“I guess you have the time now, huh?” Willis put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry about the Bronx Bolts. You did the right thing. I’m not as brave; I would have done anything to keep that job. But I know you—you’d have been unhappy, using drugs to make yourself look good. You don’t need that bullshit. You are good. You’ll heal, come back better than ever.”

Never in Duke’s years had Willis complimented him. Even when the Bronx Bolt pitcher was at the height of his career, he’d never been good enough. Instead, Willis had constantly told him how much of a letdown he was, even while Duke was setting up his pops with a luxurious suite and a job. Duke rubbed a hand across his face, extremely tired, but a small bit of his heart was healed.

“Pops, that ship has sailed. Skip’s done with me. I’ll figure it out. Maybe they’ll take me on a farm team somewhere.”

Willis and Duke walked inside together, into their home, even if it was only for a little while longer. “But I don’t want to think about what I’ve lost anymore, not right now.”

Duke was getting ready to drop onto the couch when he changed his mind.

“Before I jump into any other mess, I need some closure. I got to apologize to Angel, thank her for bein’ real. I think I really hurt her.” Remorse swept through him. Shame and guilt. For letting himself wallow in self-pity, for not taking care of his wounds, for making immature and harmful choices. For wasting his God-given talents. And for using Angel. “She was the only one helping me out of kindness, and tellin’ me what I needed to hear.”

He left Willis at the house and drove to the clinic. Duke was excited to tell Angel what he’d done. That she didn’t have to be disappointed in him. At the front desk, though, Theresa told him the beautiful woman was gone. He was too late.

The pink-faced nursing student beckoned him close. “She just took off, leaving us shorthanded. Dr. Collins is on the rampage, yellin’ at all of us.”

“Why’d she leave?”

“I don’t know!” Theresa shook her head, concerned. “She didn’t say anything to me. The doctor’s asked me, like, six times if she’s talked to me, but no.” She glanced around and leaned in even closer. “He seems obsessed. You know what I’m sayin’, homey?”

Duke snorted. “You think you gangsta?” He laughed, but the poor girl blushed so hard he figured he could roast a marshmallow on her face. “You fine, girl. I’m just givin’ you a bad time. Anyway, should I be worried about Angel?”

“I’d be more worried about Collins. I think he’s feeling rejected.”

“Why—”