Yours to Keep Read online Lauren Layne (Man of the Year #2)

Categories Genre: Chick Lit, Contemporary, Romance, Sports Tags Authors: Series: Man of the Year Series by Lauren Layne

Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68529 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)

Read Online Books/Novels:

Yours to Keep (Man of the Year #2)

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Lauren Layne

Book Information:

Fiona Hurston was too young when we first met.
Too naïve. Too innocent. Too tempting.
I vowed to protect her, to keep her safe, and I have, for five long years.
Even when keeping her safe meant keeping my distance. Even when the greatest threat to her innocence was me.
But Fiona’s not a girl anymore. When danger’s at her door and we’re forced together, I won’t back down. I’ll defend her. I’ll shield her. I’ll comfort and keep her.
Because Fiona Hurston is all grown up now. And it’s time she realized... she’s mine.
Books in Series:

Man of the Year Series by Lauren Layne

Books by Author:

Lauren Layne

Chapter One

Wednesday, August 5

Carter Ramsey stared at the magazine on his kitchen counter and debated which aspect of his current situation he hated more: The fact that he was drinking his beer with his right hand, because his left arm—his throwing arm—was in a splint. Or the fact that, in a few weeks, his face would be plastered on the front of a magazine in every grocery store and newsstand across the country.

Carter tipped the beer back to his lips and rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. Toss-up. Definitely a toss-up.

He finished the beer and dropped the bottle in the recycling bin as he pulled another out of the fridge, then put it back, annoyed to realize he hadn’t really enjoyed the first. Not because he didn’t enjoy beer, but because just about every damn thing had tasted bitter in the week since he’d caught Gabe Martinez’s line drive mid-air only to feel the unmistakable snap in his left arm when he’d fallen to the field moments later.

Plus side? He’d gotten the out.

Downside—and it was a hell of a downside—Carter was on the Injured List for a whopping four to six weeks. Not counting however long rehab took. Not counting the news about his shoulder, which he hadn’t even begun to wrap his head around.

One thing he had wrapped his head around? If the New York Hawks—the MLB team Carter had played for during all eight years of his career—made the playoffs, Carter wouldn’t be there.

If the Hawks went to the World Series this year, he wouldn’t play.

And that was best-case scenario.

Worst case, he wouldn’t accompany the team to the playoffs any year, and a lifetime goal of adding a World Series ring to his list of career accomplishments would be dead in the water.

Screw it. Carter pulled the second beer out of the fridge after all, and determinedly opened it using only his right hand. Not because there was anything wrong with his left hand. The fingers worked just fine from where they poked out of the cast. But because using his left side in any capacity only reminded him of how hampered his movements were.

Carter had never been the moody type. He’d never been prone to brooding or male sulking, but damn, he was tempted to indulge in a really good wallow right about now. The sort of night that involved fried foods, too much booze, and a woman whose name he probably wouldn’t remember in the morning. The sort of night that Carter had rarely indulged in over the years.

One didn’t become a six-time All-Star by making bad decisions. But apparently avoiding bad decisions still couldn’t prevent him from becoming supermarket tabloid fodder.

Carter took a sip of the beer, then deliberately set the bottle on top of the magazine in front of him, knowing—hoping—that the condensation would warp the glossiness.

Man of the Year.

He shook his head. The title had seemed little more than a nuisance when his agent had called to tell him the “good” news. But actually seeing the issue, albeit an early version, was a bitter punch of reality.

Instead of people talking about his Hall of Fame chances, they’d be talking about this. A dubious title generally reserved for pretty-boy singers and chiseled-jaw actors headlining the latest action movies. Carter had tried to reassure himself that he was in good company, with last year’s winner being the highly respected New York mayor—that the label was an honor.

But right now, with only one working arm and his biggest career dreams teetering on a cliff, it just felt like a mockery.

To be fair, the Citizen magazine team behind the Man of the Year issue obviously couldn’t have known his injury would coincide with the issue’s release, but it was still shitty timing. Carter had skimmed the story only once, but once was enough to know it talked about every glowing aspect of his baseball career: Rookie of the Year, All-Star, American League MVP, Gold Glove, Silver Slugger . . .

There were also several paragraphs on the one accolade that had so far eluded the mighty Carter Ramsey: a World Series ring. Or even a World Series appearance.

As if he needed the reminder. Especially now.

But even that wasn’t what was really eating at Carter at the moment. It wasn’t what was responsible for his out-of-character brooding, or the slight empty feeling that had been creeping up on him even before his injury.

Obnoxiously, it was the Citizen mag article that had brought him face-to-face with what was really bothering him: nowhere, in the entire three-page article, was there any mention of who Carter Ramsey was off the field. Aside from a few cheeky references to his love life and penchant for dating models, there was nothing to tell the world who Carter was when his hand wasn’t in a baseball glove, or when he wasn’t showcasing the “model swing” that had once been written up in Physics Today.