Slam: A Colorado Smoke Novel

by Andee Michelle

  The crack of the bat has Gracie and me on our feet in a flash. We watch as the ball drops right between center and right field, both players scrambling for it. We’re both screaming like crazy as McKay hits home and Rodrigues rounds second heading for third. Bryant slides into second as the second baseman has to jump to catch the ball. Safe.

  Bryant is dusting off his pants when he looks up for a split second and smiles before returning his attention to the field.

  The next two batters strike out and the inning ends with us leading two to zero.

  And that’s the end score five innings later.

  Smoke wins game three.

  Bryant

  I LOVED SEEING her in the stands, here to watch me play. She looked beautiful and happy, and everything about her being here felt right.

  I knew before we even left Colorado that there was no way I could make it through four or five days here without being able to spend time with her. So, I devised a plan to have Mandy arrive tomorrow morning. A small surprise for Layne.

  I glance at the clock to see if it’s too late to text Layne. I’m a little irritated to see it’s already after 11:00 p.m. They’re definitely sleeping. She’d texted me congratulations after the game, and I saw them briefly as they were exiting their row, the attendant ushering them to a waiting Stanley.

  Now that I’m finally back at the hotel, I’d love to see her, but I know today was crazy busy for them after the early flight and then the excitement of the game. I’m sure they were exhausted. I don’t want to overdo the attention and make her think I’m a psycho either.

  I’m absolutely exhausted, although keyed up from the win tonight, so it’ll probably take me forever to fall asleep. I turn off the lights and crawl into bed, ready for a few hours of my brain going ninety miles an hour. The enormity of playing in the World Series has been weighing heavy on me today. It’s my last chance. I have another game tomorrow, and I need a good night sleep.

  Counting sheep doesn’t work.

  Thinking about Layne definitely doesn’t work.

  Glancing at the clock, it’s after 2:00 a.m., and I know I’ll be dragging ass tomorrow. I don’t have to be at the field until one, so maybe I can sleep in. That’s almost laughable.

  Grabbing my earbuds and setting my phone to my favorite playlist, I feel myself drifting off a minute later. If anyone ever saw the old love songs on my phone, I’d probably get all kinds of shit about it. But truthfully, anyone who says “Crazy Love” by Van Morrison or “These Arms of Mine” by Otis Redding aren’t two of the most amazing songs ever released are crazy. I probably should’ve turned this on hours ago.

  THE SOUND OF knocking is getting louder, but I really want to sleep more. Pulling the pillow over my head to block out the sound, I’m almost back asleep when the knocking becomes banging, and I know immediately it's Conor.

  “Go away,” I yell through the pillow, knowing full well he won’t be able to hear it. Damn it! Rolling to my side to get up, I’m amazed to see I actually slept until after 9:00 a.m. That’s like a miracle for me. My earbuds are now firmly wrapped around my arm and neck from having fallen asleep in them last night.

  “Just a minute,” I holler when he bangs again.

  “Housekeeping!” he yells back in the worst impersonation of a woman I’ve ever heard. “You need me fluff your pillow?”

  And that right there is the reason I can never stay mad at the big goofball. Conor is legitimately the happiest person I know and always sees the good in people. He’s also funny as hell and keeps me on my toes.

  When I swing the door open, he strides in with a huge smile on his face, which drops when he looks past me into the room.

  “Uh, where’s Layne?”

  “Dude. You know she brought Gracie, and keep your voice down. They’re in the suite next door,” I whisper-shout.

  “Damn, I was hoping I’d catch y’all in a compromising position and I’d have ammunition to make her blush for the next few years.”

  “Stop it.”

  “Whatever. Are we going to eat or what? I’m starving my ass off,” he retorts.

  As I’m about to answer, there is a knock at the door in between the connecting rooms. Conor gets a big, stupid grin on his face before rushing to the door and throwing it open to a startled Layne, who squeaks and jumps back.

  “Dammit, Conor,” she laughs out. “You scared the hell outta me.”

  I hear Gracie giggling, but she hasn’t come around the corner yet. When she does, her face is lit up in excitement.

  Layne steps into my room and Conor immediately hugs her tightly. “Hello, ladies. Glad you could make it to the games.” When he lets go of Layne, he turns to Gracie who looks like she might throw up. He squats down to her level and holds out his hand for her to shake, which she does.

  “Well hello there, Ms. Gracie Lou. It is nice to finally meet you. I hear you’re my biggest fan,” he lays it on thick. He’s not expecting her to tackle hug him and they both end up in a pile on the floor.

  Yep. Conor is just a large child. I always knew that.

  “Hey,” Layne says as she steps up to me.

  “Hey yourself. How’d you sleep?” I’m trying like hell to keep my hands to myself as much as I’d love to pull her into me and kiss the hell out of her.

  It’s so weird that a few weeks ago I was terrified of what it would be like to be dating her, which hasn’t even really started yet, and now I can’t wait to get home so we can make that happen.

  “Great actually. We were exhausted.” Her eyes are trained on Conor and Gracie who are heading into her room so she can show him the McLoughney jersey she got at the game yesterday.

  When she sees they are out of earshot, her eyes swing to mine before she reaches up on her tiptoes and places a quick, gentle kiss to my lips.

  “Thank you for all of this, Bryant. This has been a trip of a lifetime for her, and me.”

  “No thanks necessary. I’m excited you guys could come.”

  “I told her yesterday before the game,” she blurts out. “She knows we are going to go on dates to get to know each other.”

  I can’t help the big, stupid grin, which probably looks semi-psychotic, that takes over my face. This is exactly what I needed to hear. I pull her to me, causing her to stumble and face plant onto my chest. I press my face into the top of her head and inhale her scent. I’ll never tire of her smell.

  When she pulls back, she’s smiling. “So, I guess you’re happy I told her?”

  “Hell yes I am. Now I don’t feel like we’re hiding it. She’s the most important person in your life, and it makes me happy to know you trust me enough to tell her.”

  She winks at me before calling Gracie back into my room.

  “Gracie, this is Bryant Nash.”

  “I know, Mama,” she replies, rolling her eyes with sass.

  Layne chuckles before continuing. “I know you know who he is, baby, but you really haven’t officially met him.” Layne turns her attention to me. “Bryant, I’d like you to meet my daughter, Gracie.”

  I squat down like Conor did so I’m eye level with her. “It’s nice to finally ‘officially’ meet you,” I tell her, air quoting her mom’s title. She takes a step toward me and holds out her hand.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Nash,” she responds. I shake her hand and tell her she must call me Bryant.

  We’re all standing there not really knowing what to say next when Conor pipes in.

  “How about you beautiful ladies join us for breakfast downstairs?”

  Gracie swings her attention to Layne who nods enthusiastically to her.

  “Yay!” Gracie squeals, turning and grabbing Conor’s hand and dragging him toward the door.

  “I guess she’s excited.” I chuckle.

  “Conor has been her favorite player since she could hold a ball. You should’ve seen her when he waved at her before the game. I thought she was gonna pass out.”

  As I shut the door to my room behind us, I lac
e my fingers through Layne’s and steer us in the direction Conor and Gracie ran off.

  “How’s the shoulder?” she asks, her voice light and not overly concerned, which I appreciate.

  “It’s good. I’m seeing the physical therapist after every game to work on it and it’s holding up pretty damn good for an old guy.”

  She hip checks me, which makes her stumble because she’s tiny and I’m not.

  “You ready for tonight?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Ready to get this show on the road.”

  “Good. You both seem upbeat and played great last night. I mean, I fully expected Conor to do a dedication to himself after his home run. The man was super proud.”

  I can’t help the laugh that bursts out of me. She’s not wrong. When Conor makes a great play or hits a home run, he celebrates all the way around the bases. Making crude comments to the opposing players, blowing kisses to women in the stands. He’s ridiculous really.

  We make it down to the restaurant, and the waitress shows us to a booth in the back, which I’m thankful for.

  Within minutes, we’ve ordered and they’re all chatting away. Watching Layne be a mom is heartwarming. She’s so good with Gracie. She’s patient and kind and happy, and she glows with love for her daughter. It’s pretty amazing to witness.

  When breakfast is over, we escort them back to their room and then return to ours. We need to get back into focus mode, and Mandy will be here soon so I need to shoot Stanley a reminder to pick her up and take her to the hotel. I wish I could be there when Layne gets her surprise, but that’s not possible.

  Conor and I head to the stadium a little early, but once again, walking out onto the field when its quiet helps me settle and find my focus. I’m going to need it for this game.

  BY THE BOTTOM of the ninth inning, we are up by one, and I need this game to be over. My shoulder is on fire.

  Rodrigues’s arm has been on point tonight, and we need one more out and this game is over.

  Samuelson steps up to the plate, and I know this could go bad in a split second. Hernandez is on second. If Samuelson hits a home run, which he’s known for, we lose.

  I hold my breath for each pitch. With two strikes on the board, Rodrigues releases the ball and Samuelson swings, and the second the bat connects I know it’s gone.

  Game over.

  The Smoke loses, three to one. Fourth game of the World Series done.

  As the celebration in the stands erupts, my eyes swing to where I know Layne and Gracie are seated. Their eyes are on me, and the feeling that takes over my chest almost stops my heart. Layne’s focus is solely on me. She looks heartbroken, her hand on her chest, Gracie next to her with tears streaming down her face. As everyone around them cheers in celebration, they feel the pain of this loss. Even Mandy, who has been oblivious to most of the game, looks sad.

  This.

  This is what I’ve been missing.

  Someone to support me and cheer for me and care about me, win or lose. Baseball star or not.

  Layne

  TO SAY I WAS surprised when Mandy showed up this afternoon, only an hour before we had to leave for the game, is an understatement. First, she doesn’t watch baseball, and here she sits beside me, filing her nails at the fourth game of the World Series. I love her, but sometimes I wonder how we are friends.

  The moment the ball left Samuelson’s bat, I knew it was all over.

  I’m pretty sure Gracie has lost all use of her voice from the amount of screaming coming from her today.

  I’d hoped to hang out and get a chance to chat with Bryant after the game to see him, but within twenty minutes of the game being over and the crowd settling down, Gracie is asleep in my arms.

  Thankfully, Stanley is a lot stronger than he looks, as he takes her from me a hundred yards from the car.

  It doesn’t take long to get Gracie situated and strapped into her booster seat. She doesn’t budge the whole way back to the hotel.

  Once I have her tucked in bed, I make my way into our bathroom to take off my makeup and get ready for bed.

  This is a memory she will never forget, the World Series. Whether the Smoke end up winning or not, this is something she will remember for the rest of her life.

  As I’m about to hit the lights, there’s a soft knock at the front door. There is no way Bryant is back already. I’m sure they have a meeting after the game, so I almost consider not answering it, but who else could it be?

  As soon as I open the door, I want to kick myself for not looking through the peephole first. A man I’ve never seen before, but with a kind smile, stands in the hallway. He must notice my nerves because he talks quickly.

  “Ms. Scott, it’s okay. I’m Jason, Bryant’s agent. I wanted to chat with you real quick,” he rushes out.

  My heart immediately steps into overdrive and I open the door slightly. He looks a little older than me, maybe late thirties, early forties, suit, clean-cut, nice looking.

  “What can I do for you?” I ask, a little more forceful than I intended, but he scared the shit out of me.

  “I wanted to chat with you about your relationship with Mr. Nash.”

  “That’s probably a conversation you should have with him. Not me.”

  “Well, he has been a little preoccupied with the games to fill me in on what’s going on between the two of you,” he replies, sounding a little irritated, which I get considering he is the face of Bryant in the media.

  “I’m not comfortable having this discussion without talking to Bryant first,” I tell him sternly. This seems really out of the ordinary. I start to shut the door, and he puts his hand up to stop it.

  When he starts to push the door back open, every hair on the back of my neck stands up and with every ounce of my strength, I throw my body against the door, slamming it on his hand.

  “Son of a bitch,” comes from the other side of the door and he wrenches his hand from the doorframe, letting it slam shut.

  Throwing the deadbolt over, my heart is still racing when I hear footsteps running away.

  What the hell just happened?

  My hands are shaking when I place my eye up to the peephole in the door to see if there is anybody in the hallway. I don’t see or hear anything, but I’m terrified to open this door to see if he’s gone. The problem is, I won’t be able to sleep until I know he’s gone.

  I pull the flip lock from the door and open it slowly, ready for someone to be outside, but I see no one.

  I step out into the hall, guarded, but it is completely empty.

  Was that really his agent?

  Stepping back into my room, I flip the locks and put the chain on the door.

  Once I’m in bed, my brain won’t turn off. I’m sure he won’t see it until later tonight or tomorrow morning, but I shoot off a quick text to Bryant anyway. I don’t want to distract him from his focus right now, but I need to figure out if that was his agent, and if it wasn’t, who the hell he is.

  Me: How you doing after your loss tonight? Was a tough game.

  I don’t expect an answer anytime soon. I know they’re probably still trying to come down from the adrenaline high of their win. Imagine my surprise when less than a minute later my phone vibrates with an incoming text.

  Bryant: It was a tough game, but we played well. They just played better tonight.

  Before I can respond, it vibrates again.

  Bryant: Thank you for being there. I really like looking up into the stands and seeing your beautiful face.

  Why does he have to be this swoon-worthy bastard? It’s hard for me to keep my guard up when he says such sweet things.

  Me: *kissy emoji* Stupid question. It just dawned on me we don’t talk about your business side of baseball much. This could be a date night topic. Lol. For instance, who’s your agent? Do you like him?

  Bryant: That’s random. Lol. I do like my agent, although she’s a ball-buster, and her name is Dianne.

  My heart speeds up, knowing now for sure the man who k
nocked on my door was not Bryant’s agent.

  Me: Well, I guess you’d have to be a ball-buster in this business as a female agent.

  Bryant: We’ll leave the rest of your random business questions till our next date. ;)

  Bryant: Why aren’t you asleep? It’s late.

  Me: I was going to bed actually. I wanted to make sure you were okay.

  Bryant: Yeah, I’m fine. Shoulder is pissed, but other than that, my mind is intact.

  Me: The trainer look at it after the game?

  Bryant: Yes, ma’am. Lots of ibuprofen tonight and some heat, and it’ll be good as new for tomorrow’s game.

  Me: I hear there’s a huge storm heading for Denver. They’re saying it’s a perfect storm. Supposed to start dumping snow and have like 50 mph winds over the next few days.

  Bryant: I heard about that too. I guess we’ll see how it goes.

  Me: You should probably get some sleep, babe. Another big game tomorrow.

  Bryant: All right, beautiful. See you tomorrow.

  Me: Good night, handsome.

  The fact that I’m keeping what happened from him makes my stomach hurt. If he wasn’t in the middle of the most important games of his career, I’d tell him, but he needs to keep his mind on the game. He doesn’t need to be worrying about this.

  I’ll talk to the hotel manager in the morning.

  Bryant

  WITH A FULL count on the board, I step out of the batter’s box and take a deep breath. We’ve got this game in the bag. We’re up by three in the top of the ninth inning. We can do this. We need to keep our shit together for one more inning.

  Stepping back into the box, I put my weight on my back leg and wait for the pitch. I’m not swinging unless it’s perfect. It’s a split second from release to bat, but I know as soon as it hurls my way that it’s the perfect pitch.

  Crack.

  My arms vibrate when the ball connects with my bat. I toss it to the side and full sprint toward first base, my eyes never leaving the ball. When it drops into the lower stands behind right field, I slow to a jog and swing my eyes to the woman I know will be there screaming for me.