11. Ronan

Ronan

Happy to be here?Seriously? I guess that's the best I can come up with when faced with the surprise of a fucking lifetime. Holy shit, I was not prepared for this. For her.

Here I am, shaking her hand, probably looking like a complete idiot. But I can't stop staring at the woman who has haunted my dreams for months.

What the fuck is she doing here? Then all the pieces fall into place. How knowledgeable she was about baseball, and just now, the team's owner introduced her as a member of the media relations staff. The little minx never told me she worked for a goddamn major league team. Suddenly her hesitation in getting close to me in Hawaii makes a little bit more sense.

Then the other thing Mike Cartwright said when he introduced her comes flashing back to me. His niece. I fucked the niece of the man who owns me for the next five goddamn years. The man who could make or break my future.

Fucking fuck.

Even as my pulse races and my mind spins in circles, I can't help but steal glances at her, drinking in her beauty. It doesn't take a genius to deduce from her body language and the way she greeted me that Willow doesn't want anyone finding out we know each other on a personal level, and I'll respect that. Honestly, it's probably for the best. But damn, she's more stunning than I remember. Even if she does look so very different from the relaxed, vacation Willow I knew. This version of her in heels and a tight pencil skirt is sexy as fuck.

I only realize I've been ogling her when I get a not-so-subtle elbow in my side from Gage.

"We just need your signature Ronan, then we can go get the circus over with." For a sports agent, Gage hates the media more than he probably should. There's no missing the derision in his voice, and Willow catches it, judging by the slight frown that crosses her face.

A frown I want to smooth away. But I've got no right, and no reason, to do that.

Honestly, of all the teams I could have been traded to, Vancouver wasn't high on my list. Hell, I didn't want to be traded at all, but the offer the Tridents made was one I couldn't turn down. The chance at a long-term contract, one I could possibly extend for the remainder of my career, depending on how long I play, was one I couldn't say no to.

Peyton first, baseball second. That's the way it has been, and the way it has to be.

Which is why I have to push aside this adrenaline rush I'm feeling just from the surprise of seeing Willow again and put on my game face. A mask of cool professionalism with a hint of pro-athlete arrogance the media eats up. We go into the other room where a crowd of reporters are waiting. Questions about my move across the country are thrown at me, and I answer them with ease.

Until one.

"What excites you the most about relocating to the West Coast?"

An innocent question and one I had a ready-made answer for. Except now, that answer is different. I just can't say the real reason I'm excited to be out west. Because the truth is, even though I don't have time for a relationship and know I need to keep my distance from Willow, seeing her again was like a jolt of electricity running through my body. Lighting up parts that have been dim for so long.

"The warmer weather, of course," I say with a cocky smirk at the reporter who asked. But my eyes betray me as my gaze darts over to the side where Willow stands, looking at something on her phone.

The press conference wraps up pretty quickly after that, and Willow disappears before I can get free. One of the assistant coaches shows up to take me around the stadium and facilities on a quick tour we didn't have time for before the conference, and I find myself glancing down hallways and into offices, desperate for a glimpse of her.

With spring training starting up in just over a month, there's not a lot of players around. Just the ones who didn't travel for the offseason. But when we enter the gym filled with top-of-the-line equipment, walls lined with mirrors, and a sound system pumping out rock music, a couple of guys notice our arrival.

"Ronan Sinclair. Nice to have you on board." Dan Montgomery, one of the catchers and a local Vancouver guy from what I recall reading through the player roster to familiarize myself with my new teammates, comes over to shake my hand. "Call me Monty. Only my mom calls me Dan."

"And Lark," another guy calls out as he ambles over. He's got a southern accent, deep enough to make it clear he's not from here. "Rhett Darlington. Pleasure to meet ya. Call me Rhett, or Darlin"."

"Nice to meet you both. Call me Sin, or Ronan is fine. And who's Lark?" I ask, curiosity getting the better of me. To my surprise, Monty blushes a deep red as Rhett just grins.

"You'll meet her soon. One of the best trainers out there, the woman can fix just about anything. Unfortunately for our friend Monty, she's very much unavailable. And he very much wishes she wasn't."

"Shut up," Monty mumbles, scrubbing his hand over his face. I glance over at Harvey, the assistant coach escorting me around, but given the smirk he's fighting back, it seems everyone is aware of Monty's crush on the unavailable trainer. In a way, I can relate to the guy, seeing as the only woman I've had any interest in for years has also made it clear she's unavailable.

"Sorry man, that's a shitty situation," I say.

He just shrugs. "It is what it is."

"Someday, you'll get your shot." Rhett slaps his hand on Monty's shoulder, the other man grimacing slightly.

"Moving on." Monty looks up at me. "You got family moving with you? Wife? Girlfriend? Boyfriend?"

"My daughter and my mom, who helps when I have to work. No partner." I shrug. "Never found anyone who could handle the demands of my job and my kid."

Until I met a beautiful brunette that made me wonder if having it all could someday be possible. But I don't share that part with the guys. Instead, I glance down at my watch and frown when I realize what time it is back on the East Coast. "Shit, actually, I need to get going. They're waiting for me to call before Peyton goes to bed."

"That's cool, Sin. Hey, we'll be here again tomorrow for some batting practice if you want to join."

"Thanks, that'd be great." We exchange numbers, and I let Harvey lead me out of the gym to wrap up our tour. But the truth is, my mind is somewhere else, across the country, in fact. On a four-year-old girl waiting for my call.

When I finally get back to my hotel room over an hour later, I have just enough time for a quick shower while I wait for room service to bring up some dinner before I need to call my mom and Peyton.

With my hair still wet, I pull on some shorts and a T-shirt before sitting down in the armchair next to the window that overlooks the water of Coal Harbour. Pulling up my mom's phone number, I hit the video icon and wait to see my girl.

"Daddy!" her excited shriek has me grinning. "Lemme see your hotel room."

Right on cue. Every time I travel, the first thing Pey wants to see is wherever I'm staying.

Standing up, I start to pan the room. "Okay, baby girl, here it is. There's my bed, and the bathroom, and here's the view."

Peyton starts babbling on about the water and the boats she can see, and my mind travels back in time to standing by a window overlooking crystal clear blue water with a beautiful woman by my side.

Damn it, no. I can't go there.

"Can I have a purple bedroom when we get a house, Daddy?" The question startles me out of my spiral. I look down at my phone where Peyton's waiting for my answer. Shit, I haven't even started to look at houses. And they'll be here in a week.

"Sure, Pey," I answer, feeling the overwhelm start to build inside of me. The last time I was traded, when I landed in Toronto, I didn't have a kid. It was easy to just live out of a hotel room until I found an apartment close enough to the stadium.

This time, I need a house big enough for me, my daughter, and my mother. I need to think about school districts. Community safety. Amenities. A backyard. And a purple bedroom.

"Thanks! Oh, Gran wants to talk to you. Love you, bye!" Peyton fumbles the phone over to my mom and I hear her tell Mom about a purple bedroom before my mom's face appears on the screen.

"Hi honey, how did today go?"

I exhale slowly, sitting back down on the chair. "Good. Nothing special, but it was fine. Met a couple of the guys on the team, checked out the facility. It's nice."

Here's the thing about living with your mother as an adult. She learns to read you like a fucking book.

"What are you not telling me, Ronan Sinclair?" she asks, her tone making it clear — answer, or else.

I'll answer, but I'm not telling her everything. "Nothing, I promise. I'm just tired. There's a lot to do before you guys fly out. Is everything set with the movers?"

Mom nods. "Yes, you confirmed it all before you left. Everything will arrive within a week of leaving Ontario. Did Gage get you connected with a realtor out there?"

I shake my head because I forgot to ask him. "No. I'll get going on that tomorrow."

"We can't live out of a hotel forever, Ronan." Mom sounds concerned, and it's not the first time she's expressed her worry over the condensed timeline in which I'm trying to do everything. She might be really fucking great and respect my decisions and autonomy with my daughter, but Pamela Sinclair is also the ultimate mama bear. And if she thinks someone or something isn't in the best interest of her family, she doesn't hesitate to tell them so.

Which is why she tried hard to convince me it was fine if she and Peyton didn't move until after spring training, but I argued. That then, the season will start, I'll be traveling, and it'll be crazy. I want them moved and settled into a house before I head south to Arizona with the team.

Besides, I miss my little girl. Being away from her is the one downside to my career, and I try to minimize the time we're apart as much as possible. Hawaii was the first time we were apart for something other than baseball. And look how that ended. With me on a plane at five in the morning because my daughter fell on the playground at preschool and hurt her wrist.

But their imminent arrival doesn't leave me with a lot of time to find a house and organize the move.

"I know, Mom. Don't worry, I'll find a place soon."

The knock on my door gives me the perfect excuse to end the call before she can make my stress level go any higher. I love her and could never find a way to show her how much I appreciate all of her help, but she still manages to stress me out with what she chooses to fixate on. "Food's here."

"Okay. I need to get your daughter to bed, anyway."

I stand up and move to the door as Mom goes looking for Peyton to say goodnight. After tipping the room service attendant, I sit back down on the edge of the bed this time as my daughter comes back on screen.

"Goodnight, baby girl, I love you. Can't wait to see you next week." Seeing her brings a smile to my face, even with the stress mounting in my head.

"Love you, too, Daddy." She yawns widely. "Give Snowberry a hug from me, 'kay?"

I lean over and pick up the small white bear she gave me a year ago that now travels with me everywhere, squeezing it to my chest. "Done and done. Tell Gran to give you an extra hug from me."

"Night, Daddy." Peyton waves at me, and I wave back before the screen goes black.

The low that always hits when I hang up from a call with Peyton sweeps over me. I miss her constantly.

Midway through eating my now cold dinner, my phone lights up with a new email. From none other than Willow Lawson, assistant director of media relations.

There's no subject line and no content except for a string of ten numbers that I immediately save in my phone. The phone barely rings once before she answers. "Ronan?"

"Hey, Cherry."

I hear her sharp intake of breath and know I've already made a mistake. "You can't call me that."

"Sorry." I run my hands through my hair, stand up, and start to pace the room. "Is this gonna be okay? Me playing here?" Not that I can change anything if she says no, but I feel like I have to ask. "I didn't seek out this trade, but it was one I couldn't turn down. And I had no idea you were here."

"I know, I saw the contract after you signed it. Five years is a long time. I know you probably wanted that stability for your daughter." Her voice sounds too clipped, too formal. I know I've got professional Willow on the phone, not vacation-fling Willow.

"Yeah. It's a hell of an offer."

Silence falls for a minute, which stretches into two.

"No one can know about us, Ronan. About what happened in Hawaii." She rushes the words out, as if they're difficult to say.

I exhale slowly. I didn't expect her to say anything different, and truthfully, I agree. But it still sucks. "I know. I don't want to cause any waves with management. I won't say anything."

Her sigh of relief is audible over the phone, and I feel a bit bad realizing she must have been worried about this all day. "Thank you." The two words are said so softly, I almost miss them. "Well, I should let you go."

"Yeah," I say, clearing my throat. "But, ah, it was good to see you again."

Another second of silence as I wonder if I crossed the line again saying that. Then…

"You too, Ronan."

The call disconnects, and I let my hand that's holding the phone drop down to my side. There might be a huge wall between us now, but some part of me is still drawn to her.

Which is going to be a huge fucking problem.