As I get closer to the gym, I hear the voices of a few people who are lingering around the stadium, no doubt getting the venue prepped for the annual hockey match they hold the day after Christmas. Lowery Field is one of the few “family-owned” stadiums left in the big leagues, and when the Renegades aren’t occupying it during the season, it’s rented out. I’ve been here for weddings, corporate functions, college events, and concerts.
My name is mentioned, causing me to stop dead in my tracks. Eavesdropping is a terrible thing to do, but it can be informative. The voices are around the corner from where I’m standing, and they’re loud and clear.
“I can’t believe they haven’t released him yet.”
“You know he’s brought women in here before.”
“I don’t feel safe knowing he can come in here any time he wants.”
“He’s probably going to have to pay her off.”
“I can’t believe it’s taken this long for someone to report him.”
“He’s a rapist, and I don’t feel safe here anymore.”
Each jab cuts deeper and deeper. I have the urge to turn the corner and show my face, but seeing fear in the eyes of the people that work here is not something I want to witness. They can have their own feelings, but I wish they’d consider mine. Although by the words they spew, I’m guilty, so it doesn’t matter how I feel.
I turn around and take the long way to the gym, trying to keep my emotions in check. I’m on the verge of beating the shit out of someone, or crying. Fuck, maybe I need to do both. This is my life that’s hanging in the balance, and since I saw the victim yesterday, I can’t get over the fact that she seemed cocky, undeterred by our chance meeting. Shouldn’t a woman fear her attacker instead of threatening him? I’m all for women empowerment, but fuck this shit. Two days from now, this all ends, or I’m going to file a countersuit against her. Of course, that won’t go over well with the media, but I’m sick of living this fucking nightmare. People need to know I’m innocent.
As soon as I step into the gym and the lights come on, I’m relieved to see that our punching bag is back. Plugging my iPod in, I turn on my heavy metal playlist, tape my knuckles, and get to work on the bag. It’s her face I picture each time I hit the target. I was raised to never hit a woman, but fuck if I don’t want to do it now. This game she’s playing is fucking with my life.
Each hit is harder than the previous one, and the red seeping through the tape isn’t enough to stop me. I don’t care if I’m bloodied, if the skin of my knuckles is breaking from each punch—the pain is welcomed. It’s needed so I can feel human again, so I can feel what it’s like to be hurt and not just broken.
My music shuts off, causing me to turn mid-punch. Standing next to my iPod is Easton Bennett, shortstop and a guy who has his own troubles with women.
“What’s up?” I say, nodding toward him and my music at the same time. Seriously, who the fuck comes into the gym and shuts off a man’s playlist?
He shakes his head slowly. “Not much. I heard you were here, so I thought I’d come see you.”
I turn back to the bag and start punching. “Could’ve called. I’ve been home.”
“This really isn’t a social visit, Kidd.”
I stop again and rest my arm on the top of the bag to hold it steady. “If you got something to say, say it.”
“Actually, a few of us do.” That’s the voice of Kayden Cross, and Bryce Mackenzie follows him into the open space of the gym.
“What’s this, a fucking intervention?” Three of my teammates stand shoulder to shoulder, glaring at me. I step up to them, letting them know that I’m not afraid of them.
“As captain, I’m asking you to stay away from the clubhouse and stadium until Stone has issued a release stating that you’re still an active member of the team,” Bennett says.
“Excuse me?”
“Being charged with rape—” Cross starts to say before I interrupt him.
“Accused. There’s a difference, scum jammer,” I say to Cross. “Know the fucking facts before you start spouting off through your whore fondler.”
“Kidd, do you take anything seriously?” Mackenzie asks.
“Yeah, I do. Like right now with my motherfucking teammates coming at me with this bullshit. I’ve met with Stone, and unlike you, he’s not willing to throw me to the wolves for something I didn’t do.”
“Your reputation is enough for everyone to be concerned. As your team, we feel it’d be best if you didn’t come around until you were clear of all the charges,” Bennett says.
I laugh and take the tape off my hands. Once it’s wadded up, I throw it at the guys. “You know, next time you might want to make sure you have the entire team standing behind you, because as infielders, I don’t give a fuck what you think. The captain of the outfield has my back, and so does our third baseman. Not to mention the man who we all depend on to bring in the runs. So the next time you want to be a fucking douche farm, better make sure you have every single team member’s backing.”
I leave the men I once considered my friends standing there as I calmly walk out of the gym. They don’t need to see that I’m more upset than I’m showing or see that their words tore at my heart. We are supposed to be a team, and teams stick together through thick and thin.
On my way out, I call Jeffrey and leave him a message. “I want a trade.” That’s all I say before hanging up. I can’t play with a team that doesn’t have my back. My next call is to Saylor, but that goes to voice mail as well. I tell her that I’m sorry for yesterday and ask her to call me. More than anything I want to spend Christmas with her, Lucy, and her mother, even if it’s only for dinner.
I thought it would be a benefit to have my car back. I thought I’d be able to come and go from my house and no one would notice. Except the reporters who are hell-bent on following my every move have put eyes in the back alley. I don’t know what they’re waiting for. Do they expect me to have an orgy at my house? For me to parade a harem of women in and out of here every night?
“Don’t you have a family?” I ask as I get out of my SUV.
“Sure do, Mr. Kidd.”
“Then go the fuck home. It’s Christmas,” I say as I step through my gate. I make sure it’s locked before going into my house and right out the front door. As soon as I step out onto my stoop, everyone is scrambling for position.
They all look confused and shake their heads. “What a bunch of scum fuckers you guys are. Seriously, go home. I can promise you that you won’t miss anything.”
Stepping back in, I slam my door. It’s dark and dreary inside my house, making me long for Saylor’s. Even the few presents I did manage to buy for her and Lucy don’t brighten my place like I thought they would. Just as I pull out my phone to call her, I hear a knock at my door. Peeking through the blinds, I’m surprised to find Saylor standing there.
“Hey,” I say, reaching for her arm to pull her in, but she avoids my reach as she steps inside. “I just called you,” I say, closing the door behind her.
She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Jeffrey called.”
“And that’s why you’re here?” I ask, only for her to nod. “Do you want to take off your coat and stay for a little while?”
Her smile fades as she shakes her head. “I can’t, Travis.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“A bit of both, I guess.” Her lips go into a thin line, telling me that whatever I thought we were building is now gone, but I don’t want to believe her.
“I’m sorry about yesterday.” I hedge, hoping that my attitude is the reason for her reluctance to be here.
“I’m here because Jeffrey called. He’s away on vacation and asked me to stop by. Are you sure you want a trade? You have two years left on your current contract, but there’s an out if you want him to execute it.”
I reach for her again, only to have her shy way. “Saylor?”
“You’re my client, Travis.” Her voice breaks when she sa
ys this, and I know something has happened since I left her. It can’t be because of what happened at the restaurant. She’s believed me from day one, so I know that hasn’t changed.
“I’m more than your fucking client, Saylor.”
“You can’t be,” she says, looking away.
I go to her and pull her chin up so she can look me in the eyes. “This again? Tell me why not.”
She shakes her head and steps away. “So about your contract—”
“Fuck my contract, and fuck this bullshit. I don’t want to talk about baseball. I want to talk about us.”
“There is no us, Travis.” Her words are the final nail in my coffin. I stand there, staring at everything else but her as her words reverberate through me. There is no us. But there was, and we were going to create fucking magic together.
I glance at the presents, wrapped with pretty bows, mocking me. “These are for you and Lucy,” I say. I pick them up and hand them to her, honestly surprised that she’s even accepting them.
“You didn’t have to buy her anything.”
I bite my tongue, keeping the slew of words locked inside my brain. “Right, well, Merry Christmas, Saylor. It’s been a pleasure working with you, but you can call Jeffrey and tell him I want to get the fuck out of Boston before spring training starts.”
As soon as she steps out, she turns and looks at me. I take one last look at the woman I could’ve fallen in love with and slam the door.
“Merry fucking Christmas, Kidd.” Those are the last words I speak before my lips touch a freshly opened bottle of vodka.
Twenty-Six
Saylor
I sit on my sofa with my afghan over my legs, wishing I had a glass of wine in my hands. Beside me the fire crackles, and the flame lights my living room with its soft orange glow. The sparkle of the Christmas tree seems to have dimmed now that the festivities are over and all the presents have been unwrapped, opened, played with, and put away for the night. All except for one, that is.
The tiny, odd-shaped box sits on the arm of my sofa, with its pretty red ribbon and white wrapping paper, eagerly waiting for someone to open it. It’s the last present, and it’s addressed to me, from Travis. The presents we bought him still sit under my tree, reminding me that I should’ve taken them over to him, but for some reason, I didn’t.
Seeing him yesterday, and having to tell him that he’s my client and nothing else, hurt worse than when Elijah left me, pregnant and alone. I thought I could shield my heart from Travis, but after the gut-wrenching pain I experienced yesterday, I know that’s not the case. I barely made it off his steps before I was hyperventilating. I tried to save face in front of the media, but the reporters knew that something had happened inside his home. It’s my hope that they left it alone and didn’t badger him or assume the worst—that he hurt me—because he didn’t. I had no choice but to let the tears flow freely, almost freezing to small icicles as they fell down my face because of the harsh wind and cold temperatures. I deserved it, though, because I know how much pain I was causing him.
Days ago, my Christmas morning looked so different in my eyes. I had every intention of inviting Travis to spend the day with us. Truth be told, I wanted him here on Christmas Eve so he could enjoy the night with us and be here when I pretended to be the jolly man dressed in red as I set Lucy’s presents out. I wanted to stand under the mistletoe and share kisses with the man who has slowly worked his way into my heart.
Elijah changed that for me, taking away the little happiness that I was trying to build. I know better than to not take his threats seriously. I’ve seen him destroy people in court and not bat an eyelash in the process. I wish I could tell Travis that I did this for him, to save him from a man who is willing to hurt whomever I love to get his way. Travis would never understand, though, and he’d try to save us, even though no one can. I was stupid when I fell for Elijah, and unfortunately I’ll pay the price until he has no financial control over my life.
Tears fall as I stare at the present and imagine the way Travis would’ve looked this morning while we watched Lucy open her presents. I could easily see him in a white T-shirt with plaid flannel pants on, barefoot, with his hair messier than normal and his megawatt smile lighting up everything around him.
Instead, my only recollection of him right now is the anger in his eyes and the sour way he excused me from his home. I wanted to tell him that I don’t have a choice, but he’d never see it from my point of view, especially since he’s going through so much right now. The last thing I want to do is burden him with my baby-daddy drama. I sigh and wipe angrily at my tears, berating myself for wallowing. I don’t have any right to feel sorry for myself. Not when I’ve hurt the one man who needed just a bit of compassion from me.
Leaning forward, I pick up the pretty wrapped box and touch the satin bow through blurry eyes. I should return this to him, unworthy of his affection, but I selfishly want to open it to know what’s inside. I want to hurt some more when I see what he’s picked out for me. It’s twisted and evil, but it’s the pain I feel I deserve.
Only, I don’t open it. I leave it the way it is and set it on my coffee table before lying down so I can stare at the box while the fire dances behind it and more tears fall.
* * *
A loud pounding startles me awake. The fire has since timed out, and very little warmth remains. I try to focus through the darkness, but my eyes are tired and somewhat hard to open. My name is called, and my heart starts racing. Slowly I get up from the couch and make my way to the door, only to jump when the next knock happens.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Irvin; open up.”
I do as he requests, not even bothering to check the peephole to make sure it’s him. “What time is it?” is the first question out of my mouth when it should’ve been, “What are you doing here?”
“It’s after seven,” he says, looking at his wrist, even though he’s not wearing a watch.
“Come in. Can I get you some coffee?”
“No, thank you.” He looks around my apartment, and when his eyes land on me, I feel awkward. I quickly cover my face, wondering what the hell he’s seeing.
“Sorry—I was sleeping.”
“And crying,” he points out.
I nod and excuse myself to the bathroom. As soon as I look in the mirror, I cringe. Not only am I cursed with dark bags, but also my makeup is streaked down my face in dark lines, making me look like something from a horror movie. I cried myself to sleep last night, never bothering to wash my face, not caring because there wasn’t anyone here to see me. I freshen up as much as I can and go to check on Lucy, only to remember that my mother took her for the night. I led my mother to believe that Travis would be over later, and she wanted to give us some privacy, when all I really wanted was to be alone.
“Rough night?” Irvin asks when I step back into the room. I nod and head into the kitchen.
“Are you sure you don’t want some coffee?”
“No time. I’m due at the courthouse in twenty.”
“The day after Christmas? Must be a serious case,” I say as I spoon the coffee grounds into the filter.
“You haven’t heard? I assumed because you were crying…”
“Heard w-what?”
He runs his hand through his hair and sighs. “Travis was arrested early this morning and is being arraigned at eight.”
“For what?” My tongue is thick in my throat. I grip the edge of my countertop, waiting for Irvin to tell me.
“Rape and assault. It seems that he followed Rachel Ward into a restaurant and assaulted her in the bathroom.”
But he didn’t!
I step back and cover my mouth to hold in my sob. This woman is vile, lying like this. I know for a fact that he didn’t do anything to her at the restaurant because I was there, just like I had been at the bar.
“Anyway, I’m here because I want to hold a press conference after his arraignment.”
“Okay,” I sa
y as my stomach threatens to expel my dinner from last night.
“I’m convinced this is a witch hunt, and the DA is only doing this to boost his reelection bid. If he had evidence to arrest Travis for rape, he would’ve done so weeks ago. He’s stalled repeatedly, and the rape kit has suddenly disappeared.”
“How can they arrest him, then?”
Irvin sighs again and shakes his head. “According to the complaint, Travis has been following her for weeks. Showing up where she is, trying to bribe her to make everything go away. When she wouldn’t take the money, he beat her up. The DA wanted to arrest him two nights ago but felt after the holiday would be better.”
Is that why Travis left us standing outside in front of my apartment, to go look for her? I don’t want to believe it, but it’s possible. This woman is ruining his life, and at some point, your willpower breaks and you do stupid things.
“I’m coming with you. I’ll be ready in ten minutes.” I hustle off to my room and try to keep the tears at bay. I have no doubt I’m the last person Travis wants to see, but I have to be there. He has to know that I support him. I know he didn’t rape that woman but can’t be sure he didn’t go out and look for her after we left the restaurant. But why would he? Why would he risk everything to confront her when he could’ve easily done it at the restaurant?
I slip into a sweaterdress, fleece tights, and boots before putting my hair up into a bun, and quickly do my makeup, dabbing on some lipstick after brushing my teeth.
“I’m ready,” I say as I enter the living room. I grab my coat and slip it on before holding the door open for Irvin and following him out. “You know I’m on vacation,” I tell him as I pull out my phone and start messaging all the media channels.
Grand Slam Page 17
