The Baseball Card Boyfriend (Starrycard Creek Bachelors #3)

Chapter 10

Chapter

Ten

MAGGIE

Maggie’s body went limp, her limbs rising as if she were weightless. The transition from the air to water stopped her spiraling thoughts as an otherworldly quiet took over. She descended into the depths, her hair floating around her head like a halo, moving in a slow-motion dance. She closed her eyes and relaxed, lightening, fading, gently fading. But just as she was about to succumb to the watery embrace, strong arms encircled her. She opened her eyes and saw Christian’s face, his features drawn tight, his hair flowing in dark, swaying waves. The anguish on his face stirred something inside her. And then she heard a noise.

Crack!

As she peered at him, the sharp sound echoed in her mind like a memory attempting to rise to her consciousness. But the recollection vanished as he shuttled her through the water. He broke the surface, and the air hit her cheeks with an icy blast as Lucky’s panicked bark reverberated through the space. She coughed and struggled for breath.

“Take it slow,” Christian urged, his grip firm and protective. He pressed her against his chest, his heartbeat hammering in her ear. He maneuvered them to the steps where Lucky sat, whining and yelping anxiously.

“I’m all right, boy,” she rasped, her hand trembling as she stroked the pup’s neck.

Christian helped her out of the pool and onto a bench. He grabbed a towel off a nearby stack and wrapped it around her shoulders. “What happened, Maggie? Is it your head? Are you in pain, or was it another panic attack?”

She shivered, her breathing finally evening out. “I think it was a panic attack. I couldn’t make it stop. This thought kept rattling around. It took hold and wouldn’t let go.”

“What thought?” he asked, taking her hands as he knelt before her with Lucky at his side.

She couldn’t tell him.

“It’s not important. I didn’t really eat earlier. I’m pretty hungry. That could have made me lightheaded and exacerbated things.”

He tightened his hold on her. “What thought sent you spiraling?”

She shook her head.

“Tell me so I can help you,” he pleaded, his words ripe with agony.

“You really want to know?” she asked, finding her voice.

“Yes, of course, I do. I hate seeing you upset.”

Here goes everything.

She centered herself and locked onto his gaze. “I know that you know me, Christian. That’s the thought that’s been eating at me. I can’t understand why you won’t tell me how we know each other unless the reason would hurt me. And that got me thinking about our current situation. You’re a famous athlete.” She looked away, breaking their connection. “You’ve probably been with a lot of women.”

She could feel the intensity of his gaze as the air between them thickened with tension.

She focused on one of the pool deck’s cracked tiles and forced herself to go on. “Did we sleep together? Did we have a one-night stand? Could I have taken the stone and the card then? And what kind of person just shows up? Am I a stalker? A jilted lover? Was I trying to get money out of you? Am I some crazy girl who couldn’t get over you?”

“Stop! Stop, and look at me, Maggie, please,” he begged.

She complied. The torment written across his face was raw and unguarded as a sea of emotions roiled in his eyes.

“Do you think I would keep something like that from you?”

“I don’t know what to think. I don’t know much, but I know there’s something between us. I feel it. I’ve felt it since I woke up and saw your face. I feel it every time you touch me. Say it, Christian. I can handle it, and I need to know. It’s tearing me apart inside. How are we connected?”

His hands trembled. He tightened his hold and spoke. He’d said one word. One syllable. But she must have misunderstood.

“Say that again. How are we connected?”

He swallowed hard, the muscles in his neck tightening. His gaze flickered to the floor before meeting hers again. “I said…pie.”

The light from the refrigerator cast the senior center’s kitchen in a pale, ghostly glow as they stood before the appliance stocked with a bounty of pies, each covered in clear plastic wrap.

“Pick one. You’ll want something in your stomach for what I’m about to tell you,” Christian said, his voice barely a whisper.

She couldn’t figure out what was going on with him. He was only making it worse by dragging out the explanation. “Christian, this is insane. Just tell me.”

Still dripping wet, she adjusted the towel around her shoulders. Clad in only her bra and panties, he’d led her to a space resembling a Home Ec classroom. He stood beside her, his bare chest exposed, a towel cinched at his waist, and another looped around his neck. He stared into the refrigerator like the aluminum pie tins held the answers to life’s greatest mysteries.

“Humor me, Maggie. Choose a pie.”

“Why?” she snapped.

“Pie is delicious, and it makes everything better,” he replied, the despair in his eyes unmistakable.

“Who says pie makes everything better?”

His expression softened. “You do.”

“Me?”

“You made that claim after we saved Lucky during one of your damned adorable word salad soliloquies. Now, pick a pie, TBD. The seniors won’t miss it. I’ve been eating their pies since I was a kid.”

“You mean stealing,” she countered.

He shrugged and offered a roguish grin. “Fine, stealing. But I did donate a shit-ton of money to put in new appliances here a few years ago. As far as karma goes, we’re good.”

Her frustration prickled through her. “You’ll only tell me how we know each other if I pick a pie?”

“Yes.”

This man.

She scanned the room to check on Lucky. The pup had nestled into a recliner in the corner and slept in a ball, exhausted from the late-night antics. She was exhausted, too. Exhausted by Christian’s stalling. She returned her attention to the infuriating man. He turned on one of the banks of lights, setting the room in a dim glow. The strain in his expression told her he was nervous, but she was pretty freaking anxious also. The difference was that he held the cards. He had the answers. She huffed—so he’d know she wasn’t pleased—then studied the tins. Each pie was labeled. She narrowed her gaze, reading the scribbled writing, then glanced at Christian. “They’re all some variation of pumpkin pie.”

“It’s close to the town’s fall festival. We call it Donnelly Days. There’s a pumpkin pie-making contest. Martha Donnelly, Fiona’s mom, started it. Caroline and I would sneak in a lot more during this time of year. Many of the seniors baked them here. They’ve got a culinary club. They start testing recipes early and the fridge was always stocked.”

She scanned the labels. “Bourbon Pumpkin Pie,” she said, her interest piqued.

“That’s a good one—smoky with a little kick. But it won’t get you hammered. Care and I each hoovered two in one night to see if we would get wasted. The results weren’t pretty. The next day, we couldn’t stop puking. It took a good five years before I was able to even think about pumpkin pie without gagging.”

“Bourbon Pumpkin Pie it is then,” she said, wanting to be angry at the man but unable to hide her amusement at the imagery of the pair gorging on pie, thinking they’d get a buzz.

“That’s more like it,” he said softly.

“What’s more like it?”

“You’re smiling. This is how I always see you—smiling with that sweet blush.”

What did that mean?

He pulled open a drawer and grabbed two plastic sporks while she retrieved the pie and placed it on the stove next to the fridge. Carefully, she peeled back the plastic wrap as if she were opening a gift. An oddly familiar sensation washed over her like this pie, and the work that had gone into making it, was someone’s present to them.

He handed her a spork, and she stared at it intently.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, probably the first person to be rendered gobsmacked by plasticware.

“I could look around for real silverware,” he offered.

“No, no, this is fine,” she answered, pushing aside her puzzling spork fascination.

He gestured with his chin toward the tables. “Do you want to sit?”

“No, pie for dinner should be eaten standing.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Is that some unspoken pie rule I’ve never heard?”

Again, that peculiar familiarity returned. “I don’t know why I said that.”

“Standing it is. Ladies first. Dig in.”

She took a bite, eyes widening as the rich, smoky flavor hit her tongue. The smooth texture and bourbon’s subtle kick stirred an uncanny sense of recognition.

“What do you think?” he asked, then loaded up his spork.

She closed her eyes and concentrated on the flavors. “It’s delicious. I taste a little ginger, too. A nice addition.” She turned her attention back to the pie, took another bite, then rested her spork on the counter. “But we’re not here to talk about pie—even a pie as good as this one. Please, tell me how we know each other. There’s no doubt we’re connected. You called me ‘my Maggie’ in the hospital. You told me that you’re here because of me. You said you’d take me however you could have me. And the way you look at me, it makes me feel like…” Her heart fluttered.

“Like what?”

She gazed into his sage green eyes. “Like you adore me. Like I’m the girl of your dreams. Am I losing my mind?”

That beautiful, boyish grin graced his lips. “No, you’re not. You hit the nail on the head.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t want to do this so soon. I didn’t want to put too much pressure on you. You’ve got amnesia. Everything is new.”

“Christian, tell me now,” she said, voice trembling with emotion.

“Here it is. The truth. Maggie, you are the woman of my dreams.”

She waited for him to smirk or to offer a teasing shrug, but he stood there, his eyes steady and his posture unwavering.

“Christian, answer me truthfully,” she demanded, raising her voice. “I ate some pie. I’m done playing games. I’m about to lose my mind. Where did we meet?”

“I’m telling you the truth. We’ve never met, but you are the girl of my dreams.”

She shook her head, pure fury surging through her. Forget this guy! Sure, he had shown her kindness, and their bond was undeniable, but she was done with this endless back-and-forth. “I don’t have any memories, but I’m not an idiot,” she seethed. “I’m done being treated like one. I’m leaving. I’ll walk around in the rain and sleep on a bench or something. Make sure Lucky gets back to the ranch.”

Fuming, she turned to walk away but didn’t make it an inch. In a fluid motion, he slammed the refrigerator door shut. His hands seized her hips with a fierce urgency. He pushed her back against the hard surface, caging her in, trapping her with the intensity of his hulking presence, their breaths mingling in the charged air between them.

“Don’t go. Let me explain. What I’m about to tell you will sound crazy. It’s why I didn’t want my family to know what you had with you when you showed up.”

“I’d prefer hearing something crazy over nothing. Tell me, or I am leaving. I’ll go to the police. I’ll see what services they provide to help people like me.”

Agony flashed in his eyes. “I’m not lying to you, Maggie. I’ve never met you. But I know you because I’ve been dreaming about you for months—since my injury.”

“I’m literally in your dreams?” she repeated, sure not expecting that.

“Yeah, I see your face. You’re outdoors, and there’s a subtle breeze. Wisps of your hair catch the light as they move. You’re concerned at first, but then you smile at me. I see your face, that smile, the gentle blush on your cheeks, and I’m me. I’m whole. I’m at peace.”

Her anger dissolved, and her heart filled with a raw, aching tenderness for the man. She softened her expression. “Could you be dreaming of someone who looks like me?”

He shook his head, pain welling in his eyes. “It’s you, Maggie. You’re the woman in my dreams. I didn’t know your name. I only learned it when you told me after we saved Lucky. I know what it feels like to be with you. It’s how I feel now. It’s how I’ve felt from the moment I saw your face, touched your hair, and held you. You’re a ray of pure sunshine, this goodness and light in my life. You’re the only thing that’s mattered to me since I lost my ability to play ball. You’re what keeps me going. And it’s been rough. I didn’t want to put this on you, to burden you. You just woke up from a fucking coma with amnesia,” he said, voice cracking.

“I want to know, Christian. I want to know everything, or it’s over. Whatever this is will end.”

The man was hurting, but she had to hold her ground. The air was thick with tension, and each word between them was a spark threatening to ignite the charged atmosphere.

Christian’s eyes darkened, a storm brewing behind them. “You want it all? The good, the bad, and the ugly?”

“Yes, I told you. I want everything .” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried the weight of her resolve.

He stepped closer, heat radiating from his body. “Then, Maggie TBD, that’s what you’ll get.”