The Baseball Card Boyfriend (Starrycard Creek Bachelors #3)

Chapter 21

Chapter

Twenty-One

MAGGIE

“Mags, give me the name of another fancy type of pumpkin pie. Derek messaged me—his wife is loving how much you know about pies. He says she’s a foodie looking to wow his family at Thanksgiving this year.”

Maggie peered across the table at the man she’d been dating for the last five years. “Who’s Derek?” she asked. Bobby had been talking nearly nonstop since she’d gotten into his car and said goodbye to the town and the man she loved, but she hadn’t been able to focus. She could barely breathe.

“Who’s Derek?” Bobby shot back, a sharp annoyance threaded through his reply.

She nodded.

“He’s our future. I’m on the shortlist to join his practice. We’ve only talked shop, but when he mentioned his wife was stressing over Thanksgiving desserts, I found my in with him. I need another suggestion fast. So far, we’ve given her maple pumpkin pie and cheesecake pumpkin pie.”

Maggie stared at the table, her unease settling in like a heavy fog. Everything felt wrong. She was trying to fit into a life—supposedly, her life—but nothing made sense. From the second she’d left Christian’s embrace, the warmth and safety of life in Starrycard Creek vanished, replaced by a cold emptiness. Her hands trembled as she reached for her cup of tea, but even that motion felt unnatural.

Nothing clicked, not the words she spoke, not the smile she forced, not even the room she sat in. Of course, it didn’t help that she still couldn’t remember a thing about her life, but the energy here was negative, and all she wanted to do was escape.

Bobby tapped the table. “Mags, come on. Derek’s waiting. I need another pie.”

“Stumble Juice Pumpkin Pie,” she stammered, staring out the window. A subtle calm settled over her as she recalled the rich flavor and the pi?on nut crust.

“Mags!”

She gasped and met his disparaging gaze. “What’s wrong?”

“Stumble Juice Pumpkin Pie sounds like something hillbillies with missing teeth eat. Don’t you have anything more refined? These are highly educated people. I know that might be tricky for you because you didn’t go to college or finish culinary school. But I need you to start thinking and acting like a doctor’s girlfriend again.”

She watched as he flicked his gaze back to his cell. How could she love this man? Who was Pre-amnesia Maggie? A snob? A gold digger? No, simply the thought of using someone tied her stomach in knots.

“Come on, Mags,” he urged.

“Um…ricotta pumpkin pie.”

“Nice one,” he crooned, hammering out a text, then hit send.

Ping.

“Fuck, yes, Bobby, you are the master,” the man announced, pumping his fist as he obsessed over the screen.

“Fuck Bob,” she murmured, recalling how Christian had eased her anxiety with that teasing phrase. But there was more. It had felt like a small, rebellious victory when she’d spoken those words.

“What did you say?” Bobby asked, still glued to his cell.

“Nothing,” she mumbled.

“Okay, Derek’s wife wants the recipe. We are so in. Who would have thought your little baking hobby would be so helpful? This NYC partnership is going to work out. I can feel it. I’ll get out from under my father’s shadow and make a name for myself.”

“In New York,” she repeated, taken aback.

“Yeah, I thought I mentioned that to you,” he answered, then checked his watch. “Are you packed? The car to the airport will be here soon. I put your passport on the desk in the bedroom.”

“I saw it. I’ve got it.”

“And you don’t need to take those pills,” he said, gaze locked on his cell’s screen.

“The anxiety meds?” she asked, her voice wavering as she felt a knot tighten in her stomach.

“You don’t need them,” he said dismissively, still focused on his phone.

“I disagree.”

“Mags, I’m a doctor,” he stated flatly, as if that alone should silence her doubts.

“And a doctor prescribed them, and they’re helping me,” she countered, her eyes narrowing as she tried to read his expression, feeling a growing unease.

“Some doctor practicing in Bumblefuck, Colorado,” he muttered, finally looking up.

She took a steadying breath. “I’ll consider it.”

He returned to his phone. “Make sure to bring a jacket. I’m changing our tickets. When we leave Fiji, we’ll head straight to New York so I can have some face time with Derek. Everything is riding on fostering this relationship.”

Her pulse kicked up as her breathing grew shallow. “What’s the rush? And I don’t know if a move will help me get my memories back.”

“The rush?” he snapped. “This is my career, and it’s going nowhere in Colorado, thanks to a bullshit issue with one of the nurses at the hospital.”

“An issue?” Maggie repeated, her voice soft but her mind racing.

He waved her off. “You know women. Everybody wants to bag a doctor.”

This man was so full of himself.

She stared at him.

“But I only have eyes for you, Mags,” he added like it was an afterthought. “And you want to move. You wanted a change of scenery after losing your grandparents,” he added, donning a smile that was a touch too wide.

“I said those words?”

He cleared his throat and glanced away. “You knew that several practices across the country showed interest in bringing me on as a partner. You support me. That’s who you are,” he added, widening his syrupy grin.

Her heart clenched as a quiet resolve built inside her. “What did I want to do?”

“I don’t understand,” he replied, irritation creeping into his tone.

“What were my plans for wherever we decided to settle? My path?”

He shrugged and went back to fiddling with his phone. “What does that matter? I’m a doctor. I make plenty of money.”

“No,” she said, more to herself as she spoke the word.

“Yes,” he countered smugly. “I’ll be making bank, babe. I’m thinking of getting another Corvette. Maybe a seventy-one ZR2. My dad doesn’t have one of those.”

“I’m not talking about money. I’m talking about me,” she said, then slipped her hand into her pocket and felt the cool starry quartzite stone, its touch grounding her in the moment. She sighed, and the weight of her decision settled over her. As much as she wanted to remember, she couldn’t continue this charade. “I can’t do this, Bobby. I can’t be with you,” she added, rising from the chair.

Without waiting for his response, she went into the bedroom and grabbed her suitcase and purse. She headed for the door, her mind made up.

But before she could leave, he stood in front of her, blocking the exit, his expression darkening. “What will you do? Run back to Christian Starrycard? Find another man to pay your bills?” he said, his words dripping with contempt.

Maggie met his gaze, her eyes unwavering. “I don’t think I’m that kind of person,” she said quietly, her voice carrying a newfound strength—a strength she’d discovered in Starrycard Creek.

“You don’t know who you are, Maggie,” he barked. “That’s why we need this time away. You’re stressed and confused, and I’m losing sleep trying to find a new practice. The moment we’re sipping rum punches under the Fiji sun, everything will make sense again. I hear it’s paradise.”

“You hear it’s paradise?” her voice trembled with disbelief. “I thought you wanted to take me there because it’s where you told me you loved me.”

“Yes…it is. I misspoke. I’m under a lot of pressure,” Bobby stammered.

Maggie shook her head. “I can’t do this. It doesn’t feel right.”

“Maggie, I’m your best chance to get your memories back. Isn’t that what you want? Don’t you want to remember your grandparents? They loved you. How could you do this to them?” His voice was smooth, but the way he leaned in, almost too close, made her skin crawl.

Her heart ached, but something deep within her told her to listen to her instincts. “I want that more than anything, but I can’t keep denying what I feel inside. And right now, my gut is telling me that I’ve been ignoring my intuition when it comes to you—maybe I always have, but I see you clearly, Bobby, and your path is not my path.”

“Maggie, stop it,” Bobby hissed, his tone sharpening. “This isn’t you.”

Her gaze hardened as she looked him in the eye. “Who do you think I am?”

“You’re not a risk taker,” he shot back, his tone dripping with condescension. “You play it safe because you know you can’t handle the real world on your own. You’re too anxious and too weak to make it out there without someone like me. You need me because, without me, you’d crumble.”

She lifted her chin. “I did all right over the last few weeks.”

“With another guy supporting you,” he replied with a scoff.

“Yes, you’re right,” she admitted, a surprising calm settling over her.

“Now you’re coming to your senses.” He smirked, certain he’d won.

“Christian did support me. He believed in me. No, he believes in me. He loves me, and I love him,” she said, her voice gaining strength.

“You’re confused. You’re suffering from head trauma. I know this. I’m a doctor.”

“I’m not confused,” she replied, her voice steady and sure. “I don’t know who I was before I had amnesia, but I know who I am now.”

“Who are you now?” Bobby asked, pinching the bridge of his nose, his tone tinged with exasperation.

Her mind drifted to the moments that mattered—the comforting weight of her hand in Christian’s, the confidence she’d felt standing before Judge Ironside, the warmth that filled her as she baked at the ranch. Her gaze grew glassy, but what bubbled to the surface wasn’t exactly a memory. It was an echo. A sureness from deep within. A gentle hand on her back. She blinked away the tears, determination coursing through her veins. “I’m a baker. I’m a friend. I’m a dog mom, and I’m in love with a man who builds me up. I’m Maggie TBD.”

“TBD?” Bobby spat. “You’re Maggie Michaels. What nonsense is this TBD crap?”

She glanced from the entryway into the sterile kitchen. The place was devoid of warmth—or a heart. There was no sign of her here. “TBD stands for to be determined. My path is to be determined by me.”

“Well, your path leads to the airport today. I can’t get a refund on these tickets,” Bobby snapped, trying to bully her.

She tightened her grip on her suitcase. “I’m not going to the airport.”

He exhaled a frustrated sigh. “You didn’t use to be this difficult. And, FYI, this man you say you love is a washed-up baseball player. And when I say washed-up, I mean it. I saw his shoulder X-rays. He’s done. He’ll never be a famous athlete again.”

Bobby didn’t get it. He’d never get it.

“That’s not what I love about him,” she replied, her voice calm but resolute. “Now step aside.”

“Where are you going? You don’t have any money. You don’t have anything,” he yelled, his voice rising as he tried to assert control over her.

She set down her bag and opened her purse. “That’s not true. I have some of the money I made selling my pies.” The table had gotten so busy that instead of adding the funds to the lockbox, she’d pocketed the cash. She retrieved the bills and counted them, tears coming to her eyes. “I have one hundred eleven dollars.”

Number eleven.

She laughed as a lightness took over, then paused and grew silent as a faint, rhythmic thrum cut through the stillness.

Bobby shook his head. “What’s so funny? A little over a hundred bucks is nothing.”

“You’re wrong, Bobby. It’s everything,” she replied as the sound grew louder and more insistent. “Do you hear that?”

“It’s probably just some news helicopter covering traffic or some bullshit like that,” he answered with a dismissive wave.

It wasn’t just some traffic copter.

Her heart pounded with anticipation as she grabbed her things, nudged past him, and opened the door.

“What are you doing?” he barked.

She looked over her shoulder as she descended the porch steps. “I’m believing in myself. I’m trusting my heart. I’m going with my gut.”

“You don’t have anyone, Maggie. Don’t you understand that? I’m what you’ve got. And if you play your cards right and help me land this New York job, I’ll be set for life. I’ll be rich.”

She didn’t have to have her memories to deduce that whatever they had, it was always about him. His path. His goals. His dreams.

Dreams.

Her gaze shifted upward as a helicopter appeared over the treetops, its dark shape looming larger with each passing second. The rhythmic whup-whup-whup of the rotors grew deafening, making the very air around her pulse with its intensity.

It was headed straight for the street in front of Bobby’s house.

She peered down the street as the helicopter began its descent. Police cars had cordoned off the road, their lights flashing in a blur of red and blue. The helicopter hovered briefly, the downdraft whipping her hair across her face before it touched down with a controlled thud. The rotors wound down. The roar of sound tapered off, and her spirits soared.

Her heart skipped a beat as the helicopter pilot exited the aircraft. She soaked in the sight of the man with broad shoulders and a boyish half-grin. She glanced at Bobby, who stood wide-eyed and dumbstruck beside her.

She pressed her hand to her heart and held Christian’s gaze. “I’m not alone, Bobby. Not even close.”