Catching Zia (Spring Training Book 1)

by Becca Jameson

  “Reasonable. I can see that. It must be tough when you’re well known, and everyone you meet swoons first and asks questions later.”

  “Yeah. I’m not sure how I feel about all the women swooning over him, but I’m doing my best to ignore them and get to know Brett better outside of his notoriety.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Jupiter. Visiting him. I came for a few days. He’s already at the field. I need to head that way soon.” Zia stood and stepped back inside, setting the sketch pad on the kitchen island and heading through the condo for the master bedroom.

  “I’m so happy for you. Stay in touch. Keep me posted. I’ll live vicariously through you. A baseball player… I’m going to swoon myself.” Lily giggled and then hung up.

  By the time Zia scrambled to get into the shower and then get dressed, it was almost noon. She wanted to get to the ballpark before he started. Maybe she should have been there all morning, hanging around like the other fans who were sure to be there in an attempt to get a tossed ball or an autograph during their practice and warm-up.

  But that seemed cheesy. She wasn’t a groupie. She was the woman who had agreed to move in with him in Miami. When would that be? He would be in Jupiter for ten more days. Then? It seemed so soon. Too soon? Should she have cold feet? What would Monica think?

  It wasn’t like she couldn’t still work for Monica for as long as she needed. She just wouldn’t be sleeping in the woman’s house.

  She nearly giggled at the thoughts assaulting her. Was she really going to end her lease, pack up her few belongings, and move in with a man? One she’d met just weeks ago?

  For the time being, she would keep the lease. There was no rush. Just because she moved in with him didn’t mean she had to break the lease immediately. She had enough money to pay it for a few more months. She didn’t want Brett to pay her rent, though. Maybe if she put her mind to it, she could sell some more paintings. And if she was lucky, word of mouth might land her more mural jobs than the ones she was already lining up.

  When she arrived at the game and headed for the usual block of seats where the other women she’d met last week were seated, Trish waved at her enthusiastically. As Zia approached, Trish winked. “We didn’t scare you off?”

  “Not yet. But you can give it another shot.”

  “You live in Miami, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let’s exchange numbers. We can get together during one of those long stints when the guys are gone for days at a time. It can get boring.”

  “I’d like that.” Zia smiled. Yes. Maybe this was all going to work out.

  It had to, right?

  Brett started the game and fielded several ground balls in the first few innings to throw out three batters, beating them at first. He also caught a line drive. The crowd cheered.

  Zia started to relax and settle in like a normal person. She almost felt like she belonged.

  Brett left the game in the fourth inning, but that only added to her relaxed feeling. It was stressful when he was on the field. She knew he would be pleased with his performance. And he had tomorrow off. Well, he still had to practice, but it wouldn’t last as many hours.

  Things were looking rosy.

  She watched him walk across the outfield toward the clubhouse between innings and considered heading that direction herself. But she decided to stay and watch the rest of the game. Unless he texted her that he was ready to go, there was no sense standing around in the sun waiting for him. It took him a while, anyway. He had explained how he usually lifted weights, stretched, iced his arm, and showered after he got to the clubhouse.

  Finally, the game ended.

  Miami won, and Zia wandered toward the clubhouse with Trish to wait for the guys to emerge. Many of the families left to go home in separate cars. But Zia had Brett’s car, and besides, she had nothing else to do but to wait around for him.

  After about an hour of chatting with a few of the other women, the guys started trickling out. Brett was usually one of the first, especially when Zia was waiting for him. No sign of Brett.

  Trish left. Two other women left. Fans began to leave.

  Still no Brett.

  Zia tried to relax. She stepped around the side of the building to get under a shade tree and pretended to scroll through her phone to keep busy.

  Maybe he had an injury he needed to see the trainer for. Pulled muscle. Ice. Heat. Stretching. Something like that. It happened.

  Another half an hour went by.

  Finally, a voice she’d heard before stiffened her spine and drew goose bumps all over her body.

  No.

  God no.

  She had put the blond woman out of her mind. No way in hell would Brett be talking to her. But she could hear his voice now also. Not the words. The tone.

  It was almost impossible to get her legs to move, but she managed to step forward somehow. Finally, holding her breath, she leaned around the corner of the building to stare at the exit.

  There she was. The perky cute blonde with the perfect pixie haircut and a body that came from working out hard every day. She was facing Brett, her hands on his chest, her head tipped back so she could stare into his face.

  Brett was turned far enough sideways that Zia couldn’t see his face, but his hands were on her shoulders. She spoke again. He responded. And then he pulled her into his embrace.

  No. Oh God. No.

  Zia jumped back, forcing herself to stop looking and pulling herself out of their view. Her chest pounded. She breathed heavily. She glanced around. No one had seen her. No one was left.

  She turned around and ran. Ran as hard and as fast as she could to get away.

  She ran straight for Brett’s car. She unlocked it, yanked it open, and dropped his keys on the driver’s seat. Then she turned around and ran again. She had to get away before he saw her. Before he could stop her.

  She didn’t want to face him or hear his explanations. He swore he would never lie to her again. Swore he wouldn’t withhold information. Swore he loved her. His words swam in her head, mingling with the face of that blonde staring up at him. Smiling.

  Maybe she hadn’t been smiling. Zia had no idea. She hadn’t seen the woman’s face well enough. But she imagined the woman smiling. She’d had her hands on Brett. And he’d hauled her into his embrace. Had he kissed her?

  She knew she should have confronted him about the woman. Had she learned nothing from years of therapy? She’d just humiliated herself by waiting for him for hours only to find him in another woman’s arms.

  Had the universe gone insane?

  Why? Why would he do that when he knew Zia was waiting for him? He’d specifically told her he’d never dated a groupie before. What the hell other explanation was there for this woman who hung around the ballpark waiting for him and harassing Zia in the bathroom?

  Zia had never been so relieved to see a cab in her life. She exited the parking lot at a dead run and lifted a hand to draw attention to the driver, thanking the god of taxis.

  She heaved a breath as she slid into the backseat.

  “You okay, ma’am?” The driver twisted to look back at her and then outside. “Someone chasing you?”

  She shook her head. “No. Sorry. No. Just in a hurry. Can you take me to the bus station?” She didn’t even want to go back to his house and get her stuff. Who cared about her belongings? No way would she risk him getting home before she left.

  The cab driver nodded and pulled away from the curb. He might have even driven faster than usual, probably assuming she had a bus schedule to keep. And he was half right. She wanted out of Jupiter on the first bus leaving town, no matter where it was going.

  By the time the driver pulled to the curb at the bus station, Zia had her breathing down to almost normal. She paid the man, thanked him, and stepped into the late afternoon sunshine.

  Seconds later, the bright light was snuffed out by the dim lighting of the inside of the bus station. Apropos, considering the
way she felt the light that had been burning inside her had also been snuffed out.

  Zia raced to the departing board and scanned down the list. Perfect. Miami was one of the next buses to leave. She wouldn’t have to take a side trip to Anywhere, USA.

  Fifteen minutes later, she settled into a seat near the back of the bus, pulled her knees up to her chest, and perched her heels on the seat. She set her chin on her knees, faced the window, and stared at nothing.

  How could she be so stupid?

  * * *

  Brett stepped away from the clubhouse, confused as hell. Where was Zia? She hadn’t been standing outside where he’d expected her to be. He glanced around looking for her for several minutes.

  Finally, he headed for the parking lot. His car was there. It sat nearly alone in the almost vacant lot. Most of the players, coaches, and fans were long gone. He’d taken too long.

  Leslie had gotten her hands on him and forced him to listen to her pleading.

  He’d put her off for weeks, but today she’d been right there and pounced at the first opportunity.

  And now? Where the hell was Zia? Had she possibly seen him talking to Leslie? He hadn’t seen her outside when he stepped into the sunlight. The only person around had been Leslie. He’d assumed Zia had gone to the car.

  Unless Leslie had lied and gotten to Zia before she spoke to Brett. Would she do that? Maybe. Doubtful, though. Not like her. She was distressed, but she wasn’t evil.

  Unsure what to do, Brett ambled toward his car, deciding to leave his bag next to it while he went in search of Zia. He was shocked to find the car unlocked and his keys lying on the front seat.

  Now his hackles rose. He yanked his phone out of his pocket. No messages. Not by phone or text.

  Where was she?

  He opened the phone and dialed her number. No answer.

  He sent a text. Waited several moments. No response.

  Another player could have taken her back to Brett’s condo. Or a wife. But she would never do that without letting him know. No way.

  He spun around next to the open door of his car and ran his hands through his hair. “Fuck,” he shouted to the empty air.

  No doubt in the world. Leslie had either gotten to Zia, or Zia had seen her talking to Brett.

  “Fuck,” he repeated as he climbed behind the wheel and started the car. She would be back at the condo if he was lucky. Surely she wouldn’t have left. Not yet. Not this quickly.

  He drove fast. Too fast.

  His tires nearly squealed as he pulled up to his condo and jumped out of the car. He raced toward the front door, unlocked it, and stepped inside.

  Too quiet.

  No lights.

  “Zia?” he yelled.

  No response.

  He ran to the bedroom and found her belongings scattered around. Her clothes from yesterday sat in a pile on the floor. Her overnight bag was open and haphazardly tossed on a chair.

  He leaned into the bathroom. Her hairbrush was on the counter. Her curling iron next to it. Her makeup—what little she used—lined up in a row.

  She hadn’t come back to the condo.

  He spun around and raced to the kitchen.

  What the hell was he going to do?

  As he pulled his phone out of his pocket for the tenth time to see if she’d called, something caught his eye.

  Her sketch pad was on the island.

  He lurched forward and grabbed the pad with one hand. It was folded open.

  His breath caught. She’d sketched him. She’d obviously done it that morning while he hadn’t even been there to model for her. And it was exquisite. It looked exactly like him. He would have smiled at the way she portrayed him if he hadn’t been so freaked out and desperate.

  God, he loved her.

  This could not be happening.

  As if the universe had conspired to kick him in the chest and then grind its filthy heel in while he was down, a high-pitched female voice filled the room behind him.

  “Yoo-hoo. Hello?”

  He spun around to find a woman standing inside his front door. The door he hadn’t bothered to shut when he came home.

  The woman smiled huge and fake. Her face didn’t move appropriately when she did so. She had huge breasts that probably had seen more than one enhancement surgery. Her long, thick, wavy brown hair was swept up in a clip as if it might make her appear younger than she was.

  Brett had never met the woman. He’d never even seen a picture. But his blood ran cold. He knew exactly who she was without even asking. “Ms. Sharpley.”

  She grinned wider and clapped her hands together. Her expensive designer purse hung heavy off one shoulder. Her jean skirt was too short. Her tight blouse dipped too low. She looked like a hooker. “Oh good. You already know who I am. That’s so sweet. Call me Carmen. Please.” She stepped farther into the room.

  The last thing Brett wanted was for her to know Zia had left him.

  He also didn’t want to waste precious time dealing with the woman, but it couldn’t be helped.

  He swallowed his aggravation, set the sketch carefully back on the counter, and crossed his arms over his chest. “What can I do for you, Ms. Sharpley?” No way was he about to call her by her first name.

  She shut the door behind her, set her purse slowly on the corner of his couch, and glanced around. “Nice place. My Zia has done well for herself. Never pictured her moving up in the world like this, but she’s proven me wrong.”

  Brett followed her every move with his eyes, gritting his teeth.

  Carmen ran a hand over the edge of the leather couch. Her fingernails were freshly manicured and filed to near points.

  He shuddered inwardly.

  He hated the woman already. And not just on behalf of Zia. She radiated ill-intention and pure evil.

  “Where’s my sweet baby girl?” she finally asked.

  “Not here right now.” He forced his voice to remain calm when what he really wanted to do was race across the room, yank open the door, and haul Carmen Sharpley outside forcefully by the arm. He would derive great pleasure in slamming the door in her face.

  How dare she show up like this to torment her daughter? She’d done nothing to be a mother to Zia for twenty-nine years. It was no coincidence she showed up now. Now that Zia might have a man with money. He wasn’t born yesterday.

  And the crazy thing was, at this particular moment, he’d be happy to write her a check on the spot if she’d get the fuck out of his house and never show her face again. But Zia would kill him if he did that. He fully intended to make things right with Zia as fast as possible.

  The clock was ticking. She’d spoken of the bus station before. He figured she had gone there to catch a bus to Miami. It was a logical conclusion. Now he was wasting precious moments dealing with her mother.

  The bitch didn’t have a maternal bone in her body. And yet here she was, dripping sugar on his carpet as if she should be named Mother of the Year.

  She stuck her bottom lip out in a fake pout. “Darn. I was hoping we could go to dinner together. The three of us. I so want to get to know the man my Zia has captured.”

  “Well, she’s not here. And now isn’t a good time.” He stepped toward the door. “If you don’t mind, I’m in a hurry. I’ll tell Zia you stopped by.”

  Carmen made no move to leave, as if she didn’t catch the not-so-subtle nudge when Brett not only motioned toward the door, but then opened it wide and stood in the entry.

  “I’m in no hurry,” she stated. “I’ll wait for her.” She actually had the gumption to take a seat on his couch and cross her legs. “Please, Mr. Michelson. Sit. Tell me about yourself. Tell me what it is about my Zia that attracted you to her. Was it her love of art?”

  She folded her hands together, a fake twinkle in her eye. “That has to be it. I never thought her obsession with art would ever help her amount to anything, but I see it did. Man like you. I bet you have several nice pieces in your homes.”

  She t
wisted to face him still standing in the doorway. No way in hell was he going to sit and chat with her. “How many houses do you have, by the way?”

  Yep. Gold digger.

  Bitch extraordinaire.

  He ached for the little girl who grew up with this woman as her only parent. Pride filled him at how she’d overcome the obstacle and turned out to be the most perfect woman he’d ever met.

  He needed to find her. Explain himself. Again. Fix things. His future was slipping through his fingers while this crazy excuse for a mother sat on his sofa. “Ms. Sharpley, I really am in a hurry. If you’ll please leave.”

  She pouted again, and her shoulders dipped. “I drove all the way here to surprise my baby and her new man. I don’t even have a place to stay. You can’t think to toss me out.”

  “I’m sure you’ll figure something out,” he gritted, losing his patience.

  “I was planning on staying here, with you two. Just for a few nights. After all, we’re practically family. Would you mind getting my bags from the trunk?”

  “Ms. Sharpley, now isn’t a good time for guests. I’m sorry. But you really need to leave.” He left the door open and stepped toward her. He hoped he could avoid actually touching her, but he was losing his temper fast.

  She lowered her shoulders again, farther. “Fine. If you must know, I don’t have a place to stay. I’m in a tight spot right now. I don’t have enough money for gas or a hotel. My husband stepped out on me and left me high and dry. Asshole. Could you possibly loan me enough money to get back on my feet? Just this once.” She had the audacity to bat her eyes at him.

  He wanted to slap her across the face. He had to ball his hands at his sides to keep from exploding.

  “Ms. Sharpley, I’m not going to say it again. Get out. Now. Before I call the cops.”

  Her eyes widened, and she jumped to her feet. “Oh. My. God. Are you serious? Is this how you would speak to your mother-in-law-to-be?”

  “You will never be a mother-in-law to me. You aren’t even a mother to Zia. Get out of my house. Now.” He pulled his phone from his pocket as if he would dial the cops right then.

  Carmen finally moved. She grabbed her purse and stomped toward the door. “I can’t believe you’re such a jerk. But I should have known. Zia can’t do anything right. Not even pick a nice man.” The second her backside was out the front door, he slammed it.