“Come on, Violet.” I stand, holding my hand to her. “Let's go have some fun.”
Four hours later, the moving crew has finally finished, and Violet is fast asleep in her new bedroom. It's blissfully quiet in the house, which is very soothing to my thinly-stretched nerves after all this insanity.
With a sigh, I glance around the huge open space that includes the kitchen, the dining room, and the living room. When I finally decided to make the move, I’d had the entire place renovated. But I’d always loved this open layout.
Boxes are stacked from floor to ceiling, but the furniture is in place, the beds are together, and the internet is up. Thank god. From the way it looks, it will take forever to unpack. But right now, I'm having a drink and jumping into my neglected inbox.
I accepted the job as general manager of The Rockets well over a month ago after the season, but this move and managing Violet's care have taken most of my attention. Now it's time to get to work.
Pouring a whiskey, I massage my aching shoulder as I settle into the couch and begin clearing out my emails. This injury might've ended my playing career, but it led me here to this team, to something that feels right. Some doors close so better ones can open, or whatever the hell people say.
All I know is that for the first time in months, I can actually see a future that doesn't feel like I'm just going through the motions. Maybe we can build something good here, Violet and I, with this team and this town. They say there’s no place like home. For the first time in my life, I’m hoping that’s true.
The Rule 5 Draft is next month, and I want to be ready. The best way to beef up The Rockets’ roster is to pluck from other farm teams, so getting up to speed as quickly as possibleis crucial. I've already got my eye on a few prospects who've been overlooked, diamonds in the rough that just need the right opportunity. If I can grab two or three solid players and shore up our pitching rotation, we’ll have a solid shot at turning this team around next season.
A cry from upstairs jolts me upright. I sprint to Violet's room faster than I ever ran in my career. She's curled into a tight ball in the center of the bed, her sobs filling the darkened space. Damn it. I knew the move might be tough on her and it looks like I’m right.
“Hey, sweetpea.” I run a hand gently over her hair. “It's okay. You're okay.”
She hiccups through her tears, sucking her thumb and clutching her teddy bear. “I want my mommy.”
The words hit me like a fastball to the gut. Every single time. I'd give anything to fix this for her, but all I can do is be here and it never feels like enough.
“I know, Vi.” My heart breaks into two pieces. “I want her back, too.”
She scoots over and pats the bed. “Stay, Uncle Logan?”
So much for working tonight. There's no way I'm about to tell her no, so I climb in beside her.
Everything else can wait—baseball, my inbox, all of it. Right now, she needs me, and I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.
Chapter 3
Heather
Two paws smack the floor, which is Cookie's dramatic way of voicing disapproval. But I am not in the mood this morning. We're already late.
“Cookie, there's no time for the early walk today. You'll have to wait until we get home tonight.” I butter two slices of toast and glance at the front door. She glares at me like I've just canceled Christmas. “Go pick your toy for the day.”
With an exaggerated huff, she jumps through the doggie door. I'd had it installed recently, which turned out to be a huge mistake. Now Cookie thinks she's got free run of the neighborhood, wandering off whenever the mood strikes. She usually avoids trouble, and the street is quiet, so my biggest worry is someone scooping her up.
Not that it’d last. Anyone who grabs her spoiled, stubborn butt would return her within the hour, probably with an apology note and a bill for therapy.
I sigh, taking a bite of toast, and finish packing my lunch. Grabbing my bags, I head out the door. “Cookie, let's get going.”
I stumble to a halt.
A little girl is perched on my porch swing with my dog wrapped around her like a blanket. Her blonde hair is mussed,as if she just woke up, and blue eyes that look too big for her face are a little bleary. She's stroking a hand lovingly down Cookie's head and sucking her thumb as she stares back at me.
“Hi.” I don't know what else to say. This is the last possible thing I expected to find on my way to work. I’d have been less surprised to have found a gator on my porch, even though gators haven’t been spotted in town in at least a decade.
“Are you okay?” I ask, approaching her slowly.
She nods, hugging Cookie.
“What's your name, honey?” I squat down to her level and notice she's dressed in a nightgown with nothing on her feet. Luckily it doesn't get too chilly in the mornings yet, but that will change in a month or two.
She pops her thumb out of her mouth. “Violet.” Her little hand smooths lovingly down Cookie again and my dog looks absolutely blissed out. It's definitely love at first sight. “Your puppy is pretty.”
