Truth was, she had neither. Just herself and the determination to forge ahead alone. Maybe Peter would always have her heart, but she could go on. Would go on. Even if there was always a part of her that was missing.
The sudden sting of tears surprised her. So did the pain in her chest that flared up at the thought of never being able to love him out loud and in the open. Because he didn’t want it, her love was going to get shoved down deep somewhere inside her where it would huddle, wasted and unused.
Maybe given enough time it would just disappear into dust. Then they would both be free. Yeah, there was always that hope.
“Ugh!” But that’s not what she wanted at all. Not really. “God he’s such a stupid man!” Her heart swelled with sudden sorrow.
All she wanted to do was love him.
And she would have, if he would’ve let her. But that damn infuriating man wanted nothing to do with it. Too frigging chicken was what he was. Scared of a little thing like love.
Commotion outside her office door turned her attention and Leslie slipped back into her heels before going to see what the fuss was all about. And yes, they were her purple suede Michael Kors. She was feeling sentimental.
Sucking in a breath to steady herself, she stepped out into the hall and quickly made her way to the main floor. She was shocked when she got there and saw a dozen Rush players huddled around the bar talking over each other, the expressions on their faces ranging from disbelief to confusion. Her instincts went on high alert.
The season was over. Why were they all here?
“Hey, y’all,” she said casually as she stepped behind the bar. The new bartender, a woman in her forties named Marie, was busy mixing a cocktail. She looked up from the tumbler and gave Leslie a friendly smile.
She’d just smiled back when Drake Paulson elbowed his way up to the bar. His afro was back to its normal color. And she had to laugh because even though it was thirty degrees outside he was wearing a bright red Hawaiian shirt opened almost halfway. It was enough to see just how much chest hair the giant man really had. Eeesh.
“Did you hear the news, sweet thing?” the gruff ballplayer asked and then popped a handful of peanuts into his mouth. His brown eyes were watching her expectantly.
Leslie shook her head and reached for a bottle of tequila when a customer hollered an order. Mixing drinks kept her hands busy and helped distract her from the dull ache that had taken up residence around her heart. She wondered if it was permanent.
Probably.
“I’ve been in the back, big guy, and haven’t heard a thing. What’s the breaking news?” It must be pretty good if it had a bunch of pro ballplayers in a tizzy.
More than a dozen of them were deep in conversation, their voices blending into a constant drone of white noise under the heavy thump of bass coming through the sound system.
Carl Brexler raked a hand through his hair and she just made out, “Huge-ass shocker.”
What was a huge-ass shocker?
Glancing up from the margarita she was blending, she hollered over the grating sound of the blender chopping ice. “I’m waiting, Drake. What’s up?”
He set his beer down and opened his mouth to speak. Then he closed it again on a grunt. “What the—?” He spun around, ready for a fight. “Who was dumb enough to sock me in the back?”
Her brother stood behind Drake, grinning evilly. “What are you whining about, Paulson?”
“Hey!” Leslie rapped her knuckles sharply on the bar top. “Focus, Paulson.”
He looked at her with big sad eyes. “Aww, but—”
“Get revenge on Mark later. You were about to tell me what all the hoopla is about.” She waved her hand at the group of animated ballplayers. Then she slid the marg down the counter to the waiting customer with a smile. “There you go, darlin’. Enjoy.”
Drake reluctantly turned his back on her brother, who shot her a grateful look. “You ain’t off the hook, 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.”
What?!
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.”