My phone rings, echoing throughout the stadium, breaking the eerie silence of morning.
“Are you there?”
“Yea?”
“How ya holdin up?”
“About as good as can be expected I guess. I wish you were here, Liv.” I sweep the pointed black toe of my shoe across the gray ketchup stained concrete.
“You’ve got this. You’re Donovan fucking West. You own him and now it’s time to make him pay.”
I chuckle a little as I shift my weight in my stilettoes slowly making my way to a spot hidden in the shadows. “You always know what to say.”
“I know.” There’s a smile behind her voice, “I know you better than you know yourself Presley. And I’m sorry I ambushed you into this, but—”
“Tricked. Lied. Definitely ambushed.”
“Yeah. Yeah. But you know I did it out of love.”
“I know Liv.” My voice drops to a whisper, “Liv, what if I fall for him again?”
“Oh sweetie. There’s no what if. It’s only a matter of when.”
That’s not what I wanted to hear, but Liv was never one to tell you what you wanted, only the truth.
“You’ve got this Presley. Daddy showed me your timeline. I wish I could be a fly on the wall when he sees you, he’s going to blow a gasket. We’ll grab dinner when you’re back in town and you can fill me in.”
“Liv please don’t say anything to our parents. I kinda need the element of surprise right now.”
“Your secret’s safe with me. Now I gotta run. Love you. See you soon.”
“Love you too. Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need luck, Pres.”
I hang up my phone and take my seat, pulling my ball cap down low. I review six years’ worth of numbers and pinpoint the exact day his career began to take a nosedive, the day he drove me away.
Liv was wrong about one thing though. I wouldn’t fall for him. He was a job. He was a very large dollar sign and my only focus was on getting him the contract he missed out on five years ago. I wouldn’t stay on as the Rangers’ advisor and Robert would be my last ballplayer.
Minutes slowly turn into hours and the little hand of my watch finally lands on nine o’clock. The field is empty.
9:05
9:10
9:15
No Robert
This was off to a great start. I pull out my laptop and send coach an email. I keep an extremely low profile, and only those that need to interact with me do. Everything else is done either by email or text.
Coach Martinez,
Robert West did not show as instructed. He’s benched for the next game. I’ll see him tomorrow morning at eight thirty.
-DW
I gather my stuff together and make my way back out to my car relieved that day one was over, and I could breathe a little easier. I was back in the place where my plans went to hell, and I felt just a smidge stronger than I had this morning when I woke up.
* * *
I was supposed to meet Donovan West this morning at nine. Who the hell does he think he is? I stroll into the field house at noon to get ready for our three o’clock game.
“West!” Martinez roars as I pass his office.
“Yea Coach?”
“You’re benched.”
“You can't do that! I’m pitching today.”
“Guess you should have shown up this morning then. Walker! Warm up. You’re pitching.”
“For real? Thanks Coach.”
“Don’t thank me. Thank Mr. Entitled over here.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you didn’t show so Donovan benched your ass. I don’t know why he finally decided to work with you, but like I said, he owns you for the next six months. If you want to play, you’ll do as you’re told. Be here at eight thirty tomorrow morning.” I look at coach waiting for the end of this joke. “You’re dismissed.”
Who the hell is this Donovan character? Nobody benches me. He thinks he can control my life, well he’s dead wrong.
I sit in the dugout and watch as Kyle gives up run after run almost as if coach told him to throw the game on purpose. During our at bats, I pull out my phone and Google Donovan West and nothing pulls up. It’s as if he’s a ghost, just a figment of our imaginations. For somebody that seems to be well known in this industry there is nothing on him. Whatever. I’ll show him. I’m nobody’s puppet.
* * *
The next morning comes and I lay in bed contemplating showing up. Coach told me to be there at eight thirty; I get there at eight forty.
“West! You’re benched.”
“I was on the field.”
“You were ten minutes late.”
“Nobody was there.”
“Obviously he was.”
I’m fuming mad, “Is this some kind of joke?”
“My office now!” Coach screams through clenched teeth.
I’ve known this man for six years and never have I experienced such anger pulsing from him. I follow him into his office and close the door.
“Look boy.”
I scoff as I take a seat.
“That’s exactly what you are. A dumb, selfish, immature boy. Ever since Presley—”
“Don’t fucking say her name!” I bark back.
“I’m your goddamn coach and I’ll say whatever the fuck I want to. Now shut up and listen.”
I roll my eyes and feel my body heavily cemented to the leather office chair.
“Ever since Presley left, you have traipsed around here like you’re some special gift to the game and you’re entitled to the next rookie position. But you have been passed up over the last five years because your attitude and your numbers suck. Loose the chip on your shoulder and don’t piss this opportunity away. You won't get another one. You’re expected on the mound at six thirty tomorrow. Now get the hell out of here.”
“A.M.?”
“I suggest you be there. Go home, West. I don’t want you here today.”
I tear out of Martinez’s office, grab my duffle with a change of clothes in it and storm out of the locker room. Twenty-five sets of eyes on me as I make the ultimate walk of shame.
I get home and slump down on the couch and turn on the game. I watch pitch after pitch, fuming with hatred at someone I’ve never even met.
Eventually I pass out and am awakened by the blaring static of my alarm clock, I don’t even remember setting it. 6:00 a.m. I grab my head to ease the tension of a dehydrated headache and notice the beer bottles scattered around the apartment, I don’t remember drinking either.
I will myself up off the couch, throw on a pair of black workout pants and grey muscle tank and slide in behind the steering wheel of my truck cursing my way towards the stadium.
Martinez’s car is parked in the parking lot already. I park and make my way inside, heading straight to the mound in the center of the field. This bastard isn’t gonna bench me again. I look at my watch, six twenty-eight. I slowly scan the stadium, my eyes searching each row for the dick who has controlled the last two days of my life and the pain that I will be tethered to for the next six months.
“Alright! You made your point. I’m here!” I hear a clap coming from the dugout and see coach standing by the stairs. Irritated I raise my hands, “Well, I’m here. Where is he?”
I begin to hear the distinct hollow sound of heals on concrete and look to find where the noise is coming from. Way in the back a figure emerges from the early morning shadows and painfully slow makes its way down the stairs. “A girl?”
* * *
He finally showed up and was early. I take a deep breath to steady myself. You’ve got this D. He’s just another player. He’s arrogant. He’ll be fun to break. The last realization tugs my lips into a smile as I shake my head, laughing under my breath. I guess it’s time.
I cautiously make my way down to the field, making sure to keep my head down while I walk, and stop when I get to Coach, turning my back on Robert and holding
a finger up to my mouth. “Shh,” I whisper through a smile. It’s so good to see him. My fears seamed to vanish completely as he wraps me in a warm hug.
“Presley? He says in a whispered tone, “You’re the infamous Donovan West?” I nod and he laughs a deep belly laugh. “Oh this is gonna be great!” A small bashful smile tugs at the corners of my mouth.
“You think he’s ready for this?”
“Absolutely not.” He’s almost in hysterics, wiping the tears that have settled in the corners of his eyes.
“Good.” My confidence has returned and I’m ready to treat him just like every cocky, arrogant, jock I have had the pleasure of dealing with. The minute my feet hit the warning track, the butterflies disappear and are replaced with nerves of steel, my heart rate steady, and I’m ready to take ownership of this field and of him.
* * *
Well, color me shocked and annoyed. Coach knows her and he’s held out on me all this time? So much for having my back and wanting to see me succeed. There’s no way that some chick is going to improve my game.
She steps out onto the field. A tight black pencil skirt shows off the curves a man could only dream about handling, a white button-down shirt pulls across her full chest allowing me to make out the subtle hints of her black lace bra, not too big, but easily a handful. I haven’t admired a woman’s body in so long, but something about her makes it hard to pull my attention. Her face is covered by the brim of her jean styled distressed Texas Rangers’ baseball cap; blond hair pulled through the back with wavy curls swaying from side to side with every step she takes towards me.
This is exactly the kind of woman I would take back to my place, if I took women home. I’m hypnotized with each step she takes towards me, and as she nears me I am able to pick up on the distinct intoxicating notes of honeysuckle and jasmine.
“So you’re the infamous Donovan West,” I say with a chuckle. She raises her head and her beautiful emerald green eyes lock onto mine. “Presley!”
She smiles at me and I’m close to losing it. “Hello Robert.” A blinding white-hot pain shoots across my face, as the sound of skin on skin sends a crackling echo throughout the park.
“The name’s Donovan, and it will serve you well to remember that in the future.” There is nothing sweet about her. She is bitter and fully in charge.
Fuck that hurt. I want to yell at her, and yet I stay quiet. Somewhere deep down I know I deserved every bit of that if not more.
“You’re a fucking mess and the only reason I’m here is for Liv, so don’t read anything into this. This is purely a business relationship.”
Quickly I’m wondering if the last part was for my benefit or if it was to serve as a reminder for her.
“I’ll pick you up in an hour. Pack your shit, you’re going home.” She starts to walk away from me, calling over her shoulder, “Make sure to pack your boots, you’re gonna need them.” She laughs a sinister laugh and I can only imagine what I’ve gotten myself into.
I hadn’t been home in years. The best I did was a phone call to mom every few months. If I was to be honest I was afraid of running into her. Of bringing up hazed memories of the night she left me. Afraid of opening old wounds. But this Presley…this woman, was strong, confident, could obviously hold her own, not to mention fucking sexy as hell. My cock had a mind all its own, and it recognized her the minute she stepped foot on the field. I was jealous before, but now I wanted to punch any man just for looking at her.
I watched her exit the field, Coach’s arm wrapping around her back and pulling her tightly against his side.
She looked back over her shoulder just as my feet started moving towards her, and as if she could read my mind, she spun out of Coach’s arm and marched back onto the field straight to me. Eyes burning red with hatred, “Whatever you think you’re gonna do I strongly advise against it. Go get your shit packed.”
She jabs me hard in my chest with her finger and I stop moving. “I DO NOT belong to you,” she says through gritted teeth. Her eyes locked on mine; neither one of us budge. Is she challenging me? She stands firm and I can’t hold her gaze any longer. Looking away first, I catch the corners of her mouth slightly turn upward. She knows she’s won this battle.
I turn and grab my bag from off the mound and head out of the stadium letting out a deep, dark scream that fills the stadium. I look back only once. She is still firmly rooted in place. Her eyes still locked on me, aggression seeping from every pore. God this is going to be a long and sexually frustrating six months.
* * *
Robert finally disappears and I can breathe once again. I don’t know where all my power came from, but I liked the rush of it. A firm hand slides across my back and I close my eyes against the feel of it.
“I must say, very impressive.”
I let out a small laugh, “My legs feel like jelly.”
“Come on, let’s get you back to my office. You can sit and we can catch up.”
I give a small nod and smile at him, “It’s been a long time.”
We move in silence. Luckily no one is here this early so I can be slightly more relaxed. I settle into one of the leather chairs in front of the desk, while Coach takes the other. “So what’s your plan for our boy?”
“Our? Boy?” I laugh at the concept of him ever being mine again. “He’s all yours, Martinez.”
“Pres—” I shoot him a stern glare and he quickly corrects himself, “Sorry. Donovan.”
“Well, first things first. His ego is about as big as the state of Texas and he’s currently unteachable…so, I’m gonna squash him back down to size.”
Martinez chuckles behind his fist, “When can I expect him back?”
“That’s up to him. The harder he fights me, the longer he’ll be shoveling shit, quite literally.”
“Oh that’s great. Make sure to send me weekly videos. That boy has been a pain in my side since the day you left. I can’t wait to see what you do with him. Just try not to get him so worked up he has a heart attack.”
“I can’t make any promises. Once we get back, I’ll start working with him to get his pitching speed back up, which by the way, I know he fluctuates between sixty-five and eighty-eight. Where do you want him?”
“If we can get ninety to ninety-five out of him we’ll be happy. If I can get those triple digits again I’d be even happier, but it’s been years since he’s even come close to hitting those speeds.”
“I’ll see what I can do. I’m not going to guarantee triple digits, but high nineties is definitely doable for him. Once his speed is back, then I’ll work on his accuracy.”
“Well, whatever you need, just let me know. You know you have our total support, Donovan.”
“I most certainly will and thank you, Rick.”
As I stand to leave he grabs my wrist, “It’s good seeing you again. I always knew you were destined for something greater. I’m sure Laura would love to see you. Why don’t you come by tonight for dinner?”
“Thank you, but I’m flying out in a couple of hours. This is a business arrangement Rick, not a social visit. I’ve learned to keep everything separate. I hope you can understand.”
He gives me a slight nod and releases my wrist. “I think you’re gonna have a hard time with that. You might have been able to do that with other players, but Robert isn’t them.”
I’m angry that he would assume I would give in so easily to Robert. He wasn’t there that night. He doesn’t know the awful, hurtful things that tore at me. He has no idea the scars his words left on me. “You’re right, he’s not like other players, he’s worse.”
Chapter Nineteen
I pull up outside what was once Robert’s and my apartment and stare at the orange painted door with the brass C17 on the front. So many good memories were made here, but all of them overshadowed by one evil night. One night that ruined everything that was good. Never in a million years did I ever think I would be here again. I wonder how many women have made their way through that do
or. How many have slept in our bed. But then again, it quit being our bed when I left. I close my eyes against the stinging tears.
Come on Presley. Get it together. He’s just a job. This is your career. You’re a professional bad ass. He should be kissing the ground you walk on. He should be down on his knees thanking you for taking your time to help him. He is nothing without you. You have the power to crush his dreams in your fist. Fuck the other women he’s been with. You have more power in you little pinky than they have in their entire bodies. You’re fucking Donovan West. You run this whole damn industry. Grown men beg for the chance to be in the same room as you. You’ve got this.
I shake my head and put my game face back on. Quickly, I wipe my eyes, check my makeup in the rear-view mirror and open the car door. I still have my key, so I try the lock. It works. I push the door open and am surprised to find it still looks the same, minus the beer bottles that litter almost every table. “I really like what you’ve done with the place. Nothing says welcome home like empty bottles of depression,” I say sarcastically as I make my way into the living room.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” His head pops out of the bedroom. “Get out!”
“No!” He doesn’t get to tell me what to do anymore. I continue to move around the apartment and I still see our pictures. Maybe he never brought anyone home. “You’re my client, and if you’re pissing your life away then I have every right to know about it.” I push past him and into the bedroom where I get a quick glance into the closet before he grabs my arm and spins me out. My clothes are still hanging in there.
“I don’t care who you think you are, but no one goes into my bedroom.”
That strangely makes me feel better. I stare at him as he stares back, something flying between us: anger, rage, regret, passion. “You have five minutes to get your ass and your shit in my car.” I yank my arm from his grasp and storm out the front door. My body feels as if it were on fire from where he touched me, and I rub my hand over the red mark he’s left on me. It’s just six months. You can do this. Five million dollars. I repeat this over and over until I see Robert step outside and meander over to my car. He throws his head back in laughter and runs his hand over his face. It’s the most sarcastic laugh I’ve ever heard from him, but somehow it causes my heart to quicken for a split second.
Tag Forever Mine Page 17
