Chapter 1
“Mav. Get your ass up and unlock the damn door!”
Shouting and pounding erupted from outside the hotel suite door, waking Maverick Jansen from a dead sleep.
The pounding started again. Like someone was doing a tap dance on his skull. And the voice he heard sounded suspiciously like his catcher, Luke Garibaldi, who had just rocketed to the top of his shit list.
But after the last couple of months of hell, both personally and professionally, Luke was also quite possibly his last friend on earth. Mav couldn’t afford to ignore him, even if he wanted to.
“C’mon, Maverick. It’s Luke. I need to show you something.”
Real concern laced his teammate’s words, but Mav wasn’t ready to face anyone. Not even his best friend.
Another round of pounding. “Someone down the hall is calling security. C’mon, Mav.”
“In that case, you’d better leave.” Maverick then shouted louder, “I’m going back to sleep. You’re on your own. A charmer like you can fend for yourself.” Maverick immediately regretted that choice. He grabbed his head and cursed. Sitting up, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and used words his momma never taught him.
As he sat there ignoring Luke, Mav still couldn’t get over the fact that he was in Pineville, and still on the team. During the league’s winter meetings last month, he thought for sure he’d be traded or let go after the disaster at the division championships. But here he was in a luxury hotel room. He hadn’t bothered finding a place to live when the announcement that the Patriots, now the Outlaws, were moving from Boston to Pineville, Idaho of all places.
But that second chance hadn’t kept him from accepting drinks from fans as he hung out at O’Malley’s last night. He’d found the pub the first day he’d been in town. He’d been having dinner there the last few nights while trying to keep a low profile. Until last night, when he’d finally been recognized, and the liquor flowed freely.
Mav ripped off his sheets, stood up, then his world tilted. Yeah, maybe that fourth shot last night hadn’t been his best decision. Or the three beers in between.
More pounding erupted.
“Man, the last thing you need is security riding your hide. Open up.” Luke paused. “Please? I have news and it’s not good.”
“All right ... all right, hold your goddamn horses, you citified cowboy.”
Bracing his pitching arm against the wall next to his bed in the five-star resort bedroom overlooking the lake that had drawn the area’s early settlers and brought tourist from around the world. Mav thought about moving toward the door, but that’s as far as he got.
Damn, it hurt like hell to think.
Taking a deep breath, then another, he responded. This time in at normal volume. “Hang on. Let me throw some pants on.” Mav stumbled around the darkened room searching for his sweats.
Luke was right. He sure as hell didn’t need hotel security in his business. Squinting at the clock, he thought it said four ten, but was it morning or afternoon? He felt his way toward the door before Luke could begin another round of rat-a-tat-tat.
“Mav, I swear to the good Lord above, if you don’t…c’mon, hurry up, I just heard the ding of the elevator. Besides, it’s not like I haven’t seen your package in the locker room. If I wasn’t impressed then, I sure as hell won’t be now. Open . . . the damn . . . door.”
The desperate tone in Luke’s voice slammed into him. Fear of what awaited him on the other side of the door turned his blood ice cold as memories assailed him. Maverick’s stomach clenched; the nausea he thought he had under control reared its ugly head.
Maverick had had enough bad news in the last few months to last two lifetimes.
Hopping on one foot as he finished pulling on his sweats, he said, “This better be good, Luke, because I was having this crazy good dream and….” Not really, but he needed one more moment to steady himself.
Ready or not, he blew out a short breath, threw the dead bolt, then flung open the door to let in the person, who more than likely was the only one who still gave a shit about him, into the room.
Luke brushed past him, talking a mile a minute.
“Mav, you need to see this. Some asshole taped you going off on our ex-owner, the league, and the commissioner. It’s all over, man, and I just saw one of the network channels use it as a tease for the lead story on the evening news.”
“Slow down. I need coffee to keep up with your motor mouth.” Squinting from the glare spilling in from the hallway, Maverick held up a hand to block the bright light.
“What are you talking about, Luke? When? I haven’t been anywhere except here and O’Malley’s for the past few days.” Dragging his sorry ass back across the room, Mav sat in the armchair opposite the bed and put his feet up. Luke looked fuzzy, so he closed his eyes and prayed. When was he going to get a break so he could heal in peace?
“Yeah, well, it was filmed before we moved. Remember when we hit that bar right after it was announced the team was sold and the new owner was moving us to Pineville?”
“Wait a minute, wasn’t that the night that girl and her friends followed us from the restaurant, and she kept trying to get me to, uh . . . kiss her?”
“Yup, a kiss and then some. I think she said she wanted to have your baby.” Luke scratched his chin, zoning out for a second. “Too bad we left after that. Her friend was hot.”
“Luke, focus. Get your head out of your pants and get back to the reason you nearly tore down my door.” His gut signaling this conversation would not end well.
“Hey, look who’s calling the kettle black, Mr. Bad Boy of Baseball.” Luke held out his cell to Maverick. “Just watch it.”
“Call me that again and you’ll be eating this phone.” Mav hated the nickname the press had stuck on him during his first year in the league. Grabbing the phone, he sat forward and braced his elbows on his knees. A lump the size of a cement truck landed with a thunk in his stomach at the first frame.
His image appeared in the smoky shadows of his favorite pub in Boston. The one he and most of the single players hung out after home games.
Mav watched himself rant on the league for letting the new owner move the team to “Hicksville.” Then he cringed as his stupid-assed-self complained there were probably “only two traffic lights and not even an Applebee’s.”
Between his f-bombs and hand gestures, it wasn’t hard for anyone to know exactly what he thought about the move. It also wasn’t hard to guess what the woman on his lap wanted from him.
Damn, damn, damn.
He so fucking did not need any more drama in his life.
The video ended, and Mav tossed the phone back to Luke. “How many hits did you say the video has?”
“I didn’t, but it’s going on four hundred and fifty thousand.” Luke plopped his large frame down in the chair across from him, looking as sick as Mav felt. “It’s also on the local news, and the tabloid shows are tearing apart every word you said. They’re throwing out crazy theories and talking about your ‘purported’ drinking problem.”
What the hell? He wasn’t a drunk, dammit. Well, not yet—maybe. Even he knew he was walking a fine line with his current love affair with premium whiskey. Leaning forward, he hung his head in his hands. God, he needed something for the drum solo playing in his head.