Текст книги "The Heat of the Moment"

Title Page

Copyright

Author's Note

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

By Katie Rose

About the Author

The Editor’s Corner

Excerpt from The Heat Is On

Dear Reader,

Thank you for purchasing The Boys of Summer. The Sonics are a fictional baseball team and may not be an exact representation of Major League Baseball. Although the series will follow the guidelines closely, the MLB organization’s rules and regulations change often and may not be replicated in these books.

I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I enjoyed writing them.

Katie Rose

Prologue

“Gavin, you see those tweets about the game last night?” Arnie Lutz, outfielder for the Dodgers, approached the first baseman and held up his iPhone. “They caught that line drive you made in the ninth on video.”

“Screw that,” the catcher, Ron Sproules, said, throwing his glove onto the locker room bench. “I hear the chicks are starting a new fan club. Couple of us are the hottest guys in baseball!”

“No shit!” Arnie brought up his Twitter feed.

Gavin King came to stand behind Arnie as the outfielder scrolled through the tweets, pausing only when a female fan expressed her appreciation for his good looks, hot bat, or hard-muscled body.

“Hey, Gav, there is something about you!” He held up the phone so they could both look.

Gavin’s jaw dropped in shock as together they read the tweet:

Dodgers trade star hitter Gavin King to the New Jersey Sonics.

Arnie glanced at Gavin before immediately pocketing the phone. “That doesn’t mean anything,” he said quickly. “You know how it is on Twitter. Most of it’s BS.”

He departed abruptly. Puzzled, Gavin saw the catcher whisper something to the outfielder, and they both looked his way. Before he could question them, Troy Hutchinson, the general manager, walked into the clubhouse.

“Gavin.” He gestured to their first baseman. “Got a second? We need to talk in my office.”

Gavin followed the man, totally confused. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Arnie was studying his shoes, and the other players seemed to avoid eye contact as if he had suddenly acquired a contagious disease.

He and the general manager walked down the hallway into the executive suite. The Dodgers were known as a first-class ball club, and it showed from the polished hardwood floors, the gleaming offices, the richly appointed rooms with mahogany desks and framed artwork. Among the pictures adorning the wall were some of the all-time great players, Al López, Arky Vaughan, Babe Herman…

Gavin’s photo was positioned right in the middle. Although he had just been brought up from the minors the year before, the management had made it clear they felt he was destined for greatness.

Troy lifted a coffeepot and turned toward him with raised brows. When Gavin shook his head, he poured himself a cup.

“The management team has decided to make some changes,” he said as if discussing the weather, not the rest of his life. “I know we originally discussed a no-trade clause with your agent last year, but things are different now. We brought up a few promising rookies, our outfielder has developed into a better hitter than we anticipated, and we believe we have several options for first base. We decided to send you to New Jersey, effective immediately.”

Stunned, Gavin stared at the coffee mug in disbelief before shifting his eyes back to the man before him. His ears were ringing, and he felt light-headed, as if he might pass out. His stomach churning, he realized what this meant.

He’d been traded.

When he could speak, he looked the general manager in the eye. “I don’t understand. Why?”

Troy put the cup down and came to sit on the edge of the desk, and then indicated the upholstered leather chair before him. When Gavin sank into the luxurious butter-soft seat, Troy picked up a CD and tapped it against his fingers.

“We got the results back on your MRI.” His voice was lower, sympathetic but firm. “We don’t like it. Now I know,” he said when Gavin attempted to protest, “a lot of players tear a meniscus and recover completely. But it’s not a risk we are willing to take.”

“But the doctor said I’ll be fine—” This wasn’t just a bad dream. It was more like a nightmare.

“I’m sure you will be,” Troy said smoothly. “This is purely a business decision. You see, we can either invest in you, and take our chances, or we can put that money into half a dozen young prospects, figuring one of them will pan out. The organization feels that’s a better way to go.”

“But New Jersey, for God’s sake!” He got to his feet, anger beginning to replace confusion. He couldn’t help but glance once more at his picture on the wall, framed in California sunshine.

“We spoke to your agent a few minutes ago. Why don’t you give him a call, take your time to pack. We’ll miss you, Gavin, but it’s all part of the game. You know that.”

The first baseman rose from the chair and stormed out of the room. Technically, he had just been fired, dumped from a contending team to a second-rate ball club. Everything he’d hoped for, all of his dreams, now seemed to be circling the drain.

And he saw it first on Twitter.

Chapter 1

The chatter in the Sonics locker room intensified as the opening-day excitement seemed to cast a spell over the place. Familiar faces appeared at the door along with an influx of new ones, rookies hoping for a permanent role in the rotation and prospects acquired in recent trades. There was much good-natured jostling and ribbing as the baseball team settled in for the season.

“What was with that bonehead play last week against Detroit?” Jimmy Reilly said as he put away a stack of towels. “Good thing it was just spring training.”

“Yeah, that was right up there with those girl balls you were pitching.” Brian McCauley grinned.

“You see the papers?” Jimmy asked, his brow lifting. “They were praising my fastball. The Trenton Times can’t say enough nice things about us. Imagine that, after last year when they were calling us the Garden State Goons!”

“You can thank his girlfriend, Nikki Case, for that,” Chase Westbrook, the starting pitcher, said, pointing to shortstop Jake Baldwin. “Best damn PR rep in the business.”

“You’re not going to get an argument out of me,” Jake said as he kicked his locker door closed. “She cleaned up our image, got rid of the haircuts, the tats, the bar fights. Have to admit, her plan worked. I hate it when she’s right.”

Chase laughed just as Pete Johnston, the Sonics’ manager, walked in with a new player. By the deferential way he was being treated, it was clear the new guy was someone important. The noise in the locker room subsided as recognition came quickly, and more than one mouth dropped as they identified the California slugger.

“Hey, boys,” Pete said in his folksy way, chomping on a wad of bubblegum. “We got ourselves a new first baseman. I know you’ll all welcome Gavin King to the Sonics.”

Their new teammate stood beside Pete like exhibit A. At six foot five, with black hair, chin scruff, and a build that went with his size, he had an undeniable presence. Even more irritating, he was good-looking, with a pair of intense dark eyes, a firm chin, and a sensual mouth. He’d been considered a star player, and rumor had it that among his other attributes, he was considered irresistible to the female fans.

But worst of all, every man who had been with the team the previous summer could only remember that devastating game when Antonio Chavez, the Sonics reliever, lobbed a curveball right over the middle of the plate and Gavin tattooed it, sending it four hundred feet over the bullpen wall to lose the game.

It still stung.

“Now we all know it was Gavin’s grand slam that kept us out of the series last year,” Pete continued, as if reading their minds. “That’s all the more reason we want him on our team. We need to fill Ryan’s cleanup spot, and he is just the guy Jeffrey thinks will do that.”

Several of the men groaned, but they were not about to challenge the manager, or Jeffrey Caine, the general manager. Yet none of them were happy to see their adversary being led to the nicest locker in the room. Pete opened the door, tossed out Jake’s belongings, and displayed the generous storage inside, a pile of fluffy towels, and a pair of shower shoes.

“Chase, why don’t you show him around, you know, make him feel at home? And Brian, once Gavin’s ready to play, I’m going to change the lineup, move you down and put Gavin behind Jake in the rotation. Any questions?”

Crickets.

“Good. Meet you all outside in fifteen for batting practice and drills. We want to keep up all the good work we started last year. Gavin, I’ll let them fill you in.”

Chase did an eye roll, but otherwise complied. As the pitcher led him out of the room, they noticed that the new player walked with a limp.

“Great,” Brian said in disgust once he was out of earshot. “On top of everything else, he’s a gimp.”

–

When he returned with Chase after a tour that took all of fifteen minutes, Gavin turned innocently to Jake. “So where is the concierge?”

“The what?”

“The concierge. You know, the person that orders stuff for us. I was thinking to get a salad for lunch.”

Jake’s eyes met Cody’s, and he fought the humor that threatened to burst out of control.

“We don’t exactly have a concierge,” he said seriously. “But we do have a snack stand. I’m sure if you asked real nice, they could find something for you.”

A couple of the men broke into laughter. “I guess this will take some getting used to,” Gavin said, glancing outside. Even though it was April, there was a coating of frost on the ground. He visibly shuddered. “This sure isn’t California.”

“You can say that again.” Cody grinned. “Welcome to Joisey.”

–

“Okay, let’s try the crunches with your feet a little higher on the bench. If that goes well, we can add it to your routine.”

Jessica Hart bent over to arrange the baseball player’s sneakers in the proper position on the bench, completely missing the once-over he gave her. Clad in sweats and a tank top, her copper-colored hair in braids and a Sonics cap on her head in an effort to restrain a multitude of curls, she was the kind of woman who wouldn’t appreciate a lascivious glance.

But when she rose, Roger Adams couldn’t help but openly admire her toned athletic body, biceps that rivaled those of some of the players, and the sheer strength of her physique as she tossed one leg over his trunk and positioned his shoulders in a perfect square. Her face was intriguing, with a turned-up nose and a sprinkle of freckles, her green eyes intense, and somehow her workout clothes only enhanced a feminine beauty that seemed innate.

“Christ,” Roger moaned even as he lifted his back off the floor. “I’m sick of working out. Besides, I have a groin injury. What the hell do crunches have to do with that?”

“Everything,” Jessica said firmly. “These exercises work your core. If your body is balanced, injuries are a lot less likely. Besides,” she added, giving him a thoughtful look, “Matt Carpenter never complained about a few sit-ups. But then again, he was in much better shape.”

That did it. Roger threw himself into the workout, determined to show her and Matt Carpenter that no one bested him. Squatting beside him to count, she hid a grin.

As the new sports therapist for the New Jersey Sonics, Jessica knew more than she ever wanted to about motivating athletes. She had grown up in a house full of brothers, all of whom went on to play pro sports. So she understood how they thought, what made them tick. She also knew that even though they were bigger and stronger than she was, they weren’t a damn sight better.

When she was in high school, her physical education teacher suggested she take up cheerleading, and she had laughed out loud at the idea. The thought of standing on the sidelines with a couple of pom-poms, a ponytail, and a push-up bra was totally ridiculous to her. Instead, she wanted to compete, to be treated as an equal. Unfortunately she discovered that for a female, the world hadn’t gotten there quite yet.

So she became a sports therapist, utilizing her skills and knowledge of the male athletic psyche to become a successful trainer. After a few temporary positions, she got offered a job in New Jersey thanks to her brother Rory, and established her reputation among the jocks.

The position was just to her liking: the Sonics were a fairly new team, filled with reckless young rookies looking to make it to the big time, players who would certainly get hurt and need her help.

She was on board.

“That’s fifty,” Roger said, collapsing on the mat, puffing from the exertion.

“It was forty-eight. But I guess if that’s all you’ve got in you…” She shrugged indifferently.

He completed the last of the set and went on to add five more, hoping to impress her. But she was already preoccupied with the weights on the wall, carefully selecting a pair of dumbbells for his next torture.

“Give me thirty reps, the first ten slow, then pick up the pace. We need to get these arms in shape.” She indicated his biceps. “No wonder you’ve hit zero for twenty.”

His eyes blazed, but as she’d predicted, he worked even harder. By the time they were done, she almost felt sorry for him. Roger was dripping in sweat, red from exertion, and trying to hide his puffing.

“Okay, you’re done for the day. Good work.”

He beamed like a three-year-old who had been praised for putting away his blocks. Rising, he grabbed a towel and proceeded to blot some of the sweat that now gleamed from his torso. Tossing it aside, he approached her with a speculative look in his eyes.

“You know, we work together every day and yet we don’t hang out. Why don’t we grab a few beers, get to know each other?” He gave her his most charming grin and reached up to finger a lock of hair that had escaped from her cap.

Jessica burst into laughter. “That’s very flattering, but no thanks.”

“Why not?” He seemed genuinely puzzled. “Some guy screw you over?”

She froze for a second before putting the mat away, and then she turned to look him in the eye. “Not that it’s any of your business, but with the exception of my brothers, I don’t care for professional athletes.”

“Why?” Roger asked, bewildered.

“Because you all have egos the size of the state of Texas, and you want to screw everything that moves. You don’t care about anything but the game and yourself. What about all that would be appealing to me?”

“Come on, we’re not that bad,” he said with a smirk and tried to pull her into his embrace.

She laughed and threw a fresh towel at him, chuckling when it smacked his head. “You are exactly that bad. Hit the shower. Same time tomorrow. Got it?”

Roger grinned. “Yeah. I get it.”

She hoped for his sake he did.

–

Pete walked into the PT room a moment later, popping his gum with a grin.

“I want you to meet our new player, Gavin King. Gavin, this is Jessica Hart. She is the best sports therapist in the business, and a hell of a trainer. Jess, Gavin just joined the team, but he’s on the DL.”

Jessica turned to the coach, saw the ballplayer beside him, and her heart stopped.

He was exactly her type. Or her former type. As she took in his magnificent physique, black eyes, and Colgate smile, she felt an instant attraction.

Gavin was the kind of guy she used to dream about, drool over, and date. She’d met enough of them growing up, friends of her brothers who started out as decent guys but got caught up in the hype and eventually stomped all over some poor girl silly enough to give up her heart. Unfortunately, she’d had to walk that path herself. She’d made the fatal mistake of falling for an outfielder who played for Cleveland, and eventually played her. Zach had the same dark hair, heart-stopping smile, and killer body.

He’d taught her what the word devastation meant.

“Good to meet you.” She extended her hand, reminding herself to think of him in clinical terms: he was a pro baseball player, a young athlete, and he was hurt. “So what seems to be the problem?”

“I had surgery for a meniscus tear,” he said, lifting his left pant leg and indicating a bandage. “It’s pretty much healed, but the surgeon wants me in physical therapy for a few months to build back up. I think they sent my test results, the MRI, and a script.”

She nodded, squatting before him and removing the bandage to examine the pink half-inch line on his knee. “I’ll take a look at the films. Red zone?” she asked, referring to the location of his tear.

“Yeah, I think so. But they said it spread into the white zone.”

Her eyes shot to Pete’s, and he gave a slight negative shake of his head. This news wasn’t good, and neither one of them wanted to share their misgivings. A tear that went into the white zone could mean big trouble for a ballplayer, or it could heal well and the limb would fully recover. It would take weeks before they’d know, and she understood now how the Sonics had acquired this magnificent specimen of a man:

His previous team didn’t want the risk.

So New Jersey had rolled the dice, gambling on his recovery. She could only hope they’d beat the odds.

“Okay, let’s get started. Have you done any therapeutic exercise up until now?”

“Yes, for a couple of weeks,” he said, flexing the knee to demonstrate. “They had me doing leg raises until they took the brace off.”

“That makes sense. We won’t do much today; we’ll do an evaluation, take a look at your records, and then we will put together a program.”

“How long?”

Her eyes met his and she saw the pain and frustration there. No player ever wanted to be on the disabled list, especially for any period of time. She didn’t want to raise false hopes, but she also didn’t want to discourage him. She took a deep breath, carefully choosing her words.

“It’s different with everyone. Some people recover much more quickly than others. A lot depends on how well you heal, how much you can tolerate, and if you’re willing to do the exercises at home. That will give us the quickest turnaround.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” he said fervently. “I just want to get back in the game.”

Jessica nodded as she wrapped the limb with the heating pad. No way in hell would she tell him the truth:

He might never be back.

Chapter 2

It was a step down.

Gavin couldn’t help the disappointment that flooded through him as he returned to the locker room after his first PT session.

Jessica had been great, and she obviously knew her stuff. But the workout room was merely adequate, the equipment functional. It wasn’t what he was used to, though it would be enough to assist in his recovery.

Glancing around him, he noticed the bald spots in the grass, the chipped paint on the rails, the cheap advertisements for local businesses. He wasn’t a snob by any means, but he’d gotten used to playing for a marquee team that was well funded and could afford a ballpark that looked like a cathedral with padded seats, climate-controlled corporate suites touting names like Microsoft, Cisco, W. B. Mason…The Fortune 50 insisted on crystal and white linen, catering and open bars to entertain. Their banners decorated the brick wall surrounding the baseball diamond, and they filled their boxes with prospective clients during the businessman’s specials.

The Dodgers’ clubhouse had benefited from an influx of money, from the framed art in the hallways to the heated bathrooms that boasted good tile floors and hand towels. The Stadium Club was a members-only restaurant and bar where fans could order everything from a salad to a perfectly cooked steak accompanied by Napa Valley wines.

And it wasn’t that the New Jersey ballpark was a disaster. But it had the aura of a blue-collar town, where hardworking people brought their families for a game, watched every play like hawks, and cheered with the passion of the Northeast. While the locker room was functional, the towels were flimsy, the floors scuffed from cleats, the benches carved with the initials of players who eventually made their way to a better place.

A few winter pansies struggled to survive outside the bullpen, yet he could see dozens of fans in attendance, bundled up against the cold. They drank beer by the gallon, ignoring the coffee, and chomped on hot dogs and peanuts while cheering their team.

Gavin missed the mild California weather, the easier vibe, the sense that the game was as much about entertainment as winning. There was no picture of him gracing any wall here, no expectation of him as a star, no flood of reporters who would listen breathlessly to his every utterance.

And all it had taken was a little tear in his cartilage.

As he gazed outside at the ballpark, he thought back to that fateful day when he had gotten hurt. He’d hit a breaking ball that didn’t break and nailed it, smoking it into the right-field corner. As he rounded the base, he saw the outfielder scrambling to contain it, so he picked up the pace and slid into second. At the last moment, just as he reached the bag, he heard a pop and felt a searing tear.

He’d asked himself a million times since then what would have happened if he’d stayed at first, or if he’d taken that pitch. Would he still be healthy?

Frowning, he tried to shake off the thoughts, but then remembered the time his father had taken him to a game when he was a kid. There was a man sitting in a wheelchair behind home plate, watching the play intently, taking notes and writing down stats. When he questioned his father, Gavin learned that the spectator had once been a ballplayer who had been paralyzed from an injury.

That would not happen to me, he swore to himself. Yet the memory left him shaken.

At least he still had his girlfriend. He opened his phone and focused on her picture.

Kristin Haier was a swimsuit model he’d met at a party last summer, and was blond, tall, and gorgeous, with breasts that didn’t need any enhancement. She was the kind of woman any guy would be proud to have on his arm. And he had to admit he’d enjoyed that, the envious looks from other men when he walked into a room accompanied by her.

Since she was a model, she spent quite a bit of time in New York, which was a short distance from Trenton. It would be a long-distance relationship, but it would work.

It had to.

Jake reentered the room, and Gavin was surprised when the shortstop went out of his way to approach him.

“How’s your first day?” When Gavin shrugged, Jake nodded. “This must be a big change for you, coming from the Dodgers. But we made it to the series year before last, and we’ll get there again, especially with you on our team.”

“Thanks.” He appreciated the other man’s encouragement. He reached for his bag and was stunned when a thousand peanuts poured out onto the floor, rolling everywhere. They were beneath the benches, in front of his shoes, while a generous portion still remained in the bag along with his clothes.

“What the—”

“Welcome to the Sonics,” Jake said, as suspicious laughter broke out from behind the metal walls around him. “Might as well get used to this. This team’s a little nuts.”

Gavin stared at the peanuts still rolling across the floor.

–

“How did he do today?” the manager asked, indicating the new player. They were seated at the bar, while the Sonics had gathered around a table with a pitcher of beer.

“He’s very motivated,” Jessica replied, munching on a handful of peanuts. For some reason, the bar seemed to have plenty of them today. “I think he’ll do fine once he settles in.” Her eyes shifted to the new guy and from beneath the brim of her baseball cap, she studied him thoughtfully.

He was still brooding. But that wasn’t a big surprise. New Jersey wasn’t sunny California, and the Sonics were not in the same league as the Dodgers. The good news was they were not a team of highly paid athletes who were totally self-focused. Instead, they were hardworking, hard drinking, and boisterous, known for their pranks as much as their work ethic. If nothing else, she realized, Jake and the boys would get him out of his own head.

Whether he liked it or not.

“That’s good.” Pete nodded, gesturing to the bartender to refill the pitcher of beer. “We have high hopes for him. Before he got hurt, he had one of the hottest bats in baseball. Like to see him get that back.”

“So why would the Sonics management trade for a guy on the disabled list?”

Pete shrugged, taking a sip of his beer. “I know it seems odd, but Jeffrey believes in him. He’s young, so his chances of recovering are good. We need a heavy hitter to replace Ryan, and the management team likes what this kid could do. They saw a chance to reel in a talented player for peanuts.” He indicated the shells scattered on the table. “And it doesn’t hurt that the Dodgers are paying a hefty chunk of his contract.”

“Geez,” Jessica exhaled. “That’s cold.”

“That’s baseball.” Pete shrugged, cracking open a peanut. “Now we just need him to do his part.”

“He’s got the right mindset. He seems ready to work, wants to get back into the game.” Her eyes traveled the length of Gavin’s hard-muscled body approvingly. “We took it easy today to see how he moves. He did all of the recommended exercises, the ice and heat. We’ll know in a few weeks how quickly he will recover.” She watched his eyes stare out onto the snow-dusted field. “I’ll bet he’s a little homesick, though.”

Brian turned the jukebox on and as he returned to the group, the air was filled with the Mamas and the Papas singing “California Dreamin’.”

When Gavin glanced up, the Sonics burst out laughing.

Pete looked at Jessica with a grin. “These boys will take care of that. It’s hard to be depressed around the Sonics.”

–

“Man, she is hot,” Roger said when Jessica got up with Pete. “All that red hair, and a temper to match.”

Gavin’s eyes followed her as she left the bar. The physical therapist was very different from the women he’d known. She had a stride like a racehorse, and a frankness about her that was refreshing.

He’d been impressed by her knowledge and her quick assessment of his situation. After studying his films and the report, she’d asked him a succession of pointed questions, and was more thorough in her examination than most of the doctors he’d seen. If he’d had any doubts about her ability, they vanished within minutes of seeing her in action.

She wasn’t the kind of woman he would consider a classic beauty. But as she stepped outside and removed her baseball cap, shaking out her hair, his mouth dropped. It fell far below her shoulders in a torrent of curls that resembled a flickering flame.

It was a stunning surprise. He couldn’t stop looking at her as she grinned, zipped her jacket, and then smacked Pete for some offhand comment. He’d thought she was attractive before, but that hair was a game changer.

“Forget it, pal,” Roger said, guessing his thoughts. “You won’t get anywhere with her. I know; I’ve tried. She should be called Jessica Heartless.”

Gavin drained his beer, wondering if that was the truth. “Not interested,” he replied. “I have a girlfriend.” He pictured the lovely Kristin, a Heidi Klum type with her movie-star looks, blond hair, and curves. Jessica was more like a younger Nicole Kidman.

Then he reminded himself he had no business thinking of Jessica Hart in any way except as his physical therapist.

No matter how gorgeous her hair.

–

He felt incredibly alone as he drove to his newly acquired townhouse in the upscale town of Princeton. Here at least was more of the lifestyle he was accustomed to, with nice restaurants, good bars, and moneyed people. Yet the college town looked very different from the tony development in Los Angeles where everything was relatively new, modern, and soulless.

In Princeton, there was a sense of time, with trees reaching across the road like embracing lovers, dun-colored brick houses covered with ivy, and streets dating back to the 1700s. There was a charm about the shops still adorned with wooden shutters, the cobbled streets, the lanes intersecting the roads. And the college itself with its Gothic buildings, rain-washed walls, and stone fences looked like it had been dropped out of a fairy tale into this graceful setting.

Spring tried to burst forth, but the forsythia blooms sparkled with snow, and the buds on the trees remained tightly closed. When he got out of the car, the wind took his breath away and the air felt like knives in his lungs. Rubbing his hands together, he jogged up the stairs, eager to get inside and warm.

His knee ached, and not in a good way. As he sat down on the rented couch, he massaged the limb, fighting the fear that threatened to consume him. It was from the exercise, he reminded himself; Jessica had said to expect that. She’d been gentle with him, just had him do a few minor moves while she gauged his flexibility. She’d warned him he might be sore later, and if that happened to take an anti-inflammatory and apply ice.