Page 42 of Off Limits: The Firsts

And the one I’ve loved most will be gone soon, too.

“He’s going to be pissed that you took the time to drive all the way out here, Scout.”

The lines of worry etched on Sally’s face warm my heart. “I know he will, but two hours isn’t that long of a drive. Besides, I’m sick of him being the one to dictate the visitation terms. And don’t worry, I won’t tell him you called.” I pull her into me for a hug and then chuckle. “Why, I just needed to take a drive to clear my head, Sally, and lo and behold I ended up here.” I bat my lashes and smile to reinforce the lie.

She smiles, but it does nothing to ease the weariness in her eyes. “He doesn’t want you to see him like this,” she whispers. “He’s got a lot of pride, and it’s hard for him to know you see him as weak.”

I sigh. “He’s the strongest man I’ve ever known. Even now. How can he—”

“Who are you talking to Sally?” My dad’s voice booms through into the kitchen where we stand.

My smile is as automatic as the drop of my heart into my stomach as I prepare myself for the unknown. What will he look like? Weaker? Bedridden? Gaunt? Has he gone downhill quicker than expected so that I’ll be shocked at the sight of him?

With a fortifying breath I walk into the living room where his hospital bed has been set up to make it easier for him to get around, for Sally to tend to him, and because it allows him to stare at one of his favorite places in the world, the endless fields of tall grass that stretch to the horizon.

Relief overwhelms me when I see him out of his bed, sitting in his favorite chair by the window. “She’s talking to me.”

“Scouty?” Love floods into his voice as he turns and sees me standing there, but it’s quickly replaced with upset. “Why are you here?”

“Because I needed to see you.” I’ve never spoken truer words. And while he doesn’t look any feebler than the last time I saw him, I know from Sally that he is. The cold he can’t shake has knocked him on his ass and taken its toll on his already weakened immune system.

“Nonsense.” Irritation litters the edges of his voice. “I told you that you could come to see me once you’ve won the Aces’ contract.”

I grit my teeth and bite back the hurt his disregard causes. “Well, you may want to shut me out, Dad, but you don’t get to control me.” My tone is no-nonsense while my heart aches. He must know that Sally called me, updated me on his rough week, but I refuse to let her take the blame. “I wanted to take a drive today. Clear my head, think about some things. So I ended up here. What are you going to do, kick me out?”

I hold his glare and tempt him to do just that, and I hate that for a minute I wonder if he actually will. He’s been so stubborn and difficult in the past six months that a part of me wouldn’t put it past him.

“You’re not going to prevent me from seeing you. If you try, I’ll let the player figure out his recovery on his own and take up residence here in my old room.”

“Your old room’s full of stuff.”

“I’m a big girl, I know how to throw stuff out.” And I know that will get him, break through his obstinacy—the fear that I’ll sneak in here with black trash bags and clean out his clutter of memories stacked in boxes in my old room. Newspaper clippings on giants of the sport he helped rehab. Articles highlighting Ford’s pitching stats and my softball career. Trophies and jerseys for the teams he’s worked for. It’s a treasure trove of memorabilia any baseball collector would die for.

He eyes me again, but I can see his lips fighting the smile I know he wants to give me for doing just what he taught me: giving as good as I’m getting. “You can stay for a bit, but one sign of waterworks and I’m kicking you out.”

I nod, understanding the hard-ass is giving me a mulligan so long as I don’t cry. Stepping beside him, I place my hand on his shoulder and squeeze, needing to touch him. And when he lifts a hand to place on top of mine, I’d give anything to be a little girl again. Then I could crawl into his lap like I used to do and listen to the rumble of his voice as he told me stories about a mom I never really knew, but who he swore loved me. The stories I now know to be lies, because a mom who walks out on her two children getting ready for bed while her husband’s washing the dishes without ever looking back never really loved them at all.

This house holds too many memories for me, good and bad, and I wonder if maybe that’s why my dad’s forcing me to distance myself from it.

“Tell me about how Easton is coming along.”

The pang in my chest is real at the mention of his name. The images of him last night—his smile when he was dancing with me, the adoration on his face highlighted by the bright lights of the stadium beyond, and the moonlight across his face as he sank into me—all flash through my mind and force me to act like none of it mattered when every single thing did.

Forced to switch mental gears, I try to care about work right now.

A safe middle ground for us. Well, safe for my dad, but not so much for me.

“The player is doing well,” I murmur, knowing damn well Easton’s cologne still lingers on my skin as I go into the details of his therapy, what still pains him, what I think he’s hiding, before I listen to the master of the trade tell me what he thinks I need to do differently or add to my regimen to help. “What I don’t get, besides the obvious—that the team needs him on the field because he’s just that good—is why rush it? Why give a timeframe for recovery on a franchise player?”

My dad angles his head as he contemplates the question. “Beats me, Scout. I learned a long time ago that front offices rarely do things that seem reasonable to the public, but in the long run make perfect sense.”

“Yeah, well, how about they make common sense instead of aiming for perfect sense,” I grumble in defense of Easton when there’s no need to defend him.

And it’s the look in my dad’s eye that unnerves me. The one that tells me he’s reading my thoughts when I sure as hell don’t want him to. “You like him, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do. He’s nice, easy to work with, and wants to recover. What’s not to like about that in a player?” I figure that’s as safe as anything.

“True.” He nods his head again and chews the inside of his lip. “Is this going to be a problem?”