“I need some practice,” I tell him honestly. He knows that I’m gunning for his starting spot. It’s no secret. Even the organization expects it. Bainbridge is close to retirement, and I’m young, eager, and better when there’s a side-by-side comparison.
“All right, rookie.”
Bainbridge drops the bat and heads over to the pitching machine. He exchanges words with the guy who was helping him and takes his place behind the net. I pick up a practice bat and swing it a few times to warm up before stepping up to the plate.
“What do you want to work on?”
“Fast balls,” I tell him. Bainbridge shows me the ball before dropping it into the machine. This isn’t like taking batting practice from your coach, where you can time your swing with his pitching motion. These balls are coming in hard and fast whether you’re ready or not.
The first one I foul off, followed by the next four.
“Fuck,” I mutter, digging my feet into the dirt. I stand in the box, waiting for the next pitch. It comes, I swing, and it’s another foul.
“Do you want some advice?”
The competitor in me says no, but the baseball fan says yes. If Steve Bainbridge is willing to offer me some advice, who am I to say no? “Yeah, please,” I say, stepping out of the batter’s box.
He turns off the machine and brings the bucket of balls over to me.
“Face the fence,” he says, kneeling down. “Let’s go back to the basics of keeping your eye on the ball. I know you’re some big shot down in Triple-A, but the pitching here is different. These guys can put a ninety-eighter by you before you even have the chance to blink. Your reflexes are slow. And I’m willing to bet people pitched to you because they were afraid of you.
“Not to mention you see the same guys more in the minors than you will in the majors, so you can’t mentally adjust to their technique.”
I stand there listening to everything he has to say and realize that he’s right. Thinking back to yesterday’s game, my swing was too slow, and I was always behind the ball.
“Did you ever do this when you were younger?”
“Yeah, I did. This is how I learned how to bat.”
“No, it’s how you learned to keep your eye on the ball and not memorize where it’s going to be.”
Bainbridge sets up just outside my bat’s reach and kneels down with the bucket of balls next to him. I ready myself as if I’m in the batter’s box and take his first toss. The ball smacks into the fence, ricocheting off and landing on the warning track.
“King told you to rotate your hips more. You need to power through your swing and use the momentum to move the ball.”
I do as Bainbridge says and recall what Mickey King had said about swinging through with my hips. Ball after ball, my swing feels more natural, much like it used to last year.
“Okay, let’s try the machine again.”
By now, the sun is rising, and the lights are starting to get shut off. The crewmember who was helping Bainbridge earlier shagged all the balls from the outfield and has brought them back for us.
Stepping back into the batter’s box, Bainbridge turns the machine on and shows me the ball before sending it through the chamber. By the time I register the sound it makes coming out of the chute, the ball is soaring toward me. Putting my weight on my back leg, I step into my swing and watch the yellow ball hit against the belly of my bat. I grunt as I swing through and watch the ball sail over the center field wall.
Bainbridge is watching it, too, and when he looks back at me, he’s smiling. “Again,” he says, showing me the ball.
We continue like this until my arm is sore. As we go around picking up the balls, I ask, “Your turn?”
“Nah. I have stuff to do before practice, but I’ll be here tomorrow, same time.” He walks off the field with two buckets of balls, leaving two for me to carry. He didn’t exactly invite me, but it sounds like I’m welcome if I want to show up in the morning. I think he knows I’ll be here. Baseball is in my blood and any chance to practice, especially with Bainbridge, I’m going to take it.
After a quick shower, I head over to my father’s hotel. I’ve been down this road with him before, the one where he’s upset with how I’m playing. I usually just sit and listen—sometimes I’ll take notes—but I always work on the things he points out. He’s not a professional, but he is my dad, and he’s all I’ve got.
I text him, letting him know I’m at the hotel, and he gives me his room number. When I get to this floor, the door to his room is already ajar so I go in.
“Hey,” I say as I enter the room. This is your average hotel with two beds, the standard television set, a table with two chairs, and a nice, large window that gives you a view of nothing.
“What’s wrong with your arm?”
I look at him questioningly, and he points to my shoulder. I shake my head, wondering how he knows I’m sore.
“Batting practice this morning with Bainbridge.”
“Getting to know your enemy. That’s a good strategy.”
Except he’s not my enemy, he’s my teammate, regardless of the situation.
“Anyway, do you want to go get breakfast?”
He stands and grabs his Renegades hat, slipping it onto his head. We walk back to my car in silence, which is perfect for me. I have enough thoughts running through my head as is; I don’t need to add his as well. As soon as we’re in the car, I turn the radio up, hoping he catches my drift that I don’t feel like talking just yet.
“The food is supposed to be good here,” I tell him as we pull into a diner not far from his hotel.
“Who told you this? Bennett, Mackenzie? Or was it Branch? I’ve always liked his game.”
What does someone’s game have to do with where they eat breakfast? I leave his stupid comment alone and enter the diner. As luck would have it, Kidd and Davenport are here. They wave at me, which gets my dad’s attention.
“Introduce me,” he says, forgetting that he’s my father and not some fan. I reluctantly walk over with my dad following behind. I’m afraid to look back for fear that I’ll see his tongue dragging on the floor like an overzealous puppy.
“Travis Kidd, Ethan Davenport, this is my father, Roy Bailey.”
They shake hands while I stand by awkwardly. My dad starts in on their stats from last season while the guys sit there letting their breakfasts get cold. The guys listen to everything he has to say, being good sports. I don’t know if it’s that I don’t have the patience for this or I just don’t have the patience for my dad at all right now.
The waitress signals that she has a table for us, and I nod, acknowledging her.
“Come on, Dad.”
“It was great to meet you guys,” he says, shaking both their hands again. He follows me to the table, sliding into the booth. “You could’ve let me talk to them longer.”
“The restaurant is busy, and it was our turn to sit.”
“Your friends are going to think you’re rude.” He opens the menu and starts reading. I glance over at Kidd and Davenport. They seem happy and content, even after our loss. That is how I want to feel, except I don’t. My nerves are frayed, I’m on edge, and I’m about to snap at my father for being so inconsiderate to my teammates.
“What’s good?” he asks, breaking my train of thought.
“I don’t know. Ainsley says she likes the pancakes.” As soon as her name slips past my lips, I cringe. I study the menu, hoping that he didn’t notice.
“Who’s Ainsley?”
“She’s a friend.”
“Where did you meet her?”
“Media day at the zoo,” I say, flipping the menu to the next page. Anything I can do to keep from looking at him.
“Coffee?” The waitress appears in the knick of time. I turn my cup over and watch her pour the black liquid into my cup, watching as the steam rises. She pours some for my dad as well before heading to the next table.
“You met her at media day and talked about pancakes?”<
br />
Sure, why not? It’s an ordinary conversation to have with someone. I roll my neck, preparing for the argument that I’m sure is going to happen.
My silence speaks volumes, which only pisses him off.
“So you’re getting some on the side, huh?”
“She’s a friend, Dad. There isn’t anything wrong with having a friend.”
“You know women are a distraction, and clearly you’ve been spending too much time with her already. That was evident by your shitty batting performance yesterday. I’m hoping today is better.”
He sighs and takes a drink of his coffee. “Women have demands that you’re not going to be able to meet, expectations. They won’t understand your hours, the training you put your body through, and the mindset of being a professional athlete.”
I set my menu down and look at him. “Why not? Davenport is married. Said it’s the best decision he’s ever made, and he’s younger than I am. You know, I’m not a kid anymore. I made the decision to finish college so I have something to fall back on when baseball is over, and I spent a year in the minors getting ready.”
“Davenport didn’t.”
“You’re right, he didn’t. He also won the College World Series and fucked up big time as a rookie. I keep track of people just like you do.”
This seems to shut him up long enough for us to order. Breakfast is anything but pleasant; the tension in the air is thicker than the smell of bacon grease. I know my father means well, but it’s about time he lets me grow up and make my own decisions, my own mistakes.
Chapter 16
Ainsley
I study myself in the mirror, looking at the same colored shirt and shorts that I wear five days a week. My blond hair is pulled back with a few wispy strands shadowing my face. My makeup is minimal, the color neutral and warm. I rarely notice a difference in my appearance, especially since my mother became ill. Your life changes when the one person you’ve counted on your whole life now has to count on you. You forget the simple things, like some blush to rosy up your cheeks or that new shade of lipstick you saw a commercial for but can’t remember the name of when you’re picking up a prescription. You learn to get by with the basics because you’re too exhausted to do anything else.
And that is when people, mostly men, stop noticing you. You pretend not to let it bother you. It does, but you’re too busy with life to let it take hold of you until you’re lonely.
Cooper likes me like this. He likes the Ainsley who is tired at the end of the day, who hardly wears makeup and never does her hair because putting it up in a bun means I get ten more minutes of sleep.
Cooper likes the woman staring back at me in the mirror, the one who originally brushed him off and told him no repeatedly. I know that bothered him, because it bothered me, too, but he stayed. He kept coming around, even after I’d rejected him. It showed me his strength and character, showed me that maybe he’s not the person I had pegged him to be.
Last night that all changed, and this morning I’m tired, and my cheeks are naturally rosy from just thinking about the attention he gave me. My lips are plumper, pinker, from the sensual kisses that still linger in my mind. And my body—I may be exhausted and achy, but it’s well worth it.
Still, the athlete thing plagues my mind. Growing up, it’s all I’ve heard and witnessed. I have friends who have been dubbed cleat-chasers because every season they’re looking for some unsuspecting fool to sweep them off their feet.
Now I guess I can be put into that category. A man whom I didn’t want to have anything to do with was persistent and has swept me off my feet. Guarding my heart is going to be a challenge, though, because I can already see him taking a piece of it when he leaves.
Now that I’m looking at myself in the mirror, I see a woman who is happy. I see the Ainsley I used to be, long before death started knocking on our door.
“You didn’t come home last night.” My mother appears in my doorway. Her bald head is uncovered, showing small tufts of hair that haven’t fallen out yet.
When I was little, I used to love to play with her hair. She kept it long and would let me brush, braid, and even curl it. Growing up, I was a momma’s girl and she was my best friend.
Now she’s a shell of who she used to be, and it’s not fair. The cancer that she carries inside is eating her alive. I know she doesn’t feel well and is probably tired of me nagging her about getting out of the house to enjoy life—because, believe it or not, she still can have one—but she refuses. She’s given up before the battle has breached the front line.
“I was out with a friend and didn’t want to wake you.” Part lie, part truth.
“What’s his name?” she asks, as she comes in and sits on my bed.
I hesitate with my answer because I don’t want to lie to her about what Cooper does. I hate not telling her the truth, but she should be happy for me. That is all I want—a little bit of happiness—and Cooper is providing that for me at the moment.
“Ainsley?”
Taking a deep breath in, I look at my mom with her expectant eyes and spill. “His name is Cooper. He’s the one I mentioned the other day.”
“The baseball player?”
The smile on my face is unpreventable. Just thinking about Cooper and what he may be doing right now makes me feel alive with excitement.
“Is my warning falling on deaf ears?”
“It’s not, Mom.” I sit down next to her and bring her hand into mine. “For years, I’ve listened to the warning, and for the most part, I’ve followed. I’ll never forget the pain I went through back in college. Sometimes it’s still fresh in my mind, but I can’t let that fear guide me forever.”
“But—”
I hold up my hand, letting her know that I’m not finished.
“All my life you have steered me away from athletes, which is funny considering where we live, and I’ve never asked you to tell me why. I’ve accepted that you had a bad experience and are trying to protect me. I love you for that, Mom, but I can’t live my life that way. Cooper is different. Besides, you should see him, Mom. He’s so handsome that he can have any woman he wants, and he chose me. Cooper chose me, and it feels really nice to be chased.”
There’s a tear that escapes and falls down her cheek. I wipe it away and bring her into my arms. We stay like this for a few minutes until she pulls away from me.
“I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I know. Believe me, that is the last thing I want, and I honestly think Cooper isn’t going to hurt me.”
“Ainsley, you know he’s not staying here.”
I nod, and my chest grows tight. I don’t want to think about Cooper leaving at the end of the month. I’ve already looked up his schedule and know that I’ll see him a few times a year when he’s down here, but any quality time can all be forgotten until October at the earliest.
“Long distance can work, but that’s beside the point,” I tell her. “We’re friends, and we’re having fun, enjoying each other’s company.”
She nods, but the worry is still on her face. Someday I’m going to have to sit her down and ask her to share her story because, whatever it is that happened to her, it really did a number on her views when it comes to athletes.
When I pull into the parking lot at the zoo, Stella is just getting out of her car. I check myself in the mirror before shutting off my car and getting out.
“Morning,” I say, not hiding my enthusiasm. She eyes me cautiously before she falls in step next to me.
“Is your phone broke?”
“What? No, why would you ask that?” I fish it out of my bag and show it to her. She snatches it out of my hand and hits the home button. There’s a list of text messages and missed phone calls. Most are from her, but the most recent one is from Cooper.
I reach for my phone, but she pulls it away before I can get it.
“What were you doing? Or should I say who were you doing that you couldn’t call me back?”
I reve
rt to my teenage years and roll my eyes. “I don’t kiss and tell, you know this.”
“Since when? We tell each other everything.”
“Since…” I survey the parking lot and make sure there isn’t anyone around who can hear me. Or hear Stella, for that matter, because I have a feeling her reaction might be a little over the top.
“Start dishing. I can see it in your eyes, you’re freaking dying on the inside with juicy gossip.”
“I was with Cooper until four this morning.” I bite my lip to keep myself calm.
“Holy shit, you did not!”
I nod vigorously, knowing what she’s implying.
“You little minx, you. Give me the deets.”
“I’m not giving you any details, Stella.” I reach for my phone, and this time she gives it back. I’m tempted to see what Cooper wants but don’t want to interrupt my time with Stella. She’s important to me. And she’s going to be the one to nurse my broken heart when Cooper leaves.
“Was he good? Did he know what he was doing?”
In an instant, my cheeks warm, and she’s clapping her hands.
“Holy shit, Ains, you got laid!”
“Uh huh.”
“How many…you know?” She wiggles her eyebrows in excitement.
Once again I find myself looking around the area to make sure we’re alone.
“I didn’t count.”
“Liar. I’m calling you out on your bullshit right now, Ainsley Burke. How many times did that hot piece of ass make you come?”
“I lost count, Stel. Like legit lost count because he was insatiable. You know how your first time can be awkward and you don’t really know what to do when you’re done?”
She nods.
“We didn’t have any of that. He held me, kissed me, and didn’t ask if I wanted to do it again. He just told me to roll over. And you want to know the best part?”
“Duh!”
“I seduced him. Everything felt right about being with him. He wasn’t pressuring me. All he did was kiss me back. I don’t know, Stella. I can’t describe how I was feeling when I was in his room with him.”
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