by Kate, Jiffy
Taking a step back, his hands go up in mock surrender as he offers me a fucking condescending smile. Mother fucker. “Bo,” he starts. “Can I call you Bo? Listen, I think we both know that you being here is not a good idea for Charlotte or her career. Right now, we need to redirect all of this focus to Charlotte’s career. That’s what’s most important.”
I bark out a laugh and run a hand down my face to keep from punching him in his. “I need to know,” I say slowly, so this idiot can understand me, “that she’s okay.”
He sighs, placing his hands on his hips. “She’s going to be fine.” His face contorts like the words pain him. “She has a fracture in her left ankle, bruised ribs, a contusion on her forehead, and a laceration on her arm.” The laundry list of Charlotte’s injuries make me want to hurl, right here on the shiny hospital floor. “She’s rather fortunate, the driver didn’t fair as well.”
It’s then that I decide Terry Carlson is a soulless bastard and he has no business having anything to do with Charlotte.
“Now, if you’ll run along...back to baseball. We’ll sort this out and get everything back on track for her album release.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I tell him, standing to my full six-foot-four, dwarfing him in his two-thousand-dollar suit that I have no doubt he bought with Charlotte’s hard-earned money.
“I think hospital security will have a different answer.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I stand my ground. “Not going anywhere.”
When he glares at me, jaw twitching, I offer a compromise. “Get Casey for me...I’d like to talk to Casey.”
“Not gonna happen,” he says, showing his teeth as he leans toward me, obviously trying to intimidate me, which isn’t going to fucking happen. I’m not a violent person. I’ve never rushed the mound or thrown a punch in the game. Shit, I’ve never thrown a punch outside of the game, but right now would be the perfect time. Definitely justified.
“You think you’re innocent in all of this, but you’re not.” His voice is lethal and low. “Charlotte was doing just fine until you came along. She was writing music, working on an album. Everything was on track for this to be the best year of her career.” He pauses, laughing sardonically. “Then, you show up and everything falls apart. She’s back to being stalked by the media, rumors start flying...do you know the shit I work day in and day out trying to cover up and keep from being leaked?” His face is now a vibrant shade of red as a vein begins to protrude in his forehead. “I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in weeks. Everything is on the line. Everything...her past, things she’d never want the media to get their hands on...everything would be for fucking nothing...and all because of you.”
His words strike a chord, somewhere deep inside my chest where I’d buried the worry. Did I do this? Was her relationship with me what caused all of this?
She said she’s used to it, but I know things didn’t really get bad until we started being seen together. That’s when the new photos started surfacing. That’s when the pregnancy rumors started getting spread...the rumors that seemed to really mess with Charlotte’s head. She tried to hide it, but I saw it. I saw the worry on her face and the obvious pain it caused.
He must see the change on my face because he takes a deep breath and smooths back his hair, like he’s won this bout. And maybe he has.
“Now, go back to your life. Go play baseball. It’s what Charlotte would want.” Adjusting his suit, he clears his throat. “I’ll tell her you came by and I’m sure when she’s ready to talk to you, she’ll know how to reach you.” I watch as he practically slithers back to where he came from, disappearing into an elevator at the end of the long hall.
I know I should leave. As much as I hate to admit it, some of his words rang true. Regardless of all that, I still want to see Charlotte and hear from her own mouth that she wants me to stay away. It’ll be the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do but I can’t leave until I see her. If she asks me to leave, I’ll do it.
Walking toward the sliding glass doors I entered through, I start to walk outside and get a breath of fresh air to clear my head and help me think of an alternate plan when my phone buzzes from my back pocket.
My heart beats a little faster when I see Casey’s name on the screen.
Casey: Where are you?
Bo: Hospital. Where are you?
Casey: Thank God.
What does that mean? I’m about to text back when another text from her comes through.
Casey: Are you in the waiting room? I’m coming down. Wait there.
Bo: Okay, but Terry is on his way back up and he’s not going to let me see her.
Casey: Terry isn’t the effing boss.
Effing is a pretty strong word for Casey and somehow, it makes me smile in the midst of all the bullshit. I almost ask her if Charlotte even wants to see me, but again, I decide I’d rather hear that from her. Besides, I need to see her...with my own eyes. I need to know she’s going to be okay.
A few more minutes pass before the elevator doors I watched Terry disappear behind finally open again. Casey steps out and briefly looks around the room before motioning me over, her hands waving quickly. As soon as I reach her, she grabs my hand and pulls me back into the elevator, pushing a button.
“I’m sneaking you in.”
Chapter 24
Charlotte
“Charlotte?” The low, rough familiar voice pulls me out of the semi-coherent state I’ve been in since everyone finally vacated my room, giving me the quiet I’ve been longing for since I got here.
UCLA Medical Center.
Seriously, the last place on earth I thought I’d be.
“Charlotte,” he says again and now I know I’m not dreaming it. When Bo is in the vicinity, I can feel his presence. Slowly opening my eyes to keep my head from pounding, I glance over to see his beautiful face peeking around the curtain that was half drawn to give me some privacy.
He’s here.
He told me if I needed him, he’d be here, and I do need him, even though I didn’t call him. I need him. “Bo,” I croak out, my voice raspy from not being used for a while.
“Hey,” he says quietly, like he can read my mind...read me...and knows that I wouldn’t be able to tolerate anything louder. When I’m able to fully focus, I see the intense concern etched on his face. “Hey.” He repeats himself and takes another step closer. And that’s when I see his eyes are glassy.
I want to reach for him, tell him I’m fine...everything is fine, but I can’t. My arms and legs feel so heavy, every muscle sluggish. “You came.”
It’s then the fog begins to clear, and I realize Bo should be on a baseball diamond in Minnesota right now. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be—”
“I got the day off,” he says with a sad smirk, his brows pinched together, like he’s the one in pain. After a long moment of us staring at each other, he bites down on his bottom lip, running a hand through his hair. It looks like it’s already been pulled a million directions, worried over miles, and along with everything else in my body, my heart hurts. What I wouldn’t give to touch that hair, to feel him. I want to go back...I want a rewind button.
“Uh, I...I can’t stay long,” he says, stepping even closer, his leg brushing the side of my bed and his hand coming down to rest on top of mine. I watch as his eyes take inventory of me—everything from the bruises and cuts on my face to the bandage on my arm and down to my ankle. “I just needed to come and see you for myself. I needed to know that you’re okay.” He takes a breath and his fingers wrap around my hand, careful to not squeeze too tight, just enough to let me know he’s here. “I was so scared when I read...”
His voice drifts off and I immediately feel terrible. I can’t imagine finding out something like that about him through the media...the one thing we’ve both grown to hate. “I’m so sorry,” I tell him.
“Don’t,” he says, shaking his head and staring down at our hands. “I’m sorry...I’m sorry it came t
o something like that. I…” he pauses, taking a deep breath. “I’m so fucking pissed.” His words are thick with unshed emotion and it makes my eyes well up with tears. “I want to go out and hunt every one of those bastards down and beat the shit out of them.”
I huff a laugh through my nose and immediately regret it, my ribs crying in outrage. “Ahh.”
Bo flinches, drawing his hand back and nervously looking up and down my body. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I say with another wince, trying to reposition my body to relieve the pain. Actually, I’m not. There’s something I’ve wanted to tell him since the day I left New Orleans. Looking back, I should’ve just stayed and told him everything and let the chips fall where they may. But it’s kind of too late for that now. So, I do the next best thing. “I need to tell you something.”
Bo swallows, tilting his head to the side. “Okay.”
“There’s, uh, something I’ve wanted to tell you for a couple weeks now, but I just didn’t know how...and then I never found the right time...It’s...complicated.”
His brows pull together, concern and worry etched on his face and I can only imagine where his mind is going, especially with all the bullshit he’s heard and read. Which is exactly why I need to tell him, just in case what I’m about to say is somehow leaked to the media. Like the accident, I would never want him to learn this about me from anyone but me. It’s my story to tell.
“When I was eighteen,” I begin, drawing in as big of a breath as I can muster and refocusing my attention to my hands now knotted in the white, sterile blanket. “When I was eighteen, I got pregnant. It was unexpected, of course, and it was the result of a one-night stand. The guy wanted me to get an abortion...but I couldn’t do it. So, instead, Terry made up this big lie about me needing to go to rehab. That was when my fictional drug habit started. He said it made for a better story. Doing drugs went with the rock and roll lifestyle he was trying to curate for me. A baby, not so much.”
I pause, reflecting for a split second on how much of my life Terry has dictated, my stomach feeling nauseous, but I can’t look at Bo. Not yet. So, I continue. “It wasn’t like I wanted to keep it...I mean, I wanted to keep it...but I knew I couldn’t give the baby the life it deserved and so many people can’t have kids that want them...I was eighteen.”
My voice gets smaller and smaller as I try to justify the actions of eighteen-year-old Charlotte.
“It was the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make. The hardest thing I’ve ever gone through. And I basically went through it alone, except for Casey, who was too young to really comprehend all the ramifications, and my parents. But they had to keep up pretense and carry on with their lives as usual. So, it was me, on a ranch in Ohio. Terry would come check on me once a week, but I lived alone and took care of myself for almost five months. Those were the longest days of my life.”
It was hard, but it also made me grow up and assume responsibility. For the majority of my life I had people doing everything for me—managers, agents, parents, housekeepers, cooks. But to keep the secret, I had to go it alone. We couldn’t risk inviting other people into the situation. Looking back, that baby was the best thing that ever happened to me and I think that’s why Bo’s video struck such a cord. I want that. I want to be able to get a glimpse into my child’s life and know he’s happy and taken care of. But I also want him to know that having him...and then giving him up...was the one thing that changed the trajectory of my life.
I must fall into my thoughts for longer than I realize, caught up in my own memories, because Bo finally speaks and breaks the silence. “What happened, Charlotte? What happened to the baby?”
“I gave it up,” I say, the numbness I feel every time I relive that time of my life resurfacing. “It was a closed adoption. I never even saw the parents. But it was a boy...seven pounds and ten ounces...twenty inches long...all ten fingers and toes...dark hair.”
That’s when I finally look up at Bo, feeling a tear slip down my cheek and shocked to see a similar one trailing down his own chiseled face.
“I…” I start, trying to get out this last part. “I just needed you to know that...The day at the game when you—”
Bo swallows, wiping the back of his hand across his cheek. “I’m sorry,” he says, again apologizing for nothing. “I didn’t know.”
“You couldn’t have,” I say. “Nobody does…”
He stands there, staring down at the bed and I wonder what he’s thinking.
“Terry suspects some journalists have done their homework and might be getting ready to release an expose,” I say. “He thinks with...everything going on, they’re all trying to one-up each other...each one needing a bigger story than the last.”
I use everything as a blanket for all the bullshit Terry’s tried to feed me lately, about how Bo is the catalyst for everything blowing up in my face. Earlier today he told me none of this would’ve happened if I wasn’t attached to someone.
“He thinks it’s my fault,” Bo says, his voice dropping.
“No—” I try to dispute but he cuts me off.
“Yes, he does. He stopped me downstairs...told me to go back to my life, go back to baseball and let you live yours.”
When his shoulders straighten and I see the strong resolve in the set of his jaw, my stomach drops.
“I’m not so sure he’s wrong,” Bo says. “I think...I think what you said, about needing some time and space...I think that’s good. I want you to get better and I want the media to forget all about this…” He drifts off, his fingers brushing my arm down to my hand, where he pauses and latches on for a moment. “I just want you to be happy.”
I want that for him too.
I want to tell him that, but I can’t force the words to come out of my mouth without breaking down, so I bite down on my lip and try to stay strong.
For Bo.
For myself.
“I’m gonna go,” Bo says quietly, steadying his voice. “But, I meant what I said...if you need me, I’m just a phone call away. No matter where you are, I’ll be there.” Squeezing my hand one last time, he lets go, clearing his throat. “Take care of yourself, Charlotte.”
When his broad shoulders brush their way past the curtain and out of my room, I let the tears fall...for this loss and for every loss that’s come before.
Chapter 25
Bo
“Stop brooding,” Davies says, saddling up beside me as we lean against the railing of the dugout. I grit my teeth to keep from saying something I’ll regret. I’ve been doing a lot of that lately.
“You did this, you know?” Davies continues, his voice low and indiscernible to everyone else around us and in the stands. The way he occasionally spits a sunflower seed on the ground, you’d think we were shooting the shit over the game or the weather, both of which are horrible. It’s hot as fuck and we’re down by five runs in the seventh inning.
It’ll take a gift from God to get us out of this with a W, and He hasn’t been shining down on us much these days. We went from having a five-game winning streak to losing four in a row and I feel like I’m to blame. I know one person doesn’t win or lose a game, but I definitely haven’t been pulling my weight.
“You made the decision to walk away,” he adds, spitting another sunflower seed onto the dirt at our feet, dipping his head between his arms and shielding his mouth away from any wandering eyes. “You could’ve stayed and fought for her...but you decided that walking away was the best thing for both of you.” All of this is information I already fucking know, so I don’t know why he’s bringing it up again, unless he’s trying to piss me off. “I’m a believer that everything happens for a reason...even the bad shit. So, trust in your instincts. Trust in what the two of you had together. And get your head in the fucking game.” That last sentence sounds lethal, like a threat, like if I don’t, he’s going to kick my ass. I wouldn’t blame him if he did.
The Revelers is Ross Davies’ team. He’s helped build this organ
ization from the ground up. If I was him, I’d be pissed the hell off that some rookie is on a path of self-destruction and taking my team with him.
I don’t want to be that guy.
I really don’t.
But I’m also struggling to keep my head above water. When I’m at home, I think of Charlotte. When I’m working out, I think of Charlotte. When I’m trying to sleep, I think of Charlotte and occasionally surf the Internet looking for any news about her recovery. I also think about reaching out to Casey, but I don’t want to put her in the middle. She’s a good person and she really came in clutch at the hospital, but I won’t abuse her niceness.
“Also, I don’t want to see you ruin any chance you had of making it into the All-Star Game.” He huffs, cursing under his breath as one of our batters strikes out, bringing the inning to a close. “You can salvage this...what you do from here on out is the difference between an average player and one that will go down in history.” Turning to the bench, he picks up his glove and turns to walk out to the mound. “Make history, Rook.”
Three-up-three-down brings the Revelers back into the dugout and me up to bat.
With Davies’ pep talk still ringing in my ears, I try to tune out the crowd. Normally, that’s not an issue, but today, every negative comment yelled in my direction sounds like it’s coming from a fucking bullhorn.
“Get off your knees, Bennett, you’re blowing the game!”
“Come on, Rook...don’t be a rally killer!”
“No batter! No batter! No batter!”
As my walk-up song, Work Hard Play Hard, starts pumping from the speakers, the stands get louder, some trying to drown out the haters with words of encouragement, but nothing can quiet the chaos in my brain.
One game. My dad’s reminder comes to my mind as I walk up to the plate.
This is only one game...one at bat...one swing.
