by Tara Wyatt
“Aw, that’s sweet, Blake,” said Beau, bumping his shoulder against Hunter’s. He glanced around the dugout, taking in the familiar faces, and then out at the field where the game was continuing. “It’s not that I want to leave. I love it here. But I’ve gotta do what’s best for my career. I’m thirty-two. This is the last big shot I’ve got, you know?”
“I know. But you’ve got a good chance at glory here, too. We did win a World Series a couple of seasons ago. We’ll be in playoff contention again this year. We’re strong.”
Beau nodded, taking a deep breath. “If it were just about the team and the city, I’d stay. But what if I have the chance to play for the Dodgers or the Red Sox? Hell, even the Astros.”
Hunter narrowed his eyes. “You sign with the Astros and you’re dead to me.” There was no love lost between the Longhorns and their in-state rivals.
“It’s about prestige and money and all of that shit no one wants to talk about, but that everyone wants.” Beau shrugged. “I don’t know how it’s going to shake out yet. If the Longhorns can offer me the kind of money I’m looking for, I’ll stay. If not…” He shrugged again. “Just have to wait and see.”
Later that night, Beau sank down onto the black leather sectional positioned near the floor-to-ceiling windows in his quiet living room. Beer in hand, he gazed out over the Dallas skyline as it sparkled in the dark, the geometric roofline of Fountain Place poking up above the other buildings. They’d won 6-3, in large part thanks to his grand slam in the third inning, and it felt good. Everything about baseball this season was just…easy. Everything was clicking, and with his free agency looming, the timing couldn’t have been better.
His phone buzzed from his pocket and he fished it out, grinning at the name flashing across the screen. He tapped the screen to answer the call.
“Hey, Gramps. You’re up late.”
“I’ll sleep when I’m dead. Hadn’t heard from you in a while, wanted to make sure everything’s okay.”
Beau’s grandfather, Norman Harris, was rough around the edges, but he always meant well. He was gruff and plain speaking, but he loved Beau, and Beau loved him, fiercely. As the only reliable, stable adult Beau had had in his life growing up, Norman meant everything to him.
“Yeah, sorry. Just been busy with everything.”
“Thought maybe you finally got one of those nasty venereal diseases I read about on the Facebook. Isn’t there one that eats your brain and makes your balls shrivel up?”
“Not as far as I know,” said Beau, taking a swig of his beer. “But I’ll keep you posted.”
“Saw the game tonight,” said Norman, and Beau heard the sound of the creaky screen door, heavy footsteps on the uneven planks of the front porch, and the telltale squeak of the rocking chair his grandpa kept out there. He liked to sit out on the porch rain or shine, rocking in that chair and nursing a beer. Not that there was much to look at from that vantage point. He had a large property on the outskirts of Sioux Falls, and he used it to house his junkyard. A retired mechanic, he’d taken to salvage work after arthritis had stolen his ability to do more delicate labor. “You did good, son.”
Beau smiled, a soft warmth spreading through his chest. Those four words held more weight for him than the praise of his teammates and coaches. If Norman was proud, that meant everything.
“So, I got a question for you,” said his grandpa, getting straight to the point, as always. “You gonna stay in Dallas? At the end of this season?”
Beau took another sip of his beer, looking out over the city he’d come to love so much. “I dunno. It’s not entirely up to me. Have to see what happens over the course of the rest of the season, what other teams might offer me.”
“You should play for the Twins. Forget Texas. Come back up here.”
Beau chuckled. “Don’t think the Twins can offer me the kind of money I’m looking for.”
“Bah. Money. Life’s not all about money, kid. If you ain’t happy and healthy, you ain’t got shit.”
He nodded slowly. “True enough.”
“I got another question for you.” Abrupt and to the point, once again.
“Shoot.”
“When you gonna find a nice woman and stop messing around?”
Beau choked and sputtered on the sip of beer he’d just taken. Norman made little comments here and there about Beau’s lifestyle, but he’d never been this blunt or direct before.
“Uh…” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and decided to go for humor. “I find lots of nice women.”
“I meant for more than one night, jackass.” He sighed. “You’re getting older. Hell, I’m already old. I’m not going to be around forever. I just don’t want you to end up alone on this spinning rock when I kick it.”
The idea of Norman dying, of not being around, made Beau’s chest tighten with panic. “You’re not going to kick it anytime soon. You’re only seventy-one. That’s not that old.”
“Sure as hell ain’t young, either.” He sighed heavily, his chair creaking.
“Don’t worry about me, Gramps. I’m fine. I’m happy. I like my life just the way it is.” And yet the words didn’t feel entirely true as he spoke them.
“Mmm. That so? You really like it, or you just don’t know anything different?”
Beau closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was nearly midnight, and it had been a long day. He didn’t have the energy for this conversation right now. But clearly his grandfather wasn’t going to let this go, because he continued before Beau could say anything.
“You’re scared, ain’t you?” Norman’s voice was quiet, softer than usual. “Scared to let people in because you think they’re just gonna leave. Just like Maryann did to you.”
Beau took a long pull on his beer. “I don’t want to talk about his.”
“Too bad. Hang up on me if you want, but you need to hear this.” Norman cleared his throat. “Your mom was an addict. Lord knows I tried, that your grandma, rest her soul, tried to get her away from the stuff. But the pull was too strong. It wasn’t that she didn’t love you or didn’t want you. She just didn’t know how to be your mom. The drugs took that from her.”
Beau’s throat thickened and he swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump there. “I know.” And he did, but knowing it didn’t make it hurt any less. Didn’t make the wound any less open and sore.
“Do you? Because I think you choose to be alone so that no one can leave you. If you’re always the one doing the leaving, you can’t get hurt.”
He pushed up off of the couch and paced to the window, leaning his forearm against the cool glass. “So what if I do choose to be alone?” He knew Norman was right, but he didn’t want to admit it. Didn’t want to claim all of his baggage out loud, scared at just how heavy it might be.
“Then you’d be making a mistake, letting something that happened a long time ago control who you are and what you do now. And I know you’re better than that. You’re better than some guy in his thirties tomcattin’ around like he’s in college. I’ve been waiting for you to figure this out on your own, but you’re stubborn.”
Beau scoffed. “Gee, wonder where I picked that up?”
“There’s a difference between stubbornness and foolishness. This is really how you want to live your life? A different woman every night, no real connection, no real comfort? Because I’ll tell you, what I had with your grandma, I wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world. That kind of love is worth facing your fears, worth taking a chance. It nearly killed me when the cancer took her twenty years ago, but even knowing how painful that loss was, I wouldn’t change a damn thing. Loving someone like that, it opens up a whole new world, one you’re depriving yourself of because you’re chicken shit.”
“I’m not chicken shit,” he said, his voice coming out rougher and louder than he’d intended. “I’m fine the way I am.”
“You’re telling me that of all the women you know, there isn’t a single one you’d be intere
sted in actually dating? Not just messing around with, but actually getting to know? Letting her get to know you?”
“Nope,” he lied, Piper’s face flashing through his mind. “Not a one.”
There was a heavy silence, and then his grandfather sighed. “I tell you about this Corvette I got in just a few days ago?”
Relieved to move on to another topic, Beau sank back down onto the couch, only half listening to Norman’s side of the conversation as his mind reeled and spun with thoughts of his grandfather dying, of being truly alone, of how he was smart to protect himself by not getting involved with anyone because he knew firsthand how much it hurt when someone you cared about left.
And Piper. He thought about Piper. How sexy and sweet she was. How much he wanted her. But he couldn’t do what his grandpa was asking. He didn’t do love. Love was far too dangerous and risky and terrifying. And a woman like Piper…hell, she deserved someone without his baggage. Without his fucked up issues. Asking her out the other day had been selfish, pure and simple.
But he still thought about her, all the same.
Four
The following week, Beau stepped into the Longhorns’ clubhouse, glad to be back in town after six games on the road. They’d done well, winning two of three against the Tigers and taking all three games against Cleveland.
“Hey, where the hell have you been?” asked Abby, stepping into the clubhouse from the direction of the training facilities. Beau scratched at his cheek, wondering if he looked as guilty as he felt.
“What? I’m right here, BP’s in twenty.” He held his arms out at his sides, feigning ignorance, even though he knew exactly what he’d done.
Abby rubbed a hand over her belly, which had only grown over the past week. “Yeah, and you were supposed to be here an hour ago for a yoga session.”
He glanced in the direction of the training rooms and then started walking toward his cubby. “Sorry. Forgot we had it today.” Except that was a lie. He hadn’t forgotten. He’d bailed intentionally.
Abby followed him, her eyes narrowed. “Shit, Beau. You didn’t…” She jerked her head in the direction of the hallway. “With Piper? Please tell me you didn’t?”
He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Nope. She’s made it clear she’s not interested.” Very clear, which was why he’d felt weird about seeing her today and had done the mature thing and avoided her completely.
Abby stared at him for a minute, an assessing look on her face. Finally, she nodded. “Don’t forget next time. It’s an important part of your conditioning.”
“Sure thing, coach.”
He started getting changed for BP when Javi stepped out of his office and made a beeline for Beau. “Aerin wants to have a chat. She’s waiting for you in my office.”
Beau frowned slightly. It wasn’t like his agent, Aerin, to just show up unannounced and demand to speak with him. She was usually more deliberate and organized than that. Nerves fluttered through his stomach as he wondered if it was good news or bad news.
“She say what it was about?”
Javi shook his head. “Nope. Just said it was urgent. I’ll clear the guys out onto the field for BP a little early, give you guys some space.”
“Shit, is it bad?”
Javi gave him a slightly exasperated look. “Like I said, she didn’t tell me what it was about. She’s my wife, but there’s certain things we can’t talk about, like private conversations between a player and his agent.”
“Yeah, but she must’ve said…”
Javi rolled his eyes. “Beau, quit stalling and get your ass in there.”
He rubbed a hand over his neck. “Right. Yeah.”
“And don’t skip yoga again. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
Beau nodded. “Abby already talked to me.”
“Good.”
As Javi rounded up the rest of the guys and herded them onto the field, Beau headed for Javi’s small office, located near the entrance to the clubhouse. The door was ajar, and as he pushed it open, he saw Aerin sitting behind her husband’s desk, all sleek blond hair and designer suit and high heels. She was beautiful, and Beau had a feeling that beauty often made people underestimate her.
“Beau, have a seat,” she said, gesturing toward the chair in front of Javi’s desk. The office was small and slightly cramped, with a large desk littered with papers and two iPads along with a laptop. Shelves lined the wall along the back, holding binders and files along with baseball memorabilia and framed pictures of Javi, Aerin, and their daughters. On the wall to his left was an enormous framed print of the front page of the Dallas Morning News with the headline “WORLD SERIES CHAMPS!” and a full color picture of Dylan, Hunter and Beau holding the trophy. His gaze lingered on the photo for a moment, the memory of that night nearly three years ago forever branded on his brain.
He sank down into the chair, still looking at the picture, and for the first time this season, he felt a flicker of uncertainty about leaving. This was a good group of guys, with a lot of good memories. Saying goodbye might be harder than he’d originally imagined.
“You wanted to see me?” he asked. She nodded, bracing her elbows on the desk, her blue eyes sharp and alert.
“I’d like to talk about your upcoming free agency.”
Beau nodded, leaning his elbows on his knees. “You have an update? Any preemptive discussions?” His stomach gave a little lurch.
She tilted her head. “Yes and no. But before we really get into it, I have a small bit of bad news to deliver. Well. Smallish.”
“Okay,” he said, a note of caution creeping into his voice. “Regarding?”
“Wal-Mart has decided not to feature you in the sports section in stores across Texas.”
“Oh.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. Confusion warred with disappointment. “I thought that was pretty much a done deal. We’d already done the photoshoot and everything.”
Aerin nodded slowly. “They’re concerned about your reputation.”
Beau’s eyebrows shot up. “My reputation? But I’m having the best season of my career.” He shook his head, struggling to understand what had gone wrong.
“Your reputation off the field.”
“Oh.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his skin feeling overly warm. “Right.”
“They’ve decided to go with Hunter instead. They like his family man image and think it’s a better fit.”
“I see.” Beau stared at a spot on the floor, unsure what to say or how to feel, so he went for humor, his go-to defense mechanism. “I’d hate for them to waste those pictures. Maybe they could use them in the condom section. Gives the expressions ‘rounding the bases’ and ‘hitting a home run’ a whole new meaning.”
Aerin stared at him, her expression flat. “Ha ha. Not funny.”
He shot her a half smile. “Come on. It’s a little funny.”
“Glad you think so, because you’re the only one.” At the iciness in both her tone and expression, the smile dropped from his face.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’ve had meetings with a few of the teams who’ll be buyers this upcoming off season. The Red Sox, the Mets, the Dodgers, and the Mariners are all interested. Or would be.”
He frowned, his chest going tight. “What do you mean, would be?”
She sighed. “Your reputation’s getting out of hand, Beau. The sleeping around, the serial womanizing. It’s putting teams off.”
“Why do they give a shit what I do off the field? It’s no one’s business.” He shook his head, shame and frustration and disappointment all tumbling through him.
“It is if you want the kind of money they pay players of your caliber to be the face of a franchise. And you’re headed into one of the most competitive free agent seasons in recent memory. It’s a buyer’s market this season.” She leaned forward, studying him. “I’m good at my job. Damn good. I can get you a nice, big, juicy contract in one of those cities. You’ll be mak
ing tens of millions of dollars a year, possibly winning another World Series, and ending your career on such a high point that you might as well be on a goddamn mountain.” She paused, tucking a strand of her sleek blond hair behind her ear. “But I’m like a chef; I’m only as good as my ingredients. I can only work with what I’m given.”
He blew out a breath, shaking his head. He’d never felt ashamed of his behavior—until now. Knowing that other potential teams were judging him and finding him lacking because of his personal life made him feel slimy. “So what do we do? How do we fix this? I can’t change the past.”
“You’re right. You can’t. The way I see it, there are two options, here.”
“Okay, hit me.” He leaned forward, eager to hear what she had to say. When it came to strategy, there was no one better than Aerin.
“Option one: you cool it for the rest of the season. You become a monk. No girls. No partying. No more fuel for the fire. No more stories in the media about your reputation, or on online message boards where women talk about who’s slept with you.”
His eyes widened, his stomach dropping to somewhere around his ankles. “I’m sorry, what?”
She tilted her head, her eyebrows raised. “You didn’t know about the message boards?”
“Uh, no.” He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. Message boards? What the fuck?
“There’s Ball Girl Fever, Cleat Chasers, a new one called No Glove, No Love, which I have to admit, is clever.”
“So there are women posting online about being with me?” He had to admit that while he was the tiniest bit intrigued as to what was being said about him, he mostly felt violated. He wasn’t one to kiss and tell, and the fact that women were kissing and telling on him in a very public way made him feel gross.
“Yeah, Beau. A lot.”
A sudden flash of anger burst through him, and he had nowhere to direct but it at Aerin. “What are they saying? Good reviews? Lots of satisfied customers?” It was meant to be a joke, but the words came out harsh, strained. He bit back a bitter laugh. “I’m having a two for one orgasm special next weekend, maybe I should post that online.”
