With a small smile, he slid his phone away. Yeah, that was going to chap her sweet ass but good. In the main hall now, he walked past huge boards plastered with press from the past three years of the Heat’s existence, pictures of the team members, their bios, and some of the available merchandise.
He came face-to-face with his own publicity photo blown up to life-size. In six-foot-plus full-color print, he wore his Heat jersey. He was holding his mitt and bat, smiling easily and confidently into the camera, like he didn’t have a worry in the world.
Wade looked at himself and suddenly wondered who the hell that was, because he wasn’t feeling so easily confident. Despite the very satisfying win, he was feeling a little off his game.
Okay, a lot off his game, and it had nothing to do with baseball and everything to do with-
“Sam.” He stopped in surprise at the sight of her ahead of him. She’d clearly come down the opposite end of the hallway, probably having taken the elevator, not the stairs as he had. She was staring at a kid, who was in turn staring at her, both of them looking like they were watching a horror flick, braced for the psycho villain to pop out any second.
Sam’s job as publicist often brought her in close contact with kids. Hell, half the Heat’s fans were underage, and Sam had always made a point to cater to them, using child-oriented events to make the Heat’s players accessible to them. On top of that, she pretty much single-handedly ran the 4 The Kids charity that the Heat sponsored, and by all accounts, she loved both the work and the kids.
So this was odd. It’d only been five minutes max since Wade had seen her in her office, since he’d gathered his stuff, said good-bye to the guys, and walked through the facility. But Sam’s expression said it’d been a rough five minutes. Really rough.
“Hey,” he said, coming up to her side, sliding a hand to the small of her back. “You okay?”
She jumped a mile. “Yes.” She nodded wildly. “Absolutely. Yes. Yes I am.”
He looked into her wide eyes. “That was a couple too many yeses.”
“I’m fine.”
She didn’t look fine. She looked… panicked. Ditto for the kid. Wade tossed an easy smile at him, but he didn’t respond. He looked to be around ten and had wheat-colored hair that fell over his eyes. His jeans were new but too long, frayed at the cuffs over a set of brand spanking new Nikes. His T-shirt was standard kid-issued and had X-Men splayed across the front. “Hey, man,” Wade said to him. “Gotta name?”
“Tag.”
“You watch the game today?”
“No.” Tag paused, then spoke quietly but with a little defiance in his tone, as if he was scared to death but hell if he was going to show it. “Dad says we only watch the Heat if they’re getting their asses kicked.”
Sam let out a choked laugh.
Wade eyeballed her, then turned back to Tag. “So you what, kept your eyes closed during the game?”
Tag shoved his hands into his pockets and looked at the floor. “I sat in the car with the babysitter on accounta she didn’t answer her phone.”
No doubt as to who the she was, and above him, Sam made a sound of distress.
“My phone was off during the game,” she said quietly. “I’m very sorry, Tag. I didn’t know you were coming.”
Tag jerked a shoulder, doing his best impression of someone who could give a shit.
But his eyes, big and full of hurt, gave him away. “Are you here to meet the players?” Wade asked him.
“No,” Sam said. “He’s-”
“My dad went to rehab,” Tag muttered, again to his shoes. “I have to stay with my Aunt Sam.”
Aunt Sam. So Tag was Jeremy’s kid.
“Tag.” Sam put her hand on his shoulders, the kid who was in that awkward stage between child and teen. “We’re going to be fine,” she said, not sounding like she really believed that.
Tag executed another jerk of his narrow shoulders that dislodged Sam’s hand and tugged hard at Wade. God, he’d been there, right there where this kid was, pissed at the world, with parents who could give a shit, feeling about alone as one could get.
Tag turned his back on the both of them and stared out the ceiling-to-floor windows to the front parking lot, his fingers resting on the glass, his breath leaving a foggy circle, his shoulders sagged.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you landed,” Sam told him, at a loss in a way Wade had never seen from her before.
“My dad told you I was coming.”
Sam closed her eyes, then opened them, looking at Wade with a slow shake of her head, helpless.
She hadn’t known. For whatever reason, she honestly hadn’t known Tag was to be in her care, but she didn’t try to defend herself.
“I wanna go home now,” Tag said, then added a quiet, “please” as an afterthought, as though he knew it was expected of him.
A polite delinquent.
“I’m sorry, Tag,” Sam said. “I know this isn’t what you want. But until I figure out exactly why you’re here, and for how long…”
Tag set his head on the glass, the picture of dejected resolve.
Sam rubbed her forehead, appearing uncharacteristically stymied, and Wade could tell she needed a minute. “Wanna see the equipment room?” he asked Tag. “I bet we could find you some gear in there.”
Tag lifted his head. “The Bucks’ gear?”
Wade arched a brow. “The Heat’s.”
“Tag,” Sam said. “This man is Wade O’Riley, our catcher.”
Tag met Wade’s gaze, not seeming all that impressed.
“Even though we’re not the Bucks,” Wade told him. “Maybe you’ll find something you like.”
Tag didn’t answer, but his expression said he sincerely doubted that.
“I need to call my father.” Sam smoothed down her skirt, which was longer today, meaning Wade could only see a mile of gorgeous leg instead of five miles. A damn shame. “It should only take a minute.”
“To the goodie room then,” Wade said to Tag, and put his hand on Tag’s neck to steer him in the right direction.
Tag stiffened.
“I don’t bite,” Wade promised mildly, but removed his hand.
Tag relaxed, made a little sound, a kid sound, one that managed to convey both utter disdain and buckets of false bravado all in one, and right then and there, Wade lost a piece of his heart to him.
Sam watched Wade lead the reluctant but silent Tag away as she waited for her father to answer his phone. As unbelievable as it seemed, apparently Tag had been the “something” Jeremy had needed Sam to take care of for him, and at the thought, a cold fury twisted in her heart. She could have strangled her brother. A child. His child. And he’d treated Tag like little more than a piece of luggage.
“McNead here,” boomed her father’s voice in her ear.
Sam gripped her cell phone tight. “I have Tag? Dad, why do I have Tag?”
“Because Jeremy can’t bring a ten-year-old to rehab, Samantha.”
“I meant why am I in charge of him? Why not Brett or Michael?” she asked tightly, naming her two older brothers. “And where’s Lynn?” Tag’s mother had certainly not been any of the McNead’s favorites, as she’d dumped Jeremy shortly after Tag’s birth, taking half of everything Jeremy owned, but still. She was the mother!
“Lynn’s been in Europe for several months modeling and there’s no sign of her returning anytime soon. Plus she’s not exactly up to the job.”
“What does that mean?”
“She’s not good with kids. That leaves us McNeads.”
“Okay, but poor Tag barely knows me. He’s not happy, and I don’t blame him.”
“You’re the logical choice, Sam.”
“Why, because I have the vagina?”