Page 6 of Curveball

Chapter 3

Walker

Present Day

It had been about a month or so since I’d come back home to Primrose Hill. The fracture wasn't fully healed just yet, but it was healed enough for the cast to come off and for me to start physical therapy to get my arm moving again. I was itching to get back in the gym; sitting still was torture for a guy like me, but Dr. Bennett was adamant that I needed to take it slow.

I was headed into town to grab some coffee from my favorite place, PrimCup, when my phone began to ring over my truck's speakers, my agent’s name flashing on the screen.

I pressed the button to answer the call. "Hey Scott, how's it going?" Scott Fisher had been my agent since the beginning and was incredibly loyal.

"Walker, it's going good. How's the arm feeling?"

"It's feeling better. I start PT next week, so we’ll see how it feels then." I flicked my blinker on to turn onto Main Street.

"That's good to hear. Just wanted to check in to see how you’re feeling after all the articles about your injury came out. I hope you're not paying any attention to that bullshit."

I clenched my jaw. The articles were everywhere. Speculation, opinions, predictions about whether this injury was the end of my career. At thirty, the general consensus seemed to be that I was finished. I didn't feel done, not even close. I wanted, hell, I needed a World Series win before I retired, like I needed my next breath.

"Nah man, I try not to read or listen to any of that shit. Just trying to stay focused on my recovery," I lied easily.

In reality, I’d read every headline. Each one sank me deeper into a dark headspace I didn’t recognize. It scared me more than I wanted to admit. But I wasn’t about to say that out loud.

"Good. Well, keep me updated on how PT is going, and if you need anything in the meantime, don't hesitate to call or text me." I knew Scott was as anxious as I was for me to get back to the game. I was his most lucrative player.

"For sure. Thanks for calling,"

I ended the call and pulled into a spot outside PrimCup. Across the street, the sign for Wildflower Interiors stared back at me.

My chest tightened.

Every time I saw it, the same sinking feeling hit. I was proud of Farrah. Proud that she’d built the life she’d always dreamed of, but it still burned that she’d done it without me. Nine years had passed, and I was still angry. Still hurt. I’d managed to avoid running into her since I’d gotten home, but I caught myself listening for her laugh, hoping for a glimpse of her somewhere in town.

Shaking it off, I headed inside.

“Walker James!” Grace Williams called the moment she spotted me, abandoning the counter to pull me into a hug. “I’ve been waiting forever for you to show your face.” Grace was a tiny woman with a silvery bob and the bluest eyes.

I laughed softly. “Hey, Mrs. Williams. Sorry I took so long. I’ve been lying low.”

“Well, I’m just glad you’re here,” she said, already pouring my coffee. “Ray’s in the back if you want to say hello.” She and her husband, Ray, were good friends of my parents and often made appearances at our Sunday family dinners.

I poked my head into the back to find Ray Williams sitting in his office at his desk. "Hey, Mr. Williams. Just wanted to say hello before I head over to my parents’."

The older man pushed back from his desk and came over to shake my hand. He placed a hand on my shoulder and squeezed, his deep brown eyes shining. "Good to see you, Walker. How's the elbow feeling?"

"Feeling better. I start PT next week," I took a sip of my coffee and nearly moaned. They made the best damn coffee, and it was one of the things I missed most when I was in the city or traveling.

"Good to hear. I'm sorry about the injury, but I can't say I'm disappointed that we’ll get to see more of you around for a little bit." He smiled. "I don't want to keep you, so be sure to refill that cup and grab a blueberry scone on your way out. Say hello to your parents for us," He made his way back to his desk. “Oh, and Walker? Don’t listen to all that bullshit noise. You’re not done.”

I huffed out a laugh. "Thanks, I appreciate that. I'll see y'all soon." Back at the counter, Grace handed me the scone without a word, as if she’d heard every bit of our conversation.

I walked back to my truck, and once again, out of habit, I glanced over towards Farrah's building.

That’s when I saw her.

Long blonde hair falling down her back. The same posture I’d know anywhere. My breath hitched, my heart kicking hard as I stood frozen beside my truck, silently willing her to turn around. Just a glimpse—that was all I needed.

But she didn’t.