he would get once the article was published.

I scooted into my regular seat next to Tara in the wives’ section, my presence here now a familiar sight amongst the other girlfriends, wives, family, and friends. No longer a girlfriend, the players’ wives accepted me the way they only accepted other wives. And as much as I hated to admit it, being married changed things. I never planned on treating any of the players’ girlfriends the way I was treated, but I acknowledged the difference between being married and not. The social hierarchy existed for a reason, and after seeing the number of girls that came and went with some of these guys, I understood now in a way that had only offended me before.

When I glanced down at the field, the sight of Jack warming up forced my heart to squeeze with pride. His gray sliding pants hugged against the muscles as he lifted his leg into the air before each pitch. The black shirt-style jersey waved in the breeze he created as his arm flew down to release the ball.

I watched as Jack grabbed his hat and tipped it twice, and I couldn’t hide my smile. That was his sign to me. He had started doing it when I couldn’t travel with him on his road trips, which had become more and more frequent with my work. Whenever he pitched, he’d tip his hat twice and his face would light up with a soft smile. He never knew if the cameras were on him or not, but he tipped his hat regardless.

Eventually it became a habit, because he started doing it at the home games as well. Sometimes his eyes would flash to the stands and meet mine. When they did, I swear my heart would stop beating, causing my breath to catch. Every. Single. Time. If anyone noticed, I would have been embarrassed, but no one ever seemed to.

I more than loved this man. My husband. My ball player.

My Jack Fucking Carter.

Even his name still gets me all hot and bothered.

Jack bent over deeply, looking at the catcher through the glove covering half his face. With a shake of his head, he indicated no to whatever pitch the catcher wanted him to throw. Another shake and the catcher called time out, than ran over to Jack, who stood waiting on the mound, kicking the dirt.

After a short conversation, the catcher gave Jack a pat on the ass before jogging to his position behind home plate. The umpire pointed at Jack and Jack’s feet touched the rubber mound. With one fluid motion, the ball left his hand and the batter swung and missed. The ball crashed against the catcher’s glove, the sound of it echoing throughout the stadium as the crowd erupted into cheers and I smiled. I loved watching him play. It seemed silly to call Jack beautiful, but when he played baseball … he was.

Someone yelled from the dugout area, but Jack waved them off with his glove hand. I scooted to the edge of my seat and automatically held my breath, anticipating the pitch. Jack leaned down, eyeing the catcher before nodding his head in agreement with the called pitch. He lowered his glove to his waist before bringing it back up in time with the rising of his knee. His entire body lurched forward with the release of the pitch and the crack of the bat meeting the ball distracted everyone else’s eyes but mine. My eyes stayed loyally focused on the guy I loved.

Because my eyes never left Jack, I witnessed the entire incident. The ball screamed back at him and he reacted as best he could; his body twisted to get out of the way as his pitching hand instinctively reached out to stop the flying ball. I watched as the ball crashed against Jack’s exposed hand before dropping to the ground near his feet.

He scrambled to make the play, but a pained scream tore from his lips as he tried to close his hand around the ball. Face contorted with pain, Jack took a knee and pressed his chin tightly against his chest.

Someone yelled for time out and Jack’s manager bolted onto the field. He helped Jack to his feet and walked him out of view.

“Shit,” I muttered to myself.

“Go, Cassie,” Tara demanded. “Get down to the locker room. That’s where they’re taking him.”

Without a word I nodded, grabbed my things, and hurried toward the staircase that would take me underground. I flew down the last set of stairs to where anyone in the public could go before heading through a private door. Once inside, the air of the cold brick tunnels hit me. The tunnels ran the length of the stadium and unless you’d been under here before, you wouldn’t know they existed. I rounded the corner and jogged up toward the burly security guard.

“Hey, Jimmy, is he here? Did you see them bring Jack off the field?” I asked, my voice distraught.

His forehead creased as he answered, “Jack? No. What happened?”

I released a shaky breath. “He hurt his hand.”

“Really? Damn. I hope he’s okay.” He stepped aside, revealing a small clearing between the guardrails, and I rushed through, walking as fast as my nervous legs would allow.

I followed along with the bricks as they curved gently, noticing the Mets sign attached to the wall up ahead. My pace quickened as I ached to reach the double mahogany doors that read NEW YORK METS CLUBHOUSE.

Another security guard sat in a folding chair next to the entrance, his face pinched with concern. He stood upon my approach. “Cassie. He’s in there with the doc.” The sympathy in his sad eyes rattled me even further, and my mouth went completely dry.

“How did he look, Joe?”

“He was in a lot of pain,” he admitted grimly.

My throat constricted, making it hard to swallow. I realized in that moment that I’d never once considered the possibility of Jack getting hurt. He seemed invincible in a way … like his body was born to play this sport and it would never allow him to be hurt by it. It would never betray him like that.

But it did.

And I found myself scared to death about what this meant for him. Jack without baseball … well, that wasn’t Jack at all. I wouldn’t even know who that person was; I’d never known Jack when baseball wasn’t a huge part of his life. Worry shot through me and I couldn’t stop a nervous shiver.

“Cassie?” Joe’s voice echoed in the tunnel, followed by the sound of him hanging up the rotary phone. Unable to speak, I looked up at him helplessly. “No one else is in there,” he said gently. “You can go in.”

He opened one of the large doors for me and I walked through into the one place at the stadium I’d never been before. I eyed the oversized couch and the carpet patterned with the team’s logo, before my gaze fell on the lockers bearing each player’s name and jersey number, a soft spotlight highlighting each one as if they were museum exhibits. I laughed to myself that the guys called them “lockers” when they looked more like the thin oak closets you would find in hotel rooms.

I found myself longing to photograph the room as each individual detail called to me in ways that only new places can. Occupational habit, I supposed. Or denial, maybe.

“Kitten?” Jack’s voice rang out through the large space, an undertone of pain causing it to sound different somehow.

Snapped back to the present, I called out, “Jack? Where are you?”

“Walk to the back of the room and make a right.”

As I hurried past the row of lockers, number 23 grabbed my attention and I couldn’t resist the impulse to pause for just a second at Jack’s locker since I’d never seen it, and might never have the chance again. His travel bag and street clothes hung inside, waiting for him, and I ran my fingers down the fabric, moving them slightly. Taped against the back wall was a picture of the two of us on our wedding day, flanked by other candid shots of us. I loved how much this man displayed his love for me.

With a slight smile, I headed toward the back of the room and rounded the corner just as the team doctor injected a shot into Jack’s arm to help ease his pain. I noticed that he didn’t even wince.

“I think it’s shattered,” Jack admitted as soon as his dark brown eyes met mine.

SHATTERED.

And in that moment, that’s exactly how my heart felt. I rushed to his side, needing to be as physically close to him in that moment as I could.

“We don’t know that yet,” the doctor interjected. “I’m Dr. Evans.”

I extended my hand to his. “I’m Cassie.”

One look at Jack’s face and my chest ached with the need to protect and comfort him. I stroked his shoulder as I asked, my tone all business, “What do we know?”

“It’s definitely broken, but to what extent I’m not sure yet.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “But it will heal just fine, right? People break their hands all the time.”

Dr. Evans nodded. “True. But we need to make sure it won’t require surgery, or pins or metal plates.”

Pins or metal plates? Oh my God.

Jack swallowed audibly and I continued to prod the doctor, my growing concern overruling all levelheadedness. “And if it does, then what? People have surgery on their hands all the time too. They get better.”

“Yes, Mrs. Carter, they do,” he said with a frown. “But most of those people aren’t major league pitchers.”

My heart sank. “So, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I need to x-ray his hand first and then I’ll have more answers for you.”

Jack’s chin dropped to his chest and I watched his eyes close.

“Do I need to take him to a hospital?” I started to reach for my cell phone to call Matteo.

“No, no. I have a machine in the other room. As the team’s physician, I’m responsible for Jack’s condition and his recovery. It’s my job.”

“Wow. So we don’t have to go anywhere else?” Since I’d never thought this through, I didn’t know how it worked when a major league player was injured. Wrongly, I’d assumed Jack would have to get checked out at regular hospital, like normal people. But then again, the team chartered their own commercial planes to fly them places, so nothing about this lifestyle was normal.

“If I’m on the road with the team, one of my trainers will be here to help you, so no. You should never have to take Jack anywhere other than here.”

The Mets organization cared about Jack’s recovery, so I allowed myself to be comforted by the thought that he would be taken care of by the people who were invested in him the most. It was in their best interest, as well as his, to get him healed.

“If you’ll excuse us, Mrs. Carter, we’ll only be a minute.” The doctor motioned for Jack to follow him into another room. “Let’s go see what we’re dealing with, Jack.”

I paced the floor, one hand tugging at my lips from nervous habit. I wanted to call Dean, but knew he’d ask me questions I didn’t have the answers to. So I waited to call anyone until I had more to tell them. A broken hand was one thing, but having a hand that required surgery was another.

A few minutes later, Jack exited the medical room alone and scooped me into a careful hug. I felt his heart racing as our chests pressed together. “I love you, Kitten.” He gave me a quick kiss, then released me and hopped back onto the exam table. His hand looked painful, his fingers had taken on a purplish tint and were swollen to a ridiculous size. The sight of it made my stomach tighten painfully and I had to turn my gaze away.

“I love you too.” I wanted to say more, but words failed me. Bringing my hand toward my heart, my fingers grazed across the ball chain necklace that lay there. I glanced down at the key attached and moved my fingers to it, rubbing them across the etched letters for comfort.

Between the lies from Chrystle and the brutality from the press and fans, it wasn’t that long ago when I felt like my insides were unraveling. Melissa had given me this necklace when I needed it the most. Imagining that Jack was experiencing the same sort of feelings right about now, I realized this was the right time to pass the necklace on, as was intended.

I reached around the back of my neck, my fingers gripping at the chain before pulling it over my head. When I lowered the necklace around Jack’s neck, he looked up at me, his face pale and strained with pain, and raised his eyebrows at me. The bronze key fell against his sweaty white T-shirt before he glanced down at it. With his uninjured hand, he lifted the key and flipped it to the stamped side, then read its message out loud. “Strength.”

“You need this more than I do,” I said before leaning in and planting a kiss on his scruffy cheek. “We’ll get through this. No matter what the doctor says when he walks through that door, we’ll get through this.”

I tried to sound positive and strong, but my insides were rattled and fraying. If Jack lost baseball because of this, I wasn’t sure he’d ever get over it. His self-image, his hopes and dreams—hell, his whole identity—were wrapped up in the game. If the worst happened, if he could never play again, I had no idea how he’d process that loss.

The sound of the door creaking open caused me to pull my gaze from Jack’s and glance behind me. Footsteps slapped against the floor as Dr. Evans walked in our direction, a smile on his face. “Good news. You don’t need surgery and it’s not shattered.” I exhaled a huge sigh of relief and watched Jack do the same as the doctor continued. “You do have multiple fractures, however, here and here.” He pointed at areas on the x-rays as Jack tensed beside me. “And we need to get you in a cast immediately.”

“How long will I be out?” Jack asked, his face turning even whiter.

“Minimum, six weeks. It could have been a lot worse. Frankly, I’m surprised it isn’t.”

I watched as Jack flexed his jaw and worked to keep his emotions in check. He didn’t like that answer, but there was no answer that Jack would have liked. One day not playing baseball was one day too many for him. Six weeks probably sounded like a death sentence.

“I can’t leave my team for that long.” Jack shook his head as he mumbled, “I can’t let them down like that.”

“Jack, look at me,” I begged. “You’re not letting them down. They’ll understand, and they’ll want you to get better. Six weeks is better than six months, right? Let’s take it one day at a time.”

The pained look in his eyes informed me that these next six weeks were going to be anything but easy.

Hearing Dr. Evans tell me I’d be out for six weeks made me want to fucking scream. But I didn’t scream when I was frustrated; I hit shit. And right now, with a broken fucking hand, I couldn’t hit anything.

A million thoughts raced through my head at once.

Why the fuck did I stick my hand out like that? No one in their right mind could catch a fast-ball being hit straight back at them. I must be mental. What if my hand doesn’t heal right? What if they find someone new to replace me? Six weeks is a long time to have your job up for grabs. What if I can’t throw again after this? I didn’t want to get hurt. I just want to play baseball. What if I can’t play anymore? I busted my ass to get where I am, I don’t want to lose it. I’m a ball player, that’s what I am. That’s who I am. What the hell will I do if I’m not playing baseball?

It was one thing when it was your choice to leave the only job in this world you could see yourself doing, but being forced to quit was another. The truth was that it was rarely ever your choice to leave.

I sucked in a breath, took one look at my beautiful wife, and hopped off the table. Grabbing her by the hand, I pulled her forcefully out of the locker room.

“Jesus, Jack, stop. That hurts.” She jerked her hand from my grip and I winced.

“Sorry, Kitten. I just want to get out of here.”

She looked at me with sympathy in her eyes and I almost fucking exploded. The last thing I needed right now was my wife looking at me with pity. “Don’t look at me like that,” I ordered.

“Like what?” She stopped walking and tilted her head at me questioningly.

“Like my life just ended and you want to make sure I’m going to be okay.”

She huffed out a breath before rolling her green eyes at me. “You’re an idiot.”

“Excuse me?” I shouted, my voice echoing throughout the concrete tunnels.

“Of course I want to make sure you’re okay, Jack! Jesus. Excuse me for giving a shit about your mental state. But I never once thought that your life just ended.”

“You don’t get it,” I breathed out, my tone agitated. I was acting like a complete asshole in this moment and I fucking knew it. But I was pissed off. I was angry about putting my hand out like that … for letting it get hit … for letting it get broken.

“Oh, so now I don’t get it? You’re joking, right?” she snapped in response, her tone matching my own, before she turned around and walked away from me.

Fuck.

I needed to stop doing this to her; it wasn’t fair. Irritated with myself, I smacked the palm of my hand against my head before rushing to catch up to her. I reached for her arm with my good hand, desperately pulling for her to stop. “Kitten. I’m sorry. I’m mad at myself, not you.”

She nodded, her long blonde hair swinging with the motion, then let out a little sigh. “I know.” Then she locked her fingers with mine and pulled me toward the parking lot.

Once in the car with Matteo behind the wheel, I watched Cassie as she scrolled through her contacts, searching for my brother’s phone number. She must have already warned Matteo, because he hadn’t said two words to me and was avoiding all eye contact. My girl was good at this. I wished I hadn’t been such a dick earlier.

I reached my free hand across the seat and squeezed her thigh. She glanced at me, still a little wary of me, it seemed. “Thank you,” I whispered as she scrunched up her face in confusion.

“For what?” She scooted her body closer to mine to keep our conversation private.

“You know what.” I nodded my head in Matteo’s direction and she shrugged. I chose wisely when it came to picking a wife. She was the best thing I’d ever done. I needed to not fuck us up. Again.

She refocused her attention to her phone and I watched as Dean’s name popped up on her screen and she pressed SEND. The phone rang twice before my brother’s voice came from the speaker. “What’s up, Sis?”

Cassie turned off the speaker and sucked in a breath as she lifted the phone to her ear. “Hey, Dean. I just wanted to let you know before you saw it on SportsCenter or Baseball Tonight or something.” She paused briefly before continuing. “Jack broke his hand tonight.”

I could only imagine the questions my brother was shooting at her from the other end of the line. His voice was muffled since she’d taken him off speaker, so I couldn’t make out any of his words.

“He was pitching and the ball got hit straight back at him. He threw his hand up to stop it, or catch it, or something. But the ball crashed into it and he has multiple fractures.”

Cassie grew silent and I knew Dean was talking her ear off. I glanced in the rearview mirror and noticed Matteo paying attention to Cassie’s side of the conversation as well.

“Don’t think you’re getting a vacation or anything, buddy,” I called out in his direction.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he responded without missing a beat.

“I still have to go to the field every day to work out and I’ll need a ride there and back,” I informed him with a smirk.

“I’ll have to check with my other clients.” He raised his eyebrows and looked at Cassie. “But tell me, do you still have to go to the games and stuff?”

I nodded. “Yep. I have to suit up for the home games and hang out in the dugout.”

“What about when they’re on the road?”

“I meet with a trainer at the field when the team’s gone.”

“So you won’t travel with them then?”

“Nope. Not for six weeks.” I sighed, suddenly feeling agitated.

Cassie sounded like she was wrapping things up. “Yeah. I’ll call you tomorrow. Will you let Gran and Gramps know for us?” She paused. “Thank you so much. Yep, I’ll tell him. ‘Bye.”

She pressed END and turned toward me. “Dean says to take it easy and to not do anything stupid.”

“What the hell would I possibly do?”

“I have no idea. He’s your brother,” she teased and I grabbed at her.

“Oh yeah? Well, he’s your brother too,” I reminded her and a smile appeared across her face as she turned away from me. I leaned over and grazed my teeth against her earlobe, touching it with the tip of my tongue before whispering, “I love your smile. It’s sexy. Really fucking sexy. Don’t be mad at me. I really am sorry.”

Her face turned and I pressed my lips against hers before she could respond. Her lips parted slightly as she gave a little gasp that sent a message straight to my groin, so I sucked on her bottom lip lightly, then swept my tongue across it before sliding it into her mouth. The throbbing of my dick replaced the throbbing in my hand as I realized I had the cure to any broken bones right here in this car with me.

My hot-as-hell wife.

Matteo cleared his throat. “Uh. We’re here, horny teenagers.”

Cassie squeaked and I laughed as we pulled out of our kiss. “Thanks, cock-block.” I eyed him before opening the car door. “I’ll call you when I know my schedule for the next couple of weeks, okay?”

He nodded. “Sounds good.”

We walked into our apartment building and straight onto the waiting elevator. The doors closed and I pinned Cassie against the wall.

“Jack, what are—”

“Be quiet,” I demanded before quieting her with my mouth. I nipped at her lips before exploring her neck. My unbroken hand followed the curves of her waist, down her hips, before cupping her ass. I squeezed, causing her to whimper, and my dick felt like it might explode right there. I needed to be in her. And I needed it now.

The ding of the elevator arriving on our floor interrupted the sexual assault I was launching on Cassie’s irresistible mouth. I moved to grab her with my broken hand and quickly switched arms. Reaching for her, I pulled a little too aggressively toward me and she yanked her hand from mine.

I didn’t apologize. Instead I fumbled with the keys, constantly reminding myself to do everything with the opposite hand. You never realize how much you take for granted until you’re forced to. My left hand had always been great, completely reliable, my go-to hand … until it broke and stopped working. Now I had to remember to perform even the most mundane of tasks with the hand that felt the most foreign to me.

Fighting off the frustration that seemed to be making itself at home, I needed to do something that made me feel like a man. Finally managing to get the front door open, I moved to grab Cassie, but she pressed her hands against my chest to stop me.

“Jack? Aren’t we going to talk about this?”

“Talk about what?”

“Your hand? What you’re thinking?”

I huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, Kitten. We’ll talk. After you give me what I want, I’ll give you what you want.”

I needed to fuck my wife. I needed to own her, take her, show her I was still the man in this relationship, even if I wasn’t the man on the field. Her eyes narrowed as her lips twisted into a snarl. My girl was itching for a fight, and I wanted to suck that expression right off her face.

“That’s not how it works, jackass,” she snapped, and I immediately puffed out my chest.

“Don’t play tough with me. You know you want some of this.” I ran my hand down the length of my body and she chuckled. “So now my body’s funny to you? I’ll show you funny.”

I stormed into the living room before stopping at one of the many mason jars filled with quarters around our house. Remembering the quarters I’d saved for our first date after Cassie told me it cost me fifty cents every time I touched her, I smiled to myself. She had tried to be so sassy, but I saw her defenses weaken when I poured the bag of quarters all over the table at the diner where we were having dinner. Holding two coins between my unbroken fingers, I walked back to where Cassie stood. She hadn’t moved. Not a muscle. She wanted this as much as I did, no matter how much she pretended she didn’t.

“Open your hands.” She eyed me, but refused to move. “I said, open your hands, Kitten.”

She slowly cupped her hands in front of her body, and I dropped the fifty cents into her palms.

“Now, get in the bedroom.”

Ever since we left the field, Jack had been a roller coaster of emotions, taking me on a violently jerky ride. One minute he was sweet and attentive, and rude and nasty the next. Unsure of which Jack I might get, I stayed quiet in our bed in the aftermath of having sex, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened between us.

Jack had always dominated in the bedroom, but this was something else entirely. He bossed me around, making demands he’d never once said out loud before. He pushed and pulled at my body like he owned it, and I had no choice but to comply. Maybe under different circumstances I might have been turned on by his aggression, but not like this. Not after my husband just broke his pitching hand and potentially ended his career. He wasn’t in his right mind and his performance in the bedroom only proved it.

I’d never in a thousand years tell him that the thought of his career being over crossed my mind, but it did. Of course it did. I wasn’t an idiot. Multiple fractures would eventually heal, but there could be complications. Everyone knew that. Jack needed his hand to work on the ball field. His fingers were required to grip and maneuver across the seams of the baseball for different pitches. If his grip loosened, his pitches wouldn’t be the same. And the idea of Jack without baseball scared the hell out of me.

I knew he avoided talking about his injury for this very reason. I wasn’t the only one scared, but at least I admitted it. Glancing over at his sweaty body, the lines of his chest rising and falling with each breath, I longed to make his pain and hurt go away. He was quieter than he’d ever been before, and I realized how deep in his own head he must be.

Although I was the queen of building emotional walls, Jack could do a pretty good job too if he wanted. The memory of how I’d behaved earlier in our relationship flooded through me. All the times I kept my feelings to myself, refusing to burden him with any of my personal drama. The only problem was that not talking to Jack about it forced me into personal overload, where the only solution I saw was to run away. Holding feelings in hadn’t worked then, and it wouldn’t work now. Desperate to keep the lines of communication open between us, I touched his chest lightly. “Jack?” I whispered, still reeling from the sex we’d just experienced.

He rolled over to face me. “Yep?” His tone sounded annoyed again.

“I just wanted to talk about how you’re feeling, what you’re thinking, something?”

He growled. “Cassie, can we not do this tonight, please? Can’t you just g

Date: 2015-02-28; view: 885