For All We Know (One Strike Away Book 3) Read online

  FOR ALL WE KNOW

  ● ● ●

  ONE STRIKE AWAY BOOK THREE

  ● ● ●

  MARY J. WILLIAMS

  Copyright © 2017 by Mary J. Williams.

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any

  format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the

  Copyright owner and publisher of this book.

  First Ebook Printing, 2017

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Writing isn't easy. But I love every second. A blank screen isn't the enemy. It is the opportunity to create new friends and take them on amazing adventures and life-changing journeys. I feel blessed to spend my days weaving tales that are unique—because I made them.

  Billionaires. Songwriters. Artists. Actors. Directors. Stuntmen. Football players. They fill the pages and become dear friends I hope you will want to revisit again and again.

  Thank you for jumping into my books and coming along for the journey.

  HOW TO GET IN TOUCH

  Please visit me at these sites, sign up for my newsletter or leave a message.

  http://www.maryjwilliams.net/

  https://www.facebook.com/maryjwilliamsauthor/?ref=hl

  https://twitter.com/maryjwilliams05

  https://www.pinterest.com/maryj0675/

  https://www.instagram.com/2015romance/

  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5648619.Mary_J_Williams

  MORE BOOKS BY MARY J. WILLIAMS

  Harper Falls Series

  If I Loved You

  If Tomorrow Never Comes

  If You Only Knew

  If I Had You (Christmas in Harper Falls)

  Hollywood Legends Series

  Dreaming With a Broken Heart

  Dreaming With My Eyes Wide Open

  Dreaming Again

  Dreaming of a White Christmas

  (Caleb and Callie's story)

  One Pass Away Series

  After the Rain

  After All These Years

  After the Fire

  Hart of Rock and Roll

  Flowers on the Wall

  Flowers and Cages

  Flowers are Red

  Flowers for Zoe

  One Strike Away

  For a Little While

  For Another Day

  WITH ONE MORE LOOK AT YOU

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  PROLOGUE

  ● ≈ ● ≈ ●

  THE LAST TIME Travis Forsythe felt the power of a motorcycle between his legs was the last time he set foot in Green Hills, South Carolina.

  Eleven years by everyday standards. By Travis' way of thinking, more like a lifetime. He left Green Hills a kid without a dime to his name. Even the beat-up old Kawasaki he'd tenderly nursed along through high school, decided thirty miles down the road to finally give up the ghost, dying with little ceremony.

  Travis hadn't blinked. Though he cursed up a blue streak, he sure as hell didn't turn back. Blessed with a strong body and a will of iron, he walked, the worn heels of his just-this-side-of-too-tight leather boots crunching in the loose gravel. The old duffle bag taxed with carrying his earthly possessions slung over one shoulder.

  Luckily, Travis didn't own much, making his burden light. And with each step, the weight—from the bag, from his soul—lifted more and more. He swore then and there that if he failed—fell unceremoniously on his face—he'd never come back.

  A promise he'd kept. Until now.

  As Travis parked the Harley—black, shiny, and brand new off the showroom floor—on the street, any changes to Green Hills were lost on him. He didn't care enough to notice.

  He recalled the words he'd said to Nick Landers the day before as they parted company in New York.

  In and out. Travis had one piece of business on his agenda. Then he'd be off to Bermuda. After a long, sometimes grueling, yet ultimately triumphant baseball season, he and Nick deserved a little R&R.

  Good company. Cold drinks. Hot beaches. Hotter women. Blonde, brunette, or redhead? If the mood struck—and the ladies were willing—perhaps all three at the same time.

  Grinning at the idea, Travis removed his helmet, running a hand through his thick, dark hair that—much to his chagrin as a boy—tended to curl at the ends. What he needed was a haircut.

  Travis would find a barber shop in Bermuda. One looking out over the ocean, not an alleyway like the one his father used to take him to in Green Hills. He wanted a place where the air was clean, not clogged with the smell of rotten garbage, piss, and God knows what else.

  Five minutes in this town and his mind had already headed south, dredging up memories he hadn't thought about in years.

  Gripping the helmet with leather-clad hands, Travis shook off his wayward musings. He paused outside the storefront to take a deep, centering breath. Like stepping up to the plate, bottom of the ninth, a runner on second, his team down a run. Focus. Eliminate all distractions.

  See the ball.

  Or in this case, focus on fixing an annoying problem.

  Travis gave the building a cursory inspection. As always, his blue gaze missed little. Though the faded white paint peeled from around the window frame, the plate glass sparkled—not a speck of dirt or a smudge to be seen. And the sign above the door—the big, bold lettering a cheery red—looked brand spanking new.

  Green Hills Non-Profit Thrift Shop. All donations welcome.

  Travis had a donation. A swift kick to the proprietor's backside.

  Three heads turned as Travis entered the building. The pretty brunette checking out a display of dishes sent him a warm, who do we have here, smile. Not as friendly, the older man and woman sorting through a rack of winter coats eyed him with a faint air of suspicion.

  Seemed about right for a small town, Travis thought. Any small town. Green Hills didn't have the monopoly on flirty or suspicious.

  The fourth person in the room, just out of her teens—maybe—didn't have time to worry about Travis. She stood behind the counter—near an old-fashioned cash register—working the life out of a piece of gum, the contents of a dog-eared book holding her complete attention.

  The woman Travis wanted to see was nowhere to be found. Naturally. Why make his visit any easier?

  Logically, Travis knew—since he hadn't sent word to expect him—his anger wasn't warranted. So what? Since when did logic and anger go hand in hand?

  He was here. Where the hell was she?

  Rather than stew, Travis did what he always did. He took action.

  "Excuse me?"

  "All the items are clearly marked." Without raising her eyes, the young woman flicked a lock of purple-streaked hair over her shoulder. "The next best price is free. And we don't do free."

  Travis admired a woman with attitude. Downright rude was something else. She needed a lesson in customer relations. But he had neither the time—nor inclination.

  "I don't care about your prices. I'm
looking for—"

  "Hello, Travis."

  Delaney Pope.

  Though much about her had changed in eleven years, Travis would have known her anywhere the second he looked into her eyes. Those big, amazing, startlingly bright, purple eyes.

  "We need to talk." Noting the sudden interest from the gum-chomping cashier, Travis added, "Alone."

  "My office is in the back."

  As he followed Delaney, Travis noted the sway of her hips—hips he was certain she hadn't possessed the last time they met. A twinge of unease made his gaze shift until he reminded himself about the passage of time. She wasn't a kid any longer.

  No, he decided, Delaney was a woman. In every sense of the word.

  Like Travis, she hadn't lived their time apart in a bubble. She had grown up. He could admire her figure without feeling guilt. And, without the slightest intention of acting on the automatic attraction.

  Sorry, brain. Sometimes his libido ran the show. The age-old man/woman thing—no matter the woman or their history—couldn't be tamped down.

  Delaney took a seat behind an old wooden desk, pockmarked with long, deep scars. A shaft of sunlight from the small back window landed on a small wastebasket, filled with wadded-up pieces of paper.

  Her gaze, when she finally met his, was steady. A little cool, but hardly glacial. As if they had parted that morning instead of eleven years ago.

  "What can I do for you?"

  "You want to play dumb?"

  "I couldn't if I tried. Remember?" Delaney tapped her temple with a scarlet-colored nail. "Genius."

  Irritated, Travis crossed his arms. When they were teenagers, one glance at his intractable stance and Delaney would have crumbled. Now, she didn't blink. She wasn't intimidated. Or afraid. Here stood a woman who could hold her own. The woman he'd always known she could be.

  "Brains doesn't always equal common sense, Del."

  "I'm not foolish, Travis." Delaney raised a brow, almost daring him to contradict her. "Nor can you come in here and throw your weight around. You once helped me find the strength to fight back. Now, I don't need anybody's help."

  "I gave you a nudge back then. The rest was all you."

  A flicker of emotion—the first she'd shown—warmed her gaze. "You gave me more than a nudge, Travis. You gave me something—someone—to hold onto when I thought I was about to drown."

  Words weren't necessary. Neither had forgotten. Which led Travis back to why he was there.

  "Do you want to explain this?"

  Travis placed a cashier's check on the desk.

  "I owed you money." Delaney shrugged. "Now I don't."

  "Stubborn," Travis mumbled.

  "All depends on your point of view. You say stubborn. I say pragmatic. We had unfinished business. That check wipes the slate clean."

  Taking a deep breath, Travis rubbed his temples, counting slowly to ten. He really, really needed a vacation.

  "All the time we knew each other. Through everything, I only asked two things."

  "Travis—"

  "Never pay me back," Travis interrupted. "And never, never, return to Green Hills."

  "That day is burned in my memory, Travis. But, you can't hold me to promises made when I was fifteen and scared out of my mind. Scared for both of us."

  Without effort, Travis could see Delaney—the picture he'd held dear for so long—as she'd looked in her blue dress, a length of white satin ribbon holding back her hair. Her eyes the color of soft, purple velvet.

  Delaney wasn't the only one whose memory was burned that day.

  "Nothing's changed, Del."

  "You're wrong." Delaney's hands clenched. As if realizing, she breathed deeply, relaxing her fingers. "Everything has changed. Me, especially. I don't need your money. And I don't need you to take care of me. Not anymore."

  "Funny," Travis said. "The way I remember things, we took care of each other. We were friends."

  "Were is the operative word, Travis. Those days are long gone."

  "I still think of you as a friend."

  Travis felt a tug of regret when he saw surprise flare in Delaney's eyes. He could have—should have—stayed in touch. He hadn't forgotten her as much as pushed her to the back of his mind. So much happened so quickly. He hadn't been able to process the mess. Truthfully, he still hadn't. Not completely.

  He had a good life. Damn near perfect. More money and success than he'd dreamed possible. Which said something. From an early age, Travis' dreams had always leaned toward the colossal.

  From the looks of her, Delaney seemed to have her shit together. If the check she'd sent him was any indication, money wasn't a problem. She'd bloomed into a gorgeous, confident, young woman.

  Why tempt fate by dredging up the past?

  "Friends who haven't spoken in over a decade?" Delaney scoffed. "I don't think so. You have no right to try to dictate what I do with my money or where I choose to spend my time."

  "No right?"

  "None whatsoever."

  Travis rested his hands on the desk, leaning forward. Close enough to see the flecks of silver that highlighted the unusual color of her eyes.

  "My rights as a delinquent friend may be debatable. But there's one thing you can't deny."

  Delaney crossed her arms over her chest, the look she gave him said her patience had almost run its course.

  "Do tell. What rights could you possibly have over me?"

  Travis slowly smiled, knowing he held the winning card.

  "My rights as your husband."

  CHAPTER ONE

  ● ≈ ● ≈ ●

  ELEVEN YEARS EARLIER

  ● ● ●

  "YOU'LL SURVIVE ANOTHER four months."

  "But a chance like this might not come along again."

  "Six months, Travis. Get your high school diploma. That's all I ask. After graduation, you can do whatever you want."

  The frustration that lately seemed at a constant low boil, ticked up a few degrees. Travis knew what his father wanted—no matter what he said.

  "You want me to pick college over playing ball."

  Alan Forsythe picked up an old, dented toolbox. The same one he'd used for as long as Travis could remember. Every day, like clockwork, Alan headed out the door to work on somebody else's car. Or fix somebody else's plumbing. Or damaged roof.

  The handiest of handymen, Travis' father was in high demand, making a decent living. At least by Green Hills standards. His hard work put food on the table and clothes on their backs. But there wasn't much left at the end of the month.

  "A father wants more for his son. Getting a college education will give you a step up I never had."

  "Baseball is my future. Why waste my time in school when I could be earning some money while I play?"

  Absently, Travis ran a hand through his thick, dark hair. The tendency for the ends to curl came from his mother. As did his clear-blue eyes, straight nose, and the slight dent in the middle of his chin. She'd been a striking woman, her looks more arresting than beautiful.

  On Travis, the combination wide-set eyes, strong jaw, and the tall, solid build so like his father's, was just the right mix that made girls sigh. He knew the effect he had on the opposite sex. And wasn't averse to using the fact to his advantage.

  He's been blessed with a combination of good genes. Add a dash of his own innate charm. Girls liked him. He liked girls. End of story.

  However, at the moment, Travis wasn't thinking about the opposite sex. He closed his eyes, counted to ten, and listened as his father recited the same old argument.

  "A few bucks and no guarantee." Alan hefted the toolbox into the back of his twenty-year-old Ford. "The University of Kentucky has offered you a full-ride scholarship. Four years, Travis. From there, your chances of making it to the majors are better than starting out in single A ball."

  "But—"

  "What if you get injured? Or simply flame out?"

  T
ravis snorted. His father always brought up a series of what ifs. Well, he had a few of his own.

  "What if the world ends in the next six months? I'd rather spend the time playing pro-ball than worrying about passing Ms. Claymore's advanced calculus final."

  "The world isn't going anywhere." Alan shot Travis a querying look. "Are you worried?"

  His father knew the answer. The only thing Travis was better at than baseball was math. Both came as easy as breathing. However, he couldn't imagine spending his life solving equations.

  Since the first time Travis slipped on a leather glove, his head was filled with images of scooping up grounders and hitting home runs. He constantly worked to get better, never content with local accolades.

  Travis wanted to be the best. Period. Nothing would stand in his way. Not even a slew of what-ifs.

  College was out. Travis knew he'd be drafted right out of high school. So what if the money wouldn't be great to start? He didn't doubt for a second that in a few years, he'd get his chance at a big contract.

  Even through the haze of ambition and youthful arrogance, part of him understood his father's concerns. Out of love and respect, Travis could wait a little longer to follow his dreams.

  "I'll turn down the offer to play winter ball."

  "Thank you. And college? Will you at least keep an open mind?"

  "Do you want me to lie?"

  Laughing, Alan gave Travis an affectionate slap on the back.

  "A lot can change in six months. Let your old man hold onto an ounce of hope. Okay?"

  "An ounce? Sure, Dad." With a wave, Travis headed to school. "See you for dinner."

  Travis wished he could give his father more. Their family consisted of just the two of them. His mother died when he was too young to remember. Like with every other obstacle put in his way, Alan Forsythe moved on. He persevered without the love of his life to help celebrate the good times and make the hard ones a little easier to bear.

  Though they never spoke of the loss, Travis knew his father felt that part of him was missing. He worked harder, longer hours to fill the void. Dated, but never seemed interested in anything permanent.