The Off-Season: A Washington Rampage Novel

by Megan Green

  Until now anyway. I haven’t exactly had much of an appetite this past year. That’s one perk of everything that’s happened. I’m the thinnest I’ve ever been in my life. Probably too thin, if there is such a thing.

  I walk across the room, circling my arms around Ella’s shoulders when I reach her, giving her a brief, firm hug. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Ells. You believed in me when nobody else did. You stood by my side when everyone else turned the other cheek. And you helped me find my dream house without even knowing it was what I was looking for.”

  Ella’s brows rise in a skeptical look as she takes in the run-down condition of my new home. “Dream house, huh? I think you should set your sights a little higher next time, Lex.”

  I laugh as I spin her around and shuffle her toward the door. “You just wait. Fixing this place up is exactly what I need. It’s going to be freaking spectacular.”

  My hand closes around the doorknob, pulling hard to open the front door that I already know sticks slightly. It’s one of the many things on my list of to-dos for this place. When the door still doesn’t budge, I brace my foot up on the frame for leverage, giving it another strong tug.

  My sister’s laugh registers before the fact that I’m now planted squarely on my ass, doorknob in hand. I look between it and the new hole in the door where the knob used to be, and before I can help myself, I join in.

  “God, this place is a dump,” I say between breaths, wiping the tears developing in my eyes. It’s the first time in a long time that the tears are from laughter and not pain and anguish. It feels so good to laugh.

  And then the guilt hits.

  Do I deserve to feel good after what I did? Do I deserve to laugh with my sister after almost taking that privilege from someone else? I ruined someone’s life. What in the hell am I thinking, sitting here in a fit of giggles while that person is still going through hours of pain and therapy?

  Ella sees the change in my face almost instantly. And, like all the best big sisters, she knows me better than anyone. She knows exactly where my thoughts went without me even having to say a word.

  “Lexi, don’t. You need to stop punishing yourself. You made a mistake, and you paid the price. But you can’t keep wallowing. You need to live. You need to laugh. You need to be happy.” She reaches her hand down to me, pulling me to my feet with ease. “And you need to fucking eat something. You’re too damn skinny. I can practically count your ribs, even through that damn shirt,” she admonishes, pointing to the top I put on this morning.

  It’s a size small, and even still, it’s slightly baggy around my midsection.

  I wrap my arms around my waist, trying to hide the evidence. “I’m fine, Ells. Besides, you of all people aren’t one to talk about being too thin. You just had twins, for Christ’s sake. Look at you.”

  She shakes her head. “Not going to happen, Lex. You’re not changing the subject that easy. You need to get some help. I’m worried about you.”

  This isn’t the first time she’s lectured me, and it certainly won’t be the last. I know she’s concerned. And I know the way I’m living my life isn’t healthy. But knowing something and doing something about it are two entirely different things.

  “Can we not do this right now, Ella? I’ve had a long day, and I’ve got a long-ass night ahead of me. I understand your concern, and I swear I’m going to do something about it. But, for now, I need to focus on this place. Once I’m settled, I promise we’ll talk.”

  She eyes me with another skeptical look, her gaze giving me an assessing once-over. She must believe me because, a moment later, she exhales a loud sigh. “Fine. But don’t think I won’t remember this conversation. I’ll give you some space and let you get settled. But, Lexi,” she adds, eyes narrowed and lips set in a hard line, “I’m always just a phone call away. If you need anything, you call me. I don’t give a shit if it’s two in the morning. You need me, you call me.”

  I give her another quick hug, so grateful she’s my sister. I don’t know what I did to deserve her, but every day, I’m thankful that she’s mine. Even when we lived in different states, she never failed to make sure I knew she loved me and would do anything for me. Every damn day.

  “Thanks, Ells. I love you. And I’ll be over to squeeze my nieces as soon as this place somewhat resembles livable space.”

  She gives the room another glance. “So, we’ll see you at their graduation?”

  I playfully smack her on the arm. “Oh, stop. It’s not that bad. I’m telling you—in a few weeks, you won’t even recognize this place. Now, get the hell out of here, and let me get to work.”

  She laughs, slipping her fingers into the notch where the doorknob was five minutes ago, pulling the door open. “You’d better get this fixed ASAP. This might be a safe town, but that doesn’t mean you should have a hole in your front door.”

  “Got it, chief. I’ve seen Friday the 13th. I know what lives in these weird lakes. First up, fix the hole in the door to keep psycho serial killers out.”

  Ella rolls her eyes at me. “Oh, great, one more thing to worry about. Try to stay away from men in hockey masks, m’kay, sis?”

  “I make no promises. You know I’ve always had a thing for jocks.”

  “I’ll stop by tomorrow. Try to still be alive.”

  “You don’t have to—” I start, but she shoots me a dirty look, telling me exactly what she thinks about my protest. “Fine. See you tomorrow. But don’t bring those kiddos here until the place is a little more habitable.”

  “Don’t worry. My babies aren’t coming within a mile of this place until I know they won’t die of toxic mold poisoning.”

  “You’re so dramatic. There’s no mold here. I had it checked. It just needs some sprucing up.”

  She lifts an eyebrow at me. But, before she can open her mouth, I spin her around again and smack her on the butt.

  “Stop insulting my house, and get the hell out of here. See you tomorrow.”

  “Bye, Lex!” she shouts over her shoulder as she descends the front porch steps.

  I cross every appendage I have that one of those dilapidated steps doesn’t give out under her feet, giving her further fuel to the fire against this place.

  Once she’s safely in her car, I close the door, leaning back against it as I assess the situation.

  Long-ass night might have been an understatement.

  Four hours later, the door is fixed, the kitchen floor is gunk-free—I don’t even want to know what was causing my feet to stick to it like glue—and my bed is set up. That’s about as good as it’s going to get for tonight.

  It’s past midnight, and I want nothing more than to crawl into my bed and sleep for about twelve hours straight. I hustle down the stairs, grabbing a bottle of water from the old fridge that luckily still works, and guzzle half of it while standing in front of the sink.

  The glare of the moon on the lake catches my eye, and an idea pops into my head. What better way to unwind after a long day of cleaning and unpacking than to relax by the water for a few minutes?

  I grab another water and a bushel of grapes I picked up from the supermarket when I first got to town. Then, I head down to the dock.

  When I flew down to look at houses with Ella last month, I fell for this place the moment the realtor pulled into the driveway. I didn’t even need to go inside. The second I stepped out of the car and saw this dock, I knew I wouldn’t be living anywhere else.

  It’s true; the house needs work—a hell of a lot of it. But it has good bones. It’s old, but it was built at a time when quality was more important that quantity. There is no doubt in my mind that the structure itself is fine—a fact I had confirmed by the home inspector before I closed.

  It’s small and cozy—only a living room, kitchen, and guest bath downstairs and a small bed and bath upstairs—but it’s perfect for me. Add in the fact that it’s only about fifteen minutes from Ella’s house in Grover—the next town over—and it was a no brainer.
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  And the dock that shoots off the back of the house and right out onto the lake?

  Pure heaven.

  I step out onto said dock, the bite of the October air washing over my overheated skin. I walk out to the very end, sitting down on the edge and dangling my feet out over the water. I momentarily think about diving in. Nothing would feel better than a cool dip after hours of sweating over boxes and running around the house. But even I’m not dumb enough to jump in black water in fifty-degree temps. I’ll just have to make do with the cool breeze and gentle spray.

  I munch on my snack, finishing off my first bottle of water and cracking open the second. A spark of desire for something a little stronger settles over me, but I quickly force it down. Alcohol is the last thing I need right now.

  Setting aside the grapes, I lie back on the wood and stare up at the stars, letting the sounds of the woods take over. The lapping of the tiny ripples through the water, the whistle of the wind through the drying fall leaves, the snap of branches and twigs from the nearby wildlife—it’s a symphony of nature. A soundtrack of meditation and relaxation.

  I could get used to this.

  Closing my eyes, I take it all in, reveling in every moment of peace. It’s not something I’m familiar with, having moved here from the hustle and bustle of Chicago. I’m pretty sure the only wildlife I ever heard there was the scratching and clawing of rats. Not exactly the same thing.

  My eyes start to drift shut, and I know I need to get up and go inside, so I don’t freeze to death. It might feel good at the moment, but sleeping out here would be an entirely different story.

  I’ll give myself five more minutes, and then it’s back to the house.

  I lace my fingers behind my head, inhaling deeply and holding the fresh air in my lungs. I’m halfway to the count of thirty when it happens.

  Music breaks through my sanctuary, violently ripping me from my tranquil thoughts.

  Okay, that might be a bit of an exaggeration. The sound is muffled, as if coming from inside one of the neighboring houses. And it’s really not that loud. But, still, going from absolute silence to the sound of DJ Khaled singing about winning, no matter what, is jarring.

  I jackknife up from the dock, glaring at the house that was dark as night when I first came out here. Now, every light in the place is blazing, the entire back wall a panel of windows, showcasing the extravagant decor on the inside. It makes my tiny lake house look like a dump in comparison.

  Well, I guess that isn’t hard.

  The sound of the music increases for a moment, and I see the back door open as someone steps out. Strings of small, round lights illuminate the backyard, and I see the shape of a man as he walks along the grass.

  It’s pitch black outside, so I’m not able to make out his features, but judging from his frame and gait, I’d guess he’s fairly young—under forty at least.

  The annoyance I felt at the sound of the music evaporates as I watch him stroll down to the dock jutting off his property. His moves are tentative, almost tired. When he reaches the lake, he tucks his hands into his pockets, letting his head roll back on his shoulders as he lifts his face toward the sky. Even from fifty yards away, I can practically feel the tension and exhaustion radiating off him.

  I don’t say a word. I don’t call out a greeting even though this man must be one of my new neighbors. I do nothing but watch as he stands there, soaking in the evening, just like I was doing moments ago.

  And I can’t help but wonder if he’s running from something, too.

  Chapter 3

  Tag

  Seven hours into my vacation, and I’m already going out of my mind.

  I thought getting away from the lights and sounds of the city would be soothing. I thought the peace and quiet would be good for me, giving me some time to refocus and be alone with my thoughts.

  Turns out, that’s the last place I want to be.

  Being alone inside my head means thinking about everyone I’ve let down. It means dwelling on the past six months and what it means for my career. It means having to actually fucking think about what I’m going to do if baseball is no longer an option.

  Being inside my head right now is really fucking depressing.

  I need to get out.

  Sliding out of the enormous bed—seriously, did Brandon have this thing custom-made? You could fit ten people in it, easy—I pull on a pair of gym shorts and a T-shirt. After lacing up my running shoes, I head downstairs and start a pot of coffee, so it’ll be ready by the time I get back. I briefly check my phone, pulling up a few of the sites I know Ray was going to try to contact after I left. I see the usual headlines—people calling me an entitled playboy who got away with hurting an innocent girl. But then I realize that, despite my boredom, Ray was right. Because, among the negativity, there are a few new stories from people on my side. Ray has already started working his magic.

  The early morning sun glinting off the lake catches my attention. I run every day, rain or shine. But what’s the point of living at a lake house if you’re not going to take advantage of the water, right? Kicking off my shoes, I strip off my shirt and step out onto the back patio.

  I only ever saw this place in pictures before last night, and I have to say, they sure as shit didn’t do it justice. The backyard is the stuff dreams are made of. A large fire pit with built-in benches sits right in the center of it, a volleyball net complete with sand off to the side. And the dock leading out onto the water is gorgeous—dark-stained wood with posts every few feet or so and strings of circular lights running along both sides. At the end, a sitting area is artfully arranged with yet another gas fire pit in the center.

  It’s an entertainer’s wet dream. Too bad I don’t know a fucking soul within a thousand miles.

  The bite in the air gives me a moment’s pause. It’s mid-October, and while the days here still get up to the sixties and the occasional seventies, nights and mornings can get downright cold. I quickly shrug off my second thoughts though, knowing that, once I get in and going, I’ll warm up in no time. Swimming works muscles that running doesn’t even know about. It’ll be a welcome change.

  Looking around and finding nobody watching, I do something I haven’t done since I was about twelve years old. I run full speed down the dock, leaping into the air and tucking into the perfect cannonball. Preteen me would’ve been in awe of the splash spraying up around me.

  Adult me, however, immediately regrets this decision the second my skin comes into contact with the water. The water isn’t just cold. It’s fucking frigid. All the air rushes out of my lungs as the cold shock momentarily paralyzes me. And I’m pretty sure my balls are nestled somewhere up around my kidneys.

  I shake off my temporary stupor, kicking my feet hard toward the surface. As soon as my head breaks free from the water, the cold air feeling about fifty degrees cooler than ten seconds ago, I wonder if I wouldn’t be better off staying underneath. The thought of getting out of the freezing water and into the even more frosty air is about as desirable as voluntarily walking into a bear den after a long winter.

  I sharply spin around, deciding the best course of action is to get my dumb ass back on the dock, make a mad dash toward the house, and cannonball into the hot tub waiting for me on the back patio.

  But, to add insult to this already fantastic fuckup, I’ve somehow managed to drift away from the dock, and I am much farther away from it than I originally thought. I frantically search the area surrounding me, my eyes landing on another dock only a few yards away.

  I have no clue who, if anybody, lives in that house. I can only hope they’re not the inbred, redneck type you always hear about in these small backwoods towns. Getting shot for trespassing doesn’t sound so fun. Then again, I’m so goddamn numb right now I probably wouldn’t even feel it.

  Deciding it’s my best option because there’s no way my frozen limbs will make it back the other forty yards, I force my arms to work and swim over to the battered dock. Climbing out, I
shudder at the intense cold that settles into my bones and start running down the dock, toward the house.

  It’s not until I’m almost there that I notice the dock leads directly onto the back porch of the house. And sitting on that porch is a woman. A woman who, from the looks of it, is confused as hell as to what a half-naked wet dude is doing, running up to her house.

  When I see a brief look of alarm flash across her features, her cup of coffee clattering against the old metal table beneath her as she starts to get to her feet, I call out, “Wait, I’m not going to hurt you.”

  She stills for a moment, her eyes narrowed as they scan my face. Sensing she’s still half a second away from darting indoors and calling the police, I hold my hands up at my sides and take a step backward.

  “See? Nothing on me. I made the mistake of thinking a nice cold swim was just what the doctor ordered. Learned real quick how stupid that was. Your dock saved my life. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  The woman looks down at my soaked gym shorts and shoeless feet, as if the fact that I’m dripping wet didn’t even register until now. My teeth begin to chatter as I wait for her to finish her perusal of my person.

  “You honestly thought it was a good idea to jump in that lake?” she asks, her lips turning up in the corners as she tries to stifle a laugh.

  I try to shrug but fail miserably, my muscles aching from the cold as I tremble. “What can I say? Not my finest moment. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get inside before I actually do turn into an icicle.”