He answers the phone. “This is Logan Maddox.”
I sip my coffee and watch his expression change. His eyes widen, then his jaw tightens. He stands abruptly and walks to the window, his back to me.
“Yes, sir. I appreciate you reaching out.” His voice has gone formal, professional. “Wow. That's quite an opportunity.”
My stomach drops. The shift in his tone, the way he's suddenly standing at attention, hints that this isn't a casual call. This is important. This is the kind of call that changes everything.
“I'd need some time to think about it, of course. This is a big decision.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Yes, I understand the timeline. Could I call you back?”
There's a pause.
“I appreciate that. Thank you for reaching out. I'll be in touch.”
He ends the call but doesn't turn around immediately. His shoulders are tense, his hand still gripping the phone like a lifeline.
Before he says anything, I already know. The perfect morning we just had, the promises whispered in the dark, it's all about to come crashing down.
“That was the MLB Commissioner's office,” he finally says, still not looking at me. “The San Francisco Condors are looking for a new general manager. They want me to come in to meet with the team.”
The words hang in the air between us like a guillotine blade.
“That's amazing,” I manage, proud that my voice doesn't shake.
“It is.” He finally turns, and I can see the war raging across his features—the duty battling desire, loyalty wrestling with ambition. But underneath it all, there's something else that cuts deeper. Excitement.
He wants this job.
Of course he does. It's the Condors, one of the best teams in the major leagues. It's the natural next step after his playing days ended.
And it's three thousand miles away.
“They want me to fly out for interviews, tomorrow if possible,” he continues, moving back to the table but not sitting. “They suggest I bring Violet so they can show us around the city, see schools, get a feel for what life would be like there.”
“You should go.” The words curdle in my mouth. “You should absolutely go.”
“Heather—”
“I'm serious, Logan.” I stand, wrapping my arms around myself. “This is your career. You can't pass this up.”
“It's not that simple anymore.” His eyes search my face. “I have Violet to think about. She's settled here, finally happy. And you—” He reaches for me, but I step back.
I can't let him touch me right now. My chest aches with the weight of what I'm asking him to do—what I know he has to do, even if it means losing him. If his fingers find mine, if I feel the warmth of his hand, every careful wall I've built will crumble, and I'll beg him to stay.
“You need to think about what's best for you and Violet,” I say carefully. “Don't factor me into this decision.”
“How can I not factor you in? Heather, last night?—”
“Was amazing, wonderful,” I finish for him, struggling past the lump in my throat. “But it doesn't change the reality of your situation. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. If you don't at least explore it, you'll regret it forever.”
He stares at me for a long moment. “Is that what you really think? Or are you already writing us off?”
The accusation stings because it's partially true. I can feel myself pulling back, protecting myself, building that wall in preparation for the inevitable heartbreak.
“I think,” I say slowly, “you need space and clarity to make this decision without feeling guilty. So I'm going to go home and let you process it.”
“Heather, don't do this. Don't shut me out.”
“I'm not shutting you out. I'm giving you room to breathe.” I force a smile. “Call them back. Set up the interview. See what they're offering. Then we'll talk. Cookie, it’s time to go.”
