“Do you mind if we put it on? He’s got a game.”

“And just how would you know that, missy?” Gertie smiled knowingly.

“Because I started watching some television and checked the cable guide. If I hadn’t had my catharsis, I was going to swipe a drum and beat it every time they showed him. Now I’d just like to see him while I figure out if I should call him as soon as the game’s over or wait to see him in person.”

They turned on the game at the bottom of the fourth inning. There were sweeping shots of him that made Amanda’s heart flutter. But it wasn’t until the sixth when he got up to bat.

She wasn’t ready for the alteration.

His smile had been replaced with a scowl. His eyes were dull. Not vacant—there was still plenty of fire—but there was no joy. All the boyish sparkle was gone. What was left was scary to see. Amanda hoped she was the only one who saw it. That it was only guilt brought on by having to watch her consequences in action. She prayed that, to the rest of the world, he just looked like the King of Diamonds getting his A-game playoff face on. He fouled off the first three pitches in a row. She could feel his fury every time he took a swing, and when the fourth pitch was thrown, he hit it with such force the bat splintered. He stood there watching it till it made its way out of the stadium. He ran the bases, his expression never changing, and jogged his way back to the dugout. Before ducking in, he stared right into a camera, the coldest, iciest stare Amanda didn’t believe him capable of, and her gasp was audible.

It was like he knew she was there.

“That’s the man you’ve been telling me about?” Gertie asked, trying not to sound alarmed.

“Yeah,” she replied, feeling the most awful twist in the pit of her stomach.

“Honey, I think it’s about time you start hightailing it back to where you came from. You don’t want that boy coming to find you.”

CHAPTER 16

CHASE KICKED THE treadmill’s speed up a few more notches, the incline as well, and ran at full speed for another three minutes. Sweat poured off him, but the same focused expression he had been carrying around for weeks never changed. There was an untouchable coldness to him, and while he was never rude to anyone, he was definitely not the same man. After he finished, he took only a minute to catch his breath, pacing the whole time. When he set the bench press’s weight up another ten pounds for the third time and went to lie down, Logan felt it was finally time to step in.

“Hey, man, is it working?”

Chase gave him what could only be construed as a growl. “Is what working?”

“The unhealthy risk-taking?”

“What the hell are you talking about? The playoffs are coming up.”

Logan gave him an indulgent grin, not fooled. “You’ve been training with me for, what, seven years now? I’ve seen you through how many postseasons? In all that time, I can’t remember a single instance where my program wasn’t enough for you.”

“Why don’t you just fuckin’ say what’s on your mind?” Chase spat out, adrenaline surging, aggression surfacing. But they had known each other a long time, and Logan was unconcerned about any potential backlash.

“If you don’t mind me cutting to the chase, pardon the pun, all of this won’t bring her back.”

Chase shifted his weight from one foot to the other and back again. He had been itching for an altercation that with a second look, he wasn’t ready to have.

Don’t say her name, don’t say her name, don’t say her name drummed in his head. He broke out into a smile that never made it to his eyes and tried to sound nonchalant.

“Oh, that.” He gave an overexaggerated wave of his hand. “That’s old news, buddy. We were pretty much done before she took off. You know me better than that. What have I always said? So many women, so little time.” Chase picked up the front of his shirt and wiped his face, thereby hiding it. It gave him the time he needed to settle in, continue the farce.

“If that’s true, then how do you even know who I’m talking about?” Logan continued to provoke.

Chase settled both hands on his hips, let out a rush of air. “Who else could you mean?” Don’t say her name, don’t say her name. “The spoiled brat who bailed as soon as the heat turned on.”

Logan merely smiled “Spoiled brat? Heat turned on? Interesting choice of words, given the circumstances.” He was the first one of Chase’s friends who had even broached the topic since it happened. Everyone had been either too scared or just plain not interested. In Chase’s circle, almost everyone had a least one skeleton in his closet. When it happened to one of their own, it only sent the message that next time it could be them.

“You know what I don’t get? What the big fucking deal was.” It was all Chase needed to finally let out the steam he had carried around for weeks, anger that had kept him solitary and withdrawn. “I go to the ballparks and chicks are screaming, ‘Spank me. Spank ME!,’ They carry signs, they have shirts made. They send naked pictures of their asses to the Kings’ website. It’s not like I set up a video camera in our . . . MY room and did a Kim Kardashian. She was always so annoyingly pious.” His rant done, his spleen vented, he seemed to relax. Then he acquiesced. “Sorry if I stepped on your toes, you’re the boss.” He checked the clock on the wall. “At least for another fifteen minutes. Can we get back to work?” As Logan took the extra weight off the bench press Chase gave one last puffed-up sneer. “What made her think she was so damn special anyway?”

Logan bit back a smirk of his own. You did, my friend, you did, he thought.


CHASE ENTERED HIS APARTMENT, THREW his wallet on the table, and took off his shirt, wiping down his chest with it. He skipped showering at the gym, deciding to jog home, figuring the fresh air could only do him good, as fresh as the air got in New York City during September at any rate. He wandered into the kitchen, pulled out a bottle of water, and downed it. After spending a few seconds flexing his pecs, he walked over to the phone to check for messages. Relieved at hearing nothing but a dial tone, he returned it to its cradle, yelled out to Lena that security was on its way to pick him up and he’d be ready in twenty minutes. Then he headed to his room to shower.

“Hello, Chase,” she said just as he was walking into his closet.

As soon as he heard her voice, she saw him visibly stiffen. His back to her, he took a minute to place his control firmly in check before he turned around to face her.

There she was, every bit as pretty as he remembered. Only tan. Damn her. He was spending night after sleepless night with haunted visions and she was soaking up the sun somewhere. She looked downright healthy. The little bitch. He waited till he was sure his voice wouldn’t give him away before he spoke.

“Came to return my keys, did you? You could have left them with the doorman.”

Amanda, seated in a chair in his bedroom, looked at a man she didn’t know. The Chase standing before her now, though still the sexiest man she had ever seen, was the same man with the icy stare that she’d felt through the television only a day ago. This was the man she created, and the time for her running was over. It was her turn to step up to the plate.

“I missed you.” There, good job, Amanda. That oughta do it. You can sweep me up in your arms now.

“Really? How very kind of you to say. I’ve been right here, all along. Good old Chase Walker, spanker of wayward women.” His voice was drenched with sarcasm, his hulking, shirtless body still dripping with sweat. Both gave her strength, for entirely different reasons. And if she was smart she’d be scared, but she was finished with her head leading, and there was only one place her heart wanted to run.

“This is all your fault, you know,” she said, confrontational in response, crossing her legs.

“My fault?” He was incredulous, his self-control starting to give way, and they had barely even begun. “My fault? What was my fault, Amanda, why don’t you tell me? Oh, that’s right, I saw a hidden camera and decided to spank you in front of it. Then I called security and told them to alert the media.” Afraid if he continued, he might actually strangle her, he made his way toward the door. “Look, I have a game in six hours, so if you don’t mind, I’m going to have to cut this short.”

She was up in a flash, refusing to let him duck out of the fight. She marched right up to him, poking him in the chest. “Don’t make like you’re the victim here! You’re the one who couldn’t wait twenty minutes. Twenty stinkin’ minutes.”

He backed away from her and she thought he might exit stage right. She followed closely behind him and jumped in response to how loud the door was when he slammed it. It sent the clear message to anyone within the apartment: Stay away from this room. He rounded back on her. “You sure didn’t seem to mind when I was doing it. And I think there’s a tape somewhere to prove it!” he shot back at her, starting to ball his hands into fists.

“How dare you! Of course you would have no problem joking about it. It only made you more of a national hero, you pompous oaf!”

He grabbed her by the shoulders, violently shaking her, stopped only when her eyes grew wide and frightened. “And do you know why that is? Do you? Because I stayed here and looked everyone in the eye as they judged. I took the phone calls, I made the statements, laughed at the jokes. I tried to protect the person I loved. I didn’t go running to my daddy, begging him to hide me like I committed some sort of criminal offense.” He released her abruptly, as if touching her disgusted him. He stomped over to the other side of the room, hoping it was enough distance between them. “You think this happened only to you, Amanda? It happened to me, too. It happened to us. For all the words of togetherness we ever shared, I was the only one who seemed to mean them.” Then, with remarkable ease, he punched a hole in the wall, the plaster crumbling in response to the unleashed fury. He looked at the destruction and lowered his head, his hands on his hips, and she could tell by his heaving, he was trying to hold back the rest of the rage.