Home Run: A Texas Heat Romance

by Camilla Stevens

  She welcomed it, embraced it. If this helped him, she was a perfectly willing. She was his woman. He was her man.

  She felt him stiffen, the final act commencing. She opened herself up to take it all. He released with a shuddering groan, unleashing inside of her.

  When his massive body fell down on top of her, she curled around it, welcoming the familiar build. She stroked his hair and back, smiling into his head as he pressed it to her neck.

  “Wow,” he breathed. “That was…intense.”

  “Yeah,” she said laughing a little.

  He lifted himself onto his hands, looking down at her. “You okay?”

  She gave a chuckle and reached up to cup his face. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  After they had dressed again, he sat next to her on the couch.

  “Where the hell did that come from?” he pondered. Then he chuckled. “I guess it’s a good thing you’re on the pill. I wasn’t even thinking.”

  She gave a sardonic smile.

  Oh Carter, you have no idea.

  “Yeah,” she said in agreement.

  She snuggled in beside him and was pleased to feel the familiar arm go around her body, pressing her closer.

  “Thanks for that,” he said softly. “I…I have no idea where that came from…but thanks.”

  She could hear the mild self-reproach in his voice and she wasn’t having any of it. She reached up to take his chin in her hand and turn his face toward her.

  “Hey,” she said. “This is what you needed. I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you. Got it?”

  He looked at her long and hard. As the impact of her words hit him, she was almost certain tears were about to come to his eyes, as a crease dented his forehead. Instead, he just nodded wordlessly and pulled her in closer until his chin rested on top of her head.

  They had escaped to the comfort of her bed and were now lying together, naked in an embrace that was warm and familiar to Jordan. She rested her head against the firmness of his chest and traced a finger over the tattoos on his body.

  She didn’t bring up the steroid accusation at all. If he wanted to talk about it, he would say something. She just wanted to be a comfort to him in his time of need.

  “Thanks again for this,” he said, staring at the ceiling. “For once I’m glad you don’t live in Houston. You have no idea how hard it was trying to get rid of the press once I left my house.”

  “Well, thanks for not bringing them here,” she laughed into his chest. She lifted her head to look at his face, the stubble on his chin was practically a small beard at this point. His sharp features were both more jagged, and yet softer, most likely due to a lack of food, and too much drink.

  “I’m going to make you some spaghetti. You look like you could use something to eat.”

  “What I could use is you lying back down against my chest,” he said pulling her down.

  She fell back reluctantly but didn’t give in. “I’m serious Carter,” she murmured into his chest. “You need to eat. I think April has some Oreos I could steal. She’ll understand.”

  Before he could argue again she jumped out of bed, jogged out to the kitchen, grabbed the Oreos and a large glass of milk.

  When Carter saw what was in her hands, the smile that she longed to see graced his face. “Oreos and milk? I can’t tell if you’re my mother or my girlfriend.”

  The words made her stop short. Mother. Girlfriend?

  Being the overthinking Jordan that she was, she immediately wondered if being pregnant had made her think of milk and cookies. She shook her head of the thought. That was ridiculous. Besides, there was no point going down that mental path. She couldn’t tell Carter about his baby…not yet. Not now.

  30

  He held the glass of milk in his lap so Jordan could dunk her cookies. Carter didn’t have much of an appetite. His insides were riding an emotional roller coaster and he wasn’t quite sure milk and cookies would survive the trip. But he was happy to watch her eat.

  He closed his eyes and leaned back against the headboard, relaxing into the hand that was stroking his hair. This was all he needed right now. Peace. Quiet. A good woman by his side. A woman who had his back, no matter what. A woman who had faith in him, believed in him, despite everything being thrown her way telling her that she shouldn’t.

  His woman.

  The woman he loved.

  He’d known it since—he couldn’t even say. Maybe since he’d first seen that face on the screen. Despite her stubbornness, which he occasionally found endearing, she was perfect. Her brains, her ambition, her devotion to her family, the way she looked, felt, smelled, tasted…

  He could feel his cock start to twitch.

  Although he would have loved another, less angst-filled session with Jordan, he forced himself to let it go. That first round had been a much-needed release, but right now he just wanted rest. He needed time to think, figure this mess out.

  He appreciated the fact that she hadn’t yet mentioned anything about the steroids, letting him open up when he was ready. He opened his eyes to stare up at the ceiling.

  “I just don’t have a goddamned clue how this could be happening,” he sighed.

  Jordan let it sit, waiting to see if he went on.

  “I mean how the fuck did my blood get on a syringe laced with steroids?”

  She pulled away, taking in the fact that he was ready to talk it out. He tried not to focus on the fact that they were both still naked.

  “Okay, so let’s work it out,” she said, her face taking on a look of concentration. “Do you remember anyone sticking you? A pinch or something?”

  He gave a soft laugh, “Trust me hon, I’d remember something like that.”

  “She fell back against the headboard, facing him. “Okay well, it’s a bit outlandish, but maybe some employee at the doctor’s office? Have you given blood recently? It would be a way to make a quick buck. Sell the story to LoneStarStateBaseball.com...?”

  “Yeah, that’s pretty out there, Jordan,” he said shaking his head.

  She nodded, concluding it was an unlikely scenario. “Well, how else could someone get your blood?” She gave him a sheepish look before going on. “I know you’ve gotten into fights on the field. Maybe...?”

  He gave a hefty laugh. “Yeah, maybe one of them saved the blood from when they punched—”

  It hit him like a sledgehammer to the chest, so hard he almost couldn’t breathe. He sat straight up.

  Holy shit!

  He jumped out of bed and began to pace, ripping a hand through his hair.

  “What is it?” Jordan asked, wide-eyed with apprehension.

  “That goddamn motherfu-!” he roared, coming to a stop and digging his fingers into his palms so hard he could feel them breaking the skin.

  Jordan flinched back against the headboard, bringing the covers up to her chest.

  Carter saw her reaction and it quelled the rage instantly, or at least masked it. He had no intention of creating a repeat of his last bedroom freak out. He never wanted to see scared look in her eyes again.

  He took long slow breaths, doing everything he could to calm himself down and focus on where to go from this point. First of all, he had to get out of here. He searched out his boxers and jeans.

  Jordan watched him angrily heading toward the living room, and warily got off the bed. She grabbed a robe from a hook on the back of her door and came up to him gingerly.

  “Where are you going?” she asked with a warning tone, following him.

  “I’m going to deal with this,” he growled, pulling up his underwear and following with his jeans.

  “You’re angry, and I know you haven’t eaten,” she pleaded, standing in front of him. “You’re liable to run off the road Carter!”

  “Jordan, I love you,” her eyes fluttered in surprise at that, “but you need to get out of my way.”

  She stood firm and crossed her arms over her chest blocking his way. “No. Tell me what it is. I can help y
ou!”

  “This is my fight.” He grasped her by the arms and physically lifted her up, eliciting a gasp. He placed her down next to the couch and out of his way.

  She kept a healthy distance as he stuffed his arms into his shirt, and buttoned it up. Then, she grabbed his arm as he headed to the door and he tensed, instinctively wanting to pull it away and take care of business. He saw her face and momentarily relaxed.

  “It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me,” she said, “but please, just promise me you won’t do anything that might…get you in trouble, or hurt.”

  He just stared at her. She stared right back at him.

  He waited a moment then sighed and nodded. He couldn’t make a verbal promise. He could only hope that the ride there would calm his nerves.

  Because right now Carter Fox felt like murdering someone.

  Jordan was probably right, he was too angry and worn out to be driving, especially all the way to Pasadena, Texas. He had basically tailgated, raced, lane-changed, and bogarted his way there. It was a wonder he hadn’t got a ticket, or worse.

  None of it calmed the anger that raged inside him as he pulled into the dark parking lot of Bay Vista Apartments. Carter had never been here before but he knew the address well. After all, he’d sent more than a few checks here.

  Today, he was delivering something else…personally.

  He thought about knocking, the split second before he kicked in the door to apartment #127.

  Bobby Joe Fox tumbled off the couch in surprise. The legs that had been propped up on the coffee table twisted and he fell, face first, onto the floor. As he struggled to right himself and stand up, Carter took three steps in to grab him.

  “Listen, son…I can explain,” he sputtered.

  That told Carter all he needed to know. He was so shocked to have his assumption—about which he’d still held a tiny, hopeful sliver of doubt—confirmed, that he dropped the man.

  Bobby fell onto his ass with a thud. He used the momentary freedom to scramble away from Carter, well out of reach. As he backed into the kitchen, he looked at his son with a wary eye.

  The movement created a fresh wave of anger in Carter and he rushed over to pick the man up again, banging him against the kitchen wall. Bobby Joe grimaced with pain.

  Carter slammed him again. Then slammed him again.

  A flash of anger went through the older man and he began to fight back. He took a swing and managed to connect with Carter’s temple, causing him to loosen his hold on him. Bobby Joe gave in to the momentum, swinging and kicking.

  Carter dropped him again and moved back a step, fists balled, ready to strike back.

  “Come on then!” he raged. “Go for it, Dad!” He spat out the last word like a bad taste in his mouth. “You wanna try for some more? Pay off some more loans?” he roared. “Make sure you swing hard enough to draw blood. At least now we know how they could prove it was probably my DNA; they had the sperm donor ready and willing to match it.”

  “What the hell is going on over here?” screeched a woman’s voice from the front doorway.

  Carter didn’t bother looking over; his eyes stayed locked tightly on the green irises that were mirror images of his own. Bobby Joe just waved an idle hand toward the front door, shooing the woman away.

  “I’m callin’ the cops!” the voice said warily.

  “How the hell could you do something like this?” Carter asked.

  Bobby Joe just sagged against the wall, breathing heavily, looking at his flesh and blood with a mixture of anger and resentment.

  “You think you’re such hot shit,” he snarled. “Can’t even take your old man’s calls. Do you remember who the fuck taught you baseball in the first place? Fuck you…and fuck your career!”

  The rage came back.

  Bobby Joe saw it in his son’s eyes and braced himself.

  “Fuck my career?” Carter screamed, charging at the man and pinning him up against the wall. “Fuck my career?!”

  “How much did you get?” Carter demanded, slamming the man against the wall again.

  “Fuck you!”

  “How much?!” he slammed him again.

  “FUCK YOU!”

  Carter let go of him and drew his fist back with a roar. He saw Bobby Joe’s eyes light up with fear, realizing how massive and powerful that fist was.

  Carter paused. He thought of Jordan sitting in bed with that same look of fear in her eyes. He thought of her parting words. Don’t get in trouble. Don’t get hurt.

  He gave a frustrated roar and brought the fist forward, slamming it into the wall beside Bobby Joe’s head. He flinched, twisting his head away from it. Carter pulled himself away from him, ignoring the fist-sized dent in the wall.

  He could hear the sirens coming. He strolled over to the sofa and sagged down, resting his elbows on his knees, completely drained. He dropped his head into his hands.

  “How could you do this?” Carter asked softly.

  Bobby Joe walked over to the side table and picked up the pack of Marlboros lying there along with the lighter. He lit the cigarette and took a deep puff. Squinting out of the ruined front door, he rested one hand in his jeans pocket thoughtfully.

  Carter heard him give a soft cackle as he blew out a puff of smoke, and he looked up in disbelief.

  “Assholes only gave me $5,000 for the story. You fuckin’ believe that? Didn’t even make a fuckin’ dent.”

  Carter just shook his head and put his head back in his hands. His entire career. His life. For $5,000.

  He lifted his head to look at the man. “Did you have it planned before you showed up at the party, or was it a spur of the moment idea?”

  Bobby Joe twisted his lips with guilt before taking another drag, still unable to look his son in the eyes.

  So it had been planned all along. Carter’s head fell into his hands again.

  “If it makes you feel any better, I waited a good while before going through with it. It wasn’t an easy thing to do….What can I say? I was desperate.” He shrugged and took another puff.

  Carter could feel himself getting warm. The blood rushed to his brain, making him see red. He wasn’t sure even Jordan’s sweet voice in his head could stop him now.

  “Alright everyone, freeze!” two cops came rushing into the room, guns drawn, taking note of the front door on its hinges.

  They paused when they saw Carter, sitting like a boulder on the couch and Bobby Joe idly smoking a cigarette.

  “What’s going on here?” the first one asked, confusion in his voice.

  “We’re alright boys. Just a little accident there,” he pointed the cigarette at the front door, with a wry smile.

  The cop looked at the door then back at Bobby Joe, then over toward Carter. “Are you alright, sir?”

  His eyes grew wide with instant recognition when Carter lifted his head from his hands.

  “Yeah,” said in a monotone voice. He looked up at Bobby Joe, who refused to look his way. “We’re alright.”

  “Anyone want to explain this front door?”

  “Like I said, just a little accident. Y’all gonna hang around here for a damn front door?”

  That got their hackles up and Carter could just see trouble brewing.

  “Shut the hell up, Bobby,” he sighed. He stood up and walked over to the two men. “I’m sorry you had to come all the way out here for this. Like my—like he said, it was a simple accident. I’ll be paying for the door in the morning with the management company.”

  The two looked at Carter, then at Bobby Joe, the front door, and then back to Carter. Probably sensing the headlines in the morning, they backed off.

  “Just make sure you…you keep it down,” the first one said, feeling the need to perform some sort of policing duty.

  “Yes, sir,” Carter said and then watched them go.

  There was a crowd of curious onlookers outside. The combination of a police unit in the middle of the night and the Houston Sluggers’ star hitter was enough t
o get the community grapevine running at lightning speed.

  “Fix this,” Carter said without turning back to Bobby Joe.

  He heard his dad puff out another cloud of smoke.

  Carter walked to the entrance and paused at the threshold. “Fix. This.”

  “Yeah, son,” he heard his dad sigh.

  He stepped over the entryway and began walking back toward his truck. He stopped when he heard Bobby Joe’s voice.

  “Carter,” came the raspy voice, “I’m in a lot of trouble. I know I’ll probably end up in jail or somethin’ over this, but these people, they’re gonna want their pound of flesh. If they can’t get it from me…” he let the statement hang.

  A wave of anger ran through Carter again. He let it crash and whither away. He was just too damn worn out.

  31

  Call me! Text me! Let me know ur ok!

  Jordan had lain awake with worry. She had texted over and over begging him to call or text, just so she knew he was okay. She hadn’t heard anything and it had been 5 hours already.

  She had no idea what revelation had made him run out so quickly, and so angrily. She had just known whoever was on the receiving end of that wrath was in for trouble. She couldn’t give two shits about them. If they had caused this mess, they deserved the mighty force of hell rained down up on them. But she didn’t want to see Carter bringing himself down with them.

  Finally, he had responded.

  I’m fine. Everything is fine. Don’t worry.

  And that was it. She stared at the phone. At least he wasn’t dead, and presumably not in jail.

  She was anxiously curious to know what had happened, but the fact that he had simply texted instead of calling meant he didn’t want to talk about it. She’d let him be.

  At least she could rest easy tonight, somewhat.

  One day later, she was woken up by the knocking on her bedroom door.

  April burst in without waiting for a response.