The Heat took the Cubs series three-two, which made the fans and management and the sponsors happy. That should have been enough for Wade. At one time it’d most definitely have been enough.
And then the hurricane named Samantha had hit, and things had changed.
On the late night flight home, the plane was quiet and dark as Wade slipped into a seat next to Sam, who was working on her BlackBerry. Tag was passed out cold across from her, sleeping in his favorite position-arms and legs akimbo. Wade smiled as he pressed his leg into Sam’s. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
She didn’t seem nearly as sated and relaxed as she had in the shower the night before last, and he took another look at her, seeing the strain in her eyes. “You okay?”
“Yes.”
“What are you working on?”
“Last-minute details for the charity dinner in two nights.”
He nodded. The event was a big one and required one of his least favorite things-a tux. But as he’d be Sam’s date, and she would no doubt wear something that would make his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth, it’d be worth it.
She didn’t say anything else. She always said something… He nudged her again. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Mmm-hmmm.”
She hadn’t take her gaze off her BlackBerry, so he dipped his head to make eye contact.
She swiveled her head toward him-a distracted question mark in her eyes.
“No.” Her voice was soft. Not unfriendly, but… not warm either.
“Okay.” He kept looking at her, trying to understand what was going on, because something
She set her BlackBerry down and looked at him, really looked, as if she were searching for something important inside his head. “And what would that memo say?” she finally asked.
“It would tell me how I’d fucked up, with instructions on how to fix it.”
She sighed and went back to her phone.
“Are we having a fight?” he asked.
“Are you mad at something?” she asked.
“No.”
“Then no. We’re not having a fight.”
He watched her work for a moment, at a complete loss. The last time she’d been upset had been the other night at the bar with her father. Wade had been able to take her mind off that pretty easily by getting her naked. Served to reason it might work again, so he slid his arm around her, cuddling her in against him to kiss her neck. God, she smelled good. “Ever join the mile-high club?” he whispered.
She slid him another look, this one inscrutable. “Are you suggesting we hit the bathroom and have sex?”
The tone froze his eyebrows. “Um… yes?”
“Let me ask you something, Wade. The month’s over, right?”
“Right.”
“So what exactly are we doing now?”
“Uh…” He figured whatever he said had better be really, really good and convincing. “Seeing where things go?”
“With a purely physical relationship.”
He knew a trap when he saw one. “No.” He shook his head. This one he knew. “We have more.”
“Really? Like what? I’m just trying to define this. For me.”
“Well… we laugh.” He flashed her a grin, but she didn’t return it. “And we talk.”
She just looked at him.
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I wanted to be able to do this, the light and fluffy nonsubstance thing.” She opened her eyes again, and they were filled with frustration and a sadness that wrenched at him. “I really thought I could jump in and jump out again at will. But as it turns out, it’s hard to turn it on and off.” She pressed her lips together. “I’m having a really hard time with the off part, Wade.”
He stroked a finger over her jaw, thrown by the pain in her voice, by the way his own throat felt too damn tight. “So leave it on.”
“For now, you mean. Open-ended.”
“Yeah.”
She let out a laugh that tore at his heart. She nodded, but then shook her head in the negative. “I wanted to,” she whispered. “Because I want you. But I’m not getting any vibes from you that justify the risk. I’m sorry, Wade.” She looked away, and then when she met his gaze again, her thoughts were successfully hidden from him. “I can’t.”
He hated the panic tightening his gut. “So… where does that leave us, Sam?”
“With no us.”
Chapter 28
More than any other American sport, baseball creates the magnetic, addictive illusion that it can almost be understood.
The next day, the Heat took Seattle at home by the skin of their teeth, and Wade took a cleat to the shin. It happened in the last inning, and he spent a long time in the shower afterwards trying to get the ache out. But his shin wasn’t the only thing that hurt. His chest hurt, his gut hurt.
Everything fucking hurt.
By the time he dressed, the clubhouse had pretty much cleared out. Pace had gone home with Holly. Most of the guys, happy to be back in Santa Barbara, had plans with family. Sam had avoided him pre-game, and was doing the same now, so Wade grabbed his keys and left.
He went home, but the empty house mocked him. Even his father had somewhere to be, leaving Wade truly the only one with nobody. He got back into his car. He drove, having no idea what his destination was.
He ended up at Sam’s building. He wasn’t sure why, but hell, now that he was here, it’d be rude not to go in and see her. Tag opened the door to his knock, and with a look of disappointment, peered behind Wade.
“You got someone better coming over?” Wade asked him.
“Pizza,” Tag said.
Wade nudged the kid aside and walked into the condo, staring in surprise at his father, who was sitting at the dining room table. “What are you doing here?”
“Keeping the kid and his tutor company.”
Wade took a long look at his dad, who seemed more than a little strung out. “You okay?”
“Trying to be.” John was indeed fighting his addiction, but Wade wasn’t sure he was winning.
“Anyone know where Sam went?”
“
“Uh…” John was frantically trying to get Tag’s attention, making the motion of a knife slicing across his neck. “Ixnay on the haring-shay, please.”
“
