by Jean Joachim
“Hush! Don’t you dare apologize to me. I’m honored you’re sharing this.”
He quieted down, and soon, they were clasped together in a tight hug while sitting on the rug. Dusty shifted position, circling her legs around his hips, easing her butt down between his knees. He sighed, stroking her back.
“You’re not responsible, Matt. You’re not. She didn’t have to do softball. She had talent. She was a star. She must have wanted to do it.”
“Within three months, it was in her blood. I didn’t have to remind her about practice, she reminded me.”
“See? Accidents happen. You can’t keep people you love safe. Can’t put them under glass.”
His breathing slowed to a regular rhythm.
“Please forgive yourself. I’m sure she doesn’t hold you responsible. Neither does your father.”
“I’d be surprised if he doesn’t.”
Dusty extricated herself and stood up, offering him her hand.
He bounded to his feet unaided. “Please don’t tell anyone.”
“Of course not. This is private.”
They got back in bed. “It’s late. I have a game tomorrow.”
She pulled the covers up.
“Please, please, don’t love me,” he said.
Tears stung her eyes. She’d hoped he’d return the feeling. “I’ll love whoever I want to.”
“Hey, don’t get testy with me.”
“Someone should,” she said, rolling over, her back to him, her knees up in fetal position.
Matt spooned her, snaking his arm around her middle.
She elbowed him. “Get away!”
“What? What’d I do?”
“Nothing. Never mind. Go to sleep.”
“Oh, oh, yeah. I get it. Dusty, I haven’t had a good history with women. My mother, Marnie, Stephanie…none of it ended well. I’ve avoided a commitment because I don’t deserve a good woman, like you. Do I want you? Hell, yeah. But I don’t deserve you.”
She flipped over. “Yes, you do deserve love.”
He sat back, staring at her, saying nothing.
“You love your teammates. You’re a loving person. You deserve to be loved in return.”
“So do you. Loved by someone who’s not a loser with women.”
She touched his face. “You are so wrong. But you won’t get love if you don’t give it.”
“Don’t you know how I feel about you?”
She shook her head. Her eyes filled.
Matt’s gaze connected with hers before she looked away. He scooped her into his arms. “Oh, honey, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I don’t deserve you, but I want you. You want to know if I love you? Of course, I do. I’ve loved you from the start.”
She broke down, burying her face in his chest.
He stroked her hair. “Don’t cry, honey. It’s okay.”
She quieted down and plucked a tissue from the box on the nightstand.
“Now, we need to get back to sleep. Come over here,” he said.
She scooted next to him and flipped onto her side. He spooned her. She gave out a big sigh and smiled. He said he loves me. Huddled together in the cocoon of their love, they slept peacefully until well after sun-up.
* * * *
The buzz of the alarm penetrated Matt’s consciousness. It was time to get up and head to the stadium. The game wasn’t until one, but he had practice at ten. Stretching his legs, he bumped into Dusty’s knee. Shit! He’d forgotten about her. Memories of the night they’d shared flooded back, along with humiliation when he recalled how he’d bared his soul. She thinks I’m a whack-job, a weirdo, mentally deranged.
He paled when he realized he couldn’t escape easily because this was his place, not hers. There’d be no making up an excuse and slipping out quietly. He’d have to face her. He hightailed it to the bathroom to wash up.
He brushed his teeth then lathered his face. His mind raced, trying to remember everything he’d said. It’d been late, the middle of the night. He’d been tired, distraught. He closed his eyes for a second. “No, I didn’t say that, did I?”
“Didn’t say what?”
His lids popped open. In the mirror, he saw a beautiful, naked young woman standing behind him. He lifted the razor, ignoring the slight tremor in his hand. “Nothing.”
She leaned over, took the razor and, with a little hop, was sitting on the counter in front of him. He couldn’t keep his gaze from her body. She was so perfectly formed, her skin milky white with freckles splashed around, a few here, a few there.
She flattened her palms against his bare chest. Blood pumped between his legs. God, not now!
“You’re not going to be an idiot and ignore or deny everything that happened last night, are you?”
“What? What happened?”
“Yep. You are.” She shook her head. “You opened up to me. About Marnie, her life, her death. You told me you loved me and have from the beginning.”
“You told me you loved me first!” He tried to look serious, but one glance in the mirror told him that a face full of shave cream kept any man from looking tough.
“I did. Yes. And I meant it. Did you?” She narrowed her eyes and stared at him.
“I’m no liar.”
“Gee whiz, don’t overwhelm me with your love and devotion. Did you mean it?”
He wanted to deny it, but couldn’t. “Of course, I did. Who wouldn’t love you?”
She leaned forward and kissed him, getting the white cream on her face. “Pfui!” she said, spitting it into the sink.
He laughed and wiped her mouth with his towel. “Go on, let me shave. I’ve got practice.” He picked up the razor again.
“Can I watch?”
“Not naked.”
“Why not?” She wiggled her breasts.
“That’s why,” he said, cupping one with his free hand.
“Okay, okay. Men have no self-control,” she mumbled, sliding down.
“Not with you around.”
“By the way.” She stopped at the door and faced him. “I won’t tell anyone about last night.”
“Thanks,” he said, turning on the faucet.
“But what you said to me. It just. It just…” He looked up, and their gazes connected. “It made me love you more, not less.”
Thankful that the lather covered his face, he sensed the heat of a blush stealing into his cheeks. She remembered everything. He had trotted out all his skeletons, and she loved him more for it. His eyes watered for a moment. He certainly didn’t deserve a woman like her.
Emotion choked him. Words disappeared, replaced by feelings. He put down the razor and braced his hands on the counter. He lowered his head and blinked furiously to contain his tears.
Dusty padded over to him. She reached up to kiss his shoulder. “Don’t let it go to your head,” she whispered.
He chuckled, reaching around to give a firm pat to her bottom. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Yes, you do.” She scampered away before his playfulness escalated into lovemaking.
* * * *
Matt didn’t feel tired at practice. During the game, he was sharper than usual, which surprised him. He picked up on a steal signal by one of the Boston Bluejays on second base. He caught the look exchanged between him and the guy on first base. They’re planning a double steal! Son of a bitch.
The catcher smiled to himself. I don’t think so. He loped out to the mound to clue the pitcher, Chip Sanderson, in on his plan. Crouching down, Matt kept a keen eye on the runner at second. Sure enough, he nodded to the guy at first. Jackson shot the sign for a pitch-out to Sanderson, who threw way to the right where the catcher was waiting.
He fired it to third, where Jake Lawrence tagged the stealer. Then, he tossed it to Skip Quincy, who was covering second and got the second runner out. Double steal? Nope, two outs. The crowd erupted in cheers and boos. The potential run at second was cut down, and they even got rid of the idiot on first.
; Matt had saved the day. Moose Macafee would come in next inning for Chip, who’d pitched a tough seven innings against the Boston team. The bottom of the seventh saw Matt coming to bat. The score was tied at four all.
He took some practice swings to loosen his muscles and steady his nerves. The Boston pitcher was tough. The Nighthawks had scored on a walk, two singles, and a grand slam by Nat Owen. His first all season. The rest of the time, the Bluejay had managed to befuddle the ’Hawks with his slider and his change-up.
Energy flowed through Matt’s veins. He could run the bases backwards and beat out any throw. Adrenaline pumped into him as he took his stance. His eyes focused, examining the pitcher. The fucker must be tired by now. He took the first pitch, which was called a ball.
Then he took the second, called a strike. He ground his teeth and set his jaw. He moved the bat back and forth slightly, hoping the Bluejay on the mound would think that meant he was swinging. Nope, he was taking all the way. Ball two. One strike and two balls. It was coming, his pitch. The dance between the batter and the pitcher was almost over. The pitcher wiped his face with his sleeve. Sweating, and it wasn’t particularly hot, was a sign the man was getting tired.
Jackson planted his feet, held the bat back, and opened his eyes wide. And there it was, right down the fuckin’ middle of the plate! Every muscle in his arms and chest strained to its fullest potential as the bat came around hard. He swore the crack of bat on ball could be heard all the way to Cleveland.
The ball was airborne, and the catcher’s feet took flight. He’d given it everything he had, and it soared higher and higher, faster and faster. As he rounded first, he watched the center fielder running to the warning track, but it was too little too late. The ball sailed way above his head into the second-tier seats. Son of a bitch, home run!
Matt rounded the bases, grinning. Yep, the stupid Boston manager should have taken his pitcher out in the sixth. The team was waiting for him at the dugout. His reputation as the team’s clutch hitter was safe. He’d scored. Now, all they needed to do was hold the ’Jays scoreless for six more outs and they’d win.
“Nice work, Jackson,” Crawley said with a slight nod.
He hardly felt his teammates as they slapped him, chest-bumped, and high-fived. All he wanted to do was call Dusty. But he’d have to wait until the game was over. He’d hit that one for her, and he needed to tell her. Tell her how great she was, how much he loved her. Why the hell did baseball games have to go for nine innings?
Moose Macafee did his job and held the Boston Bluejays at bay. He gave up two hits, but each man died on first as the pitcher retired batter after batter. With the last swing and a miss, the game belonged to the Nighthawks.
Cal Crawley broke into a smile as he followed his men to the locker room. Matt could hardly contain himself.
Dan caught up to him. “Congratulations, Matt. Way to go, buddy,” he said slapping the catcher on the back.
“Yeah. Thanks. Gotta call Dusty.”
“She’ll be proud of you, too.”
“I think I’m gonna marry her.”
“What?” Dan’s eyes widened. “Marry her? You’ve known her three months.”
“Six months.”
“The man whose slogan was ‘I’m never getting married’ wants to tie the knot?”
“I was wrong. Yeah. I do. I didn’t know a girl like her existed.”
“Aren’t you moving pretty fast?”
“Gotta get there before someone else does,” Matt said, rounding the corner.
“Are you sure about this?”
“Couldn’t be more sure. We’ll get engaged. She’ll give up softball, marry me, and life will be perfect.”
Dan cast a doubtful look at his friend.
“What? You don’t believe in love? It happened to you. You’re happy.”
“I hope it works out, buddy.”
Matt pulled his jersey from his pants as he followed Dan into the locker room. He couldn’t wait to buy a ring and pop the question. This was the happiest day of his life.
* * * *
“Mind if I take Holly shopping?” Matt asked Dan while the two men soaped up in the locker room shower.
“What?”
“I’m going to buy an engagement ring. I need a woman’s guidance.”
“Don’t you have a mother you can take with you?” Dan raised his face to the spray.
“No. So, how ’bout it?” Matt rubbed his arms.
“Really? Sorry to hear that. Okay. Sure. Maybe I can come along?”
“Why not? You bought a ring for her, so you know the drill, right?”
“Actually, I took Bud Magee’s wife, Nancy, with me.”
Matt laughed. “Can pitch a ninety-nine mile-an-hour fastball, but you can’t pick out a ring?”
“Look who’s talking,” Dan shot back.
“We’re a couple of idiots about this stuff.”
“Got that right.”
“Shall I ask her?” Matt turned off the water.
“I will.”
The two men toweled off and dressed in sport jackets and ties. Holly was waiting outside. Matt leaned against the concrete wall, watching his buddy and waiting.
“Matt needs help,” Dan said, after kissing his girl.
“Oh?”
“He wants to get an engagement ring for Dusty. Would you help him pick one out?”
“Sure!”
“Great.”
“You coming too?” She looked up into his hazel eyes.
“Damn right. I’d never leave you alone with that guy,” Dan said, grinning.
“Very funny. Let’s go,” Matt said, heading for his vehicle.
“Let’s take our car,” Holly said. “We should head down to the diamond district on forty-seventh street.”
“Okay.”
Matt followed his friends, not listening to their chatter. His nerves kicked up. He’d never planned to buy a diamond ring and didn’t know the first thing. And what if she said “no”? He’d never thought about that. She loved him, so why would she turn him down?
His mind whirled as brand-new ideas entered his head, like a wedding and, maybe, having kids. He’d closed off thoughts of those things, having already made his life choices, or so he’d thought. Now, here he was, re-visiting previously discarded options, and it scared him shitless.
Dan pulled into a garage.
Holly led the way. “Come on, Matt, over here.”
She entered a building with all glass windows. Matt stopped and stared. Every kind of diamond in rings, bracelets, and necklaces graced each window. The glittering blinded him. So many diamonds, that they all appeared to be glass.
“What the?”
“I know. It’s overwhelming. Dan found a good guy here, Sam. Let’s go,” she said, nudging him toward the entrance.
Matt held the door for her. They entered a large space divided up into separate areas, each with its own jewelry display cases and a man standing behind, ready to sell. Holly snaked her way around several. The men smiled and nodded at Matt, who didn’t know how to respond.
More toward the back, she stopped in front of a three-sided display with a gray-haired man standing with his back to them. Holly cleared her throat, and he turned around. His gaze swept over Holly and landed on the stunning diamond on her hand.
“Hmm. I’d know that ring anywhere. But you’re not Dan Alexander?” the man said, raising his eyes to Matt’s.
“Hi, Mr. Weiss. No, he isn’t. He’s Dan’s friend, Matt Jackson. He’s looking for an engagement ring,” Holly replied.
The man’s face lit up. “Tell me about your girl, Matt.”
The unexpected question caught him at a loss. “She’s a redhead, sort of. I think they call it auburn hair? Blue eyes. Fair skin.”
Mr. Weiss nodded. “I see. And what are her hobbies?”
Matt eased his butt onto a tall stool across the counter from the older man and shared his thoughts about Dusty.
“And she loves baseball
. She’s a great softball pitcher. Plays professional. Just until we get married. Then, she’ll stop.”
“Okay. Think I’ve got just the thing for you.” He went into a back room and closed the door.
Dan joined them. “Sam?” he asked.
Holly nodded. “He did you up right.”
“Good choice. Now, about our wedding,” Dan began.
“Do we have to discuss that now?”
“If not now, when?”
“Okay, okay.”
Matt sat quietly, listening.
“My mother and sisters don’t want a big deal. But your parents want something to headline in the New York Times,” Dan said, leaning against the counter.
“Mother’s already got the whole thing planned. She’s reserved a room at the St. Regis and everything.”
“Do we have to do that? That fancy shit makes me nervous.”
“I don’t like it either. But after what I’ve done, the embarrassment I caused them, I’m lucky they even want to do anything.”
“Can’t you rein them in a little?”
“I can try. But they’re sure as hell not going to want to throw some little potluck affair in East Nowhere, Kansas,” she replied.
“Indiana. Not Kansas. South Plains, Indiana. And it’s not like that. We could have a nice church wedding there, like my sisters did.”
“And the reception?”
“I bet the Kiwanis guys would let us use their place.”
Holly snorted. “You’ve got to be kidding. Do they sell caviar in South Plains? How many people live there, a thousand, maybe?”
“The population is about twenty thousand. I don’t know if they sell caviar. Don’t be bitchy.”
“Bitch? I’m a bitch now?” Color began to rise in her face.
“Not a bitch. Bitchy. I didn’t mean it like that. I know it’s not a big city, a fancy place. But it’s my home town you’re insulting.”
Holly took a breath. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to run down your town. I’m sure it’s a lovely place. But my parents are wealthy, sophisticated people. They’d never go for something like that.”
“And I hate the idea of being fastened into some penguin suit and made to smile at a thousand people I don’t know and will never see again. I don’t want to share the day with strangers. Can’t we have something small?”
