My room was not the way I’d left it. It didn’t even look like my room at all. The bags hanging over my shoulder fell to the floor, my mouth dropping open as I took in the room. On every surface that was solid or firm enough to support a vase, a bouquet of flowers had made its way onto it. But there wasn’t just one bouquet per surface—there were as many as could fit on that surface.
At least four on each nightstand, a dozen lining the window ledge, I couldn’t count how many on the desk . . . they were everywhere. Even in the bathroom, I discovered when I checked. Vases were scattered along the floor, petals strewn across the bed, overwhelming and beautiful by every definition of the terms.
A hundred varieties of flowers made up the bouquets bursting with color, creating a scent that was just as sweet as it was floral. It was the grandest gesture I’d ever had done for me. The grandest by far.
I didn’t need to open the note propped on my bed to know who was responsible for this. I shouldn’t have, because flowers or not, it didn’t change anything.
I couldn’t help it though. Lifting the card, I found only one simple sentence scratched down in his handwriting.
You’re more.
My eyes kept moving over the words, almost like they were trying to convince themselves there was some other message I was missing. There wasn’t though.
What did that mean? “You’re more”? More than what? More than a fling? More than the girls before me? More of a pain in the ass? Or more than something else I had yet to discover?
You’re more.
Those words haunted me all night, but by the next morning, I’d realized that words were just words. It was the actions behind them that gave them their meaning.
Archer’s actions did not support his words. These two on the note or the ones he’d uttered in the med room before the game yesterday.
You’re more. Whatever he meant by it, it was just a ploy to keep me on his string for the next couple of months. A damage control measure.
No more. That was my response.
ANOTHER CITY. ANOTHER game. Another disaster.
We were bottom of the ninth, and unless one of those miracle things decided to fall from the sky, the Shock was adding another loss to their season.
The team’s spirit had been sullen from the start and it had only gone down from there. Coach looked close to exploding as he paced the dugout like a wounded lion, cursing under his breath about replacing the entire lot of babies for some real players.
The team didn’t function without every player giving it their all. Especially when that player was Luke Archer. He’d been a mess during the game in New York—he’d been worse in this one. Only a couple of days had gone by since our talk, but to look at him, it was like he’d been marooned on a deserted island for months. His face was unshaven, his eyes sunken, his expression hardened.
I’d done my best to avoid him, but he’d done his best to thwart my plans. He never said anything—he just locked his eyes on mine for a moment—but that said everything he was trying to get across.
He wanted to talk. But there was nothing to talk about. I didn’t want to bring up what I’d found out from Shepherd because part of me had too much pride to admit that that was the reason I’d called it off. I wanted to be the first girl to cut him off before he got the chance. I wanted him to think I was done because I was done, not because of what I’d found out. I wanted to walk away with as much dignity as I could, because I didn’t feel like I had much.
I’d lost him. I was going to lose my job. I was close to losing my credibility.
I’d lost enough without adding in the last remnants of my pride.
“Hey, Allie, what gives?” Shepherd stopped in front of where I was settled on the bench. “Archer isn’t looking good out there. Might need to pull a late night. Make sure he’s all set to go for the next game.”
It was faint, but I didn’t miss the wink he gave me before wandering down to the other end of the dugout. My fists curled in so tightly, I could feel my nails close to drawing blood from my palms. The only perk to getting let go from my dream job at the end of the season would be not having to deal with Shepherd anymore.
“How’s it hangin’, Doc?” Reynolds crashed into the seat beside me, nudging me not-so-lightly. When he saw the look on my face, he snorted. “Sorry about that. Force of habit. How are you doing?” he corrected, trying to sound as eloquent as a big guy from Alabama could.
“I’m okay.”
Reynolds nodded, his eyes drifting toward the Shock player stepping up to the plate. “You know who isn’t okay?”
My shoulders fell when I saw Luke. His routine of tapping his cleats and eyeing the spot on the fence he wanted to sail the ball over had been replaced by slouching up to the plate with an expression that embodied withdrawn.
“Yeah, he’s had a rough game.” I had to look away. I’d spent enough time wondering if I was making the right decision just cutting him off without so much as having a conversation like a couple of adults.
“That’s not the okay I was talking about.” Reynolds threw me another not-so-gentle nudge. “What’s going on with you two?”
I glanced at him from the side. He met me with a raised brow. Fantastic. So the players were in on the secret too.