Playing for Kinley (Cruz Brothers Book 1)

by Melanie Munton

  I raised my hand in a wave that was meant for all of them, but my eyes didn’t leave Kinley, something I hoped only she noticed. I allowed myself a brief moment of contentedness as I delighted in the fact that she was here, and then I turned my attention to the field and to my teammates.

  Kinley would always be in the back of my mind, but my focus for the next three or so hours was going to be solely on the game.

  The infielders threw the ball around, sending each other grounders, loosening up and getting into a good rhythm. When our pitcher, Jameson, had finished his warm-ups and the first Indians batter stepped up to the plate, I took my spot beside third base.

  It was game time.

  I pounded my fist into my glove a couple of times, crouching into my ready position, and watched closely as the batter signaled our pitcher. Jameson wound up and rocketed one straight into Moberly’s glove, too fast for the batter who swung and missed.

  Yes.

  Strike one.

  The crowd jeered as my teammates encouraged Jameson, already feeding off of the adrenaline of the fans.

  “That a way, man.”

  “Hey, just like that. Couple more of those.”

  “Yeah, alright, Jameson. He can’t touch you.”

  Their voices abruptly stopped whenever the batter connected with the ball, sending it careening in my direction. It was an easy grounder, skating right along the third base line, almost going foul. I scooped it up without fuss, set my feet in the dance I had been perfecting since I was a kid, and sent it sailing toward our first baseman, Hernandez.

  Easy first out.

  One at a time, that was our team motto. For us, it hadn’t really become about one win at a time but rather, each individual out. Because in this sport, those outs could quickly and easily get away from you—we learned that in October last year—and we weren’t going to take any for granted.

  The crowd showed their appreciation as we all set up for the next batter. You could tell Jameson was on his game, hitting all of his spots and reaching speeds that I was guessing were in the low to mid-nineties. That was how we needed this opener to go, with our starting pitcher in for at least six innings and all of our bats awake and alert.

  The second batter popped the ball up around second base, Pollock catching it easily for the second out and getting it back to Jameson to take on the third, and hopefully, last batter. I was shifting around on my feet, staying on my toes and preparing to move in either direction if he sent one flying my way. I didn’t have to worry, though, because Jameson made it a quick one, two, three strikeout, the flustered batter watching the last one fly right past him over the plate.

  Hell yes.

  We all took off toward the dugout, giving Jameson slaps with our gloves as we settled in for our lineup. As one of our power hitters, I batted fourth, so I put my batting gloves on and found my helmet as our lead-off batter went to the plate. My head whipped to the field when I heard the distinct sound of a hit to see Maclin, our center fielder, heading to first base as the ball hit the ground between the Indians third baseman and left fielder.

  “That a way to start it off, Maclin!” I shouted, followed by other yelling and incoherent shouting from the rest of my Red Sox. Sometimes, especially with the guys who chewed tobacco, it became very difficult to understand what the hell they were saying.

  By the time I got up to bat, we had runners at the corners, Maclin having made it over to third and Hernandez camping out on first. I swung once more with the extra bat as I stood on-deck and then left it there when I approached the plate.

  It was a struggle to contain my smile when I heard my at-bat song blare through the PA system. I’d changed it just yesterday after practice and had actually forgotten all about it. I was momentarily taken to another place when “Ain’t No Sunshine” reached my ears. I figured Kinley would appreciate the selection.

  Okay, so maybe she wasn’t at the very back of my mind.

  The song cut off when I dug my toe into the dirt, letting the pitcher know I was ready for whatever he had coming my way. I felt relaxed as I stared him down, taking deep, even breaths as I stood comfortably in my stance.

  I let the first one go, way outside the box. I could feel myself getting anxious to hit the ball, but I forced myself to stay calm, be patient. I checked the third base coach for my signal. Swing away was the sign, assuming the pitch was right. In one of these situations, with two outs and a good home run hitter at the plate, I was going to be told to hit anything that came straight down the pipe and to hit it for the damn fences.

  I re-set and waited for the pitch. I could tell it was coming right down the center, but I knew as soon as my arms started the forward motion that I’d swung too soon. I felt the ball whoosh past me as my bat hit nothing but air. I inwardly cussed myself out, knowing that I’d warned myself about that exact thing only seconds before.

  I took a deep breath, glanced at the third base coach again and saw the same sign.

  This was it.

  I could feel it, could see it in the pitcher’s eyes somehow.

  The pitch wasn’t right down the center this time but a curveball instead. A damn good one, too. I didn’t have time to think about it, though. I just acted on instinct, bringing the bat forward with as much force as I could manage, watching all the way until I felt the vibration travel through the bat, a clear sign that I’d hit the ball.

  Deep left field, almost to the wall.

  When you’re in the zone and you hit it like that, it’s almost like a cosmic feeling that you just knew immediately where the ball was going. I took off at a sprint, watching the left fielder out of the corner of my eye run backwards, his eye on the ball. I rounded first easily as the Indians player ran all the way to the very back corner of the wall where the ball bounced around before it landed.

  I knew that was at least one run in.

  Everyone was on their feet, the crowd going wild as we ran the bases.

  I saw the left fielder fumble with the ball a little as I rounded second base and knew that Hernandez had been able to make it home. Our third base coach gave me the stay signal at second, but I had already passed the base by the time I saw him. It was risky but you had to make quick decisions in these kinds of moments. And when I saw that left fielder juggling with the ball, I made mine.

  On my way to third, I was breathing hard but my adrenaline was pumping so fiercely I didn’t notice. That’s when the left fielder launched a rocket heading straight to the third baseman. I pushed my legs harder, faster, digging my cleats into the dirt as I fought to beat the throw. The third base coach yelled “Down!” so I launched myself forward, diving head first into the bag with no clue as to where the ball actually was.

  When I felt my fingers graze the base, I grasped the bag with my entire hand, holding on for dear life. The third baseman’s glove swiped my shoulder a mere second after I made contact, narrowly missing the out. I peeked over my shoulder to see the infield umpire throw his arms out and shout “Safe!”

  I blew out a relieved breath and listened to the crowd go nuts.

  I picked myself up and dusted my uniform off as the third base coach leaned forward to give me a high-five. I couldn’t help but grin as I looked up into the stands, right at those seats and pointed to my girl. I knew the family would take it as a shout-out to everyone, but I specifically meant it for Kinley.

  I’d told her I was playing for her.

  Which meant that I would be pouring my entire heart and soul into every game, every out, every at-bat. Because that’s how I was with her. I wanted to give her everything, allow her to take whatever she wanted of me. I would be as dedicated to her as I was to this game.

  And none of it would ever matter as much to me again if she wasn’t there with me, watching me from now on.

  ##

  We ended up winning seven to one, Jameson finishing out strong with Corbins stepping in to secure his win. Pretty much everyone on the team had a hell of a game, and Moberly’s old ass had e
ven caught a guy trying to steal second. He’d been riding high after that one.

  I quickly showered and dressed, telling everyone good game as I scurried out of the clubhouse in search of my family. Cox let me skip the post-game press conference today as he understood how rare it was for my entire crew to be at a game together. I was grateful to him for that, though I knew I wouldn’t be so lucky every time. Press conferences were part of the game now, and I was expected to be at most of them as I was the unofficial leader of the team.

  I dodged some reporters, but stopped to answer a few questions with the more relentless ones. “Your team looked strong out there today, Parker. What would you attribute today’s win to?”

  I smirked, trying not to come off like an ass with my response. “Teamwork. We had two guys who went four for five and one who went five for five. Jameson pitched lights out and our defense was strong. It was a team effort, as it is every game.”

  “Is this what fans can expect from the Red Sox this season?” another man with a microphone asked.

  “The fans can expect us to go out there with one hundred percent effort, every single game. We’re going to do our best to make them as well as the city of Boston proud.”

  When I was finally able to peel myself away from the vultures, I pulled out my phone and was about to text Kinley to ask where they were when I heard the distinct sound of my niece and nephew screaming my name up ahead.

  “Uncle Pawker!” Gabby squealed.

  The entire group stood at the entrance to the clubhouse, Clay with his arm around Gwen, Sam and Diane smiling at me proudly, Dawson and Mickie wrestling with their two four-year-olds, and Mason smirking at me in his own dark and brooding way.

  And Kinley had her eyes locked on mine, smiling so big it looked like it hurt her, looking as if it was taking everything inside of her not to run headlong at me and jump into my arms. I would have caught her and kissed the crap out of her if she had. Right now, I didn’t give a damn about what anyone thought of us being together, didn’t care if anyone knew.

  “You hit a home wun, Uncle Pawker!” Gabby screamed and was able to escape Mickie’s clutches in order to leap into my arms. She and Leo looked so damn cute in their miniature Parker Cruz jerseys and Red Sox baseball caps.

  “I did, sobrinita!” I smiled down at her and kissed the top of her little head. I had actually hit a single home run in the bottom of the sixth inning, but I was prouder of the triple I had in the first. That was one that would probably stick with me forever, especially because it was Kinley’s first game.

  “It went so far, it almost went over the wall,” Leo said, awe in his voice, as he came up and tugged on my shirt to make sure I was listening to him.

  “Yeah?” I asked and pulled him in close for a hug. “You going to hit it that far when you get big?”

  He nodded with excitement in his eyes. “I bet when I get to the first grade, I could hit it that far.”

  I laughed and walked with them over to my favorite people. “I bet you will, little man. Better eat all your vegetables if you want to be that strong.”

  At that, Mickie threw back her head and looked like she was saying a prayer. She turned back to me and mouthed thank you, which I took as an indication that they were having problems with the kids and their vegetables. I just smiled and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek while passing my niece back over to her.

  Dawson and Mason each gave me hugs, along with their own versions of ribbing me. “You were choking up on the bat, little brother,” Mason chided, but I knew he was just giving me the business like they always did. “Probably would have gotten two more homers if you’d take my advice.”

  “I think my batting average would disagree with you.”

  Diane sounded like she was getting emotional as she hugged me and Sam had some kind words that he muttered into my ear. Words of a proud father. Because even though he wasn’t my real one, he had never treated me as anything but. His praise meant the world to me and I craved his approval.

  Seeing the pride on his face instead of disappointment or mockery always made me feel like I was actually worthy of it.

  It was a huge relief to see Clay there as we hadn’t seen much of each other since his birthday party in January, making me realize how much I’d missed spending time with him. After giving him and Gwen hugs, I finally turned to Kinley.

  All I wanted to do was take her into my arms and never let her go. Needed to show her how much her coming to the game meant to me. But I would have to wait and love her like that later, whenever I could get her back to my place and we could finally be alone. For now, I just leaned down and gave her a friendly hug, inhaling her flowery scent, and pulled back before I created a problem in my pants.

  “How about dinner?” Clay asked, looking around the group.

  I raised an eyebrow and looked down at the kids. “I know a pretty good pizza place not too far from here. But you guys probably don’t like pizza anymore, do you?”

  We all almost had to cover our ears with the volume of screeches that followed that comment. “No, no! We want pizza! The really cheesy kind!”

  “And vegetables!” Mickie said to them pointedly, giving them that mom look she had mastered so well.

  The twins simultaneously groaned, so I put them out of their misery. “And if you guys eat all your vegetables, maybe I’ll buy you ice cream afterwards. Wait, no, I forgot. Ice cream is gross, isn’t it?”

  “No! It’s our favorite!”

  I caught Kinley’s eye and threw her a subtle wink as we walked away from the stadium. We could all celebrate today in our own ways. I was just going to be taking mine home with me later.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Parker

  Well, later ended up turning into much later than I expected.

  Eating took forever because the pizza parlor was packed—it was one of Boston’s most popular pizza hubs. Then, the food took years to come out. Plus, the place also had a few arcade games, which made it nearly impossible to pry the kids away from them long enough to stuff their bellies full of food. Then afterwards, we had to go get ice cream because I was a genius and had suggested it. Kids didn’t forget that stuff.

  Not to mention the dozens of times I got stopped by fans for pictures and autographs. I even had to politely ask some paparazzi to let my family and I enjoy some time to ourselves when they were getting too close. In other words, I told them to get themselves and their cameras the hell out of my face in kid-friendly terms.

  I wasn’t complaining about any of it, though.

  I’d spent the entire afternoon and evening with my niece and nephew, who were growing up faster than I was ready to let them, my brothers who it felt like I hardly ever got to see anymore, my best friend who I’d missed hanging out with like crazy, the parents I’d pretty much adopted as my own, and the woman I was head over heels in love with.

  No, it hadn’t been a bad day at all.

  In fact, it had been pretty much perfect.

  Sam and Diane had bowed out after pizza to catch their flight back to D.C., and my brothers and the kids had taken off after ice cream because the kids were tired and they were all in one vehicle. Besides, I think they sensed that I needed some time with my best friend. We decided to meet for breakfast in the morning since I had an evening game tomorrow.

  So, here we were. Clay, Gwen, Kinley, and me sitting at a bar, having a few drinks. I felt like Kinley and I had handled the situation well so far. I’d managed not to touch her excessively—a huge struggle—or undress her with my eyes. Mostly. Talking to Clay and not imagining Kinley naked in my bed was strangely harder than you might think. I couldn’t decide if I was disturbed or turned on.

  “I see you haven’t run D.C. into the ground yet. How’s all of that going?” I asked him.

  To say that I was proud of Clay would have been a massive understatement. He was the first non-Democrat D.C. Mayor in over fifty years, something that had been almost unheard of until last November. He ran as an
independent and the odds had been wildly stacked against him. Even with all the shit he’d been dealing with regarding Gwen and her psycho ex-fiancé, he’d handled it all with patience and class and had come out on top.

  Clay grinned and brought his bottle of beer to his mouth. “It’s hard work. Always something going wrong and David’s always losing his mind over every little thing.” He shrugged, the grin still on his face. “But I love it.”

  I smiled and slapped him on the back. The man was basically my third brother, so when he was happy, I was happy. “That’s awesome, man. You know if you ever need anything, you can call me anytime.”

  It wasn’t as if I wanted to perpetuate the notion of selling my brand or anything. But slapping a celebrity face on a commodity could be very appealing to the masses. And if it helped out my friend in any way, I’d do it.

  “What, I don’t have a pretty enough face so I need yours?” he asked, sarcasm dripping from his tone.

  I smirked. “Well, you got a woman like Gwen so she must find something about you appealing.”

  Clay scoffed and Gwen looked over and smiled at us, catching the end of our conversation. She leaned in and gave Clay a kiss, distracting him long enough that I could look over at Kinley without worrying he might cut my balls off if I lingered too long. Her eyes were already on me, burning into me. Then, I felt her foot touch mine and slowly slide up my leg, rubbing in circles, moving higher and closer to the tent in my pants.

  Christ. We weren’t even skin-to-skin but coming into contact with any part of this woman drove me crazy.

  She knew it, too.

  Her mouth held the beginnings of that sexy smirk of hers as she watched the effect she was having on me. We both took sips of our drinks—she in order to hide that smile behind her glass and me because I needed something to take the edge off. I was starting to lose control of my need for her. That desire had been building since she left Florida three weeks ago, and it was reaching a fever pitch that was scarcely allowing me to breathe, let alone think.

  And I’d be lying if I said the idea that we had to keep our relationship a secret from everyone—the idea that we could be caught at any moment—didn’t add to the excitement.