didn’t call him Two Bats for nothing. Ever since he’d been snapped by the paparazzi in a compromising position with a Swedish pop princess during his rookie year, the media had been fascinated with Travis, documenting his never-ending one-night stands and notable conquests. “It Wasn’t Me” by Shaggy would play over the stadium loudspeakers when he got up to bat. Women would shriek.
All while Georgie watched from a cross-legged slump in front of the television back on Long Island.
The Player’s Player. The Other Home Run King. The Backseat Athlete. Gorgeous even in his dishevelment, the cocky charm was nonetheless missing at this very moment.
“You think I enjoy this?”
“Yeah,” she shot back. “I think you want to stay in here forever, because it means you don’t have to try again.” Working a loose-hipped swagger out of the room, she called back over her shoulder. “I think you’re a wussy man. I think you’ve been sitting in here crying to your highlight reels, wondering where it all went wrong. What a sad cliché. I’m going to talk to my brother about finding a cooler friend.”
“Hold the fuck on,” Travis thundered, following her out of the bedroom, just your average, everyday, gorgeously pissed-off athlete who was once a contender for Rookie of the Year. “You’re acting like I got laid off from just any job. I was a professional baseball player, Georgie. That was all my life was ever building to. There’s nowhere to go from there but down. So here I am.”
Surprise knocked her back a step. Travis Ford was insecure enough to write himself off as a failure? She’d never known him to be anything but wildly confident—to a fault even. Her hesitation had caused him to back slowly toward the bedroom, though, so she shook off her sympathy and pressed on. “Stay down, then. Become a pathetic has-been who tells the same bummer injury story every time he has more than two beers.” She gestured to the apartment. “You’re halfway there. Don’t quit now.”
“It’s been a month,” Travis seethed.
“A month you could have used to make a new plan, if you weren’t a wussy man.” She raised an eyebrow. “Like I said.”
“You’re a kid. You don’t understand.”
Oh, that was almost her knockout punch, those oh-so-familiar words hitting Georgie’s most sensitive target. If she hadn’t grown up with Travis, she might have left and gone to lick her wounds. But this man had sat across from her at the kitchen table a thousand times. Ruffled her hair, grabbed from the same bowl of popcorn during movies, and defended her from meanies. After all, Travis and Stephen could torture her, but when it came to other people doing it? Not a chance. If she hadn’t spent her life in love with Travis Ford, she would consider him a brother. So she knew a strong, self-assured man was under this bearded freak’s surface. And he needed someone to jab and punch until he was free.
“I just bought a house. My own house. I’m not a kid anymore, but even if I was? I’d have my shit together more than you do. And I’m a children’s birthday party clown—let that sink in.” Georgie paused for a breath. “Right now, everyone in town feels bad for you. They understand the loss.” She poked him in the chest, right over his red-and-black baseball diamond tattoo. “But in six months? A year? People will shake their heads and laugh when you walk down the street. Look at him now. He never recovered. What a waste.”
By the time Georgie finished, his chest shuddered up and down, muscles jumping on both sides of his jaw. “Why did you come here? What do you care?”
“I don’t,” she lied. “I just came to see you for myself, because I couldn’t believe it. The guy we all looked up to is a drunk slob. Now I know.”
“Get out,” Travis snarled, taking a step closer. “I’m not going to say it again.”
“Fine. I probably need to schedule a tetanus shot anyway.” Georgie turned on a heel and sidestepped a pizza box on her way to the door. “See you around, Travis. Probably on the last barstool in Grumpy Tom’s muttering about your glory days.”
“It was . . .”
His new, choppier tone stopped Georgie midstride. She looked back over her shoulder just in time to catch him swigging from a half-empty whiskey bottle.
“Going pro was my only way to be better than him, all right? I have no way to be better than him