“Okay,” she says, nodding. “It’s not the greatest of starts, either. But you guys can figure it out!”

  “There is no you guys,” I say. “There’s me and there’s him and he’s got more important things going on.”

  “Did he tell you that?” she asks, ready to pounce.

  “No, I told him that.”

  “Daisy—”

  “Rose, I can’t keep this baby.”

  Her eyes twinge with sympathy. “Yes, you can.”

  “No, I can’t. I’m a mess,” I say. “I can barely take care of myself. What am I supposed to do with a baby?”

  She pauses, her brow furrowed with confusion. “Daisy, I have never thought you were a mess. I’ve always looked up to you.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah, right.”

  “No, really.” She shifts her chair closer to the bed. “You’re the most confident person I know. You know exactly who you are. You’re totally independent. You don’t care what others think, you never have.”

  “And look where it got me,” I say. “Barely any friends. A shitty job. A shitty studio apartment. And no amount of confidence can make up for the size of my bank account. And…” I exhale hard. “I promised myself I wouldn’t be like them.”

  “Like who?”

  “Like Mom and Dad.”

  Rose’s posture sags. “Oh.”

  “I said I’d never make a child grow up in a place so… broken.” I touch my stomach, acknowledging it for the first time. Part of me wants to scream false positive again, but something deep down knows it’s true. “This baby deserves a real home. With a real family who can take care of it and wants it more than anything. It won’t get that from me and my one-night stand.”

  “So, what are you going to do?” she asks after a moment.

  I look at my stomach, deep in thought. “I’m not sure yet,” I say. “Honestly, I should probably sleep on it. I do have a head injury.”

  “Right.”

  “And the first few months haven’t been too bad,” I add. “Almost halfway done already, technically.”

  “Yeah, how did you not know?” she asks. “You’ve been pregnant since November. It’s March. You haven’t been sick or anything?”

  “I guess I’m just one of the lucky ones.” I shrug. “Or unlucky.”

  “No period?”

  “I haven’t had a period in three years,” I say. “That IUD was magic… until now.”

  “No wonder we have trust issues,” she quips.

  “Yeah,” I say with a snort. “I guess… I don’t know. There are a lot of couples that want babies but can’t have them. You know? Maybe this is a way for me to do something good for a change.”

  She nods. “Yeah.”

  “Also, this is Home Run Hunter’s spawn,” I say, grinning. “There have to be some sports fans out there who would pay top dollar for this kid on the market, you know what I mean?”

  Rose stares at me with wide, horrified eyes.

  “That was a joke,” I say, considering. “Sort of.”

  She slaps my arm.

  I chuckle as I glance around the room. “Where’s John?” I ask, curious.

  “He’s at home. Oh! But you should have seen him!” Rose says, leaning in. “When you went down, he rushed over, picked you up, and carried you out of the stadium!”

  I cringe. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

  “It was so amazing!” She swoons. “Isn’t he the sweetest man ever?”

  I groan, wishing to go unconscious again.

  CHAPTER 9

  HUNTER

  Daisy is having my baby.

  I came so close to never knowing at all. If that pitcher hadn’t had tried that second curve ball. If I had been a split second too slow. If the wind didn’t blow just the right way. If the ball had rolled out of that guy’s glove to the left instead of the right. If it weren’t for that home run, I may have never known about my baby at all. She didn’t even know my real name.

  I should go back to that hospital and say what I really wanted to say.

  If that baby really is mine, then I’m going to be involved. Period.

  Daisy is obviously strong and capable, but no one can do that alone. Not easily. She put up a tough front, but I could see it in her eyes.

  She’s drowning.

  “Fuck, you feel so good.” Daisy leans forward, grinding harder on my dick as her nails dig into my chest. “Oh, god, I’m gonna com—”

  “Hunter Novak?”

  I snap out of the memory, stopped in the hallway by a busty redhead waiting for me at my apartment door.

  “Hi,” I say.

  Probably just a fan. I don’t know how they keep finding out where I live, but moments after discovering I’m going to be a father is not the best time for a quick hook-up.

  She extends her manicured hand. “Trisha Wells. Sports Illuminated magazine,” she says, her voice thick with a southern accent.

  Trisha Wells. I recognize the name. Hell, every athlete in North America knows her name.

  I shake her hand. “Hunter Novak,” I say. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I don’t do interviews.”

  She chuckles. “Yes, I know. You’re all about the game, and I respect that. I’m not here to interview you… yet. I’d just like to chat with a fellow baseball fan. I tried to intercept you after the game today, but they told me you rushed to the hospital. Was the girl all right?”

  “She’s fine,” I say, keeping it vague. “Got a headache, but fine.”

  “I can imagine.” She smiles. “May I come in?”

  “To chat?”

  “It’ll only take a minute.” She winks. “I promise.”

  I hesitate, Daisy still on my mind. But a minute is just a minute. I have the rest of the day to freak out.

  “Sure,” I say. “Come on in.”

  I unlock my door. With a few quick strides, I head inside first, giving my place a quick once-over to make sure I left nothing embarrassing out in the open. Thankfully, I cleaned up yesterday and I’ve spent most of the last twenty-four hours at the campus rec center.

  Trisha walks in past me and I catch a whiff of her perfume before closing the door. Her painted eyes are on the move as well, but her pleasant expression never falters as she takes in the apartment.

  “Nice place. For a college kid,” she adds.

  “Landlord is a family friend,” I say. “I got a good deal.”

  She hums softly. “So, you are quite the celebrity in the world of college baseball.”

  “Am I?”

  “Ratings are up across the country. Our servers can barely keep up with all the clicks. Folks are tuning in in record numbers to watch you slam yet another home run. Your stats are insane.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And that’s just you,” she says. “The Bearhawks have been popping up a lot over the last few years. Ever since champion Cary Pierce came to town to save the football team, it’s been name after name on SI’s radar. Junior Morgan. John Kirby. And now… Hunter Novak. I tell you, there’s something in the water at Chicago North. Something big.”

  “Why aren’t you chatting with them?”

  “I told you. I’m a baseball fan.” Her lips curl. “I’ve already cleared this with your coach and the head of athletics. Now, I just need you.”

  “Need me for what?”

  “I want you to be my exposé.”

  I nearly flinch. “The annual exposé?”

  “You know it?”

  I chuckle. “Yeah, I know it.”

  Everyone knows about Trisha Wells’ annual exposé.

  “Here’s how it works.” She licks her lips. “Once a year, I choose an up-and-coming college athlete. Someone shiny and new. A diamond in the rough. Then, I give America an all-access pass. I spend the season with them. I’m in the dugouts, on the bus,” her eyebrow twitches, “in the motels. Wherever you go, I go, and we give the world a chance to fall in love with you.”

  “Sounds invasive.”

  “Oh, it is.” She smiles. “But it’s worth it. I’ve showcased some of the best young athletes in the world. You’d be hard-pressed to find one who didn’t credit their success to me and my exposé.”

  “Ms. Wells, this all sounds great, but—”

  “They’ve all gone pro,” she says, making me pause. “Every. Single. One.” She tilts her head. “Now, does that sound like something you’d be interested in, Hunter?”

  It’s pretty clear that she’s interested in a little more than my talent for hitting homers, but I don’t have the energy to think about that right now.

  But going pro? It’s everything I’ve worked for. It’s my dream.

  “I have to think about it,” I say, this day far too overwhelming already.

  “Don’t take too long,” Trisha says. “My editor needs my subject yesterday. There’s another game tomorrow, and I want to be sitting right next to you in that dugout. And believe me when I say the rest of America wants that, too.”

  I reach for the door, but pause. Trisha Wells’ exposés have three things in common: a talented athlete, her witty prose, and…

  “This exposé,” I say. “It has pictures, right?”

  “I have a photographer from the magazine ready to go at the drop of a hat. He’ll be with us the whole time, getting your best side.” She chuckles. “Not that you even have a bad side.”

  “I’ll do it,” I say.

  She twitches with delight. “Really?”

  “Under one condition.”

  “Anything you want, honey.”

  “I get to pick the photographer.”

  She squints. “Well, I don’t think that’s possible…”

  I open the door for her. “Sorry. No deal.”

  “Okay. Okay.” She holds up a hand. “It’s a bit unorthodox, but I think we can work something out.”

  “Good.”

  Trisha bats her eyes at me, curious. “Who did you have in mind?”

  CHAPTER 10

  DAISY

  When I woke up this morning, I didn’t expect the words yolk sac and fetal heartbeat to be a part of my day.

  But that’s life, I guess.

  I’ve seen ultrasounds before on television, but I never really thought twice about them. It’s a whole other matter entirely when you’re looking at something inside of your own body.

  “What are you thinking about?” Rose asks from the chair beside me in her kitchen. She puts a finger on the photo and pulls it closer to her.

  “This thing,” I say.

  “Obviously.”

  She slides it back to me, this time pushing a scrap of paper along with it. Hospital stationery. Hunter’s number.

  I nudge it back to her. “No.”

  “I think you should call him,” she says.

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s probably sitting around staring into space, just like you. It might be nice if he had something to stare at.”

  She gestures to the ultrasound photo.

  “You think I should send it to him,” I say.

  “I think he would appreciate it.”

  I grunt.

  “Come on.” She flicks my shoulder. “Send it to him.”

  I sigh and reach for my phone. “For the record, I’m acting under protest.”

  “Duly noted. Send it.”

  I snap a photo of the ultrasound on the table.

  The phone rings in my palm. Unrecognized number.

  “Is it him?” Rose asks with excitement.

  “Doubt it,” I say. “I didn’t even send it yet.” I answer it. “Hello?”

  “Hi, this is Trisha Wells from Sports Illuminated magazine. Is this Daisy Hawthorne?”

  My heart stops. Trisha Wells? The Trisha Wells?

  Why the hell is the Trisha Wells calling me?

  “Hello?”

  “Uh… yeah,” I say. “Yes. This is Daisy Hawthorne.”

  “Oh, good! I’m sorry to bother you so late, but I have a little opportunity I wanted to run by you.”

  “An opportunity?”

  I push a nosey Rose off my shoulder and rise out of my chair to get some space.

  “I just got done taking a peek at your portfolio, Daisy, and I must say, I’m surprised we haven’t called you sooner. You have a great eye.”

  “Wow,” I say, barely breathing. “Thank you, Ms. Wells!”

  “This is very short notice, but are you familiar with my annual exposé?”

  “Yes!” I answer with a laugh. “I look forward to it every year.”

  “I thought so! Listen, I need a girl like you to team up with me for this year’s article. Would you be interested in something like that?”

  No fucking way.

  Rose taps my arm, jolting me out of my trance.

  “Daisy?” Trisha asks.

  “Yes,” I finally answer. “Yes, of course, I’m interested! Thank you so much for this opportunity!”

  “How quickly can you get to Chicago?” she asks. “You’re Boston-based, yes?”

  I blink. Weird. “I’m in Chicago right now, actually. I’m visiting family for spring break.”

  “Well, I’ll be! It’s kismet.”

  My gut tilts. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

  Rose squints to ask what’s wrong.

  “Stop by the SI offices downtown tomorrow and we’ll get everything figured out,” Trisha continues. “This assignment will extend several weeks, so you’ll need to relocate here for that time.”

  “Oh,” I say. “Wow. That’s a lot on short notice.”

  “I realize that, but this is a once-in-a-lifetime gig, honey. Of course, the magazine will handle your relocation expenses. And you’ll receive competitive compensation — with benefits. Free lodging with the team for away games, a per-diem for food and basic needs. The works.”

  I wait for the catch.

  There has to be a catch, right?

  There’s no such thing as too good to be true, especially in my life.

  “So, what do you say, Daisy?” she asks. “Are you with me?”

  I look into Rose’s screwed-up face. She waits on needles to find out what the hell is going on, same as me.

  There’s something off about this, but to be a photographer for Sports Illuminated? On Trisha Wells’ annual exposé? It’s my dream. I can’t say no.

  “Yes,” I answer. “I’m with you, Ms. Wells.”

  “Oh, please. Trisha is fine, hun.”

  “May I ask… who is this year’s exposé on?” I ask.

  “The one and only Hunter Novak!”

  And there it is.

  I grit my teeth. “Really?”

  “Yep. Home Run Hunter himself! In fact, he’s the one who recommended you.”

  “Did he?”

  “Said he wouldn’t do the article without you. I guess the two of you are old friends?”

  “Something like that.”

  “So, I will meet you at the regional SI office tomorrow morning at noon. We’ll get you a badge and a camera and then head on down to the stadium for the game. All you have to bring is that wonderful eye of yours.”

  “Okay,” I say, unable to form any other word.

  “Bye-bye, hun!”

  “Yeah. Bye, Trisha.”

  I hang up and drop the phone onto the table.

  “Who was that?” Rose asks. “What just happened?”

  “That…” I pace on the carpet, reaching up to scratch my head. My fingernails accidentally slide across my bruise and I wince hard at the pain firing down my neck. “That was Trisha Wells.”

  “I know that name…” She pauses. “Where do I know that name from?”

  “From Sports Illuminated magazine.”

  She gasps. “Holy crap.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What did she want?”

  “She wanted to offer me my dream job at my dream employer. The annual exposé piece. Benefits, per-diem…” I kick a chair leg. “The works!”

  “Daisy, that’s awesome!”

  “No.” I shake my head. “No. This is very much not awesome, Rose.”

  “Why not? What am I missing?”

  “Because this year’s exposé is on Hunter Novak, who apparently recommended me for the job and won’t do the damn article at all unless I’m involved.”

  Rose furrows her brow, thinking hard. “I still don’t see the problem.”

  I dig my toes into the floor. “The problem is that I didn’t earn this, Rose.”

  “Says who?”

  “Trisha Wells never glanced at my portfolio before. Now I’m suddenly the first pick photographer for one of the biggest college sports articles of the year? It’s bullshit.”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugs slowly. “I think it’s kind of sweet.”

  “Sweet?”

  “Hunter wants to help you,” she says. “This exposé is huge. That he would pass on the opportunity if you weren’t involved says a lot if you ask me. And it’s not like you…” She closes her mouth, thinking twice.

  “Not like I… what?” I ask.

  “Nothing.”

  “Rose.”

  “It’s not like you have anything else going on,” she says, cringing.

  I gasp. “Wow.”

  “Well, you don’t!”

  I let out a frustrated sigh. “Who the hell does he think he is? That he can just wave a finger and take over my life? That knocking me up somehow means he owns me? This isn’t okay.”

  She frowns. “Daisy, you’re taking a few wacky leaps in logic here.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Is this a hormonal thing?”

  I glare, annoyed, before bolting toward the door.

  “Where are you going?” she asks.

  “I am going…” I charge back to the table for the scrap of paper and my phone. “To go give Hunter Novak a piece of my mind!”

  “I do not condone this behavior!”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t condone…” I pause with one foot in the hallway, “your face!”

  “We have the same face!”

  I slam the door behind me and rush down the stairs.

  Home Run Hunter.

  More like Broken Nose Hunter when I get through with him.

  CHAPTER 11

  HUNTER