Moonshot (31 page)

When his alarm went off, I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep.

90

The email was on my phone, waiting there, when I rolled over, light filling the room. Tobey’s side of the bed was empty, the house quiet. I didn’t see it until after I was dressed, a bagel in hand, stepping out onto the porch to eat. I hadn’t expected an email, my hand stalling as I lifted the bagel to my mouth. I sat in one of the rockers, and clicked on the email, one sent to my Boys and Girls Club email, Chase’s name in the sender’s column.

Ty,

When can I see you again? Call me. 329-222-0114.

I love you.

Chase

I replied to his message, my fingers slow, mind struggling to find the right words.

Chase,

I just need some time. Please give me until the end of the season. But know that I meant everything I said.

Ty

It didn’t feel right, typing
I love you
into that email. Not when I was sitting in Tobey’s home, wearing his ring. I was still married, despite the things I had done the night before. I sent the email, then stood, resisting the urge to chuck the phone off the side of the porch and to its death.

91

That’s three weeks away. I meant what I said last night. If I see you, I will touch you. Kiss you. Take you. And it won’t be as gently as it was in that hotel room. That was my worship of you. I have a hundred more ways to make you scream my name and all of them are filthy.

I love you. I want you. Every day for the rest of my life.

Chase

I read the email a second time, memorizing its lines, then deleted it. Sliding my phone into my purse, I smiled a thank you to the waitress, sitting back as she cleared my plate. I watched as Tobey returned, his eyes on me as he strolled toward our table.

“Guess who I saw in the men’s room.” He sat down, pulling up his chair to the table.

“Who?”

“James Singletary.”

I raised my eyebrows in interest, the lines of Chase’s email running through my head. “How’d he look?”

“Good. And sober. He said he’s with the Mets now.”

“I’ll ask Nancy about it next time I see her.” James had been a pitching coach for us, had helped Dad for a bit, until his drinking had gotten out of control and he’d been fired. I took a sip of my tea, my fingers tightening on the china.

“Everything okay? You seem…” he tilted his head, studying me, “subdued.”

Subdued
. Maybe that was what depression dipped in false cheer looked like. That was how I felt: depressed. Depressed and deceptive. These three weeks would be hell. I tried my best to smile. “I’m fine.”

He raised a hand to catch the waiter’s attention. “I’ve got to meet with Dick. You want to come?” Gone was the man who’d retreated into himself after Tiffany Wharton’s death, his stress hitting manic levels. This man was the Tobey of old, one I hadn’t seen in years.

Go to the stadium?
If I see you, I will touch you.
“Oh, I can’t.” I gave my best regretful smile. “I’ve got a bunch of donations I’ve got to drop off at the Club.”

“Missing your chance to gloat over our record?” He grinned. “This is a prime opportunity to rub our record in Dick’s face. Stern’s proven to be a game changer for us.”

A game changer for us
. I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. “Dick chose Stern,” I reminded him. “I didn’t do anything other than push for Perkins to leave.”

“Being modest?” Tobey arched a brow at me. “Who are you, and what have you done with my wife?”

His wife
. He thought he knew me. And in some ways, he did. In a thousand other ways, we were still strangers. From the beginning, I’d kept so much from him. Yet he’d still fallen in love with the shell of me. Our waiter saved me, his offer to refill my drink distracting enough to change the course of our conversation.

We stood as one, Tobey’s hand soft on my back as we walked out. “Do you want me to come by the house and pick you up for the game?”

“No.” I shook my head. “I’ll have one of the drivers take me. Meet you in the box?”

“Sure.” He leaned down, brushing his lips over mine. “See you around six?”

I nodded, flashing him a smile, and reached for my valet ticket, handing it to the man, the escape to my vehicle quick, my lips still burning from his kiss.

“It was a detective, David Thorpe, who tied the first two girls to Julie Gavin. He created a profile on Julie and then compared it to every unsolved murder, going back five years. Once he’d connected Rachel and April to Julie, and the word ‘serial killer’ started to be thrown around, the attention on the case exploded. And that’s when the pressure on the team, and on Ty and Tobey, really started.”

Dan Velacruz
, New York Times

92

“I don’t have a lot of time for this.” Tobey glanced at his watch, the gold piece glinting in the dim light of his office.

“It won’t take long,” the man’s voice was gravel, a familiar one heard often in the last few years. Detective Thorpe. The man who came to us about Julie Gavin, then again the afternoon I found Tiffany Wharton. The man who now stood before us, his hands tucked in cheap suit pockets, and tilted his head at me. “This is about you, Mrs. Grant.”

“Me?” I met his eyes.

“With the season wrapping up, we’d like you to arrange for extra security. Just in case.”

“You think Ty’s in danger?” Tobey stepped forward, his hand possessive as it touched the small of my back, his fingers burning through the fabric of my silk shirt.

“With the girls being blonde, and similar to Mrs. Grant, that is reason enough for concern. But each death seems to be getting closer to both of you.”

“You’re assuming he’s going to kill again,” Tobey said flatly. “Maybe he won’t.”

“Extra security wouldn’t hurt. Especially on game nights. It looks like you’ll be in the playoffs—”

“We will.” There was a note of pride in Tobey’s voice that I wanted to erase. It didn’t belong here, not in this moment.

“But it’d be good for the security to start now. We can provide deputies but figured that you’d have your own security team.”

Tobey nodded curtly. “Yes. And we can hire additional resources if necessary.”

Any thoughts of sneaking away to see Chase disappeared. I pasted a smile and nodded in agreement. “Thank you for the warning.” I didn’t want more security. For the same reason that I’d insisted on Titan. My freedom, my independence—even before Chase—was crucial, an ingredient for my sanity.

“It’s odd,” Margreta said, lifting her wine glass and peering at me over the edge.

“What is?” I took the bait, not particularly interested in the answer. I flipped a page of the magazine, watching as Caleb ran by with a shriek, his hands outstretched for the dog. Behind us, their pool glinted in the late afternoon sun.

“You and Tobey, how much time you spend apart.”

I raised my eyebrows at the woman, one whose husband made business trips at every spare opportunity. “We work together,” I pointed out. “Every day.” Ten hour days, focused on the team, the players, the marketing, the machine. I didn’t mind it. I loved it, loved the focus it required. I could get lost in those details, in that goal.

“I know that.” She waved her hand, like my time at the Yankees was nothing. “I’m talking about outside of the team. Don’t you think a husband and wife should share something other than baseball?”

I wasn’t sure exactly what the woman wanted. Tobey to take a dedicated interest in my work with the Boys and Girls Club? Or to start running with me? Or for me to join him on his golf days and poker runs? I swallowed a grimace and turned my head toward the magazine, glancing casually at my watch, my patience with social chitchat waning.

At that time, I couldn’t imagine a life like that. One where we did everything together. One where his life started and mine ended, a continuous line without break, without private moments for myself. Those blocks of time away from Tobey … that was when I could think of Chase.

I thought of him, and how everything had changed since he’d come back. Every moment, whether with others or alone, had become invaded by thoughts of him. It was scary how much I needed him. How much, after so many years apart, the feelings had rushed back. Stronger. More urgent. In 2011, I’d had no fear of loss. I had fallen for him and hadn’t thought about anything else. Now, knowing that a life without him could exist … I was terrified of losing him again. If it happened again, I wouldn’t recover. I felt that in every bone of my body. And I feared it, just as strongly.

I watched the detective walk out, Tobey’s head bent to him, their voices low and concerned, and mentally counted the days until the Series.

As it turned out, I wasn’t the only one counting. And I wasn’t the only one watching us all. I thought I was sneaky. I thought our love was invisible.

I was a fool.

93

Chase,

I can’t avoid the stadium; I will be at the games with Tobey. I need you to stay away from me. Please.

Ty

The skybox was too hot. I pulled at the front of my shirt and fanned myself with the program. The waitress came by, and I caught her eye.

“Another beer?” she asked.

“Yes. In the bottle, please.” I stood and walked to the window, placing my forehead on the glass, cold from the outside air, resisting the urge to yank open my shirt and press my skin against the cool glass. Down on the field, Chase stood, his glove resting against one thigh, his cap low, eyes on the batter, jersey stretched tight over his shoulders. I’d watched him the entire game—every play, every catch, every at-bat. And he hadn’t looked up here. Not once.

I should have been happy. All my fears about him pushing the envelope, revealing our relationship with some big obvious gesture, unfounded.

I should have been happy, but I wasn’t. Instead, I only wanted him more.

94