Could be the end of baseball, though. Right, Dad? Like father, like son.
“Just don’t do anything stupid.” He tapped his bad knee and stood. With his hand on the door, he turned back toward me. His eyes darkened as a distant memory took over. “Be better than me, boy. With modern medicine, you can recover from this. You still have a shot.”
He left without another word. Dad wasn’t much of a talker, but I knew him as well as I knew myself. During his senior year in college, his drunk buddy knocked him down the stairs of the frat house they lived in. Dad broke his leg, blew out a knee, and almost broke his neck. The accident ended his playing days. He didn’t set foot on a baseball field until I started T-ball. Then our life was baseball and nothing else. He held out hope I’d be scouted as much as he’d been. When I got drafted, he was the first person I told. Dad celebrated. Until I decided to go to Westland instead. It was the right decision. I would’ve been eaten alive at eighteen. Now I was ready. Now I could hold my own.
Shaking off the feeling of disappointing him again, I took my computer out of my bag and powered up. The first email I saw was from MFine. I laughed at Mallory’s last name. She was pretty fine with that pixie face and hair a guy could get lost in. I opened it and smiled.
Dear Mr. Betts,
I hope you made it back to campus without any problems. We will meet in the library on the third floor by the microfiche. Nobody uses those except history majors and the area is always quiet. I’d like to meet on Mondays at three, Wednesdays at five, and Fridays at three. Our sessions will go no longer than an hour and a half; although I doubt we will need that entire time. Most of my tutoring sessions last an hour, but I always schedule extra time in case we hit a particularly difficult stretch. If these times are not going to work for you, please let me know immediately.
Sincerely,
M. Fine
I hit respond, amused by her formality. It was like talking to a character out of one of Chelsea’s silly historical romances. Not that I would know anything about that. Okay, not that I’d ever admit to reading one. Once.
Dear Ms. Fine,
Those times are acceptable. For now. In a few weeks, I’ll start physical therapy, so we may need to make adjustments depending on the doctor. Is there anything you want me to bring to the sessions?
Sincerely,
Aaron #4
I waited less than a minute for a response.
Dear Mr. #4,
Bring your books and your brain.
Leave your brain, and we may need the entire hour and a half.
Mallory
Maybe this girl wasn’t as stiff as she pretended to be.
Hobbling around campus wasn’t my idea of a good time. It didn’t help when I got to Modern American History and saw Trish cozying up with Trent Hilton, running back for the football team. Trent was an all-right guy who had the brain of a turtle but the speed of a cheetah. Her eyes widened as she watched me maneuver into the room. I planted myself in the front row by the door instead of my usual seat as far in the back as I could get with Trish right beside me. Dr. Monroe couldn’t miss my reappearance here.
“Hey, Aaron,” Trish said softly to my right. I glanced down at where she knelt by my desk before refocusing my gaze on the front of the room. “How’s the knee?”
“Fine.” One-word answers should’ve been enough to deter her. Or so I thought.
“Listen,” she whispered in a husky voice that I once found sexy. Now it cut me like a cheese grater against my skin.
I twisted to face her, not really wanting to hear what she had to say. My knee rotated along with my body, sending spikes of hell along my inner thigh and down my calf. Keeping the pain off my face was harder than Monroe’s class, but I somehow managed it. Or Trish didn’t notice. Either way, she didn’t say a thing about the injury.
“Are we okay?” Trish shrugged her perfectly shaped shoulder. “I mean, I know that things are…awkward now, but we can still be friends, right? We’ve known each other forever, and you know me better than anyone.”
“Apparently, I don’t.” I turned away from her, hoping to end this conversation.
Trish sighed and put her hand on my arm. “Aaron, don’t be a dick. I’m trying to make this right—”
The laugh that erupted from my gut caused Trent to frown from across the room. “If you think there is anything you can do to make this right, Trish, you’re dumber than I thought.” I leaned closer so she would hear every word. “I wasted two years of high school and two years of college with you. There is no way I’m wasting any more time as your friend, especially while you’re busy fucking the rest of the student body.”
I’d be lying if I said I regretted the words that flew out of my mouth. The shock on Trish’s face was worth its weight in gold.
“Leave me alone, Trish.” I faced the front again as Dr. Monroe strolled in. “You’ve done enough damage here already.”
She huffed as she stood and walked into Trent’s waiting arms. I didn’t need to watch her walk away. Trent glared at me over Trish’s shoulder. He wasn’t a guy I should piss off, but I didn’t really care. Dr. Monroe cleared his throat, drawing my focus away from my ex and to his raised eyebrows. I smirked back, knowing he wasn’t questioning the scene he’d just witnessed but my presence in class. After my video chat with Mallory, I felt like I could pass this class without Trish. I needed to prove I could do it.
Until Dr. Monroe started droning on about something called Bay of Pigs. I imagined it was something like the Boston Tea Party only instead of tea into the harbor, it was pork into a bay. Images of pink pigs in Revolutionary War attire swimming in the murky waters between tall ships forced a smile to my face, which led to an unfortunate snort. Dr. Monroe glared at me but didn’t break his lecture stride.
My mind drifted to Trish and Trent, and it went downhill from there. I was back in my dorm room the night before I blew out my knee. Trish was lying beside me, buck naked, and crying. We’d just had sex, and she was crying. Confusion curdled like milk in my stomach.
“What’s going on?” I had asked for the fourth time. “Talk to me, babe.”
She sat up, and I ran my hand down her spine. That only caused her to leap from the bed like it was on fire.
“Okay, something’s obviously wrong.” I pushed myself up on my elbows. “Did I hurt you somehow?”
“It’s not that,” she finally answered with her back to me. She hooked the sexy new sheer lace bra. It was hot but not like her. Trish was conservative and a constant lady. She pulled on the matching thong, again not her usual style, but I wasn’t complaining.
“What is it?” My gaze never left her ass as she yanked on her jeans. I threw my legs over the side of the bed and reached for her, my fingers grazing the skin above her jeans. “Tell me how to help.”
Trish spun around, and a look of contempt covered her face when her eyes settled on me. She bent down, grabbed my shorts, and tossed them onto the mattress. “For Christ sake, cover yourself.”
You would’ve thought the alarm bells would’ve gone off then, but they didn’t. Trish never really liked it when I’d lie around naked after sex. Her prudish nature wasn’t a fan of too much skin. I slid the boxers on without getting off the bed, watching her cover her glorious boobs with a Westland Hawks Athletic Department tee. It was way too big on her, and not one of mine, but I didn’t even question where she’d gotten it. Hindsight’s a bitch.
“Better?” I asked, unable to hide the grin on my face.
She nodded, then sat at my desk. Her hands gripped the arms of the chair like it might take flight. “Aaron, I… God, how do I say this?”
Still no alarm bells ringing the warning. At least about us. I just figured it was an issue with a class or one of her friends or something. “I know I’m good, Trish, you don’t have to call me a god though.”
She didn’t smile like she normally did at my stupid jokes. Her face turned hard as she met my gaze. “It’s over, Aaron.”
; “What’s over?” Call me stupid. I deserved it.
“Us, Aaron. This”—she motioned between us—“isn’t working anymore.”
“You’re kidding, right?” I moved to the edge of the bed, leaning forward with my elbows pressed against my knees. “After what we just did, there’s no way you mean that.”
Trish stood and moved toward the door. She leaned against it, crossing her arms and staring at the floor. “I thought maybe if we’d… I thought it would change my mind.”
“But it didn’t?”
She shook her head.
I stood and paced between my bed and the desk. “Why? Why now? Why not two months ago? Six months ago?” I stopped and stared at her. “Why not four years ago?”
“Aaron, please, this isn’t easy for me, either.”
“Then tell me why. And don’t fucking lie to me, Trish. I deserve more than that.”
Her steel gray eyes met mine. “I’m bored. You…you’re boring the life out of me, okay? All we do is watch TV and fuck.”
I took a step back from her. Trish didn’t curse. Ever.
“I feel like I’m forty and on the verge of a midlife crisis,” she continued. “I’m only twenty-one, Aaron! I can’t live like this. I want more. I need more.”
I moved toward her. “I can do more—”
“No—” She held out her hand to stop me.
“Tell me what to do. Damn it, give me a chance here.” It took everything in my power not to drop to my knees and beg.
“There’s nothing you can do. It’s not you, Aaron. It’s me. I don’t want this…us…anymore. I don’t want the life that’s been planned for us. I want more. I want to travel, see the world. I want to live in New York or L.A. or Chicago. I don’t want to be a farmer’s wife. I don’t want to watch my life waste away like my mom’s did.” She spun on her heel and tore out of my room. Before closing my door, she said, “I’m sorry.”
“Mr. Betts, I’m glad to see you’ve returned,” Dr. Monroe said, dragging me from the depths of one of my worst memories. The rest of the class shuffled around us.
“A little knee surgery won’t keep me away, sir,” I said with a fake grin. It was time to cut my losses with Trish and stop thinking about the way she treated me. And the way she tossed me out on my ass.
He matched my smile. “That’s good to hear. I understand you’ve employed the tutelage of Miss Mallory Fine. Wise move. However, I’m surprised she decided to take you on. Miss Fine isn’t one to tutor athletes.”
I snorted. She’d already made it clear that baseball wasn’t in her wheelhouse. “I hope she’s worth it.”
Dr. Monroe took a step back as I struggled to free myself from the desk. Once I was upright and steadied by my crutches, he knelt and handed me my bag. “I must also admit that I’m impressed with your dedication to passing this course. I’d hate to see your baseball career suffer at the hands of academia.”
Tossing the backpack over my shoulder, I adjusted the weight and secured the crutch. I kept the smile on my face without acknowledging the menace in his voice. Asshole thought he could push me down. I wouldn’t stay down for long. Not by Trish. Not by Monroe. Not by anybody. One stupid class wasn’t going to stop me from playing this spring. “Don’t worry, sir, it won’t.”
He nodded in a way that made me think he didn’t believe me. Apparently, Dr. Monroe didn’t get one thing about me: I never backed down from a challenge.
Chapter Four
My backpack shifted to the left, sending me into the metal wall. The third floor might be quieter, but it was a pain in the ass to get to. Even with the elevator. The library wasn’t exactly crutch friendly with tight corners and narrow halls.
I tightened the strap and maneuvered my way out of the elevator just as the doors opened. The elevator was in the middle of the building. I could go right toward the dusty stacks or left toward the buzzing overhead lights. Neither direction was a win, so I went left. If all else failed, I’d end up circling the entire floor.
The third floor was like any other part of the library, only dustier. The semicircular help desk didn’t even have a chair behind it, but the dust on the oak counter was thick enough to practice my autograph. Bookshelves towered to the ceiling filled with tomes that may not have been opened in decades, standing like dominoes waiting for a push. Why would anyone bother coming up here?
Glancing around, I realized I had no clue where the microfiche section was. Hell, I didn’t even know what a microfiche was. This wasn’t starting out well. I turned right, away from the useless help desk, and headed into the stacks. The dust tickled my nose as I passed the elevator. Should’ve made a right. Story of my life these days. Always heading in the wrong direction.
I emerged from the stack maze and spied hair at a table in the corner. It was as bright as a Miller Lite fresh from the tap. The hair moved, and Mallory met my stare. I stumbled back, putting my left leg down to keep myself from falling. The pain shot around the knee and tightened, squeezing my breath from my lungs.
Holy shit, she was beautiful. Her hazel eyes were huge, and it looked as if someone had painted her skin in silk, adding the splatter of freckles as an afterthought. Mallory stood, but she didn’t get any taller. She had to be almost a foot shorter than my six-two, although her hair added a couple of inches on its own. The exact opposite of Trish in every way. Trish’s eyes were steel gray, her chestnut hair cropped at her shoulders, and she was taller than Mallory. Maybe that’s why I thought Mallory was gorgeous. She wasn’t Trish.
“Here,” she said, her voice noticeably kinder than our previous chat, “let me help with that.”
She reached for my backpack and slid her fingers under the strap. I shivered at her touch.
This wasn’t good. Not at all. Either I was desperate for any chick’s touch, or this woman was more dangerous than I imagined. I was going with desperate. Trish’s fingers skimming over my chest popped into my head. I shook it off. It wasn’t the time, and I didn’t want to remember that shit anymore.
I followed Mallory to the table. She pulled out two chairs, one for me and one for my leg. I sat down, grateful to be off the crutches and awed at her consideration. It must have shown on my face.
Mallory blushed, and I just about lost control. I’d been attracted to other women before, but having Trish stopped me from thinking past the “she’s hot” stage. That wasn’t an issue anymore, and my body seemed to know it. Physical attraction didn’t mean shit. I’d had it with Trish, and look how that turned out. I covertly adjusted myself, focusing my thoughts on her kindness instead of her sexiness.
“What?” She sat across the table, arranging the books in front of her. Mallory raised her eyebrows, calling me out with that one simple gesture.
I shrugged, and her eyebrows disappeared farther into her curls. Biting my tongue, I decided to answer somewhat honestly. “Today’s been kinda rough. For the most part, people haven’t been all that…considerate about the crutches. I mean, it was really nice of you to take the backpack and pull out two chairs and…well, thanks.”
Mallory rested her chin on her freckled fist. “I’m surprised that the famous Aaron Betts was ignored. Somehow, I figured your girlfriend would be at your beck and call. I half expected her to show up with you here.”
I snorted at the idea of Trish in the library. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
Mallory glanced at a paper in front of her. Without looking at me, she said in her less than pleasant voice, “We’ve wasted too much time already. Let’s get started.”
Thirty minutes and a thousand fried brain cells later, Mallory shook her head in frustration. I couldn’t remember anything she tried to teach me. I had no clue who the Rosenbergs were or what the big deal was about the McCarthy hearings. All I heard was blah-blah-blah, and all I thought about was the American League Championship Series playing on TV.
“You aren’t even trying,” Mallory said as she leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest.
&nbs
p; I slammed the book and pushed it away. “I just don’t see the point in learning this crap.”
“Then why take the class?”
I refused to look at her. What would she think if I told her I only took the class because Trish was in it? Dumb reason to take any class, but it also filled a requirement, so I thought what the hell. Trish was on me all summer about spending time together. Of course, she dumped me two weeks into the semester. Then I blew out my knee and missed the cutoff date to drop the class.
“Okay, fine. Don’t tell me.” Mallory drummed her fingers on the table, and I glanced up. She sucked on the inside of her lip as she stared over my head. Her gaze dropped to meet mine. “Who was the last NL player to win the Triple Crown?”
I answered without thinking. “Joe Medwick, why?”
“What year?” she asked, leaning onto the table.
“1937. Why?”
“What team did he play for?” Her eyes never left mine.
“St. Louis.” My curiosity hit a high note. “How do you even know all this? I thought you didn’t like baseball.”
“You do realize that all of that is h-i-s-t-o-r-y, right?” Mallory cocked her head to the left, ignoring my question. “Cy Young was inducted into the Hall in 1937, too.”
“Yeah, I know.” I pulled my bad leg off the chair and stood, grabbing my crutches for balance. I hobbled across the room and back. Pacing helped me think, and this was the best I could do. “What’s your point?”
“A lot happened in 1937. FDR signed an act of neutrality. Pan Am flew the first commercial flight across the Pacific Ocean.” Mallory stood and paced beside me with her hands clasped behind her back. “My point is maybe we can get you to think about baseball events and relate them to more national events. This might be the best way for you to remember the when, but the context will still be an issue.”
I stopped, and Mallory spun around to face me. She tapped her chin with her finger, lost in thought.
Full Count (Westland University) Page 2
