Page 46 of Naked

Don’t pass out

Hunter

There was a gaping hole in my chest where my heart and soul used to be. As I stood on the tarmac beside the iON Industries jet, Tillie’s hand in mine, I knew when she stepped away she was taking both with her. Forever. They weren’t mine anymore.

Elizabeth smiled warmly at us. “I see things went well since we last met.”

I shook her slender hand and kissed her cheek. “I can’t complain.”

“We’ll keep her busy until your season is over.” The words Adam said were easy enough, but the tone was full of warning.You hurt her, I kill you.

“My hands will be full as well. We’ve got another World Series to get to.”

“Do you think you have a shot?” Elizabeth asked.

I shrugged. “There are a lot of good teams this year. We’re transitioning. Hard to say for sure.”

“Good luck.” Adam clapped me on the back, then he and his wife ascended into the plane, leaving us alone to say our last goodbyes.

“Why does this feel final?” she whispered.

“Because we don’t have enough time together for our bodies to understand this is just temporary. Our biology is fighting us.”

She nodded, staring at my chest. “That makes sense. I’ll call you as soon as we land.”

I pressed her hand into my chest over my heart, willing this aching feeling of emptiness to stop. “I’m sleeping with my phone tonight so I don’t miss it.” This was going to be our life for the next few weeks, and then for months every year. I needed to get used to it.

“I’ll watch your game even if I’m half asleep. I’ll go to bed with you on in the background every night.” Then her hands were on my face, pulling me down for a kiss that somehow made some of the ache fade into the background.

One last time I felt her body meld against mine. “See you soon, beautiful.”

“See you soon.”

I watched her disappear into the plane, and then I watched it taxi away. I stood there until the jet was merely a dot in the sky. “Two months…”

* * *

Six weeks later…

It wasn’t our year.We made it to the division playoffs but then got beat by fucking Boston. Stupid fucking Boston. They were an inevitable thorn in our sides. But after the game I wished them good luck, grabbed my bags, headed to the airport. I met up with Tilley in Brackley after she returned from the race in Japan. For days I waited on her hand and foot while she recovered from jet lag, then followed her to Mexico, and now to Austin.

It was incredible to get such an intimate look at another sport. It was so completely different I second guessed my life choices. Don’t get me wrong, baseball is hard coded to my DNA. It’s in my blood. I’ve lived it all my life and until now couldn’t imagine anything else.

But now I could at least imagine.

Baseball was a rough sport. A few guys made insane money. A handful more made great money. But most guys barely made enough to get by. Especially the guys who played in the minors. They made less than minimum wage and played for love of the sport and the outside hope they’d make it to the big leagues, even if for just a single game.

I was constantly grateful I played for the Mantas. I got a good deal with my signing bonus and had invested it well, tiding me over to arbitration—the first time I’ll have the opportunity to negotiate my salary.

When you played in the majors there was equipment and technology. But in the minors? You were on your own. One of my teammates had his soles tied to his shoes.

But here? There was money freaking everywhere. Even the team with the smallest budget had garages that looked like the space station.

“It’s not that different,” Kingston Reynolds, one of Vector Racing’s drivers, muttered. “I was almost out of a job before Vector. There are twenty-two seats. You get one shot to prove you can keep it, and even then…” he shrugged.

“What about the lower leagues?”

He shook his head. “Again...not that different.” He slapped my shoulder. “I think all sports are the same.”

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