Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
The car rolled over bumpy New York streets, and I glanced at the time again, hesitating. Then I reached for my phone, and unlocked it, my dial of digits slow.
It rang only twice, and then he answered.
At the sound of his voice, I started crying.
87
Dad let me cry, not saying anything, his silence comforting across six thousand miles of space. When I finally stopped—hiccupping once, then twice—my final sniffles long and wet, he spoke.
“Tell me what happened, Ty.”
“I messed up.” I pulled into a closed gas station, putting the Range Rover in park and digging into my center console, finding an abandoned napkin and blowing my nose into it. “And I don’t know how to fix it.”
“Is it Chase?”
I stopped, surprised by the question. I shouldn’t have been. The man knew me better than anyone. “Yeah.”
“You slept with him?”
“Yeah.”
“Was he Logan’s daddy?”
Fresh tears leaked. “No,” I whispered. “That was my first … Tobey was my first. That was the truth.”
He let out a hard breath. “I’m sorry, Ty. I wish—” He sighed. “I wish I could have done a better job of protecting you.”
I looked out the window, the sky already lighter, my clock ticking. “It wasn’t you. I was stupid.”
“All teenage girls are stupid, Ty. I shouldn’t have let you marry Tobey. Even if it was the decent thing to do.”
I said nothing, staring at the skyline, a narrow glimpse of it between two buildings. There was a long stretch of silence before I spoke. “What do I do, Dad?”
“You know what to do, Ty.”
“Spikes first?” I guessed, my voice cracking.
“Spikes first.”
“You haven’t even asked if I love him.”
“Oh Ty.” He chuckled. “Why do you think I tried so hard to keep you from him? You’ve been in love with that boy since the moment he set foot in our stadium.”
I wiped under my eyes with the napkin, then balled it in my fist. “World Series is in a month.”
“I know.”
“This will be the fifth year, Dad. The fifth girl.”
“You can’t think like that, Ty. Whatever psychopath is out there, you can’t change fate to please him. And we don’t even know, for sure, what he wants. If a World Series ring would even stop this at all.”
“I know.” I heard the words, but could only think of Tiffany Wharton’s face. So pretty. So young—younger than me.
“Dad?” I said, in the moment before he hung up.
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry for not telling you.”
I could hear his smile in his words. “I knew, baby. I always knew. I lost that battle from the start.”
“Spikes first?” I asked weakly. “You sure?”
“Those men know the danger. You have to go after what you want. You’ve spent long enough making all of us happy.”
“Okay. I love you.”
“Love you too.”
I hung up the phone, taking a moment to compose myself before pulling out and heading home, my foot stronger on the gas, my hands trembling on the wheel.
I knew what I had to do. And unfortunately, Dad and Chase wouldn’t be happy about it.
88
2009 was our last World Series win. Before that, 2002. Since 2009, billions had been spent, all in hopes of one winning season and the series that haunted all of our dreams. A series that would lead to a ring. It was our obsession. We had worked so hard for this. And I’d be damned if I would be the one responsible for us losing, not with it in such clear and attainable sight.
If I told Tobey about Chase, he’d release him. There was no doubt in my mind of that. Regardless of the killer, Tobey wouldn’t walk into that stadium and watch my lover in a Yankee uniform. Chase would be gone by morning, and our World Series hopes would be gone. Our team wasn’t good enough without him. That was the bottom line.
Dad wanted me to go after what I wanted? I wanted our boys to bring home a ring. I wanted the deaths to stop. I wanted to stop lying. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with the man I loved.
I just needed to find a way to accomplish all of that.
I pulled up to our home, my stomach twisted in a hard and painful knot.
89
Tobey was asleep. I stood, shocked, in our bedroom doorway, the rising sun hidden behind our blackout shades. I had practiced a variety of defenses and excuses, fully prepared to walk in the door to a distraught husband. Yet, three or four hours after I normally got home, he was asleep, his hand stretched out on my empty side of the bed, the blankets bunched around his waist, his upper back exposed. I dropped my bag by the door and walked quietly to his bedside table, picking up his cell and unlocking it. His ringer had been off, two missed calls, two voicemails from the stadium, my text unread. I unlocked it and deleted the missed calls, the voicemails, and my text. Then I replaced it, pulling off my clothes and stepping into our bathroom, my shower quick, my sneak into bed done without waking him.