Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 85838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Yup, he looks like Zane.
Soon, I can meet them, introduce myself properly, get to know the people who matter most to Zane. Maybe in a week when I go to San Francisco.
A pang tugs on my heart. I wish I could do it now, tonight, or even tomorrow.
But I’ll be patient. Handle the next steps in the right order.
Tomorrow is simply too soon. Vance has been busy with his family all day. This is not the time to bother him with a serious conversation about ethics and choices.
But the email is scheduled to land in his inbox first thing tomorrow.
Resolute to handle all these next steps properly, I take my seat. The players are stretching. The pre-game festivities will begin soon—the lineup announcement, the first pitch thrown by rock star Stone Zenith, who’ll sing the national anthem.
As I’m soaking in the early evening sun, a familiar figure stops at my row, gesturing to the seat next to me. “Is this seat taken?”
“Now it is,” I say, patting it for her.
Adriana flashes me a conspiratorial grin, then slaps my arm as she slides in by my side. She peers around and when the coast is clear, she whispers, “Spill. What the hell is going on and what does it mean?”
I trust her completely, and I’m a little excited to tell someone. Or maybe a lot. “I’m with—”
I’ve spoken too soon. The smiling face of Vance’s seven-year-old daughter pops up right next to me at the end of the aisle. Then his eight-year-old son. Next his wife, and the man himself. Gossip ceases immediately as we say hello to the boss and his family.
“I don’t know how anyone has the energy to go to a game after making Daddy ride all the rides at Universal today,” Vance says good-naturedly, scooping up his daughter and carrying her into the row.
His wife flashes a pink lip-glossed grin my way. “Good to see you again, Maddox. And Adriana. You two are doing so great. I hear all the time about what you’ve done for the agency.” Then she leans in closer, sets a hand on her chest. “And thank you. He was working so hard before. You’ve helped so much.”
Privately, I wince. I won’t be so helpful tomorrow. But outwardly, I smile.
Once everyone’s settled in, the boss turns to the two of us, a tired but upbeat look on his face. “How did the party go? Did everyone have a good time?”
“The best,” I say.
“Daddy, I’m hungry,” his son says, tugging on Vance’s arm.
When Vance looks away to tend to his kid, Adriana shoots me a bug-eyed look, then mouths the best?
I lower my volume to a whisper. “The absolute best,” I say, a latent tingle racing down my back as filthy and beautiful memories of last night snap before my eyes.
Adriana squeezes my arm and lets out a silent squeal. She’s not a squealer, silent or otherwise. But once the announcer warbles the starting lineup, she bumps shoulders with me and cups my ear. “But what the hell are you going to do? This is big.”
I’m less nervous about what’s next than I thought I’d be. I’m ready, so damn ready. “I’ve got a plan,” I say.
Tomorrow, I’ll tell Vance everything.
For now, it’s time to play ball.
In his first at-bat, Zane knocks a sharp single to center, rolls up to first base, and smacks palms with the other team’s first baseman. They laugh and chitchat.
It’s so very Zane.
The next batter smacks a scorching line drive that flies past the shortstop. My guy rounds second base and races to third. I cheer loudly from the depths of my soul. Zane Archer is on fire.
On a pop fly, he scores, high-fiving his teammates for the day.
The crowds are jazzed. Fans love a high-scoring All-Star Game and so far, this one is like a showcase for the big bats.
In the top of the second, the first batter hits a double deep into right field and flies past Zane on the way to second.
The packed house of forty thousand roars. A hitter’s game is coming, indeed, especially when a rising star rookie from the Seattle Storm Chasers strolls to the plate. It’s rare for rookies to appear in the All-Star Game. But Sutton Thomas has banged out a magic season so far, outpacing most of the league in RBIs and on-base percentage. The kid never stops trying.
As he adjusts his glove at the plate, Vance says, “’Scuse us.” He squeezes past me, his son’s hand in his. “Sorry. Gotta hit the boys’ room,” he says, then hightails it up the steps with the kiddo.
I return my focus to the field. When the pitcher serves up a curve, Sutton swivels his hips, and smacks the ball. At first, the hit looks like a hard grounder, but it’s a chopper. Tap, tap, tap. The second baseman rushes toward it and scoops it up, but throws wide to first.