Double Play, Page 26

  “Is eating celery and carrots all damn day long considered strength building?”

  “Okay,” she said, nodding. “But smoking opium is dangerous, isn’t it? Because that’s a plant, too, Ty. A natural ingredient. It doesn’t make it right.”

  “Look, I’m not saying I’m taking anything, but you should know, I don’t see a problem with it. I think the rules are too strict.”

  “Can I quote you?”

  He stared at her a long beat. “I guess I don’t see a problem with that.”

  “Thank you for your time.” She went home and called the other players on the roster, one by one, asking each of them their stance on undetectable and banned substances. She got a variety of answers, but the bottom line was the same. Unlike Ty, each of the rest of them viewed a banned substance as unacceptable, in whatever form it took.

  She stared at her blank computer screen, then started typing. She wrote the article she wanted to write. Well, not quite the way she wanted to write it, but close enough. She started with how the MLB and the commissioner’s office had forever changed the way athletes viewed banned substances by putting in mandatory testing, which was great, except that testing wasn’t always accurate, and there were athletes still managing to use. There would probably always be certain athletes who managed to use.

  She went on to explain that so much was expected of athletes in this day and age, the pressure not only to beat long-standing records but also to shatter them, and to do that, the athletes needed to constantly increase their strength. With conventional steroids and enhancers closed off to them, some were turning to less tried-and-true methods. Herbal and natural remedies, for one. But just because a drug was made from a plant extract didn’t make it any safer than the manufactured ones had been.

  Or any more accepted.

  The bottom line, she wrote, was that the players had to take responsibility for themselves, their own actions, and the consequences, and that while most were doing exactly that, there were always going to be the ones who didn’t. That even on a young, talented team like the Heat, this was the case. And it wasn’t necessarily just the players to be blamed for turning a blind eye, but management as well. She quoted the guys themselves, each of them, including the fact that Ty was the only one who thought the rules were too strict.

  Just as she finished the rough draft, Tommy called. “What,” he said, irritated. “You don’t return calls or e-mails anymore? Makes a guy nervous, doll. Especially a guy with a deadline. What have you got for me? Tell me you have something.”

  She e-mailed him her article and waited.

  “My God,” he whispered a few minutes later when he’d called her back after devouring her words. “So how does Ty get the stuff?”

  “I didn’t say he’s using.”

  “Oh, he’s using.” He paused. “I’m going to guess there’s a whole story here you haven’t yet told.”

  She’d left Tucker and Red out of the equation, not for their sakes but for Pace’s—her own concession to what he meant to her.

  “No worries,” Tommy said. “You’ve taken it far enough for now. The commissioner can deal with the fallout. You’re brilliant, doll. Did I tell you that? I’ll run it tonight.”

  “No, I need a day.” She couldn’t let Pace read this without warning. She had to find a way to tell him what she’d done. “Promise me.”

  “I have to admit,” he said instead. “I thought you might be losing your touch. Crushing on one of your subjects, taking your sweet-ass time getting to the meat . . . Can’t blame me, though; it’s been weeks and weeks. I figured you’d gone soft.”

  “I mean it, Tommy. A day.”

  “Fine. But this new you? The kinder, gentler version of my hard-assed, hard-nosed Holly Hutchins? I don’t know her. And I don’t like her either. Let’s meet next week and talk about what’s up next. See you in LA, doll.”

  When she hung up, she stared at her computer screen. Tommy was right. She had changed. She was no longer a reporter who cared only about her story. She cared about the people she was writing about, deeply. She cared about the fact that someone was going to get hurt. Ty. The Heat.

  Pace.

  She’d been the catalyst for that, though not the cause, and she couldn’t save him from the hurt.

  But she’d be there for him. If he could forgive, that is. She just hoped like hell he could.

  The next morning, Pace woke up and actually felt halfway human. It was either the orgasm, or the fact that the Heat had won last night with Ty pitching. Yep, things were looking up. Or they would be, if the media wasn’t still crucifying him for testing positive for drugs.

  Red and Wade stopped by as they had every day they hadn’t been on the road, and brought McDonald’s.

  “Your damn woman put me in the hospital,” Red said.

  “But not the fifty years of smoking?” Pace asked. “It was the damn woman?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You know it’s your lifestyle,” Wade said.

  “Bullshit.” Red munched defiantly on a hash brown patty. “She’s nosy.”

  “It’s her job,” Pace reminded him. “And you know you’re not supposed to eat those.”

  Red popped the rest into his mouth with defiance. “You defending her?”

  “I’m just reminding you that we all have our jobs to do and she’s doing hers. If someone on the team is up to something that they shouldn’t be—”

  “Like what?” Red pushed back from the table. “You got something to say, say it.”

  “Actually, I have plenty to say—”

  “Okay, whoa,” Wade said easily. “Don’t make me put the two of you in separate corners.”

  “She’s just doing her job,” Pace repeated to Red, as stubborn as the old man. “And the rest of us should remember that. If someone needs more strength and endurance, they need to try the gym instead of whatever new trick Tucker has for sale. And if someone, even a coach, has a fucking disease that’s threatening his life, he needs to fucking stop smoking and retire before he fucking dies and pisses me off.”

  Red set down his food and crossed his bulldog arms. “I don’t like where this is going.”

  “Yeah? Well, neither do I. And I sure as hell don’t like wondering how the hell I got tainted with a stimulant.”

  Red stared at him for a long moment, then slowly stood. “I’d do anything for you,” he said. “Anything.”

  Pace’s chest tightened hard. “You don’t think I know that? But I didn’t want this.”

  “Are you blaming me?”

  “Should I be?”

  Red jerked as if he’d been sucker punched, and Pace immediately opened his mouth to apologize, but with a shake of his head, Red slammed his way out the door.

  Pace felt the wave of helplessness and frustration roll over him, and picked up the McDonald’s bag to chuck it across the room.

  “Wait.” Wade rescued the last Egg McMuffin before handing the empty bag back to Pace. “Okay, go ahead.”

  “Goddammit.”

  Wade stayed for the day, probably to keep him sane. He fielded the phone calls from pushy reporters and the one from Pace’s father calling to ask how Pace could have been so stupid as to get involved in a drug scandal. That was fun. They had to ring the cops twice to chase away the paps hanging around outside. When Pace’s physical therapist came by, Wade worked out while Pace got tortured, a process which left him a shaky, sweaty wreck. Wade stayed and watched TV with him, and they ate some more. It was early evening when the doorbell rang. Wade got the door, raising a brow at the gorgeous, elegant, sophisticated creature wearing a satiny royal blue evening gown cut up to her thigh. “Pace,” Wade said slowly, staring at Samantha as if stunned. “Did you call for a stripper?”

  “Funny.” Pissy, Sam breezed in past him, carrying a garment bag.

  Pace felt as stunned as Wade looked. “Holy cow, Sam. You look amazing.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” She turned to Wade. “Okay, strip down, big boy. Yo
u’re this stripper’s date.”

  Wade blinked. “What? Me?”

  “Did I stutter?”

  Wade whipped his head toward Pace with a what-the- fuck expression, but Pace merely lifted his good shoulder. Wade and Sam had been growling at each other ever since their single, disastrous night together.

  “You don’t want to go anywhere with me,” Wade told Sam. “You can’t even look at me.”

  “No shit, Sherlock. But I don’t have a choice.”

  “Are you sure?” Wade was sounding a little pissy himself. “Because there’s got to be someone else, anyone else, that you can get drunk and take advantage of this time.”

  Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Okay, let’s be clear on who the ho is in this room, Wade O’Riley. And it is not me.”

  Wade opened his mouth, but Pace shook his head at him. “Okay, kids, let’s all just try to get along—”

  Sam put a hand in his face to shut him up.

  “Fine,” Wade said to Sam. “You want me again? Suits me. Let’s go, Princess.”

  “Oh, I am so not your Princess.” Sam unzipped the garment bag, revealing a tux. “Pace was supposed to go to this auction gala with me as the guest of honor, but now that’s out of the question. I can’t go dateless, Jeremy’s going to be there with some hot, famous Brazilian model, my father will blow a gasket if I show up alone.” She lifted her head and smiled grimly at Wade. “So I’m stuck with you.”

  Pace looked at the tux and grinned. “Ha.”

  Sam glanced at him. “You’re not going to be smiling when you read these.” She dropped some newspapers on his table. “If it was up to me, I wouldn’t have brought them to you, but Gage insisted that you were a big boy.”

  “That I am.” He grimly eyed the latest sports news, more of him being a druggie. Perfect.

  Sam put her hands on her hips. “I want to offer you some advice.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Get over it. You’re getting your appeal and the retest tomorrow, and when the results come back, you’ll be proven right. End of story.”

  “Only if I’m truly clean. But if that first test was accurate and I somehow really ingested, I could conceivably test positive again.” He shrugged. “Either way, people will always remember that I was accused of using.”

  “People are idiots. We’ll get past it—somehow. I promise.” She turned to Wade, who was still just standing there. “And since when are you allergic to big fancy fund-raisers with all the fixings including sexy woman and good food?”

  “I’m not.” Wade snatched the tux and headed toward the other room to change. “But we’re taking the stairs, even if it’s to the roof. No elevators.”

  “Done.”

  Later that night came yet another knock at the door. Tired of people, Pace considered not getting it, but on the off chance it was someone bringing him food, he made his way through the house. He pulled open the door and came face-to-face with the woman of his dreams.

  “Two things,” she said quietly. “Well, three. One—I’ve never lied to you. Not once. Never will. Do you believe me?”

  He looked into her eyes, which were filled with frustration, exhaustion, and a genuine warm affection for him. “Yes, I believe you. Actually, I believe in you, I always have, I just happen to be an ass when I’m in pain. I’m sorry for that. It comes naturally to me.”

  “Not going to disagree with you there. Can I come in for thing two and thing three?”

  “Sure.”

  She walked into his living room and turned to face him. “Thing two. I told you how I wrote about Alex, because what he was doing was wrong. I would never do the same to you because you’ve not done anything wrong.”

  “I know you wouldn’t. Holly—”

  “I wouldn’t hold back, though, if you had. You should know that.”

  She was looking at him, really seeing him, like so few did, and right then and there he realized something. She was one of the few people in his life who didn’t want anything from him, didn’t expect anything other than complete honesty at all times. Added to that heavy fact was that he really cared about her, deeply, perhaps more deeply than he’d ever cared about anyone before.

  Ever.

  He knew she was nearly done here in Santa Barbara, and in spite of him doing everything in his power to push her away, he didn’t want her to go. “I’d never ask you to hold back, Holly.”

  “Good.” She took a deep breath. “Because I can’t hold back on the Ty thing. I won’t hold back. Thing three—he’s using, Pace. And it’s wrong.”

  “You don’t know that for sure.”

  “I talked to him. I also talked to Red.”

  “I heard. Tried to kill him, did you?”

  “That old stinker is too stubborn to die. You remember Tucker’s bag, the one he dropped on the floor right there?” She pointed to the corner of the foyer where there were still a stack of duffel bags, minus the one she was talking about. “The one I got the packet from?”

  “What about it?”

  “It was Red’s. I don’t know why Tucker had it,” she said, watching his face carefully. “I’m guessing he was bringing it to his dad.”

  “Actually, yeah,” he remembered. “The next morning.”

  “I told you that I think Tucker’s vitamin company also sells natural stimulants. I think Tucker is supplying Red, who is supplying Ty. I still don’t know how you accidentally got some, but—”

  Pace put a hand to his suddenly throbbing temple and backed to the wooden bench in the foyer, sitting heavily. “I know how.”

  “You do?”

  “If I hadn’t been so out of it from the surgery, I’d have remembered sooner . . .” He was quiet a moment. “I drank Ty’s water.” He lifted his head and met her gaze. “The day before my surgery, at the team meeting, right before my pre-op work. We’re always grabbing each other’s drinks, and Wade had said . . .” Wade had told him to go for Holly, to let her into his life to give him something more than just baseball. “I was unnerved about it,” he said now, softly. “And I downed Ty’s entire water bottle.”

  “He didn’t tell you what he had in it?”

  “He made a crack that it was a good thing we’d already been drug tested earlier in the season. He didn’t know I was to be tested again. Hell, I didn’t know then either, not until after the meeting.”

  “He joked about it?”

  Pace let out a heavy breath. “Yeah.” He looked at Holly, who was clearly thinking that Ty should have told him the truth, or at the very least, warned him. If not then, then certainly when Pace had tested positive.

  Tucker could have said something, too.

  Or Red.

  She remained silent, not saying that if they’d all been so close, then what they’d done had been a huge betrayal. She didn’t say any of it, but it was there in her eyes, along with a soft compassion and worried affection.

  For him.

  He closed his eyes. “So what you’re saying is that you’re going to write about this.”

  “I did write about this.”

  Well, hell.

  “You know it’s what I am paid to do,” she said quietly. “Ferret out a secret and expose it. It’s my job.”

  “I don’t think I like your job.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way. I never meant to hurt you.”

  He let out a low laugh.