by J. M. Maurer
I knew from my previous search that Ben had also lost his parents, but I hadn’t read any more about it or asked Ben what had happened. According to the article, his parents were traveling in a private plane. They were on their way to see Ben make his debut start at Ohio State, his father’s alma mater. Dense morning fog swept into the area and was considered the cause of the crash that took their lives. The news hits me hard, the article tugging further at my emotions since it includes a depressing photo of Ben.
His downcast eyes and his coach’s arm draped over his shoulder give me the feeling word had made it in and the staff had decided to pull Ben off the mound and take him somewhere else to tell him what had happened to his parents. The caption under the photo confirms my suspicions.
Reading the words, I feel my heart rate slow, and immediately wish I could have been at Ben’s side that day, doing whatever I could to help alleviate the pain I know he had to have been feeling. As it is, I toss the fifth tissue into the wastebasket thinking I should just stop reading and put my laptop away. But I don’t. And now I know something else about Ben Peterson. Something that, on top of the loss of his parents, completely breaks my heart.
Baseball fact number one: backdoor curveballs can be nasty, not only for the batter in the box but also for the pitcher on the mound.
Chapter Ten
Ben
Something’s off.
I feel it the instant Addison opens the door. She’s as beautiful as ever. Showcases a simple maternity top better than a World Series ring would ever look on my finger.
Thankfully, the flash of sorrow in her eyes washes out with a blink and a smile grazes her lips. I offer up a grin of my own and pull her into my arms, loving the feel of our baby sandwiched between us and the way Addy caresses the back of my head with her fingers.
“There’s that beautiful smile I’ve been missing. Everything okay?” I cock a brow, concerned about the emotion I saw in her eyes before she flipped the switch on her expression.
Ignoring my question, she gently sifts her fingers through my hair. It’s as if for some reason she’s being extra careful with my head. “I’m happy you’re here.” Her tone sounds sad.
I scoot back and tip her chin up with my fingers, seeking her eyes. “What am I missing? Did something happen? Are you and the baby okay?”
She slides her hands to my forearms, seemingly content to let me keep my hands where they are, which is now all over her belly and checking her out. I feel a couple of strong kicks and recall what Addison said about how our baby’s supposed to move. The sensation against my palms makes me smile as my brain registers a “Hi, Daddy. I missed you, too.”
“We’re both fine,” Addison reassures me as I lift my gaze from her belly and return my attention to her. “It’s been quite an enlightening three weeks.”
I wonder what she’s talking about as she pulls me into her living room. It’s the biggest of the three rooms of her apartment. Holds a once-loved couch that needs to find a landfill, a glass-top coffee table that’s raised by a cracked rim encased by a well-used tire, and some scraggly looking tree plant she’s apparently trying to keep alive in the corner. I suspect it’s something she took with her when she had to give up her parents’ home.
“So what’s with the coffee table?” I’m eager to know. It’s not something I’d have thought a girl would decorate her place with.
“Oh, I saved the rim after Rachel wrecked my car. Rusty helped me put it together. He thought for sure I’d end up cutting myself on the glass.”
I don’t know this Rusty, but I’ve seen Addison shoot a gun. If he thinks she was going to cut herself on a piece of round glass with perfectly beveled edges, he doesn’t know my Addison.
She follows my gaze to the plant. “It’s an areca palm. Along with the rim, it was also my mom’s. Poor thing isn’t doing too well here. Mom always knew how to make sure everything got just the right amount of light needed to thrive.”
My heart sinks as I think about the items she’s saved, just to keep something close, in memory of her mom. Saddened, I take a seat on the couch, hearing Addison ask me what I’d like to drink. “Surprise me.” I try to sound excited, working to lift the sudden dip in my mood. “And then get over here and tell me about all the enlightening things I’ve been missing.”
She palms her lower back and moves on into the kitchen. Her muffled voice comes in at me from the other side of the wall. “And perhaps you can tell me what all’s been going on with you in Cincinnati.”
I hear her comment just as a framed photo I hadn’t noticed before comes into my view. It’s sitting on top of a bench-like credenza next to a book she’s most likely been reading. They’re the only other things in the room. Drawn to the photo, I go check it out and flush with heat the instant I recognize a younger version of Addison. She’s wedged in between her parents, an arm draped over each of their shoulders. Proud smiles beam across all three of their faces. Wanting it closer to me, I pick up the wooden frame and start mapping out the genetic similarities she shares with both her mom and her dad.
“Well, you’ve missed some of Mr. Jenkins’s escapades and…” Addison trails off, most likely because she’s caught me holding her picture.
I feel her standing close behind me, even before she palms my back and raises a cold bottle of beer. Taking it from her, I tap my lips to the side of her head. “Thanks.”
She leans a shoulder against the wall. “I hope you like it. You should have seen the looks I got at the store. After seven months, I’m pretty used to the snide comments people make. You should know, word gets out fast around here. So, proudly swinging the six-pack in my hand, I laughed all the way home. I can hear the gossip. ‘Addison Hunt’s gone to new heights. Did you hear about what she’s up to now?’ ‘I know, she’s gone and lost it, feeding alcohol to her unborn baby.’”
I set the beer down on the credenza, feeling one part angry at the residents of Willow Run, another part proud of my girl for being so strong. “The beer’s perfect. But if that’s the gossip being spread around here, I’m not liking what I’m hearing. Honestly, I feel the need to have a word with these people. Tell me who they are.”
A hint of a smile curls over her lips as she flicks her gaze to the photo in my hands. “Not all of them are mean. That’s my mom and dad.” She steers the conversation from one sore subject to another, causing my heart to swell in adoration. “This was taken about a year before the accident. We’d gone out with some friends of my parents’ for Sunday brunch after church. That used to be one of my favorite dresses.”
A sight she is in the long-sleeved black and white piece of cloth she’s calling a dress. It hugs her form like I wish I could do—twenty-four/seven. It’s the type of dress a man looks at and immediately wants to push it up over her hips and take her in his arms, making her his right then and there.
The thought takes me back to the day Addison and I spent together in the woods. She didn’t have a dress on that day, but boy was she beautiful. And still is.
Returning the frame to its spot, I recall the night Addison and I got to know each other better sharing story after story. My heart breaks again as I think about her nightmare of an evening. It all started when a drunk driver sped across the double yellow line and plowed head-on into her parents’ car.
I don’t know which is worse. Both parents going down in a plane crash or having to go back and forth between two ICU beds, agonizing over what can be done to save them, until the moment comes when some doctor you met out of circumstance tells you both your parents are brain dead.
I’m pretty sure pulling the plug on your parents has to be a whole lot worse. A deep wave of sorrow moves though me as if my soul’s being sucked right out. Not wanting Addison to see my grief, I snatch up the bottle with one hand and take her hand with the other.
“I would have loved to have met your parents.” And tell them what a beautifully vivacious woman they raised.
Her face lights up; I haven’t a clue w
hy. “Dad would have made you his hunting buddy. And Mom would have pinched a bruise into those sexy dimples on each of your cheeks.” She flashes me the brightest smile of the day so far and leads me to the couch.
Somehow I feel she’s sensed my sullen mood, so I set my butt down and cock a brow. “So…you think my dimples are sexy?”
She plops down next to me as I set my beer on a coaster, then giggles when I scoop up her legs and drape them over mine.
“Ben.” She leans back, placing her head against the armrest.
I walk my fingers along the muscles in her legs and answer, “Yes, dear.”
A low moan of pleasure escapes her throat as her eyes roll back into her head.
She’s clearly relaxed.
Is as beautiful as ever.
And now, I’m instantly hard.
As if knowing my issue, Addison lifts up on her elbows and smirks. “I slept with you, remember. Everything about your body is sexy. And your hands feel incredible, by the way. Please don’t stop what you’re doing.”
“Your legs wouldn’t ache so much if you didn’t walk a million miles a day.” And she’d do it rain or shine, every day of the year.
“I can’t help it.”
“Well, I can.” I pat her thighs, making sure not to slap her skin too hard. “Get up. I brought you something,” I announce, seeing a hitch in her breath.
She’s a smarty. Catches on quick. Cocks her head faster than I can release a pitch.
“Be-ennn,” she says, drawing my name out through an exasperating sigh.
She shakes her head, and I immediately think she’s going to protest. I can’t let her do any such thing. She’ll ruin my surprise. So in one swift move, I swoop her up in my arms and carry her over to the threshold. The next time I do this, things will be different and everything will be just right. I know this as much as I know the game of baseball. Yup, the next time I carry her through a threshold, I’ll be holding my Mrs. Peterson.
I smile.
She mentions something about weighing too much and if I knew what was good for me, I’d politely set her feet back down on the ground. Like a naughty boy suddenly eager to disobey, I smirk, kiss the side of her head, and carry her out to the side of her house.
The instant she sees what I brought her she gasps and digs her nails into the skin at my back. It’s feels just like I’d dreamed a thousand times over the summer, each time I thought of her and me making love.
“You did not buy me an SUV. Tell me you didn’t buy me an SUV.”
I sit her upright and lower her feet to the ground. Her not-so-delicate fingers immediately disappear, delving deep within the soft strands of her brown hair.
“Did the big blue bow give it away? I was hoping to keep it a surprise. But the guy at the dealership insisted you needed a pretty bow.” I wink, then send up a prayer she’s not going to strip off the bow and use it to tie me up.
On second thought, if that’s her plan for me, I’m game. Tie me up. Love me forever. Just keep the shiny new car.
She drags her hands down her face like she’s hoping the Ford Explorer I parked in her gravel drive will vanish once she opens her eyes. “This is too much. I can’t accept this. It’s—”
“You can,” I say, cutting her off. The title is already in her name. “It’ll come in handy for getting to your doctor’s appointments. You no longer have to ask for a ride and you can even hop in and run into town and do some real shopping.” I take her in my arms, tuck my chest against her back, and spread my hands across her belly, fulfilling a need I both crave and love. “Addy, it breaks my heart to think of you walking all over town. In the rain. The snow. Bags of groceries dangling from your hands.”
She squeezes my arms, and I hope it means she’s going to accept. If not, I’ll resort to pulling out the “Why are her feet puffy” when we see Dr. James tomorrow. Surely he’ll be able to talk her to reason. If not, I’ll simply have to up my game.
Surprising me, she twists in my arms, blinks back a few tears, and wraps both arms around my neck. “Thank you, Ben. You certainly know how to make a girl happy and feel genuinely cared for at the same time.”
“Good, because I do care about you, Addison. It warms my heart to be able to make you happy.” She tightens her hold, and I relish the moment before eventually leaning back. “Want to go for a ride?” I ask, hoping she’ll say yes, especially before I decide it’s time to drop yet another important piece of paper into her lap.
And may her hormones be extra cooperative when I do it.
Chapter Eleven
Addison
Ben and I settle on a name.
According to Ben, all well-loved cars have to have a name. I think he just wanted to hear me toss some random choices into the air, hoping I’d move our conversation to the baby, which would turn into what we would name him. Because, of course, our baby is a him, according to Ben.
I smile, my heart bursting with joy each time Ben’s dimples peek out at the edges of his trimmed beard when he smiles. It happens every time we discuss the slightest little thing about the baby. Today, I’m confident there wasn’t a single second during my check-up with Dr. James when Ben’s cheeks weren’t aching. His eyes lit up like a fireworks finale when he caught the first glimpse of his offspring, which happened during an ultrasound I didn’t know I was having.
Apparently, it’s not uncommon to repeat one later along in the pregnancy. Though I had a feeling Ben might have asked for and paid for this ultrasound out of his own pocket. I didn’t ask him about it. The look on his face during the whole thing was worth keeping my mouth shut. But the puppy-dog look he flashed me during our brief yet poignant discussion about learning the baby’s sex, not so much, and I couldn’t keep quiet. Eventually, he conceded to my request not to ruin the surprise.
Thankfully, our baby was positioned in such a way that we couldn’t get a clear view. Even so, I’m not sure a picture would change anything. In Ben’s mind, we’re having a boy.
I roll my eyes, feeling my cheeks warm through a grin, and lean back against the heated leather of the passenger seat. Thinking back on the day that held too many moments of discussion about my cankles and ended with dinner out on the town, I still can’t believe Ben bought me an SUV. Admittedly, I like being able to sneak a peek at the sexy man driving my new vehicle. Gives me a chance to memorize the tiny details of his silhouette since I don’t know how long he’s going to stay in my life. I fight back a tear, reality sinking deep into my marrow, crippling me the instant I accept the fact that the next time Ben says goodbye is going to be hard.
I shouldn’t be letting myself get this close. But it already seems too late.
A warm hand slides over my thigh and gives it a squeeze, the tender touch drawing me out of my sullen thoughts and back into the moment. “As beautiful as you look driving Dixie here,” he double taps the dashboard, and takes my hand in his, drawing it to his lips, “I think you’re even more irresistible sitting in the passenger seat next to me.”
My skin prickles where his hot breath pulses down, hitting the spot where he left his kiss. Over and over, the tenderhearted gesture spurs a warm sensation that speeds up my arm, then sweeps an uncharted path throughout my entire being. I stare back at him, watching as he maintains his focus on the road ahead, and wonder why he still hasn’t broached the subject of baseball with me yet. It’s been his entire life. Why can’t he share with me what happened to him the night that forever changed his life?
I wish he’d tell me, open up and let me in.
But not wanting to ruin the beautiful day we’ve spent together, I don’t ask, and decide to reply to his kind comment instead. “Thank you. You look pretty perfect yourself. I like you driving me around.”
I wish I could keep him there beside me. But the fact is, the time will come when his thoughts return to all things baseball.
“Is it big enough?” he asks, and my mind immediately zips with the speed of one of his fastballs straight to the gutter.
> Big enough? Oh, yeah. It’s plenty big enough for me.
“I mean,” he continues, his expression serious, his mind none the wiser to the fact I’m swallowing back a little laughter, “I was worried larger might be too big for you to handle. But if you’d rather, we can trade in for a bigger one.”
I shake my head, extremely thankful he’s been as generous as he has, and hope my shiny new ride will do wonders on the swelling he’s noticed I’ve got going on in my legs. “I’m very happy with the size, Ben. There’ll be no trading going on here.”
I’d never trade you for the world.
If only Ben Peterson were mine to keep.
Chapter Twelve
Ben
I don’t like dropping Addison off at her apartment, then having to watch as her beautiful face vanishes when she closes the door. It stinks. I hate the rectangular two-inch thick slab of painted wood cutting me out of her life for the night. The click of the lock. The drag of the chain. It all hits my senses and grates on my nerves. It’s worse than hearing the dreaded ping of a ball hitting a bat when I’ve missed my spot and given up a home run.
Fact is, I can’t stand the sounds that door makes as she locks herself in. Don’t want to hear it again. Unless she’s doing it when I’m cuddling in from behind her and we’re on the other side of the door—together. But that’s exactly what I go through each time I force my hands off her belly, just after coaxing myself into whispering yet another painful goodnight to both Addison and the baby.
The long nights away from her never seem to get any better, despite the fact I’m going to see her again in the morning. And they won’t. Not until I’ve got her with me, where I can hold her in my arms—all day, all night, forever.
