Extra Innings

by Michelle Lynn

  He growls under his breath, taking a seat on the bed.

  “What else do you want to know?” I turn that jagged knife in his chest.

  He shakes his head, wrapping the towel around his hand. “I have a zillion fucking questions. Did you know who I was that morning after I took you home? That I was his roommate? Is that the reason you broke up with me? Are you dating me to get back at him?” He stares right at me with that one.

  “Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you. I don’t want to be a doctor. I’m going into acting.” I stand from the seat and grab my suitcase from the bed. “I knew who you were but not that you were his roommate. Mike liked to keep his life private around me. He was only interested in what color panties I was wearing. Or what I was making him for Sunday dinner. We didn’t chat about much else.”

  “Fucking stop it, Ainsley!” he yells.

  I startle. I’ve never heard Brax’s voice go that deep in anger.

  “I thought this is what you wanted to hear. That you think that I somehow planned to meet you and break it off, only to get back together with you. I’ve never asked you about Mike. The only thing I knew was that you were teammates. I tried to tell you that one night, but you said no names.”

  He huffs and drops my purse and coat on the bed. “I think you could have pressed the issue.”

  “What do you want from me, Brax?” I ask, staring down at the purse and coat.

  I should take them and flee. He won’t chase me now that he knows I’m tainted.

  “I just want you to tell me what happened.” His voice rises again.

  Again, my suitcase drops to the floor.

  “Fine.” I pace. “I met Mike in a class. He needed help, and the professor asked me to tutor him. So, every Sunday, he would come over, and then things shifted. I’ll spare you the details.”

  “Thanks for that.”

  “We weren’t exclusive; I knew that. He never introduced me to any of his friends, nor asked me to come to any parties. And the casual thing worked nicely for me, too. I was too busy with Cade and school. I didn’t need to add a boyfriend to the mix. But then, in the spring, right after the season started, I found out I was pregnant.”

  “What?” His voice is low and questioning.

  “I don’t know what he told you, but I can show you the medical bills. I lost the baby early on.” The wetness that comes with remembering that day surfaces in my eyes.

  “He told me you tried to trap him,” he declares.

  My blood boils red-hot. “Trap him? I never asked him for a cent.” I stop and stare into Brax’s eyes. “Did your friend forget to mention that I lay in a hospital bed by myself for a day? That only Cade and Ariana came to see me? I called him multiple times, and he never answered my calls. He just left me without a word.”

  “Bastard.”

  “That’s the man you call a friend.”

  “Ainsley—” His voice is even-keeled now.

  I put my hand in the air to stop him. “No, Brax.” I move to the bed and swipe up my coat and purse.

  “Where are you going?” he asks.

  I put my arms through my coat. “I’m going home. Where I should have been this weekend.”

  “The fuck if you’re going to leave me again.” He rises from the bed and storms over to me. “I get that this is fucked up, but we’re not breaking up over it.”

  “Brax, you’ve forgotten your cardinal rule. Another ballplayer had me before you. Every time you see Mike, you’ll imagine me under him.”

  His eyes shift down, focusing on the blue-green carpet.

  “He knows my noises. Knows my movements.”

  His hands land on my shoulders. “Stop. Fucking stop talking.”

  “It’s true.” The tears overflow in my eyes. “I’ll never be the Ainsley Winslow from last night. You’ll forever look at me differently.”

  He’s quiet.

  What can he do? Agree with me?

  “We’ll get over this.” His trembling voice doesn’t match his words.

  I shake my head, a tear falling down my cheek.

  I step closer. Placing my hands on either side of his face, I stare into his eyes. “I love you, Brax. So much that I want you to live your dream. You’re not entering the draft because of me. We both know that, and I can’t have that hanging over my head. But I also can’t be with you if you enter the MLB. We just haven’t had enough time.”

  “I won’t enter.”

  He shakes his head, and I shake mine back.

  “Yes, you will. Please go live your dream. Maybe our paths will cross again one day.”

  “Ainsley, shut up, and stop talking like this. You’re more important to me.”

  I pick up the manila folder from the bed that was tucked under his arm when he came in the room and inspect its contents, finding what I thought I would.

  “A letter of intent?” I ask him.

  “They just gave it to me.” He shakes his head. “Doesn’t mean I’m going to sign it.” He grabs it from my hands.

  “Okay, push the draft thing to the side. Look at me, Brax.”

  His eyes look, but he’s not really seeing me. I swear, he’s looking over my shoulder.

  “Could you make love to me right now without thinking about the fact that Mike had me?”

  Again, his face winces, as though I slapped him across it.

  “See? You can’t.” I close my eyes, bending forward and kissing his lips. “You’ll always be the one.”

  Before he sees all the tears falling down my face, I turn, pick up my suitcase, and leave him standing in a hotel with what I hope isn’t a broken hand.

  “Ainsley!” he calls out.

  But no footsteps follow.

  We both know the score.

  26

  Brax

  “What do you mean?” Ella sits next to Crosby on the couch across from me.

  “She was Mike Ripley’s fuck buddy. He jerked her around and knocked her up.”

  Crosby shakes his head.

  “I understand that part, but I don’t get why you broke up.”

  Ella and her naive nature.

  “It’s complicated,” I answer, pressing the remote to turn to ESPN.

  “I don’t see where it’s complicated. You love her.”

  Crosby wraps his arm around her shoulders. “Let’s stay out of it,” he murmurs, thinking he’s being discreet. He’s also naive enough to think Ella will listen.

  “Crosby has a point,” I add.

  A long, exaggerated huff leaks out of her. “You’re being a dumbass. So what if she messed with Mike? It was obviously nothing like you two had.”

  “Babe,” Crosby tries again.

  You could put duct tape over her mouth and shove her in a closet, and you’d still hear her opinion.

  “Brax, help me understand.”

  I turn to her, my eyes probably steaming with anger. “Crosby screwed Jen before you.”

  She gasps and looks at Crosby, who is shaking his head and waving his hands in the air.

  “Now, imagine it being true.”

  Ella leans back on the couch, thinking about what I just said. “Well, I liked her.”

  I turn to her. “You can still like her.”

  She shrugs and cozies up to Crosby.

  I stand up and toss the remote on the couch.

  Ollie and Saucey run down the stairs.

  “Party tonight,” I announce.

  Their footsteps stop, and they look to Crosby.

  “It’s Thursday,” Ella says.

  “I don’t remember your name on the rent check,” I sneer.

  She stares over to me with her mouth ajar.

  “Okay, I’ll grab the keg,” Ollie, my faithful friend, says.

  “I’ll just spend the night at your place,” Crosby says to Ella.

  “No, I think I’ll stay here.” Ella’s eyes challenge me.

  “The more, the merrier.” I run up the stairs.

  There are to be no parties on Athlete Row duri
ng the week. It’s a rule that we have them on Fridays and Saturdays unless it’s break. Ask me if I give a shit.

  Obviously, many others are ready to party. The house is filled with wall-to-wall people. Ollie bought the keg, Saucey took care of the hard stuff, and the girls—well, no one has to supply them. They’re like lions to fresh meat.

  “Hey, Brax.” Crystal approaches, her manicured nail trailing down my arm. “Heard a rumor that you were back on the market.”

  “He’s a free agent, Crystal. Better get your claws in him.” Ella’s right behind her, popping her head into our conversation.

  “I plan to.” Her eyes devour my body like she’s ready to snatch me up and take me to her nest.

  “You know Brax. He’s always ready to hop in bed with a slut.”

  “Yeah”—Crosby enters our little group in the corner of the kitchen—“let’s go, Ella.”

  He swings his arm over her shoulders and leads her out of the room. Crystal cozies up to my side, not even offended that Ella referred to her as a slut.

  Ella circles out of Crosby’s hold, peering her head an inch away from Crystal’s. “Be careful though. Don’t get your heart invested because Brax’s is sealed shut like a vault.” Her beady eyes narrow in on mine.

  I roll my eyes.

  “I don’t do hearts, just dicks,” Crystal retorts.

  I shake my head.

  “Classy girl you got there, Brax. I’m sure she’s never had sex with one of your baseball teammates.” Her voice rises in pitch, as though the venomous words she’s spewing are as pretty as a rainbow.

  “Give it a rest, Ella.” Crosby grabs her elbow, nudging her to leave.

  She backstops, her eyes never leaving mine. She wants me to forgive Ainsley, but I don’t see her knocking down my door. It’s been three days and nothing. She thinks she can walk out on me? Then, good luck to her. I chased her once, and I won’t do it a second time.

  Crosby and Ella leave the kitchen, which sucks because it leaves me with Crystal. I’m not going to fuck Crystal. Give me a break. I’m not that much of a moron.

  “Shot time!” Ollie screams.

  The clash of glass hits the island counter.

  Girls rush over, waiting to be served, but he holds one up in the air for me.

  “Sorry, ladies. First one goes to the man of the hour.” He holds up a shot glass filled with liquid to the rim.

  I bypass Crystal, grabbing the shot glass from Ollie’s outstretched hand. He steadies his eyes on me for a second, waiting for me to take the shot.

  Needing to numb this shit creating havoc in my body, I tip it back, the liquid pouring down my throat. Then, the burn of cinnamon coats my throat, and after I swallow, I look to Ollie, an eyebrow raised.

  Fucker.

  I knew he saw more than he led on to last summer.

  I toss the shot glass in the sink.

  “Fireball,” Ollie says to the row of ladies in front of me. “Brax likes ladies who drink Fireball,” he bellows.

  All eyes focus on me. Girls with flirtatious smiles, hands scraping to grab a glass.

  I stare dead into his eyes, unamused, but he smiles that cocky grin that usually crosses my lips.

  “Funny.”

  He raises his hands up in the air and shrugs his shoulders. “I just call it like I see it.”

  I shake my head and walk out of the kitchen with Crystal practically pulling on my shirt. I shrug off her touch, but she persists, her hand wrapping around my bicep.

  I whip around, and her hand flies off me, hitting another girl in the nose.

  “Shit!” the girl I don’t know screams.

  My shoulders slump. This is one shitty night.

  Crystal doesn’t even check on the girl while her friends circle around trying to provide first aid.

  One of the girl’s friends steps up into Crystal’s face. “Do you have a problem?” the girl asks.

  Crystal looks her up and down. She’s roughly the same size as Crystal. Five-seven or so with a slender build. Maybe a hair-tugging girl fight will make me feel better, so I step out of the circle forming, crossing my arms over my chest.

  Some of the partygoers egg them on, but when the one girl cocks her fist back and hauls off and hits Crystal, even I know this is not the usual verbal fight that happens in chick fights. I push off the banister to reach the middle again, but a big body intercedes, blocking me from reaching them.

  “What the hell is your problem?” Cade is standing in front of me. His face is red, his fists clenched.

  I blow out a breath when Olivia sidles up to his side, her eyes of fury just as focused on me as Cade’s.

  “She walked out on me.” I hold my hands up, walking out to the porch because damn if it’s any of these people’s business.

  Sliding by the mass of people, I have no idea if the girl fight is still happening, but what I do know is Cade is hot on my heels.

  “She’s hurt. You have any idea the hell she went through?” he yells to my back.

  “Cade.” Crosby’s voice of reason appears behind me.

  I keep walking.

  We will not rehash her past or our breakup in a roomful of strangers.

  I open the door, walk through, and leave it open for him to follow. Once we’re all outside—and when I say all, I mean, Cade, Olivia, and Crosby—I wonder where the hell-on-wheels Ella is.

  “Get off, Crosby!” Cade shrugs out of Crosby’s hold. “This is between me and Brax.”

  “Let him go,” I say, my voice level and controlled.

  Crosby lets him go, and Cade charges toward me, his fist already cocked. I could raise my hand to stop the punch, but I don’t. His fist slams into my cheek, and my head falls to the side.

  The kid’s got power.

  He shakes his hand a couple of times. I bet that’s the first time he’s ever hit someone.

  “That’s one,” I say, holding my cheek. “And we’re done.”

  I walk past him and down the stairs, happy that spring in Ridgemont has come early.

  “It’s not done. You can’t go around hurting people!” Cade yells from the front porch.

  “Just let him go,” Crosby says.

  I keep walking, not caring if he listens or not. If he wants to beat me to a bloody pulp, bring it on. At least then, my outsides would match my insides.

  But I’m not finished yet. I need some bartender therapy along with a bottle of Fireball at The Hideaway. Like when a chick starts a bonfire with all her ex’s shit, I’ll just make new memories at the places she tainted for me.

  A bucket of ice-cold water splashes over my head, and I jolt up, staring from side to side.

  Crosby is standing at the foot of my bed. His arms are over his chest, and a bucket is at his feet.

  “What the fuck?” I yell, sitting in my bed, soaking wet.

  Not that the clothes I obviously passed out in from last night didn’t need to be washed.

  “I’ve let it go. Thinking you’d finally see your fault.”

  I huff. “My fault? I have no fucking faults.”

  “Cut the shit, Brax. You’re being a dickhead.”

  “Speaks the guy who ran away for two years.”

  He picks up the bucket and chucks it across the room. It hits my wall and then spins on the hardwood floor until it finally settles.

  “Stop it. I’m sorry, man, okay? I’m sorry for running. I thought we were over this shit, but I killed our best friend. That is very different from what you’re running away from.”

  “Same outcome. You left Ella.”

  He shakes his head, staring up at the ceiling. “At the time, she was better off without me.”

  “And so is Ainsley.” I swing my legs over the side of the bed, grabbing the hem of my now-drenched T-shirt and pulling it from my body.

  “You’re lying to yourself. Have you ever thought about what your life will be like now?” He pulls out my desk chair and sits down.

  He’s dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. He’s sh
owered, and his hair is done.

  Shit, what time is it?

  My eyes glance to the clock. Fucking one o’clock. I guess Crosby will have to share his notes from Econ today.

  “Yes, I’m entering the draft.” I walk over to my desk. My soaked jeans are slopping on the floor. Picking up my letter of intent, I toss it in his lap. “It’s final.”

  “It’s not final until you mail it.” Crosby cocks his eyebrows. “So, after you enter the draft, then how will your life be?”

  He leans back in the chair, as though he’s preparing for a show. All the fucker needs is a bowl of popcorn.

  “I’ll make millions, have five houses, and have a chick in every state.”

  He laughs, subtle and not honest, but he does find me humorous. “You’re happy with being Mike Ripley Junior?”

  Bile rises up my throat, and I take a deep breath. That’s the reason I’m not with Ainsley—because I don’t follow my friends.

  “Fuck off.” I unbutton my jeans, dropping them into a pile on the floor by my dresser, and I pull out fresh clothes.

  “I’m just saying, isn’t that what he wants? To live some magnitude bachelor life in the majors? Be original for once, Brax.”

  I side-glance over to him, and a cocky smirk splashes across his face.

  “Original? Give me a break. You think you’re going to bully me into going to her?” I pull out track pants and a T-shirt.

  “Why don’t you dress a little nicer? She’ll remember this moment forever,” Crosby jokes, as though he’ll convince me to seek her out.

  “You’re not a licensed psychologist, Cros. Your reverse psychology won’t work.”

  “Ha!” He points to me. “That’s not reverse psychology.”

  I roll my eyes, moving to the bathroom door. “I’m taking a shower. Go live your life.” I step into the doorway.

  Crosby stands from the chair. “See, that’s the thing. I can’t.” He holds a notebook in his hand, walking over to me. “I wasted two years running away, and as your best friend, I just can’t let you do it. Everyone makes mistakes, and everyone has had a life before you meet them. Do you think it’s easy for Ainsley to walk around this campus with other girls who have had you? Girls you’ve done the same shit with as her? To envision those girls riding you?”