Homestands (Chicago Wind #1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

years? He was a millionaire, he’d reminded her. His signing bonus could easily pay for her education. Why wait?
    Three weeks later they were married in a small wedding in Pulaski, Virginia, that their families, nine high school friends, and some of Mike’s teammates attended. At eighteen and a half, they were husband and wife.
    So young and naïve.
    Those first months flew in a blur of games, college classes, and hours decorating their home. The months turned into a year, and while they struggled with her classes conflicting with Mike’s mornings off, their individual dreams kept them going. Mike continued his advance through the minors, each step resulting in a physical move to a new city, and Meg practiced what she’d learned on each house. When Mike made his major league debut a week before their third anniversary, she was as excited as he was. When he won the centerfielder position the next season, she knew Mike had realized his dream. Only a long, happy future together remained.
    Where had they gone wrong?
    In the distance, thunder rumbled. A car splashed through the watery street, the quiet slipping back while taillights disappeared.
    The night her marriage gave way hadn’t been much different than this one. The rain had started after Mike’s home game ended. Meg watched it from home and went to bed as soon as the last out was made, but the thunder kept her awake, so she painted her nails and waited up for him. After all, his next road trip started after tomorrow’s game. Maybe he’d come home early and they could talk, something they seemed to have little time for lately.
    But now the clock neared 2:30.
    She’d been kidding herself.
    Since late spring, Mike’s behavior had changed, his return from games growing later and later and his goodbyes increasingly early. When she asked why, he’d said he needed extra batting practice. That he had errands to run. That he was going out with some of the guys.
    She didn’t buy it anymore. Not that she ever had. She just hadn’t wanted to face it—whatever it was—hoping the problem would go away.
    But it hadn’t. And there she sat in the living room of her dark house, watching raindrops run in silver streams down the windows, admitting the truth at last.
    She was losing Mike.
    The clock passed three before headlights flashed across the wall. Meg turned on a small lamp beside the couch and sat with legs crossed Indian-style, waiting.
    His key fumbled in the lock, but she made no move to help him. The door opened, and Mike stumbled over the one step from the garage. He swore softly, then looked at the light.
    And then at her.
    Jaw set, he glanced away as he stepped inside and tossed his keys on the table. “Why are you up?” he asked, moving out of sight into the kitchen.
    She heard the refrigerator open. “Waiting for you.”
    He said nothing, so she stood and walked to the kitchen.
    He was opening a bottled water.
    He dropped onto a kitchen chair, stretched his long legs, and kicked his shoes off. He tugged his white shirt loose beneath him and crossed his ankles before taking a drink.
    Meg waited for him to speak. How did one started a conversation like this?
    But he kept silent.
    “Where have you been?” she asked at last.
    Mike studied the water. “Out.”
    “With who?”
    He pushed his chair back and moved around her toward the stairs.
    He was not going to blow her off. Not tonight. “Are you going to answer me?”
    His voice rang with irritation. “Answer what?”
    “Who were you with?”
    Mike stood with his hand on the wall, one foot on a step. When their eyes met, he looked away. “Nothing I say will make you happy, so why bother?” He started up the stairs, his voice drifting to her. “I’m taking a shower.”
    Another shower. Over the summer, he’d fallen into the habit of taking a shower when he got home, waking her first at two and lately three in the morning with his less-than-stealthy entrance. Did he think she hadn’t noticed? And why