“—better be telling the truth,” said a scratchy voice, coming from a man who’d had his share of cigarettes and whiskey. “If that boy is still injured, we need to know, right now.”

“Skip, I told you, he’s fine.”

“From my experience, agents are not on close terms with the truth. Don’t fuck with me, son. I’m supposed to believe he just happened to be at a clinic to see a girl? We gave him a break last year, but if he can’t play, he’s out. That’s the way it’s gotta be, and you know it. And no more scandals. Period.”

The phone clicked off.

“He’s mad, huh?” Duke sounded calm, but bile rose in his throat. He rolled down the window and leaned back into the seat, hoping wind in his face would help the sickening panic. What am I going to do? Who am I if I am not playing?

“Bro, for sure the manager’s got his new pitching recruit on speed dial. Straight up, Duke, are you ready for camp? It’s not just your career on the line, you know.”

“I got this. I swear.”

“The GM do not believe you.” Aaron paused. “We’ve got to get that girl back. She can’t just disappear now. Or you’re gonna get replaced.”

Chapter Nine

Running on autopilot, Angel made dinner for Jose, read to him, and got him to bed. Then she went to her room, found thick socks and a sweater, and returned to the living room. The tiny kitchen table was covered in a jigsaw puzzle Jose had been working on, so she put together her desk—which meant turning off the heat as she placed a wooden shelf over the radiator, laid out her notes and textbooks and computer, and pulled up a rickety chair.

She almost got back up to pour herself a glass of wine. No, she thought. Later. Stay on task. Shut out the world. She thumbed through the stack of paper until she found the outline and list of resources she’d created for the assignment. Then she opened up her website browser.

ESPN, TMZ, Entertainment Tonight, and a slew of other websites were posting pictures of her and Duke mashing faces in front of the clinic.

The media speculation about Duke’s health, and the hype about his new “girlfriend,” were somehow news. Reporters had tried to find out more about her from the clinic staff, but no one had given them any real details. Not yet, anyway. Only that she worked at the clinic and her first name. “Isn’t she an Angel?,” ran the taglines. “He must be in heaven.” “An Angel brings the cure.” “She must have a great bedside manner.” They referred to her as a nurse, a doctor, a physical therapist … but never a mom. At least Jose hadn’t been dragged into the mess.