Fastball (Wilde Players Dirty Romance)

by Hargrove,A. M.

  “I know exactly how I feel about you. I’m falling in love with you, if I’m not there already, and it scares the ever living shit out of me.”

  “But that’s—”

  I cut him off with a finger to his lips. “Don’t say it. I need time. And it’s not fair for me to hold you back. I’ll only be a distraction when you are headed to the playoffs.”

  “Gina…” he breathes.

  “Make love to me, Ryder. One last time.”

  He stares at me as I plead with unspoken words. And then he does. I crash my lips against his and slip my hand beneath his waistband to quiet his protest. I free us from our clothes as we use our lips, tongues, hands, and fingers to bring us to epic orgasms. We fall asleep, but when I wake, I pack a small bag and leave. The note I leave on the table says I’m sorry and I love you in the same breath. It also says don’t wait for me. That’s the hardest thing to do. I don’t have the balls to say it to his face because he’ll only convince me we can do this together. This, however, is a journey I need to make alone.

  Dawn has barely passed when I roll up to my father’s house. Luckily, his wife, or whatever she is, sleeps late, but I know Dad to be a morning bird.

  He sits on the steps of the porch as if he knew I was coming.

  “Dad,” I say, setting the kickstand on the bike and hoping my arrival didn’t wake the wicked witch.

  Being back on my Harley steadied me for the conversation to come.

  “Gina.” He gives me a two finger salute. “I guess you’re here to tell me she’s gone.”

  I nod, and he nods back, firing up a cigarette—a nasty habit he hasn’t been able to kick. I sit, and he blows a stream of noxious fumes in the opposite direction.

  “She told you, huh,” he says.

  The fact that he reads my showing up so well makes perfect sense with everything my absent mother was able to tell me about the father I’d grown up with. The irony.

  “Why didn’t you come to me? We could have worked things out.”

  “Gina, you were well set in your dislike of me, not that I blame you.”

  He’s right on that score. I doubt if I would have believed anything he said. Having it come from a perfect stranger made it easier for me to accept.

  He adds, “What did you think of her?”

  I’m not really sure. Part of me hates her, and part of me understands. “I get she didn’t have a choice but to give me up. What would she have done at seventeen with a kid and no job and no place to go? Where would my life be now? At the same time, she wasn’t seventeen forever. Where was she the rest of my twenty-seven years? Not like it matters. How can I hate her now? She’s dead.”

  Dad’s quiet for a little bit. “She loved you.”

  “I got that.”

  “And I did, too, though I was too selfish and too stupid to show it. And I’m sorry for it.”

  I blink back tears. So many things I’ve longed to hear. Is it too late? I switch subjects.

  “What did you do with your share of the money?”

  He sucks in hard on his cancer stick and blows out smoke rings, which used to fascinate me as a child. “Got a vasectomy. It took some convincing to the doctors because I was young, but I got it done. You showing up scared the shit out of me, and I didn’t want that surprise again.”

  Not a selfish choice totally if one takes the time to think it through. He could have blown it on something stupid. His decision took his future into account and maybe even a little of my own.

  “Any regrets?” I ask.

  He shakes his head as I watch the burning embers at the end of his cigarette.

  “But that didn’t use all the money,” he confesses.

  I could have responded, but I let him decide what he wants to tell me.

  “Mom and Dad did use most of the money on you and fixing up your room and shit. I don’t want you to think they saw you as a paycheck or nothing.”

  Biting my tongue, I don’t correct his grammar. The little girl in me wants to believe him and see him as my silent hero, nothing else. So I don’t ask exactly how much money had been given to them. My mother hadn’t offered that detail either.

  “You don’t have to tell me,” I say.

  He points straight ahead with the cigarette in his hand. “I got you that bike.”

  “What do you mean…” I protest, but my words trail off.

  I’d wanted a bike. Something about riding on one after one of my dates had made me feel alive, so I’d inquired around to buy one. I’d even gone so far as to ask my dad if he knew of someone selling a used one. I’d saved, but working jobs here and there didn’t make for buying a new or used Harley at that time.

  “You didn’t go to college, and I’ve got to believe that was my fault for not encouraging you. And you wanted a bike. I had the money. I figured one day I’d give you the money for school. You remember I even asked if you were going. You said no, so I talked to Billy and he found you a bike. I paid for most of it and had him tell you some poor chap wanted to get rid of it for a song and a prayer.”

  I thought it was my lucky day that I’d asked at the right time to the right people.

  “I didn’t know,” I whisper.

  “I know.”

  “And you let me think the worst of you.”

  His cheeks hollow as he pulls in toxic air. I want to knock the damn thing from his hand now that I have my father. I don’t want him to die from some form of cancer just when I think we can find some common ground.

  “Hey, Tig. What you doin’ out here?” The voice comes from a silhouette at the door.

  Damn, the witch was up. And that nickname of his. Most women called my dad, Tiger, and I shudder to think why.

  “Talkin’ to my daughter.”

  “What’s she doin’ here?” The cruelty in her voice is crippling.

  That’s my cue to leave because the last thing I want is for the good talk I had with my dad to end in a shouting match with the evil witch. I start to get to my feet, but my father’s hand lands on my shoulder and holds me in place.

  “She’s my daughter, and she’s welcome any time. If you got a problem with that, you can pack your shit and go.”

  Damn, if he didn’t make me want to clap. For the first time ever, he stands up to her. And my father hasn’t been one to let a woman walk over him until her.

  I watch with a grin as she backs up and scuttles away without another word. She’s probably flabbergasted he talked to her that way.

  “I should be going anyway,” I say.

  “Just one more thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I don’t want any of her money. That’s for you. Don’t try to give me none either.”

  I could tell him that his use of double negatives cancels each other out, and in actuality he’s telling me to give him the money. But I know what he means, which takes me for a loop. Part of me wonders if his change of heart has something to do with the number of zeros in my bank account.

  “What do you want?” I ask.

  Blowing out a final stream of smoke, he tosses the remnant on the ground and uses his boot to squash the thing to death.

  “I want a chance to really get to know you.”

  Standing, he holds out a hand. Dumbly, I nod and then I’m enveloped in his tall frame.

  “I like Ryder by the way.”

  Pulling out of his embrace, my jaw flaps open, and I’m greeted with a huge smile.

  As I ride the highway out of town so I can let loose and really let the wind whip through my hair, I think about that conversation. I think about Ryder. I think about the mother I won’t ever get to know. And then I start to form a plan of all the things I need to do to figure out this thing called life and what it means for me.

  That night, however, I use the private plane that now belongs to me to go to Ryder’s final playoff game in New York City. He won’t expect me. I find my seat right behind home plate. The power of money. Got to love it. Wearing his jersey and his team ha
t, I wink when he walks out to the pitcher’s mound. I owe him this. Damn, he looks good in uniform. I’m not sure if he sees me, but the way I cheer like the cheerleader I’d never been, I’m certain at some point he figures it out.

  He pitches a near perfect game until the eighth inning. The crowd stands in ovation as he leaves the field. Our eyes finally meet, and I bite my lip. He’s so beautiful it hurts my heart. There is so much to say, but now isn’t the time. My feelings for him run so deep, I can’t be selfish and burden him with my shit, especially if I’m still unclear with where life will lead me.

  When the closer does his job and they win, the crowd rushes the field. I use that time of chaos to discreetly leave because I haven’t earned my right to be here, but I had to come anyway. And I can’t leave this time without saying something.

  Me: Good game, Cowboy. Be safe as you celebrate. But most of all, have fun!

  I turn off my phone for fear he’d text me back. Such the coward I am. He’s my weakness. And I have a lot to do before I’m worthy of him. That’s if he’s still on the market when I am.

  RYDER

  The way my heart soars when I see her wearing my jersey and hat almost matches the high I get when I receive the standing ovation as I leave the field after the eighth inning. It’s been my dream ever since I can remember to pitch in the playoffs, and then the World Series. Here I am living it. But the thing that beats it all is seeing Gina acting like my greatest fan in the world.

  It was a huge surprise to find her sitting behind home plate. She didn’t tell me she was coming to the game, so when I walked out to the mound and got ready to throw my first pitch, imagine my shock to see her sitting there. And there was no mistaking that dark hair, even though she wore the cap pulled down low over her eyes. Then when I threw my first strike, I almost chuckled because she flew to her feet as if I’d struck the batter out. When I did, I thought she was going to climb over the high fence behind the catcher’s box. I never had any idea she was such a crazed fan. If the umpire called a ball, she was quick to boo him, too. Not only was she a fairy princess, she was a passion princess in every way possible.

  The game could not have gone any better. We did everything right, and our opponent did everything wrong. In the end, we won five to zip. My pitching was near perfect with the exception of two base hits in two separate innings.

  After the game, I scan the seat where Gina was sitting but don’t see her. Maybe she went up to wait on me, so I head to the lockers to hunt my phone. As soon as I get there, I’m road blocked by the manager and other players congratulating me on my great pitching. Ms. Cougar herself stops and has that lecherous look in her eyes, the one I’ve come to despise, so I know this won’t be a short conversation.

  “Great work, Ryder. You’re our ace after all. Still not interested in my proposal?”

  Dipping my head, I say, “I’m flattered, ma’am, but I’m in a relationship.”

  “Hmm, that’s curious.”

  “How so?”

  “Your friend, Gina. That’s her name, isn’t it? And don’t worry. I keep track of all my boys to make sure the Cougar name isn’t sullied. This is our first year of the franchise.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I’m feeling a little uneasy. It’s more than a bit creepy she keeps tabs on us like that.

  “I watched her leave the stadium from my view in the box. I wondered why she wasn’t in the team box with the other players’ wives and significant others. Trouble in paradise?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.” There’s no way I’m spilling my personal life to Cougar Whitestone.

  “Well, no matter.” She pats my arm. “I guess you don’t value your position on the team then. Looks like I’ll be negotiating a trade for you after this season ends, after all. And you are aware of what that means, aren’t you?”

  “I am aware.”

  She pats my arm again, this time with a smile that shows her little teeth. I swear, they have points on each of them. “Good. Then you don’t mind being fifth in line for ace, do you?”

  There’s not any reason to answer. I don’t mind being an infrequent starter as long as I don’t have to deal with her harassment shit anymore. As soon as she walks away, I make a beeline for my duffle to dig out my phone. Talking to Gina is the only thing that will calm me down and give my addled brain some clarity. When I tap on my phone, a text lights it up, and it’s from my girl. As I read it, my world collapses into a heap at my feet. She’s gone and didn’t even bother to stay to congratulate me in person. She only left a short text to basically tell me to be safe and have fun. What the fuck? Why bother to come at all? The high I’ve been experiencing vanishes and turns to anger mixed with confusion and hurt. She’s playing games, and the only game I play is baseball. I’m a straight shooter, so I don’t have a fucking clue as to how to deal with this shit.

  “Ryder, you okay?” Robinson stands next to me, waving his hand in front of my face.

  “Um, yeah. Fine. Why?”

  “I’ve been asking you the same question three times now.”

  “Oh, sorry. What did you want?”

  “Are you ever going to shower? The guys are all going to the party tonight, and everyone’s getting ready to leave.”

  “Yeah, I’m going now.”

  “Okay,” he says. “I’ll wait on you. My ex took my car, so I’ll need a ride.”

  “Jesus, Robinson, when is your divorce going to be over?”

  “Probably never. She wants everything I own, so my lawyer is giving her a lot. I need to buy a car. I gave her mine yesterday.”

  “How did you get here?”

  “Uber.”

  I shake my head. The man has shit for brains. “How long did you know you were giving your car up?”

  “A week.”

  “Why didn’t you go and buy another?”

  He shrugs his meaty shoulders. Dumbass. He deserves not having a car. Maybe he’ll be gone when I come out, but no such luck. The locker room is nearly empty, except for Robinson, a few other players, and some of the janitorial people.

  After I dress, we head to my car. The entire time, I notice he’s been on his phone texting. “Who’re you chatting with?”

  “A chick. I saw her in the stands, and one of the ball boys snagged her number for me. I’m having her come to the party.”

  “You’re a shit, you know?”

  His head snaps in my direction. “Why?”

  “This is why you’re getting divorced. Because you pick up random women. Why don’t you meet them in a normal way? Like get properly introduced and not have the damn ball boy get their number at a game. What? Are you sending sexts to her?”

  He looks away for a second and then says, “Yeah, isn’t that what you do?”

  “No, I don’t do that. Idiot. Please tell me you don’t send any of them naked pics of yourself or your dick.”

  His mouth gapes open.

  “Jesus Christ, Robinson, your junk is gonna end up online with a caption next to it that says—Max Robinson’s cock. You’d better hope it’s a big dick, my man, and not some four inch wiener that some chick wants to make fun of.”

  His eyes drop down to his zipper, and he says, “Fuck. What should I do?” He has a panicked look about him.

  “One, stop doing stupid shit like this. Two, stop fucking around with anything that has a pussy. Three, stop sending pictures of your naked ass self to every fucking piece of ass you meet.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Dammit, Robinson, if your wife gets wind of this shit before your divorce is final, you’ll end up with zip. How can you be so damn idiotic? And for once in your life, think about your kids.”

  “My kids?” This guy doesn’t have a clue.

  “Yes! How would you like it if your kids found out about this?”

  “But they’re so young,” he insists.

  “They won’t be four and six forever.” By now I want to shake him. “Maybe you need to move in with your parents.”

  He looks a
t me like I’m the dumbass now, but whatever. We drive to the party, and sure enough, there’s his groupie hanging out by the door.

  “That her?”

  “Yeah.” He grins.

  “You’re on your own, and good luck when you don’t have a dime to your name and your kids won’t have a thing to do with you.”

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind.” I think of Gina and how she didn’t know her mom and wasn’t close to her dad. I really feel sorry for Robinson’s kids. He walks up to the young woman, who’s waiting for him, and gives her a goofy grin. I think he has the maturity level of a sixteen-year-old.

  He stands outside with the young girl, so I pass them and head through the doors, hoping that Ms. Cougar leaves me alone. My destination is the bar where I can grab a few shots, but I’m surprised to see my family here. I knew they were trying to get here, but Riley said she didn’t think Mom and Dad could make it in.

  Mom rushes up to me, and I feel like that kid again in Little League who just hit his first home run.

  “Ryder, let me look at you.” She pulls back, and it’s like looking in a mirror when I see her eyes. She smiles, and it’s full of pride. “You did it, and I couldn’t be any prouder than I am right now.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  Dad is standing next to her, and when she lets me go, he gives me a man hug and pounds me on the back. “I’ve never seen anything better, son. You made this old man proud.”

  “Old man, my ass. You’re not even fifty-five yet.”

  Riley barrels into me with a tackle hug, and I almost fall on my ass. “Jesus, are you training for the Rockets? Fletcher said they were looking for a defensive end, but I didn’t know you took him seriously.”

  “Shut it, bro. I’m just so excited for your sloppy ass, I can’t stand it.”

  “I love you, too, old lady.”

  She leans in so only I can hear and asks, “Are you good?” Her eyes dig into mine.

  “Um, not really. What do you know about Gina? I take it that’s what you mean?”

  “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “Ryder! Get your ass over here. Now!” I look up to see David motioning to me. I stick a finger in the air, giving him the universal wait a minute sign.