by Celia Aaron
“Kase!” I leaned forward, but that only pressed her palms to my tits.
The crowd went silent, and Kasey took the opportunity to give me a good squeeze. I smacked her hands away as the crowd went from silent to roaring with approval. I hid my scarlet face in my hands.
“Goddammit Kasey!” Braden was at the net yelling. “I’m going to kick your ass!”
I peeked through my fingers as a grinning Easton strode up behind him. “Come on, man. They’re just dicking around.”
“Kasey is a woman-stealer. She’s the devil!” He pointed a finger through the netting at Kasey, who was doubled over with laughter.
“I’m sorry.” I shook my head, my hands still covering my face.
“It’s not your fault. It’s the blonde Satan sitting next to you!” The corner of his mouth twitched. He was holding back a smile.
“You boys going to play ball or what?” The umpire walked up behind Easton.
“We are.” Easton pulled Braden away from the net and forced him to turn back toward the field. He shot Kasey a hard look. “Lay off, dick. We’re trying to do work out here.”
“My bad.” Kasey sat up and wiped the tears from under her eyes. “But Jeez, bro, they are just so soft, yet firm!”
Braden tried to turn, but Easton kept him moving toward home plate.
“Sorry!” I called again.
Braden looked over his shoulder, pointed two fingers at his eyes and the same fingers at Kasey. She chuckled as he took his bat from the batboy and did a few practice swings. After one more glare at Kasey, he stepped into the batter’s box.
The embarrassment of being felt up on the kiss-cam faded, and worry took its place. My stomach churned at the thought of Braden having to run full-speed to first base. He’d been covering his limp for the entire game, but I knew he was in pain.
“Maybe you should have waited to pull your devilry until after Braden’s turn at-bat.” Kyrie slurped her Icee.
“Don’t go pretending like I haven’t gotten a handful of your lovely lady lumps.” Kasey wore a self-satisfied grin before downing the rest of her beer.
“What?” I gaped at Kyrie. “Why’d you let her get me, too?”
She shrugged. “I thought maybe you’d have a chance of staying strong.”
“Against my lezzy wiles? Pfft. Give me a break.” Kasey stood. “I’ve got to take a leak. You girls try and keep it classy while I’m gone.”
Everything else faded as I focused on Braden and prayed his knee injury wouldn’t affect anything during his at-bat. A walk would be the best outcome, but not likely. His numbers weren’t great, and the pitcher would try and take full advantage of that fact. I didn’t want him to strike out, but running to first base could have been even more treacherous for him.
I perched on the edge of my seat as the pitcher came set. The first pitch was outside and low. Ball. The second pitch was the same. Ball. Small tendrils of relief swirled inside me with each call.
My fingers wrestled with each other as the third pitch came screaming down the middle. Strike.
Braden stood straight and knocked the bat against his shoes before taking position again. Another pitch, this one high and inside. Ball. He hadn’t swung the bat once.
“How’s his knee?” Kyrie’s whisper barely made it to my ear.
“I don’t know. Not good.” I kept my voice low as the next pitch slapped into the catcher’s glove. Strike.
The count was full. The next pitch would result in a walk, a strike-out, or a hit. The crowd quieted as Braden stepped to the plate again.
I held my breath as the pitcher came set. His powerful leg kick seemed to happen in slow motion. The ball hurtled toward home plate, and Braden swung.
The crack of the bat had me searching the sky for the ball. It flew out over the short stop’s head. I dragged my gaze back to Braden who had taken off for first base. He came down heavy on his uninjured leg, his stride uneven.
Kyrie took my hand and squeezed it.
“Can you tell?” I winced as he continued his awkward gait.
The ball dropped in left field and was quickly scooped up by an outfielder who tossed it in to second base. Braden barely rounded first at all and quickly took a few steps back to the base. He’d gotten a single, but I prayed that management hadn’t been able to tell he was injured.
Kyrie hadn’t answered my question.
I squeezed her hand. “Tell me. Did you see it?”
She withdrew her hand and threw her arm around my shoulder, pulling me in close. “Yeah. I could tell. I’m sorry.”
My fingers went cold and I felt the blood drain from my face. If Kyrie could see it, that meant everyone else—including the team management—could, too.
BRADEN
I STOOD ON first base, and the throb in my knee was constant. I knew I’d done more damage running out that base hit. Fuck.
“Braden!”
I caught Coach’s glare in the corner of my eye. He leaned over the railing separating the dugout from the field. His eyes were sharp and insistent. I quickly shook my head in his direction, trying not to draw any added attention from people in the front office who may have been watching. Coach shoved off the rail and stalked back and forth in the dugout.
As the pitcher came set, I took my lead from first. My eyes were trained on his feet. I was pretty sure everyone in the stadium had seen me hobble, but I pretended nothing was wrong. The pitcher flashed me a grin and spun quickly with a pick off move.
When I pushed off on my leg, I let out an audible groan before I dove back into the bag and barely beat the tag. My jaw clenched, and I grunted under my breath. I rose back to my feet and brushed the dirt from the front of my jersey.
The first baseman tossed the ball back to the pitcher, and the pitcher took to the mound once more. This time I barely took a lead at all, remaining close enough to first that I wouldn’t have to dive back. The pitcher came set before kicking his leg and firing a fastball. Crack.
A sharp groundball screamed toward the second baseman, and he quickly tossed it to the shortstop as Ramirez sprinted toward home. I froze in the base path. They had turned a double play, but Ramirez trotted across home plate scoring another run for us. I walked back to the dugout barely able to hide my limp.
Once I was down the stairs, Coach was up in my face. “You’re not going back out there.”
“Bullshit.” I tried to move past him and his large hand whacked me in the chest.
“You’re done until you see a doctor.” His brows pinched together, and he scowled, but I could sense concern in his eyes.
I dropped my head and stared at the ground for a quick second before looking back up at him. “I can’t come out of the game. You know I can’t.”
“Son—” he placed a hand on my shoulder, “—you can’t play like this. I’m sorry. You’re not fooling anyone up there anymore.” He lifted his head back toward the skybox where all the rich fucks sat to watch the game. “Trust me. They know.”
I wanted to break down, but I couldn’t let the guys see me defeated. “Okay.”
Coach leaned up next to my ear. “There are more ways to be a leader than being on the field. I’ll figure out something to tell Ingram. Maybe I can buy us some time. But you need to see a doctor tomorrow. Until then, you’re not going out on that field.”
“Whatever is best for the team.” I turned to walk away, and his fingers dug into my forearm.
“You’re sick. If you see Ingram, walk straight and fake it the best you can. Got me?”
I grinned and gave a dramatic shiver. “I do feel a bit feverish.”
“I thought so.” His voice rose to where the other guys could hear him. “Probably need some antibiotics or something. There’s a bug going around. The guys will pick you up though.”
I stared around at my teammates. They all knew the score and had grins on their faces. Ramirez walked up to Coach and me. “You know, Coach. My grandma makes this little drink with whiskey and stuff. It’ll cure a
nything. You can put like dandelions, mint leaves,” he paused, “a little cannabis in that shit. It makes you just right as all hell the next day.” He chuckled at both of us.
“Jesus Christ, when are we trading you?” Coach chortled and walked away.
Ramirez spun around to face Coach’s back and held his arms out wide. “Well goddamn, man. I’m just trying to help around here. A little weed never hurt anybody. Shit.”
The other guys grabbed their mitts as our hitter grounded out to third. Ramirez leaned up by my ear. “I’m new around here, but I know respect when I see it. These fellas got your back. I do too, Captain.”
His words resonated with me. I struggled to walk to the end of the dugout where my replacement was strapping on his gear. The kid was a rookie. His fingers shook as he reached for his glove. He’d played a few games, but we were usually up eight runs or so any time he saw the field.
When I walked up, he dropped his glove. I could see the fear on his face and sensed it in his movements. It was the same fear I’d had when I started my first big league game. It was important that I make him comfortable. He was in charge now, and the team needed him. Giving him confidence was paramount, and I couldn’t help him if I moped around, worried about my own problems.
“Hey, you’ve done this a thousand times. Okay?”
He nodded and pulled the chest protector over his head. He started to hook it around his waist when I grabbed the strap at his neck and yanked him over to me, mainly because my leg hurt too much to stand up and get in his face.
“Are you scared?” I glared at him. He was clearly scared shitless, and I had a responsibility to make sure he didn’t fuck up. “Be honest with me.”
“Y-yeah. I am.”
“Get over it. You’re in charge out there.” I pulled him in closer, so that he was inches from my face. “That’s your motherfucking field out there. You wear the gear. You’re in charge. Your attitude reflects on those guys. If you’re scared, they’re scared. Now walk out on the field like you’re a fucking all-star and command your fucking troops. Got me?”
Something changed in his eyes. He straightened up and stuck his chest out. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” I’d done the hard-ass bit, and now I needed to reassure him. “The fact you have that uniform on means you’re good enough to be here. You’re as good as me. Play smart. Be yourself. Play your game.”
“I will. I promise, B.”
“Good.”
He turned to take the field.
“Hey, kid?”
His head whipped back around to me. “Yeah?”
“I’m right here, man. I’m not going anywhere. You’ve got their back.” I glanced out to the field. “And I’ve got yours.” I held out my fist and he tapped it with his catcher’s mitt. “Go kick some ass and take my job.”
It was the worst advice I could’ve given him for me personally, but it was best for the team. That was the kind of thing that’d earned me respect with the guys over the years, and I wanted to instill that same thing into the rook.
I smacked the rookie on the ass as he strutted into the clubhouse. The kid hit a walk off double in the bottom of the ninth to win the game. It was huge, and I couldn’t have been more fucking proud of him as he showed me a sheepish grin.
“Thanks for helping me with my nerves. I don’t think I would’ve played that well if it hadn’t been for our little talk.”
On the inside, I could already feel myself being pushed out of my position. The kid was damn good. He was young, and inexperienced, but he had talent in spades. “Bullshit, rook. That was all you.” I pounded a finger into his chest. “You did that, not me.”
“All the same. You’re still the Cap.” He gave me a nod. It was the gesture players used to show respect to one another. “Thanks.”
“You just wait until my kn—” I stopped myself and cleared my throat as Ingram stalked past us in the clubhouse. He glared at me. “Wait until this stomach bug passes. You’re going to have to fight for that spot.”
Rook started to say something else when I heard a crack, and his eyes shot wide open. “Holy shit!” He winced and reached back for his ass when I heard a familiar cackle.
“Atta boy, rook! Nice rip out there.” Easton had lit him up with a hard slap to the ass. It was his trademark celebratory gesture that often left people unable to sit for a week.
I couldn’t contain my laughter as the rookie walked away with the quickness. “Damn, that shit sounded brutal.”
“Yeah, my hand kind of stings a bit. Got that ass good.” Easton shook his hand out to the side. “I saw Ingram walk into Coach’s office. It won’t be pretty.”
“Coach is going to tell him I have the flu. Try and hold him over until I can see the doctor.” I stripped off my jersey and tossed it into the big hamper by the lockers. The musty smell would be enough to send most people running for the door, but we were all used to it. I’d miss it if I had to hang up my cleats for good.
“Good. Maybe he’ll buy it.”
“Not a chance, man. I’m so fucked. Doc is going to say I need surgery. It’s been weeks and it’s getting worse. If it’s my ACL, I’m fucking done.”
“Maybe if you’d gone earlier, like smart people told your dumb ass to do, you wouldn’t be in this predicament.” He sat down on the bench in the middle of the room. I sat on the other side, facing the other direction and dropped my head into my hands.
He bent over and started to untie one of his shoes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I know what has to be going through your mind right now. Just stop assuming the worst-case scenario. Knees are funny. You know this.”
“I know, but there’s a lot riding on whatever the doctor says. I could be released or traded.” I scrubbed my hands up and down my cheeks. “I know Nik will go with me if I’m traded. But she’s excited and doing well at her job. I can’t ask her to leave everything. And what will I do? Baseball is all I know.” I turned back to Easton.
“Don’t think like that.” He sighed. It was the hardest thing for a baseball player to talk about — when their playing days were over. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you if it’s serious. Wish the front office could see more than numbers. You make everyone so much better out there. You make me better. It’s a tough situation.”
I looked down and saw the whites in his knuckles from the grip he had on the bench.
“I don’t know what to tell you, man. Nik loves you. She’ll go with you. I don’t doubt that for a second. I wish I had better advice to give. The whole situation sucks a fat-ass dick.”
Hollers rang out from Coach’s office. It wasn’t uncommon when he and Ingram were left alone together.
“The flu my ass. You are so full of shit.” Ingram burst through the door and stalked through the clubhouse, glaring at Easton and me. He had no respect for the game. He’d never played it. Now, he’d aired my shit out for the whole clubhouse to hear.
It’s not like the other guys didn’t know the score, but it wasn’t something that was usually done, out of respect.
My jaw clenched, and I fought the urge to beat the arrogance out of him. Easton must have sensed my frustration. His giant hand gripped my bicep, and he flashed Ingram a big ‘fuck you’ smile. After Ingram was out of earshot, Easton started the conversation back up. “That guy is such a cock monkey. I’d love to get him one on one somewhere and knock some sense into him.”
“Indeed, man.” I attempted to straighten out my bad leg and winced. Knees were a catcher’s worst nightmare, and I knew the day would come eventually. All I could do was hope for the best. I exhaled a large breath and a surprising calm came over me. I had nothing to feel guilty about now that Nik knew everything, and there were no secrets between us. We’d figure it out. No matter what, she’d be by my side. In that moment, I realized I’d finally found something more important than baseball. Something that could last forever.
I opened the front door to my apartment, and Nik lounged on the couch watching
television. Her eyes lit up when they met mine, and I could tell she was trying to tamp down her excitement about something. It must have been something to do with her job — either that or her mom had called offering a full apology and an all-expenses-paid vacation. Not likely on the mom front.
She grabbed the remote and clicked off the TV.
“What’s up, babe?” I hobbled over to the table, wincing with each step. My keys clanked together when I dropped them on top of the hard wood.
“Nothing. Nothing at all. How’d it go with Coach and the—” She stared at my knee.
I had the feeling she was holding back her good news, but I wanted to hear about the awesome things happening in her career. If it helped take my mind off baseball for even a second, it was worth it. I wanted to be happy for her, because she was amazing and didn’t deserve my shit bringing her down.
“I want to hear your news first. You’re excited about something. Tell me what it is.”
“It’s nothing, really.” Her hands were trembling, and I could sense how hard it was for her to keep from exploding with her good news. I wasn’t about to ruin it for her.
“Woman, tell me. Do I have to put my head between your legs to get the secret from you? I mean, I’m willing to make that sacrifice, if I must.” I wiped my hand across my mouth and grinned.
“Mmm, a ride on your tongue does sound mighty fun. I’m not going to lie. Okay, I’ll tell you.” Excitement bubbled from her as she clapped her hands. I loved watching her smile at me. I wanted to see it every day for the rest of my life.
She finally calmed herself enough to speak. “So, Kyrie loved my piece. And she’s going to show it to Graciela! Eek!”
“What? That’s amazing, babe. The one with the Cyrano guy?” I sat up straight and did my best deep-voice impression of Cerrano from Major League. “It is very bad to steal Jobu’s rum.” I leaned in toward her. “It is very bad.”
“Huh?” She stared at me the same way I looked at her when she told me about designer hand bags.
