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“And your dad? Why didn’t you tell me he reached out to you?” Just like he tried making amends with Willa after she had Clem. Too little, too late, Mr. Hawthorne.
“If you remember correctly, we weren’t speaking at the time.”
He’s so damn frustrating sometimes. “Nooo, but we’re speaking now. You need to let me in. You can’t run away from that part of your life, Dev.”
“Like hell, I can’t.” His indifference is painful. I’d prefer anger to this man sitting before me. “What else are you worried about, Spitfire?”
We have enough uncertainties in our lives without adding his father and Tara Green to the mix. So I’ll drop the conversation for now, but I’m going to call Willa to see what she knows later.
Fidgeting with my charm bracelet, I go all in. “What about your social life? I saw what it was like when you were with Palmer. All the outings with the guys, the models and photo ops. The rumors that circulate in tabloids. I don’t want to be the brunt of jokes or the receiving end of pitying whispers.”
“Palmer was different. She wasn’t concerned about all that, probably because she wasn’t actually in love with me, so we didn’t set those limits. There are plenty of married ball players with families. You saw that yesterday. If you don’t want me to go out without you, I won’t. I don’twantto go anywhere without you. And when I do, you have to know I’d be one-hundred percent faithful. No matter what some gossip magazine reports.”
“I know you would. I know. I’m not trying to put a possessive leash on you. But my trusting you doesn’t mean I’m comfortable with you surrounded by beautiful women, everyone cloying for your attention, magazines butting into our personal life. I’m sorry. Maybe that makes me selfish. I want you to live your dream and keep you to myself at the same time.”
He leans forward, arms braced on his knees. “I can’t change my career, Nova. I can’t control what other people do or think, or report. But we can control our boundaries. I want you to be happy. I want there to be trust and open communication. I want whatever you want. What is it you want? Not just now, but long term. Do you want to continue working? Do you want to stay home and raise our kids? Do you want to travel with the team? What, Nova?” He rubs at a spot of torn skin on his thumb. “We can’t conquer this fear of being an athlete’s wife if I don’t know how to help you.”
“I want a lot of things. I want to work, but I want to raise our kids, too. I’d love to travel with the team. I want it all, but there are limitations. And—” My voice shakes. “I want a man who will unburden himself to me.”
My final request steals his fire, sending him sinking into the couch cushions like a deflating party balloon. He rubs the back of his neck. “So, we tackle things one at a time. Until we have kids, you could travel with me. I want you with me. I want nothing more than to have you by my side. It can be done. Some wives travel all season, while others pick one road trip a month. You could talk to TSG. They might be understanding, and let you work remotely, considering they work with pro athletes daily. We can find solutions.”
Pushing to his feet, Devin crosses the room. “I don’t keep secrets from you, Nova.” He stops when we’re toe-to-toe and lifts his hand, tracing over the gold chain lying on my collarbone with the pad of his finger. “I don’t knowhowto unburden myself of something I have no real sense of. I promise I will if I ever figure it out.”
Maybe I ask too much of him when it comes to his trauma. My heart hurts for him, but there are times when I wonder if he’s burdened by his past as much as I am. I have nightmares on his behalf. I envision the sweet little boy from the photos he and Willa have shared, and I want to avenge that child’s past.
Chewing on my lower lip, I nod.
“Is that everything?”
Everythingis a fear lying at the edge of my mind. Just out of reach for me to grasp and articulate. The more I consider us, the more I think everythingmay be my shortcomings rather than anything to do with Devin.
“I didn’t expect to fall in love with a pro athlete.”
His finger skates up my neck until he cups my jaw, the heat from earlier returning to his eyes. “And I didn’t plan on falling in love with my road trip buddy, yet I can’t imagine a life that doesn’t include you. So tell me what we have to do to make this work.”
fifty-one | devin
Makingthings work consists of a lot of removing clothes. For the last three days, we’ve woken up and gone our separate ways—Nova to work, me to batting practice, then Freddie’s, where we hit the weights—only to reconnect in the most carnal of ways when she walks through her front door around six p.m. Dinner in bed, then we’re back at it. I know every inch of Nova’s body by memory. Every ticklish spot, every place that makes her shiver. Or moan. And she owns me. A wink, a smile, a slant of her head, and I’m dragging her to the bedroom.
On my way to Nova’s after working out with Freddie, an incoming call invades my SUV’s cabin, and I hit the answer button on my steering wheel without thought.
“Hey, baby.”
Silence.“I’m sorry, Devin Hawthorne?”
“No, I’m sorry, I was expecting someone.” I clear my throat. “This is Devin.”
“Devin, this is Collin Panovitch with Insider Sports.” My grip tightens on the steering wheel. I should have changed my cell number over the summer. I kept it on the off chance Nova wanted to talk. “I’m researching a story about Tara Green and would like to—”
Horns blare when I hit my brakes in the middle of Biscayne Boulevard. Swerving right and hopping the curb, I hit my hazards and force my brain to work. “Excuse me?”
“Tara Green.” Three syllables, spoken clearly. “Your history with Mrs. Green was brought to my attention and—”
My thumb manages to end the call while I’m shoving my car door open, nearly losing my head as a city bus whizzes by and tossing up my sports drink on the concrete below.
“Fu—” The blare of horns and a well-timed string of curses from a pickup truck has me jerking back into the safety of my vehicle. I use the hem of my shirt as a napkin and wipe my mouth.
My cell rings again. This time I notice the number is unlisted and hit decline. A ringing in my ears has me closing my eyes and resting my forehead against the wheel.A reporter calling about Tara.My empty stomach rolls. When I catch a pedestrian lingering at the passenger side window, I sit up, flip my turn signal and check my mirrors, looking for a break in traffic. I need to get home. To Nova’s. I need…
