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MVP.

A second-chance romance as scorching hot as a baseball diamond in August. Slater "Savage" Harlow Winning the MVP award for the Birmingham Bandits last year was the highlight of my baseball career. It was the culmination of childhood dreams, calculated adult decisions, sacrifice, and a hell of a lot of focus. Tearing my ACL in spring training? Not what I expected at all. Now I'm home, in small town Georgia, rehabbing in the comfort of my own home, with people I know. I'm connecting with friends I haven't had time to talk to in years, spending days at home with my parents, and getting to watch my little brother play minor league baseball. What I don't expect is to see Malone Fulcher walking into Del's Diner one morning while having my coffee and egg whites. She's the old flame, the one who got away, and the woman I compare all others to. Malone Fulcher Spending the summer in my hometown wasn't what I had planned, but it's what I need. Recovering from a hard year, both personally and professionally, I need to reconnect with who I am. When my mom encouraged me to come home and do some soul searching, I can't say no. Memories are all over this small town, from the Baptist Church to the east field on my parents farm, to the diner. On my second day in town, I decide to go in, memories be damned. I lost my breath as soon as I saw "Savage" Harlow sitting alone at a booth. Our eyes lock, my heart flutters, and my hands shake - all the same way they did back in high school. But back then we couldn't make it work. Going our separate ways to differing colleges, we decided we weren't meant to be. A decade later, as soon as our eyes meet, I'm wondering if we were right, because those green eyes of his do nothing but take me to a past that I can see being my future. MVP was created by Laramie Briscoe, an eGlobal Creative Publishing signed author.

Laramie Briscoe · perkotaan
Peringkat tidak cukup
53 Chs

Chapter 17

Savage

“Come in,” I yell at the tentative knock on the door to the apartment I’m staying in over my parent’s garage.

“Are you okay?” Malone asks as she takes in the picture of me, carrying bags as she comes inside.

I’m sure to most people it looks like I’m a science experiment gone wrong. I’m lying on the couch with a contraption on my leg, watching a TV show. “It’s cold therapy,” I explain. “It continuously has compression and sends penetrating cold to what’s being healed. I overextended a little today, so I’m spending a little extra time hooked up,” I explain as I close my eyes, letting the machine work it’s magic because it feels so good.

“Did your PT say it was okay to overdo it?” she asks as she puts the bags on my counter. 

“He’s the one who told me it was okay to run in the pool.”

“Oh Slater, I bet you went balls to the wall didn’t you?” There’s a hint of a laugh in her voice.