Wild Card: Dallas Longhorns

by Tara Wyatt

  He’d thought that being with Marlowe would make him a better man, or at least would help him become the man he’d been trying to be for most of his adult life. But loving her had only seemed to intensify that wild side of him, the side that had a way of fucking everything up. And that wasn’t her fault; no, it was his, and his alone.

  He eased himself back onto the hard metal bench and scrubbed his hands over his face. Maybe he was powerless to change who he was. He’d broken more than one promise to her during the short span of their marriage. He felt like a selfish asshole for convincing her to stay married now. Because deep down, he couldn’t shake the thought that maybe she’d be better off without him in her life. She’d already endured so much with Dirk, and now she had to deal with Hunter’s shit too. She didn’t deserve that. And he was pretty sure he didn’t deserve her. Especially if he kept pulling shit like this.

  Marlowe deserved a good man, and if he couldn’t be that man, couldn’t be better than who he was, he didn’t know where that left him. Left them. He’d made a promise to protect her and look out for her. What did that promise really mean to him? What if keeping that promise meant finding a way to protect her from himself?

  He folded his hands over his stomach and stared up at the ceiling, letting the seconds tick by until morning.

  Marlowe listened to Hunter’s message for the seventh time, the pain in his voice slicing through her heart. She’d been riding high after her successful show, but the sound of his voice had pulled her right back down to earth and then even lower. She could almost taste the self-loathing and the regret in his words and the haggard edge of his voice. All she wanted was to go to him. To wrap her arms around him and tell him that it was okay. That she didn’t approve of what he’d done, but it didn’t make her love him any less. She ached at the thought of him alone in a cell, beating himself up and thinking she probably hated him now.

  She was pretty sure there was nothing Hunter could do to make her hate him. She could be upset with him—and she was—but that upset lived right alongside the love, never dimming it or threatening to extinguish it. But she had a feeling Hunter didn’t know that. He was always so worried about letting people down—his father, his coaches, her—that he couldn’t help but get in his own way. He was sensitive and passionate. And yeah, sometimes that made him wild. It was something that had scared her at first, but she was starting to realize that she loved that wildness as much as any other part of him.

  She’d already had her lawyer find out about Hunter’s bail, but he’d been informed that Hunter’s bail wouldn’t be posted until nine tomorrow morning. Which meant that Hunter would be spending the entire night lying in a jail cell, alone, hating himself and beating himself up. She just hoped he wasn’t so hard on himself that there wasn’t anything left of him in the morning. With a long sigh, she turned the bedside lamp off and pulled the covers up over herself, trying to find some warmth in a bed that felt too big and too cold without Hunter in it.

  Tomorrow was a new day, and would be a better one. She had to believe that.

  Fifteen

  It was just after nine the next morning, and Marlowe was waiting anxiously as the officer from the front desk went to get Hunter from his cell. She’d paid his bail and just wanted to get them the hell out of there. Yeah, they had some shit to talk about, but mostly, she just wanted to see that he was okay.

  The heavy metal door leading to the cells swung open and Hunter emerged, still wearing his rumpled and torn suit from the night before. His lip was split and swollen, a bruise colored his cheekbone, and he looked like hell. Hair falling over one eye, stubble coating his jaw, deep circles under his eyes. She let out a soft little sound, unable to keep it inside and ran to him, throwing her arms around him. A surprised grunt escaped him and after hesitating for just a second, he put his arms around her.

  “You stupid ass,” she mumbled into his shirt, holding him tighter.

  “I’m surprised you’re here. I didn’t think…”

  Now that she’d laid eyes on him and knew that he was okay, she let some of her anger come out. “No, you didn’t think. Come on. Get your stuff and let’s go home.”

  He collected his confiscated possessions and then followed her out to the car, not saying anything. A few photographers waited outside the jail, snapping photographs. Normally, Marlowe would’ve been annoyed, but her main concern was getting Hunter home. Once they were in the car and on the road, he said quietly, “I’m really sorry, Marlowe.”

  “I know.” She glanced at him and then turned her attention back to the road. “I know. We can talk about everything once you’ve had a shower and something to eat and some sleep, okay?” She laid a hand on his knee and he flinched a little, making her curl her fingers away. He was on edge because he’d spent the night in jail; anyone would feel like chopped liver after that. Still, the tiny rejection stung a little.

  Once they were home, she made Hunter a sandwich, which he wolfed down. Then he had a shower and fell into bed, clearly exhausted. While he slept, she puttered around the house, not quite sure what to do with herself. Not quite sure what to do with the jumble of emotions swirling through her like laundry in the washing machine. She was pissed at him for acting the way he had. She was worried about what this arrest would mean for his career. And she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between them. He felt far away, just slightly out of reach, and she didn’t like it. Especially not after he’d pursued her so long and so hard, determinedly knocking every single one of her defenses down until she was his. She’d let him in, and because of how hard that had been for her, she felt that he owed her the same.

  A few hours later, Hunter emerged from his bedroom, wearing a Longhorns T-shirt, gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips, and his glasses. His thick hair stood up at a funny angle, and he looked slightly less like pounded crap than he had before.

  He eyed her warily before heading to the fridge and pulling out more food, piling container after container onto the island. She didn’t say anything, just watched him, feeling off kilter. He glanced up at her as he assembled his smorgasbord. “All right, then. Tell me.”

  “Tell you what?” she asked, sliding onto one of the stools.

  “How pissed you are at me. How much you hate me. How you can’t believe I did that. Let’s hear it.”

  She leaned her elbows on the island and picked at a piece of leftover cornbread. “You’re right, I am pissed at you. You promised me no more wild. I asked you to stay out of my drama with Dirk. And what did you do? You go and start a freaking brawl with him in the middle of a charity gala. It was all over the news.”

  He nodded slowly, and she could see him pulling every single one of her words into himself. Absorbing them. Accepting them. Maybe even wanting them. “Impulse control isn’t my strong suit.”

  She shook her head. “No, Hunter. That’s a bullshit excuse, and you know it.”

  At that, his head shot up, his eyes glued to her. “That so?”

  “Yes, it’s so. I don’t buy for a second that you have the discipline to be a professional athlete but you can’t control yourself when it comes to other parts of your life. That’s a cop out.”

  He leaned on the island, his hands splayed. “A cop out for what?” She couldn’t tell if he was challenging her or genuinely curious.

  “I don’t know. I’m not your therapist. But I think you need to take a good, hard look at not just what you do, but why you do it. I don’t think anyone’s incapable of change, including you.”

  He snorted. “And if I’m the exception to the rule?”

  He was goading her, being deliberately irritating. She took a breath, letting the air expand in her lungs, trying to release some of the pressure building up in her chest. “I don’t wanna fight with you, Hunter. I don’t know why you’re being pissy with me.”

  “Aren’t you disappointed in me?” She could hear the self-loathing in his voice, could see the pain in his eyes.

  She rose fro
m her stool and circled around the island to him. Laying a palm on his cheek, she met his eyes. “I think you’re disappointed in yourself enough for the both of us. I wish you would be nicer to yourself, and I wish you would sort yourself out. Because as much as I love you, I don’t have room in my life for a man who doesn’t have it together and doesn’t do right by me and by us.”

  He didn’t say anything, just stood there as still as a statue. She rose onto her toes and kissed him on the cheek. “I love you. I’m going to give you some space right now, but I love you.”

  She turned and headed upstairs, not entirely sure why she felt like she was on the verge of tears.

  Hunter steeled himself as he stepped into the clubhouse, which was mostly empty given how early in the day it still was. He checked his watch—just before two. Guys would likely start showing up soon, but until then, it was just Hunter and Javi. Whatever was coming wasn’t going to be good, but he was prepared to accept his punishment without complaint. He couldn’t deny what he’d done or how badly he’d fucked up.

  Javi stepped out of his office just as the clubhouse doors swung open again and Aerin strode in. Javi’s hands landed on his hips, his eyebrows slamming together.

  “Sorry, who are you and why are you in my clubhouse?”

  Aerin smiled, that icy, cool smile that made her look like a shark in designer heels. “You don’t know me, probably because I only represent baseball talent. Aerin Stone, Hunter’s agent.” She held out her hand, but Javi didn’t take it.

  Javi’s eyes bounced from Aerin to Hunter. “You brought your agent?”

  “She insisted on coming.” Hunter shrugged. People generally didn’t say no to Aerin. Ever.

  “Anything you have to say to my client, you can say to me.”

  Javi hesitated for a second but then led them back to his office. As Hunter walked across the clubhouse, he couldn’t help but replay the conversation with Marlowe. She’d been pissed at him, but not in the way he’d expected, and definitely not in the way he’d deserved. A part of him had wanted her to chew him out, to call him a fucking moron, to tell him that she didn’t want anything to do with him. He’d wanted the punishment. Wanted the confirmation of what he thought he’d wrecked.

  Javi took a seat behind his desk, an ominous scowl on his face. Well, if Hunter was looking for punishment, it seemed like he was in the right place.

  “Sit,” he said, pointing at the lone empty chair in front of his desk, his eyes hard with anger and frustration. With a sweep of his hand, Hunter offered Aerin the seat, which she took and he settled himself against the cinderblock wall. She glanced over at him.

  “Are you okay? You look like shit.”

  He managed to twist his sore mouth into a wry grin. “Nice to see you, too. And I’m fine.” He wasn’t fine, not really, but that wasn’t what she’d been asking.

  Javi tented his fingers in front of him and closed his eyes, exhaling a long slow breath as though tapping into extra reserves of patience. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with you,” he finally said. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ve tried everything with you. I’ve yelled. I’ve benched you. I’ve made you give me your word. But here we are.”

  “Here we are,” said Hunter quietly, knowing he had nothing to say in his own defense. But Aerin wasn’t having it.

  “You know, when you’re all stick and no carrot, it’s no wonder things don’t always work out for you.”

  Javi cocked an eyebrow. “With all due respect, you don’t know the first thing about how I run my clubhouse.”

  “Don’t I? I represent three players on your team. I think I know plenty.”

  “Shocking, you think you know everything.”

  Aerin’s eyes narrowed and she leaned forward, pressing one manicured finger to the desk between them. “Hunter doesn’t have to take this kind of treatment. If you think a player of his caliber doesn’t have options, then you’re sorely mistaken. I could have him on the Nationals or the Phillies tomorrow.”

  Javi leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed. “Don’t threaten me. Hunter’s a member of this club, and it’s up to me to keep him on the straight and narrow. I refuse to prioritize his career over the needs and wellbeing of the team.” He turned his attention to Hunter. “You’re suspended for a month. I don’t want to do this, Blake, but you’ve left me no choice. I can’t condone that kind of behavior.”

  Aerin shot to her feet. “This is absolutely ridiculous. You can’t suspend him for a month. You’ll ruin the team’s post season chances.”

  Javi shot her a frustrated smile. “You let me worry about my team, sweetheart.”

  “You’re not going to have much a team left if you keep treating your players like children instead of men.”

  Javi ignored her and returned his attention to Hunter. “One month. I’m sick of your antics. That’s not the kind of team I’m trying to run.”

  Hunter pushed a hand through his hair and nodded once. “Understood.”

  “That’s all you have to say?”

  “I know I fucked up. I deserve whatever’s coming my way.” He shrugged. Maybe, like Marlowe, the Longhorns would be better off without him. Without his impulse control issues and ability to fuck everything up in a span of mere minutes. He pushed off of the wall, ready to be done with this conversation. Ready to go do God knew what with the blank expanse of free time stretching before him. As he moved for the door, Aerin followed him.

  “We’re not done talking about this,” she said over her shoulder to Javi.

  “Yes, we are.”

  She stopped and turned. “One day, you’re going to need something from me. Be careful whose cornflakes you piss in, Flores.” As they left Javi’s office behind, she laid a hand on Hunter’s arm. “I’m going to fix this. He can’t do this to you.”

  “He can, and he did.”

  “Hunter, this is your career he’s messing with. This isn’t just a slap on the wrist.”

  “I know. But I keep fucking up, and maybe this is what I deserve.”

  Her steps slowed as they walked down the hallway toward the parking garage. “Do you need to get your shit together? Yes, you do. But this punishment is way over the top. I don’t know why you’re not angrier about it.”

  Hunter tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling. “How can I be angry about something I did to myself?”

  She poked him in the chest. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you’re frustrating the hell out of me today. You need to want this, otherwise I don’t know how to fight for you.” And with that, she clicked away on her heels, leaving Hunter where he stood.

  Sixteen

  Marlowe sat out by the pool with her coffee and her phone, early morning sunshine glinting off of the pristine blue water. The backyard was quiet save for the leaves rustling in the trees and the birds singing above. She took a sip of her coffee, grimacing as it hit her churning stomach. Ever since she’d read Chip’s email, her entire body had been in turmoil, her stomach swirling and her skin too tight and hot. She picked up her phone and read it again.

  Marlowe,

  Have some news from legal to pass along to you. First of all, they’ve contacted Dirk’s people with the threat of a harassment suit and got reassurances that he’d back off. Probably doesn’t want to get his ass kicked by your husband again (ha!). But speaking of your husband, that brings me to another piece of news from the legal team.

  They reviewed your marriage documents (standard policy because it affects your insurance, etc etc), and the marriage isn’t actually valid. Unfortunately, there was an error made when the county clerk filed the paperwork and so the marriage is void. You and Hunter aren’t married and never were. Now, I’m not sure where this leaves you. Heck, maybe you can get more PR out of this whole situation by remarrying. Let me know what you plan to do and we’ll go from there.

  Chip

  She and Hunter weren’t actually married. The first time she’d read those words, they’d felt
like a punch to the stomach, knocking all of the air out of her and leaving her feeling disoriented. Now that she’d had a little time to absorb them, she wasn’t sure how she felt. She’d railed against the idea of staying married at first, and had been fully prepared to walk away, but now? Now, things were different. Very, very different. She’d fallen in love with Hunter, and so learning that she wasn’t really his wife didn’t come with any relief. All she felt was a kind of yawning sadness. Because she loved him and wanted to keep him. Wanted to keep what they had together. That was, if Hunter wasn’t hell bent on pushing her away as some kind of self-inflicted punishment for losing his temper with Dirk.

  Last night, he’d been quiet, distant, and she’d given him space. She could feel him pulling away, and she knew it was because he was beating himself up for what he’d done. She wasn’t thrilled that he’d broken his promise or that he’d gotten violent, but she also wasn’t willing to walk away because of it. There was so much more to him than a jock with a temper. She’d seen all of these other facets—his humor, his passion, his sensitive side. They were good together, plain and simple.

  But she knew he didn’t see it, knew he was punishing himself. And that was why she was dreading telling him about their marriage. She didn’t know how he would take it or where it would leave them. But she had a feeling it wouldn’t be good, that he wouldn’t just shrug and say oh well, let’s just carry on. She knew him well enough to know that was as unlikely as the Longhorns winning the World Series this year.

  “Hey,” came his raspy voice from behind her as he stepped out into the backyard, wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt, a cup of coffee in his hands. Her heart hurt looking at him. She could see the weariness written all over his face. Hunter was his own devil, tormenting himself better than anyone else ever could.