Game On

by Collette West

  "If left up to his own devices, I don't want to take the chance of Jilly letting you slip through his fingers," Gayle relates, her eyes trained on my reaction. "There's another road trip coming up, and you said yourself when we talked on the phone that you might not be able to get your schedules lined up before the end of the month."

  "You're leaving New York?" Sasha asks, shooting me a worried glance.

  "It looks that way," I reply.

  Her mouth droops like I've somehow let her down. "You can't leave, Hailey!" The way Sasha says it frightens me, like she knows what it'll do to him. "He needs you here…"

  "Well, my lease is almost up," I respond, squirming in my seat.

  "If you need a place to stay, my brother has a—" Sasha starts.

  "That's very kind of you, but I'm fine. Besides, I never expected to stay that long in New York anyway." My statement holds more truth than she realizes. I have to go…before I get run out of town.

  "But what about Jilly?" Sasha bends over to peer into my eyes.

  "If it's meant to be, it's meant to be," I utter.

  "You're so strong," Grey moans. "I didn't even last twenty-four hours before I ran after Chase."

  "I think we're all suckers for a good love story," Sasha says, patting the top of my head just like Jilly does. "The love Brooks and I had endured, even after two years apart. So I wouldn't bet against you two."

  "How does a week from Saturday sound?" Gayle asks, scrolling through her calendar, seemingly oblivious to the conversation going on around her. "Because, boy, do I have the place for you."

  "Oh, Gayle. Don't leave us in suspense. Where are they going on their next date?" Grey begs, clasping her hands in front of her. "At least give us a hint."

  "It's very literary. That's all I'll say." Gayle gives me an indecipherable smile. "You're a writer. Trust me. You'll love it."

  "You're a writer?" Sasha inquires, looking at me askance.

  "Hey, do you know R.D. Bukater?" Grey teases. "Because, if so, you gotta tell her that's not the only bed that Chase has ever broken."

  But I'm drawn out of the moment when Jilly's entrance song begins to play over the PA system and all I can think about is how this might be the one and only time I get to see him play in the big leagues.

  Gayle's onto me. I'm sure of it now.

  And Sasha and Grey aren't too far behind.

  Chapter Seven

  Jilly

  My anthem, "Welcome to the Jungle" by Guns N' Roses, blares from the Kings Stadium speakers as I jog out to the pitching mound.

  It's only the top of the eighth, but my manager, Tony Liotta, is bringing me into the game an inning early because our starting pitcher, Toby Riordan, was just pulled with the bases loaded and nobody out. I'm being called upon to do what I do best: preserve the lead at all costs. At two to one, the score is too close for comfort. Now, it's all about picking up my teammate. Time to work my magic.

  But I'm not thinking about the hitters I'm about to face as I shuffle across the outfield grass. My mind is elsewhere—namely the section of seats behind the Kings' dugout, the rows specifically reserved for the players' family and friends. My eyes eagerly comb the stands, hoping to catch a glimpse of her.

  And there she is, waving at me, screaming along with everyone else.

  I never thought that Hailey Halpert would be at one of my games, cheering for me. Sure, she watched me play plenty of times in high school, but never as a King. It's something I've often fantasized about, and now, it's actually happening.

  I take a deep breath to steady my nerves. I don't get nervous no matter how pressure-packed the situation. I'm known for having ice water running through my veins. When I pitch, nothing can get to me, but tonight, I want to show Hailey what I can do. I want to impress her. Let her see that she's dating the number-one closer in all of baseball. I want to prove that I'm good enough for her, that I'm worth taking a chance on.

  I shake off my catcher, Pedro Gonzalez. He wants me to throw a breaking ball. Yeah, right. I don't think so. I intend to bring the heat.

  Pedro finally gives in, realizing how determined I am to deliver a fastball. Burke Balfour, the Detroit player at the plate, is currently leading the league in homers. This should be fun—a muscle against muscle, chest-thumping battle for supremacy. But you know what? Screw Balfour. I'm all about blowing Hailey Halpert away.

  I rear back, slightly changing my delivery in order to give it everything I've got. The ball flies out of my hand, Balfour swings and misses, and the crowd goes wild. I take a look over my shoulder to check out the scoreboard for the radar gun reading. A hundred miles per hour. I smile to myself. I want Hailey to see me at my absolute best, and that's what she's going to get.

  Pedro shakes his head and calls a time out before hurrying out to the mound. Shit. What does he want? He's breaking up my rhythm.

  "Dude, what do ya think you're doing?" Pedro asks, his eyes piercing into me from behind his catcher's mask. "You're going to hurt yourself pulling shit like that."

  "I've thrown that hard before. No big deal." I shrug, staring over his head.

  "Yeah, in the World Series in the last game of the season. But in case you haven't noticed, it's only June and we're not even halfway through the schedule yet. We can't afford for you to end up on the disabled list. So quit showing off and get back to work." He smacks me on the chest with his mitt, warning me to fall back in line. "If Tony calls for a breaking ball, you throw a breaking ball. Got it?"

  "Throw. Don't think." I snarl back at him. "Got it."

  "Oh, mano," Pedro groans. "Why do you have to make things so much harder than they have to be?"

  I stomp around the pitching rubber, tamping down the holes Toby dug into the dirt with his cleats for the last three hours. No one throws with the velocity I do, so I have to be careful and make sure my mechanics are right. It's all about throwing the same way, every time, making sure the conditions on the mound are just right. My arm is my bread and butter. I need to take all the necessary precautions to protect my most valuable asset.

  I sneak a quick glance at Hailey. She's watching me attentively, her eyes trained on no one but me. Even in front of all of these people, my crotch tightens. Fuck.

  Unnerved, I rush my delivery, releasing the ball from the stretch, and the second I let it go, I know something's not right. My elbow feels like someone lit a match and set it on fire. Balfour is late on the pitch and pops it up right in front of the plate and into Pedro's glove. The runners on base can't advance, but there are still two more outs to nail down, and it's my job to get them. That's what the Kings are paying me to do—shut down the opposing offense, throw strikes, and get people out when the game's on the line. There aren't a lot of people who can do what I do, but I happen to be one of them.

  Yet now I'm feeling another emotion I've never felt on the mound—fear. What the fuck did I just do to my arm? Maybe it's nothing. Maybe it'll go away. Maybe I didn't throw enough warm-up pitches in the bullpen and it just has to work itself out. Whatever the case, I'm not taking myself out of the game—not with Hailey watching.

  I take a quick look in the dugout. Tony doesn't seem too concerned. He would've been out here with Liam, our trainer, if he suspected anything was wrong. It's all going to come down to how I make these next couple of pitches and if I can fool him into thinking everything's okay. He'll shut me down in a heartbeat if he thinks I'm injured, and I can't let that happen. I have to get through this inning.

  The next hitter for Detroit is Colby Travers, and I own his ass. I think he's batting a buck sixty-five against me lifetime. This'll be an easy out. Nothing to worry about. This time, Pedro calls for the fastball and I shake him off. I need to go with the off-speed stuff. I don't know if I can amp it up again.

  Pedro, clearly frustrated, goes through the signs again until we settle on the change-up. I hold my breath and say a prayer as I unload the pitch, and a blazing-hot sensation shoots through my arm. Even though Travers swings and misses, I grimace,
pinching my brows together, unable to stop myself from cradling my elbow, and that's all it takes for Tony to come trotting out of the dugout, bringing Liam with him.

  "What's going on, Jilly?" Tony asks, striding up and observing me carefully.

  I usually find it comical that the bill of his cap only comes up to my chest, but not tonight. All I can think about is the excruciating pain I feel whenever I move my arm. I try to keep it as still as possible, but Liam's skilled hands are already examining it. He bends my elbow back and forth, making me cry out in agony.

  "That's it. You're out. Liam, take him in." Tony quickly makes the decision, not even waiting to hear what I have to say.

  "Boss, I'm fine. I…" I protest, but there's only so much I can do. The crew chief umpire is already making his way over, and Tony signals to the bullpen, touching his right arm to call in a new reliever. "Tony, don't do this to me. Don't—"

  "I don't wanna hear any of your bullshit, Jilly. You're hurt. Now get the hell outta here before I drag you off this field myself." Tony glowers at me, but I know he's only doing it for my own good. I'm his most reliable pitcher, and he always trusts me to get him out of a jam. Too bad tonight's not one of those nights.

  I storm off the mound, not even waiting for Liam. I stare down at my feet as the crowd starts to rise, getting to their feet to applaud my effort. They know something's amiss if I'm exiting the field with the trainer. They know that Tony'd never pull me from a game. I'm his one sure thing, and now, I'm out of commission for God knows how long.

  I'm lost in my negative headspace until one cry breaks through all the others.

  "BRUUUCE! BRUUUCE!"

  I look up, and Hailey's cupping her hands in front of her mouth, yelling at the top of her lungs. I make eye contact with her, wishing she weren't here to witness this, how I just fucked up my arm acting like an idiot. I'm about to lower my head again and look away when I see her blow me a kiss, and something about that tears at my heart. Despite how miserable I am and how uncertain things are at the moment, I break into what no one else would consider a grin but her. I place my glove over my heart and watch her smile back at me.

  It's the last thing I see before I duck my head and enter the dugout.

  Chapter Eight

  Hailey

  "So you have a tear in your…" I pause, needing him to repeat the diagnosis for me.

  "Ulnar collateral ligament," Jilly supplies. "The words every pitcher dreads to hear."

  "Why? Is it that bad?" I watch him, my anxiety level rising.

  "For most, it means Tommy John surgery and being out for a year." Jilly sighs deeply. "But the Kings didn't waste any time. They got three of the best orthopedic surgeons on a conference call to take a look at my MRI. They all said my tear is slight. It's at less than ten percent. They think I might be able to rejoin the team in as little as seven days if all goes well. They're not even putting me on the disabled list. They're keeping me on the active roster."

  "They think you'll be fully healed by then?" I ask, incredulous because it seems like he's in a lot of discomfort.

  "If I rest my arm and I'm pain-free once I start throwing again," he replies, trying to look on the bright side. "If not, they'll shut me down for good. If the tear increases, surgery will be my only option."

  "Oh, Jilly…" I reach out to touch his shoulder, but he tenses and I try not to notice how he shirks away from me.

  "Thanks for driving my Jeep over to the imaging center. Did you have any trouble getting to the parking garage?" He swiftly changes the subject, throwing me off-kilter.

  "One of the clubhouse staffers came down to where I was sitting and gave me your message. He told me where they were taking you then handed me the keys, showing me where I needed to go." I gaze at Jilly from the passenger's seat of his Jeep as he drives me home, wondering what's really going on inside that head of his.

  "I know we were supposed to do something after the game, but I didn't want you having to take the subway or hail a cab at this time of night. The Bronx gets a little too rough after dark for a girl like you to be out on her own." Jilly runs his good hand anxiously over the steering wheel.

  There's not much traffic now, and we coast through light after light, already approaching Ninth Street and First Avenue.

  "I think I could've managed," I respond, and he immediately scowls in my direction. "But it was sweet of you to think of me, especially with all that was going on."

  He pulls up in front of my apartment building, eying the shady characters prowling around outside. "Give me a minute. I'll walk you up."

  "You don't have to—" I mumble, not wanting to inconvenience him, especially when he's not feeling well.

  "I'm walking you up." He parks the Jeep and wastes no time in opening his door.

  The guys hanging around on the stoop size him up. There's not much light and they can't really see his face, but they're aware of how big he is. Jilly marches in front of me, clearing a path, and the guys slink underneath their hoodies, making crass remarks under their breath. Jilly stops halfway up the steps, turning around. Once they get a good look at who they're dealing with, they seem to change their tune.

  "Jilly Gillette. No fuckin' way! What are you doin' here, man?" Clearly intoxicated, one of them stumbles forward to shake his hand, but Jilly shoves him off, lighting the fuse. "Dude, I don't care who you are, you'd better fuckin' step off. You don't wanna go messin' with me. I already know that li'l bitch of yours lives alone on the top floor, and you wouldn't want me to go payin' her a visit when you're not around now, would ya?"

  "What'd you say?" Jilly stalks toward him, but I grab him by his good arm and lead him away. He's outnumbered six to one, and if they jump him, I don't know what will happen.

  "Let's just go inside," I plead, hating how they all start to laugh at us.

  "Your li'l bitch has a nice place up there, man. Real nice." Another one of them moves towards us, taking out a knife and extending the blade.

  Jilly's muscles coil beneath his shirt like he's ready to strike. I shove my key for the front door into the lock and drag him through, shutting it before things can escalate any further. The foyer is dimly lit, but even so, I can feel Jilly's pent-up rage even if I can't see it.

  "What are you doing living in a shithole like this?" he spits out.

  "I found it on Craigslist. It was one of the few short-term rentals in my price range where I wouldn't have to deal with the extra fees of going through a broker. It seemed fine…until I moved in." I don't turn around to face him. I just keep walking up the six flights of stairs we have to climb.

  "And your parents let you stay here like this, all by yourself, with no one to look out for you?" he questions me, not letting it go.

  "They don't know my exact living situation, all right?" I feel so tired all of a sudden, but I keep plodding upward. "I don't want them worrying about me."

  This is the first time I've lived anywhere besides our small hometown back in Jersey. I ended up attending a local college only twenty minutes away and lived at home all four years. I'm twenty-two years old, I've never been on my own before, and I'm ashamed to admit that I don't know what I'm doing.

  We tramp up the remaining steps until we reach the top and I let out a strangled cry.

  The door to my apartment is wide open.

  My mind is telling me to approach with caution, but I don't. Instead, I run inside, flicking on the nearest light switch.

  The entire place is trashed.

  The air mattress is knifed open. The tiny TV is smashed. The IKEA bookcase is toppled over, and my clothes are strewn about, torn to pieces. But what really frightens me is that the one thing I cannot afford to lose is gone.

  My laptop.

  The vein in Jilly's neck is throbbing as he looks around. "How long has this been going on with them?"

  There's no point in keeping the truth from him now.

  I bend down to examine my beloved copy of Jane Eyre that's lying shredded on the floor. "The first n
ight I moved in, I heard someone on the roof, right above me. At first, I didn't think anything of it, thinking it might be a couple of homeless people squatting up there for the night or something. Then, the next night, I heard them again, but this time, they climbed down the fire escape and jumped onto the balcony outside my window, and I got a good look at them."

  "Why didn't you call the cops?" Jilly demands.

  "Because I didn't know if I was being a baby or not. I thought maybe they were just pranking the newbie, trying to scare me." I shake my head, realizing how stupid that sounds. "They knew I had no one close by when I had to lug up all my stuff by myself from the U-Haul truck I'd rented. They saw how vulnerable I was."

  "Then why didn't you call your super?" he drills me, livid about how far I've let this go.

  "Because one of them was my super. He was the drunk guy out there who tried to shake your hand," I mutter, unable to meet his gaze.

  "Fuck," Jilly mutters.

  "Over the past week, they've gotten more brazen, banging on my window, shoving things under my door." I sit back against the wall and shut my eyes.

  "Like what?" Jilly prompts, not letting me off the hook so easily.

  "Stupid shit like condoms, flyers for the shop down the street that sells sex toys," I reply, looking at the floor.

  "Jesus, Hailey!" He kicks the side of my now-tattered beanbag chair, clearly frustrated with me.

  "I didn't know what to do, all right?" I cry. "I paid a month in advance. I had nowhere else to go. This was my one big chance to try and make a go of it here, and I wasn't going to let them drive me away."

  "But you could've been seriously hurt. What do you think would've happened if I didn't bring you home tonight, huh? They were lying in wait for you, Hailey. God only knows what they would've done to you if I weren't here." He runs his hands through his hair, pacing the narrow length of the room.

  "But they didn't…because you were here," I say hoarsely, my throat tightening up.

  "Pack up your stuff!" he shouts at me. "There's no way I'm letting you stay here. You're coming home with me."