Chapter Two - Gage

Thirty-eight hours later, I’m standing beside Jake on a gorgeous stretch of Hawaiian beach in front of an arch decorated with gardenias and long sheets of billowy white satin. The scent of the fragrant flowers drifts on the ocean breeze as turquoise waters whisper across the smooth white sand.

It feels like we’ve been imprinted on a picture-perfect postcard.

The sky morphs from a clear, bright blue to violet, pink, and red shades. The sound of a ukulele has the officiant stepping forward.

“Are you ready, young man?” He asks.

“I was born ready.” Jake folds his hands and turns to wait for his bride.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” I whisper in his ear.

“Thanks, Dad. I know what I’m doing.”

Besides baseball, the other thing Jake and I have in common is neither of us has a family. He lost his parents to drugs and the courts before he was ten, forced to grow up in the foster care system. I lost my father to the Iraqi war when I was a freshman in high school and my mother—who was my world—to breast cancer when I was a senior in college. We must look out for each other. “Are you sure?”

“A million percent sure.”

“If there’s any hesitation, now’s the time. I’ve got your back.”

“Thanks.” He grins. “But this is honestly what I want. When you meet her, you’ll understand.”

“About that.” I lean back down. “Why haven’t I met her?” A sudden gust of wind turns my linen shirt into a pup tent.

“She didn’t get here till last night, and we wanted to wait until the ceremony to see each other. We wanted to do something old-fashioned.” He laughs. “You’ll get to talk to her all you want at the Luau.”

The officiant clears his throat. “Here comes your flower girl.”

Behind a grove of palm trees, a pretty little blonde girl walks towards us, scattering rose petals across the sand. The poor thing looks nervous, so I give her a wink and a wave. When I look up…my heart takes off on a gallop. Sweat trickles down my back. And my lungs freeze mid-breath.

No. Impossible. This can’t be happening.

If my damn heart doesn’t stop racing, I’m going to make a spectacle of myself by faceplanting in the sand.

I shut my eyes, squeeze a whiff of air into my chest, and mutter a quick prayer. When I open my eyes…she’s still there.

Bloody hell.

It’s her.

Darla Gray.

Cinnamon brown hair, full pink lips, freckled skin.

And aquamarine eyes that sparkle like diamonds in the setting sun.

As the sledgehammer of reality swings from my chest to hers, every ounce of color drains from her pretty face. She stumbles, then quickly regains her footing. She takes her place, looks me in the eye, and, in a tone dripping with acid, tosses me a greeting.

“Hello, Gage.”

I glance at Jake. He’s so stinking happy the minute he sees his bride walking towards him, he’s practically levitating. Emily floats across the sand, glowing brighter than a thousand suns.

I look over at Darla, the woman I thought would be my bride, and feel nothing but blistering hot rage. She gives me a saccharine smile. Instantly, I know it’s fake. The woman isn’t happy to see me. She’s thinking about snatching the ukulele from the ukulelist and jamming it down my throat. Or she’s envisioning lighting a cauldron to boil my body so she can soak the skin off my bones.

Hostility is rolling off of her in waves.

Which gets me fired up. I’ve done nothing to her. Ever.

She’s the one who pulled a vanishing act. Disappeared into the ether the day I signed my contract with the Bangor Braves.

I sent her letters. They were returned.

I called her phone. I was blocked.

For days, I stood on her porch knocking on an unanswered door until one of her neighbors took pity on me and told me Darla had packed up her car and moved out of state.

Hurt and lost, I poured everything I had into baseball. Still, my love for her lived. I thought about hiring a private investigator but decided to wait for her to come to her senses.

Ten years I waited.

Ten long, ridiculous years.

Now she’s here.

And by God, I’m going to get an explanation.

Even if I have to hold her hostage, I don’t care. Medusa will tell me what I deserve to know, what she should’ve told me ten years ago.

I give her a devilish smile followed by a wink and take a deep breath.

Finally, I’m going to have my answers.

And then I will be the one walking away from Darla Gray.