And probably, it was going to kill her.

The Heat took the Cubs series three-two, which made the fans and management and the sponsors happy. That should have been enough for Wade. At one time it’d most definitely have been enough.

And then the hurricane named Samantha had hit, and things had changed.

On the late night flight home, the plane was quiet and dark as Wade slipped into a seat next to Sam, who was working on her BlackBerry. Tag was passed out cold across from her, sleeping in his favorite position—arms and legs akimbo. Wade smiled as he pressed his leg into Sam’s. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

She didn’t seem nearly as sated and relaxed as she had in the shower the night before last, and he took another look at her, seeing the strain in her eyes. “You okay?”

“Yes.”

“What are you working on?”

“Last-minute details for the charity dinner in two nights.”

He nodded. The event was a big one and required one of his least favorite things—a tux. But as he’d be Sam’s date, and she would no doubt wear something that would make his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth, it’d be worth it.

She didn’t say anything else. She always said something . . . He nudged her again. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Mmm-hmmm.”

She hadn’t take her gaze off her BlackBerry, so he dipped his head to make eye contact.

She swiveled her head toward him—a distracted question mark in her eyes.

Huh. He took in her slight frown, and the way her brow was furrowed. “You have a headache?”

“No.” Her voice was soft. Not unfriendly, but . . . not warm either.

“Okay.” He kept looking at her, trying to understand what was going on, because something was going on. “I’m getting the feeling I’m missing a memo.”

She set her BlackBerry down and looked at him, really looked, as if she were searching for something important inside his head. “And what would that memo say?” she finally asked.

“It would tell me how I’d f**ked up, with instructions on how to fix it.”

She sighed and went back to her phone.

“Are we having a fight?” he asked.

“Are you mad at something?” she asked.

“No.”

“Then no. We’re not having a fight.”

He watched her work for a moment, at a complete loss. The last time she’d been upset had been the other night at the bar with her father. Wade had been able to take her mind off that pretty easily by getting her na**d. Served to reason it might work again, so he slid his arm around her, cuddling her in against him to kiss her neck. God, she smelled good. “Ever join the mile-high club?” he whispered.

She slid him another look, this one inscrutable. “Are you suggesting we hit the bathroom and have sex?”

The tone froze his eyebrows. “Um . . . yes?”

“Let me ask you something, Wade. The month’s over, right?”

“Right.”

“So what exactly are we doing now?”

“Uh . . .” He figured whatever he said had better be really, really good and convincing. “Seeing where things go?”

“With a purely physical relationship.”

He knew a trap when he saw one. “No.” He shook his head. This one he knew. “We have more.”

“Really? Like what? I’m just trying to define this. For me.”

“Well . . . we laugh.” He flashed her a grin, but she didn’t return it. “And we talk.”

She just looked at him. Great. Now she held her tongue. “Usually we talk,” he amended, and pulled back a little, stroking a strand of her hair behind an ear. “What’s the matter, Sam? Just tell me.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I wanted to be able to do this, the light and fluffy nonsubstance thing.” She opened her eyes again, and they were filled with frustration and a sadness that wrenched at him. “I really thought I could jump in and jump out again at will. But as it turns out, it’s hard to turn it on and off.” She pressed her lips together. “I’m having a really hard time with the off part, Wade.”

He stroked a finger over her jaw, thrown by the pain in her voice, by the way his own throat felt too damn tight. “So leave it on.”

“For now, you mean. Open-ended.”

“Yeah.”

She let out a laugh that tore at his heart. She nodded, but then shook her head in the negative. “I wanted to,” she whispered. “Because I want you. But I’m not getting any vibes from you that justify the risk. I’m sorry, Wade.” She looked away, and then when she met his gaze again, her thoughts were successfully hidden from him. “I can’t.”

He hated the panic tightening his gut. “So . . . where does that leave us, Sam?”

“With no us.”

Chapter 28

More than any other American sport, baseball creates the magnetic, addictive illusion that it can almost be understood.

—Thomas Boswell

The next day, the Heat took Seattle at home by the skin of their teeth, and Wade took a cleat to the shin. It happened in the last inning, and he spent a long time in the shower afterwards trying to get the ache out. But his shin wasn’t the only thing that hurt. His chest hurt, his gut hurt.

Everything f**king hurt.

By the time he dressed, the clubhouse had pretty much cleared out. Pace had gone home with Holly. Most of the guys, happy to be back in Santa Barbara, had plans with family. Sam had avoided him pre-game, and was doing the same now, so Wade grabbed his keys and left.

He went home, but the empty house mocked him. Even his father had somewhere to be, leaving Wade truly the only one with nobody. He got back into his car. He drove, having no idea what his destination was.

He ended up at Sam’s building. He wasn’t sure why, but hell, now that he was here, it’d be rude not to go in and see her. Tag opened the door to his knock, and with a look of disappointment, peered behind Wade.

“You got someone better coming over?” Wade asked him.

“Pizza,” Tag said.

Wade nudged the kid aside and walked into the condo, staring in surprise at his father, who was sitting at the dining room table. “What are you doing here?”

“Keeping the kid and his tutor company.”

Wade took a long look at his dad, who seemed more than a little strung out. “You okay?”

“Trying to be.” John was indeed fighting his addiction, but Wade wasn’t sure he was winning.

“Anyone know where Sam went?”

“No se.” Tag grinned. “That’s Spanish for I don’t know. Your dad taught it to me. Want to know what else he taught me?”

“Uh . . .” John was frantically trying to get Tag’s attention, making the motion of a knife slicing across his neck. “Ixnay on the haring-shay, please.”

“Comer mierda,” Tag said proudly.

Eat shit? Wade narrowed his gaze at his father, who had found something fascinating to study on the ceiling.

“He paid me to say it to the cab driver who brought him here,” Tag said.

“Christ, Dad.”

“Sorry, but the guy was a real prick.”

“Prick,” Tag repeated.

Wade pulled out his wallet and handed Tag a ten.

Tag pocketed the money and when it was out of sight, he asked “What was that for?”

“To notrepeat anything my father says.”

“Sweet.”

“Got any for me?” his father asked, palm out.

“No. You’ve bled me dry.” He pointed at Tag. “Behave yourself.”

“Okay. So are you going to go out, too? Like Aunt Sam?”

Wade’s world stuttered to a halt. “What?”

John fake coughed and said, “You snooze, you lose,” at the same time.

“Dad, a moment?” Wade jerked his head toward the kitchen.

“Can’t. Sorry. Very busy.”

“Now.”

John sighed and rose to his feet, meeting Wade in front of the stove. “This isn’t my fault. This time it’s your bone-headedness, son, all on your own. I’m completely innocent.”

“Where is she?”

“Don’t know.”

Wade gave up on him and went to Tag. “Do you know how to reach your aunt?”

“Uh-huh. I always know, on accounta’ we’re family,” he said, clearly repeating back Sam’s words verbatim.

“Okay, good. So . . . ?”

Tag slid him a sly look. “So now it’s okay to tell a secret?”

Shit, the kid was good. “Is it a secret?”

Tag just looked at him.

“Sorry, man, but no more cash tonight.”

Tag sighed. “I can call her and she’ll come back. She told me to call her if I needed anything, that she’d be here in a jiffy.”

Which was no help for Wade. “Same goes for me, kiddo. You need me, you call. Anytime, okay?”

“ ’Kay.”

With one last long look at his father, Wade headed out. Stopping in front of his car, he reached into his pocket for his keys and glanced at the window of the Italian restaurant across the street.

Sam was sitting inside at a table near the window. She was with a man, talking animatedly, and laughing. Then the man reached over and kissed her right on the lips, and Wade abruptly shoved his keys back in his pocket and strode inside.

Sam looked up as he got to their table, still laughing at something the man with her had just said, her eyes widening in surprise. “Wade.”

“That was quick,” Wade said, surprised that his voice sounded normal since he felt like his guts had just been ripped out.

The man sitting across from Sam, the one who was going to lose his face to Wade’s fist if he kissed her again, smiled and leaned back in his chair, studying Wade thoughtfully. “I think you were wrong about him, babe.”

While Wade chewed on the endearment babe, Sam looked Wade over.

“No,” she finally said cryptically. “I wasn’t wrong.”

The man squeezed her fingers and brought them to his lips. Wade nearly leaned across the table to break his wrist, but Sam shook her head. “Ernie, stop it.”

“Aw,” Ernie said on a smile. “You’re no fun.”

And since he didn’t stop it, or drop Sam’s fingers, Wade softly said, “Drop her hand or lose it.”

Ernie laughed silkily as he let go of Sam and slid her a look. “How about now? Still going to try to tell me he’s happy it’s over?”

“Ernie . . .” she warned.

“Fine.” He stood and held out a hand to Wade. “Ernie Rodriquez. Nice triple homer in Chicago.”

“Thanks.” Wade felt Sam watching him with a look he couldn’t begin to comprehend, and he met her gaze.

“Ernie and I were putting finishing touches on the charity dinner,” she said. “Ernie’s catering.”

“My first over-three-hundred-person event.” Ernie grinned. “Looking forward to seeing you in a tux, big guy.” He patted Wade’s arm, lingering at the biceps, letting out a hum of pleasure before walking into the kitchen.

Wade stared after him until Sam cleared her throat. He looked down at her.

“You look confused,” she said.

“A little.”

“Poor baby.” She stood, gathering files and pictures and her BlackBerry, shoving them into her briefcase. “Let me give you the short version. First you dumped me, then you see me out with another man and come charging in here to . . . Well, I don’t know what exactly, but you end up getting hit on by the very man you wanted to protect me from. I can see why you’d be confused, seeing as you’ve acted like a complete ass.”

“Wait a minute.” He shook his head. “I didn’t dump you. You dumped me.”

She made a sound that managed to perfectly convey what she thought of his intelligence level, and walked out of the restaurant.

He followed.

“Fine,” she said. “I dumped you. A minute before you could dump me. It was self-preservation.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I don’t have time to explain it to you. I’ve got to go.” She gave him her professional smile, the one that was chilly enough that he suddenly needed a coat. And then left him standing on the sidewalk wondering what the f**k had just happened as he was ogled by Ernie from the restaurant window.

Not surprisingly, the next day Wade played like shit. He had no explanation for why he struck out twice, missed an easy fly, and overthrew to third, causing two runs, which was the exact number they lost by.

No explanation at all. Everything was fine. Fucking fine.

The guys didn’t say much to him as they left the field, though their bafflement was clear. Wade was usually the rock, the motivator, the go-to guy. He didn’t have off days, he didn’t let anything get to him.

“You sick?” Henry asked him.

Wouldn’t that be a handy excuse? He shook his head.

“You sure? You’re flushed. Maybe you’re coming down with something.”

Joe nodded. “Tea, man. Try chamomile.”

“Or Earl Grey,” Henry said. “You need to be on tomorrow.”

Wade nodded. He’d be on.

Or dead.

He wasn’t sure which. But the ball of anxiety, frustration, and temper sitting on his chest had to go away or explode. That simple. He was self-destructing. He’d self-destructed with Sam by letting her believe it was only great sex, by not letting her know what she meant to him. He’d self-destructed with his dad by holding back when the guy was trying, finally giving all he had. It should have been easy to hurt John O’Riley. Instead, it left Wade feeling sick inside, because it was one thing to hold on to his self-righteous anger when his dad was being a drunk.