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The next day, Wags’ system was all set up, and Marks and I would be working right out back where we had eyes on them.
We learned that Cora’s father, an electrician who made a good living, was now broke, and this included the money they collected from a life insurance policy cashed in after Cora’s mother’s death. Money that had sat, gaining a decent interest. Our assumption, it was supposed to be used for Cora’s education. When we found out that she had withdrawn from Rutgers and was now attending community college, it became even more apparent. I sent that information along to Danny and Chloe, knowing damn well what she would do if given the opportunity.
Over the next six days, we were at a standstill. William Center was a ghost; even his dating app profile had been deleted. There was nothing proving he was still in Trenton, yet nothing pointed us in any other direction. Danny, Chloe, and Aggie were safe, and so was Danny’s family, but I was still having nightmares that I wasn’t there when someone needed me. It wasn’t Marks in them now; it was Chloe. Marks thinks it’s because she insisted we stay here, adamant that Center is nothing if not patient when it comes to getting what he wants. So, we laid low.
With maneuvering, Cora was given permission from her community college professors to switch to an online section of the same class. This made it possible for Marks and I to work together from the building behind Wags instead of going in two different directions.
At night, we ate dinner and watched the Jags play ball, and then a couple of episodes of Gilmore Girls, which Marks pretends to hate, but I’m pretty sure he’s getting into it. Cora is typically the first to bed, so I’m forced to watch CeCe’s creepy-ass serial killer documentaries while watching CeCe Shaw fall head over heels with a boy and his puppy.
The problem is that I know those smiles she gets when receiving a text from him, and it makes me physically feel like shit. I wonder if muscle memory affects the heart, too, because I swear mine is breaking all over again.
And it’s not just watching CeCe fall. Leland—I mean Locke; he’s Locke now, not Leland, not for a really long time—well, his focus is as fierce as it was at the beginning of his career, and his batting average is climbing every game.
I am so fucking proud of him.
Trenton
9
Friday 3 A.M.
“You good?” Vander asks as we exit the plane in Jersey.
“Better than good. Got a feeling this is our season.”
“Yeah, I’m not talking about the game; I’m talking about here.” He taps the side of his head.
“My head’s in the game. I’m focused on getting that ring.”
“You thinking retirement?” he asks.
“I think I’m not far from it, and I want that ring before they steer me toward retirement.”
“You’re not slowing down, man,” he huffs.
“We have a shot this year. We’ve got half of our veteran starters healthy and experienced and half of our rookies hungry. We haven’t had that before.”
“Not untrue.” He nods and smiles. “He could do it this season. But fuck retirement.”
As we pass the executive lounge, he nods. “You wanna go find something new to play with, just for the night?”
“Nah, man.” I wanna go find something real again.
“Good luck with that man, truly.”
* * *
When I walk out of TTN airport, I see Whitley Paul parked in the pickup line, craning her neck to catch sight of her husband. The whole crew was in Toronto, but she and the kids bypassed Chicago and headed back to Milton for a few days. Apparently, they’re back.
She waves to me, and I wave back before looking down at my screen to order a cab. Then I see Hart and the boys crossing to the garage.
I throw two fingers in my mouth and let out a whistle.
Hart looks back as I’m jogging across the road.
“Am I in time for the family rideshare?”
I assume he nods toward his ride, so I pick up the pace.
