Page 3 of Off the Trail

“What is going on with you?” she asks mildly. Her tone is a little scary. Callie is many things, but mild isn’t one of them.

I’m tired and sore and guilty and feeling sorry for myself. “You aren’t my agent either, so why don’t you just go?”

“You may not be playing ball anymore, but I’m still your agent. Read our contract,” she says sharply. “More importantly, I’m still your friend. And I’m worried about you. So that’s why you’re going to this retreat in Maine. I’m getting a driver to take you. And you need to get your head screwed on straight because I’m too old to be hauling my ass to the hospital in the middle of the night because of stupid shit like this.”

I wince as her raised voice pierces my jostled brain. She can send me to the moon, but it’s not going to make me stop wishing I could still play pro baseball.

“Shawn. Say something.”

“I hate this.”

“I know,” she says, her voice worryingly soft again. “But you’ll get through it. And things are going to get better.”

Right now, ass o’clock in the morning, hooked up to an IV, my team leaving tomorrow for a series against Baltimore as they battle to secure their playoff spot without me—that day seems impossibly far away.

Chapter 2

Blaze

The phone rings as I’m grabbing my truck keys from the cluttered kitchen table.

I reach across the detritus and pick up the receiver of the old-fashioned telephone that perches on the end of the scarred butcher block counter. There’s no cell service on Sanctuary Lake, so I keep the relic of yesteryear, complete with black coiled cord, even though I do have a cellphone that works with Wi-Fi when I’m at home.

“Yep?” I answer, juggling my keys and Misty's lead. My six-year-old gray and white Australian Shepherd comes running over at the sight of her lead. She knows it means she’ll be my sidekick at work today.

“We’ve got a new arrival,” Marika Morse, my boss, says on the other end of the line. “Kind of last minute. A referral from Josh. ETA is three PM. He’s an athlete, so you should be prepared for anything.”

“Anything. Got it.” I snap on Misty’s lead and scratch under her chin. “By the way, I’m going to bring in the floating dock later. Nights are getting chillier.”

Marika agrees. The lake won’t start freezing over for at least a couple of months, but no one’s going to brave the water for swimming now that our last late summer heat wave is over.

“Who’s the guest?” We normally get couples and families who need to unplug, with the occasional burned-out celebrity thrown in for spice.

There’s a pause. “Shawn Camden.” She probably had to pull the name up on her computer, but I recognized it right away. “Former player for the⁠—”

“Hartford Laurels. Yeah, I know the name.” Good shortstop, decent batter. A utility player with his best seasons in the rearview.

“He’ll be here for at least a week. Josh requested we keep him busy.”

“Sounds good.” I’m sure I can think of ways to occupy our newest guest. “I’m going to stop by the construction site and then come in.”

Marika perks up at the mention of the house I’m building. “Is the foundation finished?”

“Yeah, looks great. They’re working on the frame next.”

“Gotta get that roof on before winter,” she says, as if it’s not on my mind every day.

“We’ll make it,” I say, hoping I’m not being my usual overly optimistic self. “See you later.”

I hang up as Brooke stumbles in, still in her pajamas. The front of the house is one long space, two-thirds living room, the rest kitchen, which is where she heads next.

“Who was on the phone?” She yawns and brushes the long, straight brown hair she inherited from our mom behind her delicate ears. I got our dad’s wavy black mop, square chin, and barrel chest. We share hazel eyes, which I remember Mom telling me were the same as her own mother’s. Both sets of our grandparents were gone by the time I was twelve and Brooke was eight.

“Just Marika. The phone wake you up?”

“Yeah, but I need to get going, anyway.” She goes to the fridge and takes out a premade green smoothie.

“If you hurry, you can come with me to check out the progress at the construction site.”