chapter 11
AS SHE FINISHED shoving papers in her brief case and cast one more bleary gaze around her tiny, concrete-walled office, Taylor wondered if she’d ever again get a good night’s sleep. Though she’d stayed with Ryan until after two, she’d managed to resist an overwhelming temptation to spend the entire night in his bed, drifting to sleep in the strong circle of his embrace.
But even after hours of passionate love-making and three amazing orgasms that had totally blissed her out, she couldn’t bear the thought of a morning walk of shame back through the team hotel. Sure as anything, she’d have run into some player or, God help her, Dembinski himself. While she could have concocted a story about hooking up with some guy, that wasn’t the rep she wanted around the team. She didn’t hook up with guys in bars—it just wasn’t her. Besides, she’d never been a convincing liar about that sort of thing, and someone as canny as the GM would probably see right through her.
But she’d been too amped up to get much sleep, anyway. By six-thirty, already on a caffeine jag from the rotten in-room coffee, she was showered, packed and had already booked her ticket out of Tampa International. As her mind whirled and calculated all through the pre-dawn hours, getting the hell out of Dodge right away had felt like her best option after the events of last night and what would likely happen today.
Addled by the screwed-up combination of inadequate sleep and too much coffee, she’d headed to the stadium to wait for Dembinski to arrive. She’d left her packed suitcase outside in the rental car, and she’d already called her mother to let her know she’d be in Philly by early afternoon.
Her mom was pleased she’d be making the unexpected trip home. After all, Taylor thought with weary cynicism, Bridget believed there were never enough people to wait on her hand and foot. Her mother had perfected the art of layering guilt onto her only daughter—one who was altogether too much like the husband Bridget had spent most of her marriage resenting.
Not that Taylor was averse to using her mother as her excuse to go back to Philadelphia early, although she mentally winced that she was taking the coward’s way out—at least in the short term. But her mom did suffer from frequent flare-ups of her long-standing fibromyalgia condition, and Dembinski had always seemed sympathetic whenever she mentioned her mother’s situation.
She leaned back in her chair and sighed, rubbing her scratchy eyes and trying to think through the disaster of her current situation. Taylor had always thought of herself as courageous and tough. After all, if she hadn’t been strong and resilient she’d have never survived her father’s senseless death and her mother’s subsequent breakdown. Nor would she have been able to rise through the male-dominated ranks of baseball executives and grab a coveted AGM position by the time she was thirty. But this past week she’d been about as tough as a marshmallow, at least when it came to Ryan Locke. Somehow, what had started out as a potentially brilliant gambit to snag him from the Hornets had turned into a complicated and extremely personal hot mess—one she’d invited by convincing herself that she needed to sound him out that first evening at the Summer Moon.
Liar.
She knew now that her impulsive move had precious little to do with scouting him. No, she’d simply let herself become intrigued and then well, captivated by him, and practically before they’d exchanged a word. That simple fact made her feel like a character in a really bad rom-com movie, even though there was nothing comical about their situation.
The problem was, she’d let Ryan Locke become more than a bundle of statistics and probabilities that could be plugged into the Patriots’ lineup. Players were human beings, of course, but when the GM and his assistants made moves to build a stronger team, players had to become nothing more than chess pieces to be shifted at will, subject only to the restrictions of the MLBPA collective agreement. But Taylor had insisted on probing and poking and listening until Ryan transformed not only into a flesh and blood person in her eyes, but also into a truly fine man and a loving father.
And now he’d become her lover—for one glorious night, anyway.
Sure, Ryan had played his part in the little drama. He’d pursued her with determination, but she’d brought what happened last night on herself, and she laid the blame squarely at her door.
So she’d thrown caution to the proverbial winds, and both the sex and the emotional impact had been beyond anything she could have imagined. And now she had to struggle with the frustration of her inability to hold the line when it came to a man with whom she was about to have a professional relationship. She knew better, and she’d succumbed to temptation, anyway.
And just for an added kick of humiliation, she was fleeing the scene of the crime because she didn’t have the guts to face him. Not right now. When Ryan got the news that he’d been traded to the Patriots, he’d think she’d been playing him all along, or at the very least that she’d been screwing around while she knew exactly what was going to happen to him. To him, she’d be nothing more than a duplicitous bitch, and it made her physically ill that he’d look at her that way.
But the truth was she hadn’t played Ryan. She’d simply allowed herself to get sucked into some kind of emotional and sexual vortex that kept pulling her closer to him as it dragged her under. Yes, the vortex was partially of her making—mostly of her making—but that didn’t mean it was any less real.
Taylor had long since finished packing up her computer and paper files for the trip when Dembinski strolled into the office, coffee cup in hand. From the haggard look on his tanned face, she deduced that he’d probably been on the phone long after he’d called her at the restaurant.
“Your pal Ridge is one tough son of a bitch,” he said, dropping into the ancient fabric chair in front of her desk.
His words jolted Taylor, though she tried to keep an impassive expression. Could the deal have fallen through? She actually found herself hoping Ridge and Dembinski had battled to a standstill. “He hung you up over a third round pick?” she asked warily.
He grimaced. “I didn’t tell you last night about the cash Ridge wanted—because I figured he couldn’t be serious.”
“How much?”
“Nine hundred grand and he still wanted the f*cking third pick, too.” The GM snorted loudly. “I told him where he could shove that bullshit.”
Taylor could feel the weight lifting from her shoulders.
“That’s way too much,” she said, trying not to sound thrilled that the deal had fallen through. “Joe’s always been a tough negotiator, but nine hundred thousand is too big a chunk of Locke’s salary for us to swallow.” She exhaled a dramatic sigh. “I guess Joe must have had a sweeter offer from some AL team. Damn it all to hell, anyway. Now we’ll have to go back to square one.”
She was already thinking about rebooking her plane ticket for the weekend, and letting her mother know that urgent business was going to keep her in Florida until the team went north for opening day.
Dembinski smirked at her. “Hell, no. I was just busting your non-existent balls, Taylor. The deal is done. DeMarcus Jones, plus a fifth round pick next year and a fourth two years out. And we pick up a half mil of Locke’s contract.”
Taylor gaped at him. The next moment, she wanted to leap across the desk and throttle Dembinski with her bare hands for screwing around like that. Instead, she had to summon up every shred of professionalism and plaster a huge, insincere smile on her face. “Whew, you really had me going there, Dave. That’s absolutely fantastic news.”
He waved off her weak attempt at enthusiasm. “Well, you deserve the credit on this one, though I have to admit I’m pretty stoked about getting the guy for that kind of price, especially since we were going to dump Jones anyway.”
Taylor couldn’t help wondering if her pal Joe had cut the Patriots a break. While she knew he would never undercut his team, she thought it strange that Dembinski’s offer would outstrip what must have surely been put out by one or more American League squads. Then again, it had briefly crossed her mind a couple of times that canny Joe might just be happy to unload a washed-up player on a division rival. Did he know something more about Ryan’s condition than she and Dembinski did?
God, a couple of days ago I would have been over the moon about this trade, and now every thought in my head is a negative.
“If this pans out, we’ll have found ourselves a real steal,” she said, even though every word seemed to stick in her tight throat.
Dembinski slurped another mouthful of coffee but managed not to add any more stains to his tie. “Ridge will probably have talked to him by now.” He glanced at his watch. “He figured Locke could be here this morning. I’ve already alerted Pedro that I expect him to work with Locke right up until batting practice. We’ll give him an at-bat this afternoon, and we should both check him out at infield practice, too.”
Taylor swallowed hard. It was now or never. “About that, Dave...I was just about to tell you that I’m going to have to head back to Philly. My mom’s going through a bad patch, so I’ve booked a flight out later this morning. You don’t really need me down here anymore.” Though that was basically true, it pained her to have to say the words.
Dembinski’s thick brows pulled into a straight line. “That came up pretty quick didn’t it? You didn’t mention anything about your mother when we talked last night.”
Her heart skipped a beat at the obvious doubt in his voice. “Her condition is characterized by sudden flares that can be very serious.”
Dembinski stood up. “Fine, but couldn’t you leave later this afternoon or tonight? When Locke gets here, I really want you to sit in with me when we give him the good news about transitioning him to first.” He chuckled at his sarcasm.
Taylor’s stomach clenched at the odd request. She had nothing to add to what Dembinski would say to Ryan. Was he trying to send Ryan a message that this move was her idea? That didn’t seem like the Dave Dembinski she knew. The guy was all about taking credit for himself. Even in a risky situation like this, she didn’t think he’d shirk from assuming responsibility. Even though she didn’t think he’d lay the idea at her door, the chance of that happening made her sick.
“Oh, that would be fun,” she said, trying to mirror his sarcasm. “But I really can’t change my plans now, Dave. I made a commitment to take her to a crucial medical appointment. Maybe you could bring Pedro instead. As a bodyguard.” She chuckled even though her heart felt like a cold stone in her chest. God, she was such an awful coward.
“I’m sorry,” she finished, knowing how lame it sounded.
Dembinski pointed an accusatory finger at her. “Okay, abandon me, then. But I hope this situation with your mother isn’t going to keep you from doing your job, Taylor. People in our line of work don’t have the luxury of dropping everything to see to family unless it’s a real emergency.”
He gave her a hard, questioning look.
“It won’t,” she said firmly.
She managed a smile that was all teeth as Dembinski turned and left her office. Her idea of trading for Ryan was turning into a cascade of potential grief, causing her to make decisions that could undermine, not advance, her career. It had all the potential in the world to blow up in her face, and in Ryan’s, too. While she thought she was ready to accept the consequences for herself if it came to that, she’d grown exponentially more uncomfortable over the past couple of days with the potential impact on Ryan’s future.
But she couldn’t allow herself to dwell on the negatives. The ship had sailed, and the winds would take her and Ryan where they would.
* * *
RYAN TRUDGED INTO the Hornets’ spring training complex in West Bradenton, his feet leaden and his mind racing through every possibility Joe Ridge might throw at him. When his GM called an hour ago and asked him to meet him at the team’s stadium office as soon as possible, Ryan had the same feeling that had come over him when he saw the orthopedic surgeon for the first time to get the verdict on his ruined knee. Even the best prognosis was going to be painful to hear.
The last twelve hours had been a frigging roller coaster of emotions. When Taylor had first rejected him last night, he’d been rocked back on his heels by an unexpectedly strong sense of disappointment and frustration. But when she’d reversed course and come back to him, his heart rate must have hit two hundred as lust and something that felt uncomfortably like need charged through him. Her sweet enthusiasm had stunned him and carried them well beyond anything he’d expected or even hoped for. The sex had been volcanic, his hunger for her insatiable, and her sizzling passion had spoken to him of a whole lot of pent up emotion and her own need.
But all too soon she’d told him she had to get back to her hotel. Ryan had tried everything in his arsenal—both verbal and physical—to get her to change her mind and stay, but she’d pushed back with a gentle string of no’s and sorry’s. He’d tried to make her coffee to help her stay awake on the long trip back to Clearwater, but she’d been so anxious to leave that she’d barely kissed him goodbye. That had hurt, even though he’d done his best not to show it.
And then a few hours later, almost all of which were spent staring at his bedroom ceiling trying to figure Taylor out, he got the damn call from his GM.
He hadn’t even bothered to ask Ridge what was up. There was only one reason your general manager called you at that early hour. And there was no point asking him to convey the news over the phone. That wasn’t the way it was done, especially not in the case of a veteran player. The bosses at least had the guts to give you the bad news—or, in some cases, the good news—straight to your face. Besides, because Ryan had five and ten status, there would have to be a discussion about whether he would even accept the proposed trade.
Ryan had already made up his mind on that score. If the trade was to anybody other than a western team—and by that he included all the coastal teams plus Arizona, Minnesota, Texas, and Colorado—he’d let the deal go through. But if they wanted to ship him to one of those teams, they’d have a fight on their hands. In the end, though, he’d almost certainly lose since the Hornets held all the cards. Ultimately, he could force them to release him, but that would leave him completely out in the cold with no guarantee that he’d be picked up by anyone else, much less paid anything like what he was due to receive under his current contract.
Aside from hating like hell to disrupt Devon’s life again, he was going to miss his buddies on the Hornets. He’d fought alongside some of those guys for seven years, even longer if you counted service in the minors. He’d miss the camaraderie that came from their history of shared battles, triumphs and defeats. He’d miss the managers, coaches, trainers, and equipment and clubhouse guys. Hell, he’d even miss the baseball writers and broadcasters in Pittsburgh, because they’d always shown him respect, even when they were on his case. But he’d be damned if he’d miss the front office bastards that were doing this to him. Sure, they had a job to do, but when somebody treats you like an old, worn out shoe, it was hard to be charitable—not when they were about to blow your life apart.
Missing Taylor Page wasn’t something he’d counted on, but Ryan knew that loss was going to hit him hard, too. The chances of anything happening between the two of them after he was traded were miniscule. Geography and insane baseball schedules would see to that.
Ryan greeted each member of the staff as he made his way through the suite of rooms comprising the Hornets’ offices. To a person, they smiled and said hello, but those smiles felt to him like goodbyes. Though Ridge wouldn’t have spilled the beans to his staff—other than his assistants and the manager—it didn’t take a genius to know what an early morning one-on-one in the boardroom was all about. A guy who had once been a key player was about to become a team memory—just another face in the annual media guides that grew dusty on the shelves.
Disgusted, he mentally gave himself a kick.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself, pal. You don’t have cancer, and you didn’t get your leg blown off in Afghanistan. Get a grip.
Ryan knocked once on the open door of the meeting room before going in. Ridge, seated in the middle of the boardroom table, raised his head from his notes. He was flanked by Assistant GM Hector Rodriguez and manager Clint Barker.
“Come on in, Ryan,” Ridge said, rising and then leaning across the table to shake his hand. Ryan gave it a perfunctory shake. Rodriguez and Barker also offered their hands.
“Don’t beat around the bush, Joe,” Ryan said as he sat down directly across from the GM. “Just say what you have to say and let’s get on with it.”
He wasn’t going to be rude, but he didn’t need any placating bullshit about how valuable he’d been to the team, or how hard it had been for management to come to this difficult decision. They could stuff that crap where daylight could never reach it.
“You’re obviously trading me, so just tell me where you want me to go.”
Ridge’s lips quirked up in a wry smile. “That’s one of the things I’ve always appreciated in you, Ryan. You’re a no-nonsense, stand up guy. And you’ve been a hell of a player on this team.” He waved a placating hand. “But okay, let’s get right to it. I’m sure you’ll agree that Swain’s ready now.”
Ryan nodded. How could he deny the obvious? The kid was ticketed for major league stardom, and Ryan couldn’t be moved to any other position—not with his lousy arm. If the Hornets were going to keep him, he’d have to be a utility outfielder at best, pinch hitting and subbing for injured guys.
“You don’t want to stay here and ride the bench, do you?” Ridge said. “Because that’s all we could offer you.” He paused. “At the most.”
Ryan had thought about that possibility long and hard and, like Ridge said, found it decidedly unattractive. He could hang around and keep drawing his decent salary for doing damn little, but in a year he’d be released with no contract or forced to take the rock-bottom salary of a marginal player. Because he’d have low productivity in that new role, other teams would lose interest in him. His legs and arms would age another year, and get rusty with lack of game experience. After a season like that, he could find himself out of baseball completely.
He shook his head. “Yeah, we agree on that.”
“That’s what I thought,” Ridge said. “So, we shopped you around, Ryan. I wanted to get the best fit for you and, of course, the best deal for the Hornets.”
“That didn’t take long,” Ryan said with a little edge to his voice. “Two, three days?”
Ridge’s expression was somber. Clearly, the guy was doing his best. “I’m satisfied with the deal I was able to put together.” He leaned forward, resting his hands on the table. “Ryan, I know you made it clear that if you had to be traded, you wanted it to be to an AL team, but I’m afraid I couldn’t make that happen. I’m sorry.”
Ryan’s heart dropped out of his chest and bounced off his shoes.
What the f*ck? Jesus, could this get any shittier?
He swallowed hard, trying not to show that Ridge’s words had floored him. “Where to, then? And it had better not be the west coast.”
Ridge seemed to relax now that he’d dropped the bomb, leaning back into his high-backed chair. “It`s Philadelphia, Ryan.”
A beautiful, lush-lipped face ringed by silky, blond hair materialized instantly in front of Ryan’s eyes. The same blond hair that had caressed his chest last night as Taylor made passionate love to him.
Instantly, it all made sense.
Taylor had been scouting him. Even worse, she’d obviously been concocting a deal with her GM and Joe Ridge behind his back. That had to be why she’d had that dinner with Ridge at the Summer Moon.
Taylor. He thought about the way she relaxed with him in those restaurants and bars, pretending to be sympathetic to his stories. Leading him on with both sweet and sexy smiles, and with that deliciously seductive voice.
Had it all been a fake? His gut instinctively rejected that. Everything that had happened between them these past few days couldn’t only be about business. What had happened between them had felt so real. Still, the trade idea had to be the thing that got them started. Because of that, she’d made him look like a fool.
Ryan stayed silent for what seemed like a full minute as he struggled to bring his emotions under control. The three men on the other side of the table waited for him to react, a little anxiously, he thought. Maybe they expected him to throw a tantrum, dumping over the tray with the coffee carafe and fixings. Or maybe they expected him to simply say “fine” and leave. He couldn’t read a thing into the three carefully blank expressions.
But it didn’t matter, anyway.
“Why?” Ryan asked.
Ridge looked puzzled. “Why what, Ryan?”
“Why would the Patriots want me? Not only want me, but want me more than any AL team apparently does? I don’t get it, Joe. Hell, Philly’s already got three of the best outfielders in the league in Miller, Gretsch and Harmer. What did Dembinski offer you for a guy ticketed to be just a back-up to those three?”
“The Patriots are actually pretty high on you,” Ridge said, fiddling with his tie. “They gave us a very good offer, actually. I can’t say exactly what’s in it until we announce the deal, as you know.” His eyes bored into Ryan’s. “If we announce the deal. You know you have the last word on that score, Ryan.”
Ryan stifled a cynical laugh. “Come on, Joe. I’m sure if I refuse you’ll run right out and conclude a deal with an AL team, right?”
They were more or less daring him to say no and take his chances.
Rodriguez and Barker each threw a quick glance at Ridge. The GM, though, kept his gaze on Ryan, unwavering. “All I can say is that I strongly believe this trade to be in the best interests of not only the Hornets, but of Ryan Locke, too.” He lifted his shoulders slightly in a shrug. “But, as I said, it’s up to you, given your status.”
Ryan silently worked through the implications of the trade, trying to make a rational list of pros and cons.
Being their fourth outfielder and playing irregularly—that would suck big time.
Playing for a top-ranked team, one that had a chance to go to the World Series—that counted as a big plus.
Staying in Pennsylvania, and being even closer to Devon’s school than before—that was hugely important, and would be a hell of a relief.
And, finally, playing on Taylor Page’s team—as painful as that would be at the outset—would at least give him a chance to tell the woman face-to-face what he thought of the way she’d played him. For some reason, he needed to do that in order to make peace with what had happened between them.
All in all, the pluses and minuses came close to balancing out given everything that had been happening in his life. While it was a lousy move for his career, at least in terms of its longevity, he’d just have to knock himself out to make the best of it. He could help the Patriots—he had no doubt about that. Even if he only pinch hit and played outfield once or twice a week to give one of the regulars a day of rest, he’d knew he could get on base, score, and drive in his share of runs. And if he could give the team a little extra nudge toward the World Series, then that would be a dream come true. After over seven years in the Hornets organization, he hadn’t had even a sniff of the playoffs, much less the World Series. Every major league player dreamed of wearing a World Series champions’ ring. It was more important than any other accomplishment in baseball—more important for most guys than even election to the Hall of Fame.
He gave Ridge a nod. “It sucks that you couldn’t deal me to the AL like I asked, but I won’t veto the trade. The Hornets have been good to me, and I’m not going to pay the organization back by trying to jam you up. I’ll report to Philadelphia.”
Ridge beamed, while Rodriguez and Barker visibly relaxed, their tense expressions vanishing in favor of genuine smiles.
“I figured as much, Ryan,” Ridge said. “You’re a total pro, and always have been. Nothing would have made me happier than to see you finish your career as a Hornet, but…” He shrugged, as if there was no more to be said.
“But I don’t fit anymore,” Ryan said, finishing his sentence. “I get it. It’s business.” He forced a smile as he got up from the table. “You do know that I’m going to kick your ass every time you guys play the Patriots, don’t you?” Despite putting his game face on, he felt sick at heart. This was so not what he’d expected.
The three men opposite him rose.
“I wouldn’t expect a good baseball man like you to say anything else,” Ridge said as he moved quickly around the table to shake Ryan’s hand. Ryan thought he looked terribly relieved, almost as if he’d dodged a bullet.
“I guess the Patriots are expecting me right away,” Ryan said.
Ridge nodded. “Yeah, absolutely. Dembinski wants you at practice today, and he told me you’ll probably play this afternoon. He asked me to tell you to make sure you report to him personally when you get to their stadium.”
“Sure.” Ryan waited to shake hands with the other two men and then hurried out of the office, heading straight for the Hornets’ clubhouse to pack up his gear. The players wouldn’t be there yet—only maybe a couple of guys getting therapy or working out—so he’d have to come back sometime soon to say his goodbyes. Right now, though, what dominated his thoughts was what he was going to say to Devon about the move.
And what was going to happen when he came face to face with Taylor Page again, because it was definitely not going to be the get-together he’d envisioned.