line for the National Anthem. Then the state governor trotted out to the applause of the crowd to throw the first pitch. Peter had to hide a smile when the ball went rogue and barely made it over home plate. Pitching was not as easy as it seemed.
Preparing to go throw some strikes, Peter was about to move when a flash of pale blonde hair caught his eye. Turning to find Leslie in the stands sitting next to Lorelei and JP’s woman Sonny and her boy, he was surprised by the breath that hitched in his chest. Sometimes the woman caught him off guard and it was hard to breathe.
She was laughing about something and had her head together with the Charlie’s. It looked a lot like they were telling secrets. As he watched she raised her hand and the boy gave her a high-five, both of them grinning like thieves with a full bounty. He wanted to climb right into the bleachers with them to find out what was making her smile like that so that he could do it too.
He shook his head and tried to ease the tightness in his chest. Why did everything with that woman lead to some sort of bodily dysfunction on his part? It was unnerving.
Drake walked by and clapped Peter hard on the back. “Thanks for doing it fancy the other night. I do love me some rib eye. You ready to rock and roll?”
He felt the buzz of anticipation and nodded. “You bet your ass.”
Just then JP passed by, his attention in the stands on the strawberry blonde with the sweet smile and big blue eyes. When he came close enough, Peter elbowed him in the rib cage and grinned. “Eyes on the game, dude.”
Like he was one to talk.
The shortstop waved to his girlfriend and her son, love and affection for them written all over his beaming smile. “Don’t judge. If you had what I had, you’d be grinning like a fool too.”
Probably.
Drake shoved him in the shoulder, gaining his attention. “Ignore the pretty boy. We got us a game on.”
Knowing that Paulson was right, Peter took one last glance at Leslie in the stands, felt his gut tighten in response, and then forced his mind on to the game, pushing her out. He didn’t want her in there anymore. She was taking up way too much space.
To the thrill of the Rush fans they played “Wild Thing” as he made his way back to the mound. Forcing everything else from his mind, Peter focused on his pitching and the game. He was one of the best in the Major Leagues and tonight he was going to prove it. His shoulder was loose enough and his left eye vision was holding as steady as it could. If something didn’t feel one hundred percent with his arm he shrugged it off. It was fine.
The first Philly batter stepped up to the plate and Mark signaled a play from his position crouching behind home. Reading it, Peter shook his head. He didn’t like that pitch, it played to the batter’s strengths. So Mark signaled again, and this time he accepted it.
Winding up, his knee pulled tight to his chest, he zeroed in on Mark’s glove and let the ball fly. Like a bullet it shot out toward home plate. A small sting flashed briefly in his shoulder as he completed his follow-through.
The Phillies player connected with the ball and sent a line drive barreling back at Peter. It happened so fast he barely had time to register it before the ball was upon him. Shifting in his cleats, he dodged just as it was about to take out his left knee and snagged the white leather with his glove.
Sucker.
Rolling his shoulder, he tugged the brim of his hat, wiped his hand on the thigh of his pants and prepared for another pitch. Cutter shuffled in his pads after the new batter entered the box, signaling for a ball low and outside. Assessing the new player, Peter nodded, gripped the ball in the horseshoe, and sent it flying.
The Phillies batter swung hard and missed the ninety-six-mile-an-hour fastball by inches.
“
The crowd cheered. Damn right. He owned that plate. Adrenaline pumped through him, his breathing came in rapid bursts.
Peter was high on the game and it felt good. It felt right. It was his life.
Snatching up the bag of resin nearby on the mound, he dusted his hands together and tossed it back down. He tugged his ball cap again and shifted his weight. Then he wound up and fired another fastball straight down the pipe.
“
A grin split his face as the Phillies batter cursed, stepped out of the box, and stomped around. Finally he put a toe back in, dug deep into the dirt with his cleat, and did the same with the second one before pulling the bat into hitting position.
This was the way it was supposed to be. Just Peter and a batter and a strike zone that had his name written all over it. It was a mental battle of wits, calculation, and angles. And he loved it with everything he had. Nothing else in life compared or could make him feel the way playing ball did.
His gaze slid from home plate at that thought right on over to Leslie in the stands and his chest went tight again. That’s right, he thought as he forced a deep breath, nothing compared. He didn’t want it to. Too much commitment.
Peter played. He played ball and he played at life. That was just the way he liked it. No responsibilities. Who wanted them anyway? They were a huge bore.
This thing with Leslie was just physical anyway.
Pushing the thought aside, he wound up and was about to release when his gaze slipped to Leslie once more. Their eyes locked and he felt his body tense. An encouraging smile spread across her gorgeous face, stunning him, and his shoulder seized just as he released the ball.
He heard the pop and searing pain snaked down his arm, making his vision blur. Peter doubled over and grabbed at his shoulder, panic and pain lashing him.
His arm was jacked.
EVERYTHING INSIDE LESLIE froze and the smile melted from her face. As she watched, Peter crumpled on the pitcher’s mound. Play stopped and the Rush’s manager came running. She could have sworn the crowd collectively gasped when their beloved ace pitcher tried to move his shoulder and couldn’t.
Shit.
Leslie was up and out of her seat before she’d even decided to stand, her heart pounding and fear turning her stomach to a jumble of knots. “Oh my god, Peter!” was all she said, and she began pushing her way through the seats full of spectators to get to him.
Lorelei grabbed her arm and stopped her. “Leslie, you can’t go out there.”
Swallowing panic, she glanced down at her sister-in-law and replied tersely, “That’s a stupid rule. I’m breaking it.”
The brunette smiled gently. “I know, honey. But look, the medics are already out there. He’s going to be fine.”
Bullshit. Peter didn’t look fine. In fact he looked like he was in some serious pain. His face was pinched tight and he was scowling hot enough to scare the devil.
Charlie piped up from down the row, “Want me to see if I can get down there for you, Leslie? ’Cause I was a batboy. They’d let me in. I could check on him for you.”
His freckled face was full of earnestness and he was swimming in his authentic Rush jersey. It carried JP’s name and number on it and she could tell the boy was super proud of it. “That’s sweet, Charlie.”
She might have let him too, but then the medical team escorted Peter off the field to the sound of the crowd cheering him on. The pitcher was still holding his shoulder, but he let it go briefly to wave and smile to the crowd.
Knowing him, he was only doing it to save face. Because it hurt him like hell, she could see that. And it made her all kinds of upset.
Her mind made up, Leslie plopped back down in her seat with a huff. She’d give him twenty minutes and then she would try to make her way back to him. If she had to she’d use Charlie. Because she had to see him to make sure he was all right.
Kowalskin had had injuries before—many of which she’d witnessed. None of those had ever bothered her like this. For whatever reason this was different. And she really didn’t want to think about why. All she wanted to
