press, and wondered why Sam hadn’t done it. He told himself it didn’t matter that she hadn’t waited to see if he was okay.
She had Tag to worry about, and… and hell, he’d been alone for most of his life, he didn’t need anyone to hold his hand just because he hurt like a mother. At his locker, he picked up his things including his phone and noticed the twelve missed calls.
“Hey.”
Wade very carefully turned around, wincing at the movement in both his ribs and head, and found Pace sitting in one of the leather chairs, sprawled out comfortably. But after four years of being together, Wade knew that the lazy pose was deceptive. “Hey yourself.”
“Word is you’re going to live.”
“Apparently so.”
Pace pushed to his feet and came closer, looking him over carefully.
“I’m not circling the drain,” Wade said. “At least not yet.”
“Well, that’s a relief. Come on, I’ll take you home.”
“Gage has a car out front for me.”
“I have a car, too.” Pace grabbed Wade’s duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder, adding it to his own bag. He opened the front doors of the facility for Wade and waited for him to go out first.
“You know something I don’t?” Wade asked him, bemused.
Pace tossed their two bags in the back of his car. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Aw, that’s sweet.”
Pace didn’t look amused. “I don’t want to pitch to anyone but you, Wade.”
“Is this going to end in a marriage proposal, cuz I’m not sure Holly-”
“God, you are such a dick.”
“Don’t be mad. I love you, too.”
“Laugh all you want,” Pace said. “But I need you to remember exactly how much you love me when you feel the need to kill someone later tonight. I want you to also remember that if you’re in jail, I can’t pitch to you.”
Wade’s smirk faded. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Pace didn’t answer as he drove them out of the parking lot and hit the highway. Night had fallen. The moon was sitting on the horizon, a few inches above the Pacific Ocean, casting a blue glow over the rugged mountain bluffs.
“You going to tell me what’s going on?” Wade asked.
“You access any of your messages yet?”
“No.”
“Your father’s in town.”
Wade shook his head. “No, he’s not. He’s still in Oregon.”
“He bailed.” Pace pulled up to Wade’s house. “And here’s the biggie-he’s here. As in inside.”
Wade stared at the car in his driveway.
Sam’s.
The sight of her car gave him a rush, but his brain was feeling a little sluggish from the hit it’d taken earlier. Pain from that, mixed in with the news from Pace, suddenly blossomed into a full-fledged migraine. He opened Pace’s passenger door and started to get out but Pace snagged the back of his shirt. “Remember what I said. Remember I’ll only pitch to you, and that if you do anything stupid, I can’t do that. Plus you don’t want to go to jail. You’d hate being Bubba’s bitch.”
“Bubba?”
“Probably he’s three-hundred-fifty pounds and would expect you to squeal. I mean you’re not really my type, but he might think you’re pretty.”
Wade just looked at him. “You need help,” he finally said.
Pace turned off the car and started to walk Wade to the door. Wade blocked his way. “Go home to Holly, Pace.”
“You shouldn’t be alone.”
“I’m getting the feeling I’m not going to be alone. Go home,” he repeated. “I’ll deal with whatever’s waiting for me.”
Pace stopped and sighed. “Call me if you need me.”
“Yeah.” Bells were going off in Wade’s head. Hard to tell if it was his concussion, or just a general sense that his life was about to go straight into the toilet.
He was betting the latter.
Sam was sitting on Wade’s couch holding her breath when his front door opened.
He walked in wearing a T-shirt and washed-out Levi’s. Hands on hips, he looked at the group in his living room. His gaze touched first on Sam and Tag, softening on both of them before locking in on his father.
The softness vanished and the air crackled with tension as he turned and tossed his bag aside with slightly more violence than necessary.
“Hello, son.” This from John. “How are you?”
Wade just looked at him.
“I guess you’re surprised to see me, huh? Samantha was kind enough to give me a ride.”
Wade sent Sam a look that made her squirm before turning to Tag. “Hey, man,” he said.
“Hey. Your head okay?”
“I’ll live.”
Tag waited a beat. “You going to start drooling or anything? Cuz that’s what happens sometimes with head injuries.”
“This is more of a brain problem,” Wade said, and looked right at Sam. “It’s on overload and might explode.”
She winced.
And John sighed. “Always was dramatic,” he said to Sam.
Tag looked back and forth between father and son. “So… you guys in a fight or something?”
“No,” John said.
“Yes,” Wade said at the same time.
Tag was playing with the basketball that John had gotten from Walmart, trying to twirl it on his fingers as John had taught him. The guy might be a drunk but he was incredibly athletic. Not a surprise really, considering Wade’s abilities.
Wade watched Tag fumble with the ball a moment, then slid a look at his father. “Your doing, I assume.”
John nodded. “It’s just not quite as impressive to twirl a baseball, sorry.”
Wade just shook his head. “Tag?”
“Yeah?”
“I got a bunch of new equipment delivered. Bats, gloves, athletic shoes. Want to look through it?”
Tag dropped the basketball. “Yeah!”
“Second room on the left at the top of the stairs.”
“You rock!” Faster than lightning, Tag was gone.
Sam watched Wade walk into his open kitchen. He pulled open the refrigerator door and grabbed a beer. He wasn’t moving with his usual, smooth easy stride. She knew he had to ache like hell, and when he put a hand to his ribs, she ached right along with him. She stood up, thinking he needed to be in bed, preferably with an ice pack for his ribs, since he hadn’t been given pain killers because of his slight concussion. “Are you really okay?” she murmured.
“Fan-fucking-tastic.”
“Wade-”
“Really?” John asked from the couch as Tag came back down the stairs carrying a new bat and glove. “No hello, Dad, great to see you? Not even a fuck you?”
Tag’s eyes got big at the forbidden F-word, and he opened his mouth to repeat it but Wade pointed at him,
