Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“Just give me one minute,” he said, rising to his feet. As he passed me on the way to the bathroom, he kissed my shoulder. “I wish you didn’t have to work today. I could spend all day in bed with you and be completely happy.”
I turned and gave him a hug. “Do you feel better?”
“Yes. I do.” He went into the bathroom and closed the door, and a minute later, he opened it and came out again.
But first, I saw the strip of light at the bottom of the door flash on and off eight times.
Nineteen
April
I thought about mentioning the light switch thing on the way home, but never seemed to find the right words. It worried me, though. Was he okay?
He pulled up at my place and put the SUV in park. “Can I see you tonight?”
“Sure. Want to come over after I’m done at work?”
“Yes.” He yawned. “Sorry. I’m so fucking tired today.”
“I know. And I’ll be late tonight,” I said apologetically. “Why don’t I give you my spare key, and you can wait for me here? That way, you can just fall asleep if you’re exhausted.”
He shrugged. “Okay.”
“Let’s do that. Then I won’t feel so bad. Give me a minute.” Getting out of the car, I hurried to the front door and let myself in, stepping over a pile of mail. I scooped it up and set it on the table before grabbing my spare key from a kitchen drawer and taking it back out to Tyler.
“Thanks.” He tucked it into his pocket. “The team has a home game tonight, so I’ll head over after that.”
“Perfect. I’ll text you and let you know what time to expect me.” I leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You okay, babe?”
“I’m fine.”
“I’m sorry again about the Bethany Bloomstar thing.”
He yawned again. “It’s okay. I’m more mad that she dragged your name into it. And Cloverleigh’s.”
“Don’t worry about that. I bet no one even saw it.”
He shook his head and gave me a look.
“Okay, well, even if people did see it, the people who matter to us know the truth, right?”
“Right.”
“Hey.” I took his hand. “I can tell you’re upset. And I saw the light switching on and off eight times in the bathroom.”
He shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just a thing I do sometimes. A habit.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Look, I’m tired, I’m not thinking straight, and my brain is all muddled. I promise—it was just a reflex. I’m okay. I’m going to go back to the hotel and take a nap.”
“Good idea.” I leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I’ll see you tonight.”
I went into the house, plugged in my phone, and headed upstairs to take a shower and get ready for work. When I came down an hour later, I had a ton of text messages—some from my sisters, one from my mom, a few from friends I hadn’t seen in a while. All of them were about the same thing: the news story about Tyler and me. Many of them had sent me the link to the online video.
Knowing it was a bad idea, I clicked on it.
“Few major league baseball careers have imploded as spectacularly as hometown hero Tyler Shaw’s.” Bethany Bloomstar’s voice accompanied a series of photos of Tyler, starting with one from high school, in which he appeared cocky and grinning.
“A first-round draft pick right out of high school, Shaw rocketed to fame within a few years, making millions, breaking hearts, and winning game after game, thanks in large part to his phenomenal fastball and supreme confidence.” Now the photos showed Tyler in his San Diego uniform—on the mound looking fierce, signing autographs after a game, celebrating a win in the clubhouse.
“But you know what they say—pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall—and Shaw’s fall from grace was huge, it was public, and it was enough to kill his career for good.” Video footage showed Tyler throwing wild pitches one after the other, sometimes hitting a batter, sometimes sailing wide, sometimes hitting the dirt just ten feet from the mound. I cringed with every throw, knowing how it was killing Tyler inside.
“What caused Shaw to go from hero to head case was a phenomenon widely known as the yips, a sudden loss of ability in pro athletes. While it’s not well understood, most experts agree it’s not due to a physical problem—the issue is entirely in the athlete’s head.” A photo of Tyler sitting on the bench with his head in his hands put a lump in my throat.
“Most of them never recover, and Tyler Shaw was no exception. His career tanked. His endorsement deals ended. His dreams shattered. Once famously charming, Shaw became reclusive and angry, refusing all interview requests. Within three years, he retired from baseball and retreated to a cabin in the San Bernardino Mountains to avoid the media maelstrom.” Video footage of a small, secluded cabin in the woods appeared, although there was no sign of him, and I wondered if it was even his place.