Chapter SixteenBetween Vic Steele’s rigorous exercise program and the ’Hawks’ infielders not leaving Matt alone for five minutes, he rarely had time to be depressed or miss Dusty. But at night in bed, alone, he did think of her. Had he done the right thing? Would he regret his decision forever? He doubted his judgment and wallowed in self-pity, remembering how her skin felt, what she smelled like, and the power of her kiss.
Matt had come to hate waking up without Dusty. The happiest moments in his life had occurred each morning, at sunrise, when she’d been there with him in his bed. He’d lost that, and no amount of exercise, booze, or buddies would erase that pain.
But Matt Jackson was a pro. No one was going to interfere with his concentration and screw up his game for long. By the play
