Without even flinching though, I tossed my bat, kept my head low, and took my base. And the crowd cheered for once. Yup, they cheered that I got beamed in the back, which made me chuckle when I was on first, because wow, they really fucking hate me.
But after the cheering died down, I heard Maddox screaming at the pitcher from the dugout, which then led to the umpire issuing warnings to each team.
The warnings set me on edge, because I knew what was going to happen next, and it did. Maddox was on the mound and pinned Jose Fernandez on the elbow with a ninety-three-mile-an-hour fastball, which led into an all-out brawl.
I was the first to reach Maddox and held him back while Jason held back Jose until the Storm could reach their player. But there were a few punches thrown here and there.
Maddox was ejected from the game, so was Coach Gordan, and a few players from the Storm. Completely unnecessary, but typical for the Rebels.
Although, it’s never happened on my behalf before.
That’s what has my mind reeling as I push through the doors into the ice room where Maddox is dipped up to his neck in an ice bath.
When he sees me with my shirt off, ready to take up my own form of recovery torture, he motions his fingers for me to spin around so he can see my back. I do and hear him laugh. “Bet that fucking hurts.”
“Doesn’t feel good,” I answer, dipping into the tank next to him, a breath hissing out of my lungs as my balls crawl up inside me.
“Probably not as bad as what Jose is dealing with right now.”
Maddox is known for hitting players in the elbow; it’s his go-to peg spot, and he’s gotten so good at it, that he knows exactly where to throw the ball to give them the worst possible bruise.
“Yeah, pretty glad I’m not him,” I say, feeling awkward.
Sensing how uncomfortable I am, Maddox says, “They were out to get you from the beginning. No one fucks with us.”
Us.
It’s a simple word but weighs about a ton in this context.
Looking to the side, I quietly say, “Thanks, you know . . . for sticking up for me.”
“Anything for the boss,” Maddox says with a quirk to his lips.
I shake my head. “Where the fuck did that come from?”
“Me,” he says easily, which surprises me. “We haven’t made it easy on you here. We’ve turned our back on you, and hell, I’m sure there are guys on the team who’ve said some shitty things to the press at some point. But even with everything that’s been thrown at you, you’ve acted like a damn boss and gotten the job done. Got to hand it to you, you’re a fucking clutch captain, dude.”
Am I dreaming right now? Did Maddox Paige really say that?
He chuckles and adds, “Don’t look too shocked. You would have noticed the shift in the clubhouse if you didn’t have your head down all the time. The guys are cautious approaching you. A high five or knee pat here and there. They understand we don’t deserve your attention, but we’re here if you want to give it to us.” Don’t deserve my attention?
Lips pressed together, mulling it over, I say, “Thanks, that means a lot.”
“Does that mean you’ll grab beers with us every once in a while?”
The vise that’s been constricting my chest for the past few months finally releases, as I slowly nod my head. “Yeah, I will.” Even though I’m not quite sure I mean it. They might think I’m okay right now, but what happens if my bat falls, or if another article comes out that they don’t agree with. Will they turn their backs again?
A big part of me says they will.
“You still with her?” Maddox asks, confusing me.
“What?”
“Orson’s sister. You still with her?” His question comes out of nowhere and even though it pains me to answer him, I do.
“No.” I shake my head. “Ended first week of spring training, after all that shit went down.”
“Did you end it?” I nod. “Well”—he scratches the side of his cheek—“that would explain a few things.”
Turning my head toward him, I ask, “What do you mean by that?”
“Explains the edge about you. You’ve lost your easygoing nature, what fans love about you. Now you’re hardened, almost as if you’re really a Rebel.”
“Isn’t that what people want?” I ask, trying not to think about how right he is about losing Natalie.
“I think that’s what they wanted, for you to fall in line with the Rebel way of things, but do you know why Jason is so beloved?”
“Because he’s fucking weird?”
Maddox laughs. “Because he’s himself. At least when you were with Natalie, you were still yourself, that was something the fans could get used to, now you’re . . . just fucking cold. Maybe you need to stop thinking about what everyone else is thinking about you and focus on finding what makes you happy.” He pauses and says, “Do you even like playing the game right now?”
I shake my head. “Hate it.”
He nods. “It shows. You’re an exceptional baseball player, man, and you’re bringing success to this team. But you’ll never gain the respect of the fans if you’re not in love with playing the game. Like you used to be. And the media is not going to let up until you win the fans over. Because with rowdy fans, there’s a story, but the day they appreciate you is the day you can kiss those untrue articles away.” He rises from the tub and grabs a towel, quickly exiting and drying himself off. “I get it, it’s your job. But there is more to life than baseball, something you used to know and probably told rookies. Maybe you found that more to life thing in Natalie. And maybe you thought you could only have one thing. I don’t know. I’m not a fucking psychologist.” I chuckle at that. He sighs. “But I’ve watched you for years, boss, and I don’t think you want to leave the game hating it. Maybe finding what you lost when you sent her packing will bring that back. Maybe she’s what you need.”
With that, he takes off, towel wrapped around his waist, leaving me in a pile of, what the fuck?
Chapter Twenty-Eight
CORY
July
“You’re so beautiful. God, I would kill for your eyelashes.” Jason puckers up and goes in for the kill just as I get my hand up just in time to block him with my palm.
“I said no fucking kissing.”
Carson and Knox are still rubbing their cheeks from where Jason laid one on them like the idiot he is. He’s the only guy I know that will go out of his way to earn a reaction—hence the kissing.
Laughing, Jason pulls Dottie in by the hand and kisses her ring finger. Fuck am I jealous of that. They look so happy. Hell, everyone in this circle looks happy. Knox and Emory are fawning over their baby boy, Asher. Carson has his arms wrapped around Milly, cuddling her close to his chest, and Jason is a groomzilla, ensuring everyone within a twenty-foot radius knows he’s getting married this November.
And then there’s me.
The thing about Jason is that even though he does things to get a reaction, he’s a very likeable guy, so likeable that he has players from the Bobbies— like Walker Rockwell, Carson Stone, Knox Gentry, and Ford Fowler — and also almost every guy on the Rebels attending his event, which means, the two rivals are sharing the same air. And there’s not one single issue. No fights, no beef, we’re all here for a good cause. The Lineup.
“Seriously, those eyelashes though,” Jason says, staring at me. “Are you wearing makeup, dude?”
“This is why I haven’t answered your question about being in your wedding yet,” I say, joking, even though I don’t feel light at all.
I feel like I’m on the verge of either passing out, wanting to get hammered in five minutes, or running off to the next trashcan so I can throw up from the nerves rushing through my body.
I’ve been dreading this night ever since Jason told me about it but also looking forward to it because ever since my conversation with Maddox, I realized some of what he said might be true. Hell . . . I know it’s true.
It started with
last season, trying to muddle my way through the anguish of losing a part of me that I built my career on—my home, Baltimore.
Then it went on to dealing with the fans, not performing, and getting on their bad side. From there, it’s been an uphill battle and the only bright thing during the last year in the dark was Natalie. She was the beacon of light, the reason I felt whole, and instead of recognizing that, I balked, got scared, and eliminated it.
And now I want that thing back. I need her back.
I’ve taken a few weeks to think about it, mull it over, convince myself that I have a chance to make things better. So, when I was getting ready tonight, I took extra care deciding what to wear, making sure I looked good enough to possibly forgive.
And no, I didn’t put makeup on, despite what Jason thinks.
I put on my best suit, navy-blue, with a white button-up that has a faint light blue checkered pattern sewn through it and made sure my brown shoes matched perfectly with my belt. I styled my hair to the best of my ability, knowing there are still some bald spots in the back I can’t hide without a hat, and then put on my best watch.
I felt good walking out of my apartment, but now that I’m here, breathing the same air as her, my nerves are shot and I’m seconds away from running out the door.
“Maybe I don’t want you in my wedding.” Jason eyes me up and down. “You look too good in a suit.”
“Hey,” Dottie says, pulling Jason’s eyes away from mine. “The man crush is strong, tone it down.”
“Sorry, he’s just . . . fuck, he’s a stud and he’s leading the entire league in homeruns, RBIs, and batting percentage. He’s the boss.”
I shake my head and say, “I’m going to get a drink,” and take off toward the bar, keeping my eyes open for a—now—blonde with one hell of a smile. I just hope I get to catch it tonight.
While I’m waiting for my Coke Zero—living it large—I catch Maddox from the corner of my eye. He nods to me and then dips his head to the side while raising his eyebrow. I glance to where he’s motioning and that’s where I see Natalie wearing a beautiful light blue dress that looks like it’s painted on her body, framing her every curve and making her look like a beautiful ice queen with her blonde hair and bright blue eyes.
My heart trips in my chest as I take her in, observe her from afar. She charms the people around her with her beaming smile so easily, she attracts the attention of the men in the room, and she doesn’t even realize it. I can faintly hear her laugh from where I’m standing, and it sends a jolt of yearning through my veins, giving me enough courage to make my way toward her after I get my drink.
I feel like a missile, homing in on its target, as I weave through people chatting about the charity, conversing over the season, and speaking of the amazing athletes The Lineup is serving. And even though these are conversations I would normally take part in, there’s nothing stopping me now as I’m only a few feet away from Natalie. And just as I’m about to question my sanity once again, she smiles, and I stop dead in my tracks as a surge of lust booms so hard in my chest that I nearly fall forward.
Fuck . . . I love her.
I love her so damn much, and if I don’t leave this event with her in my arms, I’m not sure I’ll be able to put one foot in front of the other tomorrow.
She places her hand on the back of the woman she’s been talking to, says she will speak to her later, and then starts to walk in my direction but stutters to a stop when she sees me, staring at her, waiting for her, yearning for her.
I watch as she composes herself, morphing her face from surprise to calm in a matter of seconds. Her chest rises in a deep breath and then falls right before she takes a step toward me. I do the same, closing the space quickly. Thankfully we’re tucked away from the crowd, so when I say hi, my voice shaky and uncontrolled, no one can hear it but her.
“Hi.” She gives me a half-smile. “Thank you for coming tonight. It means a lot to Jason.”
“Just to Jason?” I ask, my body yearning to touch her, sweep her hair behind her ear, lean in to smell the sweet scent of her perfume.
Nervously she glances down at her drink and says, “To me too.”
Fuck, I can barely hear her over the roaring of my pulse, beating so hard, so fast, so loud, that everything else seems muffled in my ears.
Swallowing hard, I ask, “How are you, Natalie?”
Tucking her hair behind her ear, she slowly looks up at me and studies me for a few breaths before she says, “I’m fine. A little shocked that you know how to have a conversation with me.”
I deserve that.
Gripping my drink tightly so I don’t push my hand through my hair, I say, “There’s no excuse other than I was not expecting to see you in the dugout on opening day, and it rattled me.”
She twists her lips and avoids eye contact, so I take a step forward, wanting to make sure she hears me.
“I was in a really bad place and treated you like you meant nothing to me, and that couldn’t be further from the truth.”
On a deep breath, she plasters on a fake smile and says, “Don’t worry about it, Cory. It’s in the past.” She points toward some tables and says, “We have those cupcakes again that you like so much, be sure to help yourself.”
“Don’t,” I say, as she starts to push me away. “Stay, talk to me, even if it’s just about the weather. Please just talk to me.”
“Cory,” she says softly and shakes her head, “it’s not that easy.”
“Then talk to me about something else, about us, about how I fucked up—”
“This is not the time nor place for that conversation.”
Feeling desperate, I say, “Then meet me after this is done. Coffee, dessert, anything.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know, Cory.”
“Please,” I say, taking one more step forward. “At least give me the chance to apologize.”
Looking up at me through her lashes, she says, “Where is this coming from?” Whispering she adds, “It’s been months since I’ve heard from you.”
“Five months,” I say, feeling the pain of every one of those months ricochet through my chest.
“However many months it’s been, why are you doing this right here, right now?”
“Because I just gained enough awareness and courage to approach you.”
She studies her drink again, not answering right away, but instead, making every breath I take more painful as I wait for her next words.
Finally, she says so quietly, “You devastated me, Cory.” She meets my eyes. “Made me feel worthless.”
Fuck.
My throat tightens, and I feel a cold sweat break out on my back. Recalling that night, when I asked for a break, to press pause, anything to stop the swirling in my head, it blew out of proportion and before I could stop her, she was walking out of my hotel room, out of my life for what seems like forever.
What I wouldn’t give to replay that night, to get out of my head and take a deep breath, realize that everything was going to be okay if I stuck to my girl rather than push her away. What I should have said when she told me I wasn’t the man she deserved.
The man I deserve knows, even through the hard times, that I’m an asset, not a hindrance. He knows that of all the women out there, one who has a professional baseball-playing brother actually understands this more than any other woman. Fuck, how right she was. I don’t need herbal tea, mindfulness, CBT, or fucking salmon five days a week. I need her. I need her strength, her wisdom, her tolerance and understanding that sometimes the game takes over. But also her soft landing place when she sees I need to pull back . . . because she understands the game—me—more than anyone else.
I didn’t know that then, but I do know that now, and I want my time with her. I’m trying my damnedest to earn a moment with her. “Natalie,” I say, feeling just how tight my throat is. “That night, it was . . . fuck, I wish—”
“Hey, there you are,” a male voice says, coming up behind Natalie and
placing his hand on her lower back.
Slowly, my eyes travel up a pristine suit to a familiar face. Frustration roars at the back of my throat when I take in the slicked-back hair of Nicholas, the guy from St. Croix.
My gut churns with dread from the possibility of hearing those distressing words . . . this is my boyfriend.
I can feel it in the air, see it in her eyes.
She’s starting to date.
She's starting to date.
A throbbing knot twists and turns in my stomach, as I see Natalie look back at Nicholas with such familiarity that it makes me want to cry out in pure agony.
She’s starting to date.
I’m too fucking late.
Nicholas looks up at me with a genuine smile and holds out his hand. “Cory Potter, great to see you again. You’re having one hell of a season.”
As if my brain switches to autopilot, I reach my hand out, shake his, and say, “Thank you. Nice seeing you again, Nicholas.” I tack on a smile I can barely feel on my lips. “Great event to attend.”
“Our girl did a great job, didn’t she?” the asshole says, making Natalie smile up at him. The look makes bile rise.
Our girl.
Our fucking girl.
Swallowing hard, the pain feeling like razor blades gliding down my throat, I say, “She did great.” I take a step back and say, “I’ll, uh, I’ll let you get back to mingling. Have a good night.”
Natalie gives me a sad smile and watches me back away without another parting word, and as I turn my back on a closed door, I wish she’d call my name, run up to me and say she’ll meet up after the event, that she’ll give me a chance to explain.
But she doesn’t.
She doesn’t pull on my hand or give me one more chance. Instead, I watch her from a distance for a few more minutes until I can’t take the ache tugging on my ribs anymore and I leave, my heart bleeding a trail behind me.
* * *
Still July
The Trade Page 36
