brother,” he said to Mark, his voice full of warning. Then he looked back at Leslie waiting impatiently, and let out a long sigh. She could tell he was just dragging out the moment for dramatic effect.
Leslie rolled her eyes and bit her tongue to keep from saying something snarky. She wasn’t in the best mood and it wasn’t fair to take it out on him. Her brother, on the other hand, was used to her mean streak.
“Why are you here?” she demanded. By the way Drake was taking his sweet time getting to the news blast, she figured she could be standing there waiting for the rest of the night.
Mark raised a brow, gave her a look. “What? I can’t be at my own club?”
“Not when you have a pregnant wife at home you can’t.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder and met his look with one of her own.
“Who says she’s home?” He tipped his head toward the Rush’s table. Sure enough Lorelei was there sitting next to Sonny, heads together while they chatted. When had they gotten there?
The question must have been written all over her face because Mark said, “You were in the back.”
Ah. That explained it. But it didn’t explain what everybody was doing there tonight in the first place. Usually as soon as the season ended the guys disappeared for a few months. Well, except Drake and Mark and Peter. JP, too, although Leslie fully expected not to see him again since this was his first off-season with Sonny and Charlie. But for now he was there, too, huddled together with the rest of the crew, talking about whatever this “big news” was.
Speaking of . . . she looked back at Drake. The way he was procrastinating was driving her bat-shit. “Any day now, Paulson.”
He glanced down at her, eyes twinkling, and suddenly she became very aware of just how much fun he was having at her expense. She shook her head. Jerk.
She smacked him. “Just say it already!”
He relented. “Kowalskin just announced his retirement.”
Everything inside her went still. It couldn’t be. Peter wasn’t retiring. He loved playing baseball. It was his life. No, Drake had to be wrong.
Leslie set down the drink she was currently working on. Her hands started to shake and her heart began to race. She took a breath and scanned the ballplayers. They were all talking animatedly about something, and now she knew what. It was true. Peter was out of baseball.
Holy shit.
Mark cut into her shock. “I just heard, man. I can’t believe he’s out, either. It’s nuts. Nobody saw it coming. He’s got some eye thing apparently. Says he’s going blind in one eye and can’t pitch anymore.”
Leslie’s stomach plummeted. Poor Peter. A flash of memory came back to her of the morning they’d fought about why he didn’t perform publically. She’d overheard the tail end of a conversation about some kind of surgery. It had confused her then when she’d thought it was about his shoulder because it hadn’t seemed that bad.
Now it made sense. The surgery wasn’t for his shoulder. It was for his eye.
And it hit her then, the stuff Peter must have been dealing with by himself. The fear and stress and worry. Terrible feelings that he’d borne alone. It made her sad and angry all at once.
He didn’t have to be alone.
Just like she didn’t have to let her life drift on by because she’d made a mistake. They both had choices.
JP shoved his way in between the two ballplayers and said, “The guy was throwing heat like a true hall of famer. Whatever was going on with his vision, he did a damn good job hiding it.”
“I know it, brother. Walskie was the best pitcher the Rush has ever seen. We’re going to miss him something fierce.” Drake shook his frizzy head sadly.
“Now I understand why everyone here is all up in arms.” She said to no one in particular.
“It’s a big deal, sis. Kowalskin stepping down really shakes things up.”
“You think Jose is going to step up and become our new ace?” JP asked.
Mark shook his head. “I don’t know, man.”
Something occurred to her. “Okay. I get why y’all are upset. What I don’t get is why y’all are here?”
Just then the music went dead and a
“Excuse me, everyone,” came a tough, sexy male voice with a Philly accent.
She knew that voice.
“Some of you may know me, but for those of you who don’t I’ll introduce myself. My name is Peter Kowalskin.”
The crowd erupted into applause. The noise level was deafening. Someone let out an ear-piercing whistle that had her cringing, and Drake shouted something highly inappropriate.
Her heart squeezed painfully and her stomach went wild with nerves as she stepped out from behind the bar, looking for a clear line of sight to the stage. She found it next to her brother, and when she looked up and saw what was happening, her heart rolled right on over in her chest.
It was impossible to breathe.
There, up on stage under the glaring lights, was Peter in his signature white T-shirt, leather bracelet, and jeans. Looking sexy and tough and so, so wonderful.
And he was sitting on a stool. In front of a mic.
With his Gibson guitar.
PETER SPOTTED LESLIE through the crowd and felt his palms go sweaty. What he was about to do was the hardest thing he’d ever done.
He needed Leslie to know how he felt.
She might slap him in the face and tell him off for the way he’d treated her, but he had to take that chance. For the first time in his life he was willing to risk it all for someone else.
It had taken Mark’s fist upside his head to get him to see the truth. To have the balls to admit it to himself. And it was hella scary. But it was there and it was real and he damn well had to get used to it. He had to face the fact.
He was in love with Leslie.
And he was going to show her in the best way he knew how, by doing the one thing he’d sworn he never would, the one thing he knew she really wanted. Peter was going to perform live. In front of a hell of a lot of random fucking people. He was going to sit there and pour out his feelings to her through song. Exposed and vulnerable and wide open to rejection. All because his worthless heart was hers, if she still wanted it.
The lights glared down on him and sweat trickled down his temple. He stared out over a large, cheering crowd and looked for the reason he was there. When he found her staring at him, hand in a fist at her mouth, eyes huge, his lungs locked up and he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t sing. But he had to push through it for her.
Leslie deserved this.
Suddenly the lights above him changed. The stage went dark, except for the blinding spotlight now on him. He lifted a hand to block the glare, cradled his guitar on his raised knee. Who the hell had decided he needed a spotlight?
The answer came quickly. “For dramatic effect, brother!” It was Paulson. Figured.
Peter adjusted the mic in front of him and wiped his palms against the thighs of his jeans, smiling self- consciously. “Thanks for letting me crash the stage everyone. I’ve got a tune I wrote that I’d like to perform, if that’s all right.”
Cheers. Whistles. Catcalls.
Finding Leslie in the crowd, Peter waited until she was looking at him and said, “Somebody once told me
