“I know.” That information had come out last year, when Dwight organized an impromptu tribute to catcher Mike Solo’s brother.
“I know you know. Because I told you.”
So that’s what this was about. Trevor finished tying his cleats and stood up. “I couldn’t tell anyone.” And that was all the explanation he intended to give. It was just too fucking complicated.
“That’s all you’re gonna say?”
“No.” He took a moment to work out exactly what he wanted to say. For so long, he’d basically kept everything personal to himself. But being with Paige, who talked so easily and asked so many goddamn questions . . . well, maybe it had changed him. “You’re my friend. So I hope you trust me that I couldn’t tell. I had my reasons. Still do. And I hope you’re still my friend.”
There. That was about all he could say, and it was more than he’d ever said before. Dwight narrowed his eyes, assessing, as if testing each word for truth. Then he reached out and squeezed Trevor’s shoulder. “You need anything, I’m here.”
Trevor gave a short nod and turned away to grab his gear bag. Even for him, so used to hiding behind “the badass,” it was hard to keep from showing the emotion inspired by Dwight’s statement. He didn’t deserve a friend like Dwight. He didn’t deserve a girl like Paige. But for some unfathomable reason, there they were. And he was going to do everything in his power not to let them down.
The crowd at the game had a field day with the news about Trevor’s juvenile record. Several busloads of Express fans made a special trip to Kilby, armed with banners that said things like Baseball’s Most Wanted Outfield and Three Strikes, Go Back to Jail and The Kilby Jailbirds.
Kind of funny, Trevor had to admit. But if they were trying to rattle him, it wouldn’t work. As always, hecklers fueled his drive to win. When he stood in left field, he held his glove behind his back, his other hand nestled in the webbing, and every time he heard a taunt, he flashed a subtle middle finger. Anything too obvious would get him busted.
He got his true revenge, as Grizz had always promised, at the plate. He absolutely dominated the Express pitcher. He worked every count as deep as he could, then hit for the cycle. A single, a double, a triple, a home run. In that order. Fuck y’all.
The Kilby fans ate it up. Not to be outdone in the signage department, they held banners that said things like We Heart our Deadly Weapon with a picture of Trevor’s face. Or Don’t Mess with Kilby, Texas.
He didn’t respond to the show of support explicitly, letting his play at the plate do his talking for him. That’s where it counted. On the field. He allowed himself one single moment of expression. When he ran the bases after his home run, he pointed at the crowd and put a fist to his heart. They roared in response.
The other Catfish took their cue from him, lighting up poor Jon Golden like a pinball machine. By the fifth inning the score was 10-2, and the Catfish had a swagger like the New York Yankees.
Crush sat in the owner’s box alone, Armani shades firmly in place, either watching the game or talking on his phone. Why wasn’t Paige with him? Between innings, Trevor paced the dugout, checking and rechecking the owner’s box. She must have seen the article; everyone had. She’d left a couple of messages on his voice mail, but he’d been too busy dealing with his agent and Nina to call her back. Would things change between them? Would she want nothing to do with him now that his sordid past was public knowledge?
He wouldn’t blame her. In fact, he’d probably encourage her to dump his ass. He would do it himself, except that he’d noticed a tiny item in the entertainment section of the same edition that revealed his juvenile record. Newlyweds Nessa Brindisi and Hudson Notswego had signed a contract to star in a reality show about Hudson’s first season in the NBA. There was no way he would add to Paige’s pain with another breakup.
Nine innings later there was still no sign of Paige. That fact bothered him more than any banner or harassing comment. Something was wrong. As soon as he made it to the clubhouse, he called and texted her, but got no answer. He quickly showered and got dressed.
The clubhouse was euphoric over the team’s victory. “The Express guys are going to the Roadhouse.” Ramirez grinned, looking gleeful. “Wouldn’t mind rubbing a little salt in the wounds, with a chaser of tequila.”
“Don’t do it,” Trevor warned. “That’s asking for trouble.”
“Hey, the Roadhouse is our spot and everyone knows it. If the Express are going there, you know they’re looking for trouble. Just trying to oblige our guests.” Ramirez looked a little too excited about the prospect of a showdown.
Dwight zipped up his tracksuit jacket. “That’s right. Gotta be a good host.”
Leiberman was looking from one to the other. “Can’t we just send them a fruit basket?”
Everyone burst out laughing, and Sonny Barnes clapped him on the shoulder. “Good one. Maybe some oranges.”
The clubhouse filled with high-fives, hoots, and hollers.
“Count me out,” Trevor said, hoisting his gym bag to his shoulder. “I have to take care of something.”
“That something have a name?”
He ignored that. “Mañana, y’all. Good game tonight.”
On his way out, he passed the long buffet table the team set up after the games but didn’t stop. He’d eat later, once he knew where Paige was.
Taking the stairs three at a time, he hurried to Crush’s office, which was still lit up. Crush stood with his back to the door, a cell phone to his ear, nodding. He caught sight of Trevor’s reflection in the plate glass and signaled for him to wait.
“We’re on the same page, then,” Crush said. He ended the call and flung the phone across the room. Trevor jumped. “The amount of trouble you cause me is roughly triple that of any other player.”
Trevor bristled. “Did you say triple? Yeah, I hit one of those tonight. And a double and a homer. I hit for the cycle.” A little reminder that he might be worth the trouble.
Crush let out a long breath. “Always the smartass. That was the Friars on the phone. You’re still in for now, but they’re watching very, very, very closely. One wrong move and you’re done. How’s it going to look for a team with the name of Friars to have a former criminal on their roster? Someone convicted of assault?”
Crush’s contemptuous tone was like sandpaper on an open wound. He longed to lash out at the man. But he was Paige’s father, and for her sake he wouldn’t. He cleared his throat. “I . . . uh . . . won’t cause any trouble. Any . . . more trouble.”
A steely glare raked him up and down. “You and I both know that’s impossible as long as you’re seeing my daughter.”
Trevor set his jaw. Maybe Crush had sent Paige somewhere just to keep him away from her. Maybe he’d locked her in the pool house and confiscated her cell phone. “I’m not going to hurt Paige.”
“I’ve seen how you operate. Fuck, I was you for most of my twenties. Maybe part of my thirties. Then again in my forties, come to think of it. You’re not talking to a rookie here.”
“Look, Crush, I’d probably see it the same way from your shoes. But Paige means a lot to me. I’d never want to hurt her.”
“Then leave her alone. You’re no good for her.”
Trevor clenched his fists, every muscle of his body tight. The memory of that asshole driving away in his Escalade with Paige in the passenger seat flashed across his vision. Who was he kidding? He’d already brought danger into her life. He couldn’t disagree with Crush, so he said nothing.
“If you had any integrity, you would walk away from Paige so she can meet the right guy. Not some juvenile offender who disrespects the game of baseball.”
Crush’s scorn was amplified by a sort of Greek chorus of baseball legends lined up on the walls of his office. The row of photos seemed to grin mockingly down at Trevor. A jersey behind a glass frame, a plaque, a ceremonial letter from the city of Austin . . . all the accouterments of a long and respected career. Trevor had never felt more
worthless.
“I don’t disrespect baseball. I love baseball. And I—” He caught himself. Fuck this. He wasn’t going to defend himself to Crush Taylor. The man would never understand. And anyway, this wasn’t about him—it was about Paige. He straightened to his full height and braced his legs apart. “You can sling insults at me all you want. I’m not walking away from Paige. Not after what Notswego did to her. If she wants it over, it’s over. But I won’t be the one to leave her, and there’s nothing you can say that will make me.”
Crush tilted his head back, looking at him down his long nose, showing no expression. His phone buzzed but he ignored it. “What’d you come up here for?”
“I . . .” He swallowed. “Paige didn’t come to the game. I saw the bit in the paper about Nessa and Hudson’s reality show. I was worried she might be upset.”
“Trying to make me think you’re a sensitive guy? Ice man Trevor Stark?”
Trevor fought to keep a grip on his temper. Fought to push all emotion inside where no one would see it. “Paige is the sensitive one. She might be hurting.”
“And you think she wants you?” Crush raised a scornful eyebrow.
Trevor clung to his stony silence by the skin of his teeth. It sounded ridiculous, now that Crush put it that way. If Paige had wanted his help, she would have called him. He should never have come up here and subjected himself to her father’s derision.
Crush picked up his flask and fiddled with the top. “She’s at the ranch looking for that damn cat. He’s missing and she’s afraid a coyote might have gotten him. She asked me to tell you after the game. Didn’t want to distract you.”
“You could have told me right away.” Trevor turned on his heel. With Jerome missing, Paige must be a wreck. Damn Crush for making him wait.
“Fuck that. I wasn’t going to tell you at all, but you surprised me by coming up here. You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that.”
But Trevor was already out the door.
Chapter 18
AT BULLPEN RANCH, Trevor found Paige in the barn, an airy, newish structure sided with planks of gray pine. His heart clenched at the sight of her huddled on the floor, her back against a hay bale. She held tight to the white ball of fur in her arms. Her sobs echoed through the barn. The earthy aroma of manure and hay wafted around them, and her hair streamed down her back in tangled waves.
He dropped next to her. “Is Jerome okay?”
“He . . . he’s fine,” she managed, the words skipping between hiccups. “I found him curled up in an orange tree planter. It’s . . . it’s . . .” Moisture dropped onto Jerome’s fur, but the cat didn’t seem to notice.
“Hudson?”
“Sort of . . .” Shaking her head, she scrubbed away the tears. “It’s me. My mother called to tell me about their new reality show. It’s the first time I’ve really talked to her about everything. I felt like such a loser. I shouldn’t have married him, I should have stayed in college, I should learn from her example. Etcetera etcetera. She wants me to come to Philadelphia so she can fix my life.”
He went cold despite the stuffy heat of the barn. It hadn’t occurred to him that Paige might leave, but this wasn’t even her home. It was a temporary stopover between her life in Italy and whatever came next. He cleared his throat. “Are you going to?”
She glanced up, her big blue eyes sheened with tears. He fought hard to keep the need out of his expression. Logically, it would be best for her to leave. Crush didn’t want Paige hanging out with him. And with the article exposing his past, things in his life might get intense. He didn’t want her to get caught up in the mess. But still . . . God, he didn’t want her to go anywhere. It would feel like ripping out his insides, to say good-bye to her now.
“No,” she said softly. “I’m not going anywhere.” She dug her fingers into Jerome’s fur, rubbing the skin on the back of his neck until his purr sounded like a Harley. “I have that fund-raiser coming up, and . . . there are other reasons.”
He tried not to let his relief show. “Maybe it would be good to see your mother.”
“No. My mother is . . . she’s very busy. If I went to Philly, she’d have me booked up with cocktail parties and job interviews and class schedules and . . .” She shook her head. “I came here because I knew Crush would give me some space. And because I needed . . . I wanted . . . I knew he wouldn’t make me feel like a failure. He’s screwed up so much himself, you know. Nothing surprises him.”
He reached out and touched her hair, both to soothe her and indulge himself in the feel of its vibrant silkiness. It slid across his palm, and right away he wanted more. “Your mother’s never screwed up?”
“I wouldn’t say never. She’s dated a few jerks. But as soon as she realizes they’re jerks, she cuts them off. Me, on the other hand . . . she thinks I’m too soft. She compared me to Jerome!”
The indignation in her voice made Trevor give a snort of laughter. Jerome lifted his head from her lap, then laid it back down on Paige’s knee.
“Sorry,” Trevor said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ears. “Why Jerome?”
“I told you he’s a Ragdoll. They’re bred for their affectionate nature, and look what happens when you pick them up.” She stood, holding Jerome under his middle. His head drooped to one side of her hand, his rear end to the other. It looked as if all his bones had gone on strike. “They turn into floppy little rag dolls. And my mother thinks that’s me! She thinks because I care about people I’m a floppy rag doll. Am I a floppy rag doll, Trevor? Is that what you think of me?” She gestured with the hand that held Jerome; he swayed back and forth, his blue eye blinking sleepily.
Right now she looked like a pissed-off spitfire, not a rag doll. He rose to his feet. “I’ve been to bed with you, Paige Taylor. I don’t think you’re a floppy rag doll.”
The last time they’d made love, she’d straddled him with her long-legged body, milking his cock while he filled his hands with nipples the color of cinnamon candy. Paige was no rag doll. She was passionate. Maybe a little impulsive. Reckless with her heart. Soft, yes. In the most rare and precious way.
She gave a sob. Jerome leaped from her arms and landed with a thump on the dusty hay-strewn floorboards. Trevor took one of her hands in his, feeling its slight tremble.
“Paige, let me tell you something. It’s not braver or smarter to shut people out. Just ask Crush. Or me, for fuck’s sake. It takes courage to care about people the way you do. Kind is not the same thing as soft.”
“Kind, again.” She tried to tug her hand from his, but he wouldn’t let her.
“Yeah, kind. And sometimes you might get burned for that. You might get hurt. But it’s a beautiful thing to be the way you are. If it was up to me, you’d never change.” With his other hand, he twined a shank of her hair around his wrist and tugged lightly. “You’re only twenty-four, you’re gorgeous, smart. You could do anything you want. Go anywhere. Get your degree, don’t get your degree, it doesn’t matter to me. Just be Paige, and that’s enough. It’s more than enough. It’s a fucking miracle.”
She stared at him, her lips parted in wonder. “Oh, Trevor . . .”
Oh hell. He’d said too much. Revealed how much she meant to him. He felt stupidly weak all of a sudden, as if power was leaking out of him like air from a balloon. He stood there cursing himself for a sappy-ass fool.
But he couldn’t turn away. Even with tears marking her face, she lit up the dusty barn like firelight.
She lowered her eyes, wiped a tear off her cheek with the heel of her hand, then shot him a look from under her lashes. “Did you know there’s a room with a lock in this place?”
“What?” She knew what that come-hither look did to him. And suddenly the barn felt very private, very quiet, as if the still air was just waiting for something to stir it up.
“I’ll show you.” She took his hand and pulled him toward the back of the barn. He went, excitement tightening his chest and prodding at his cock. “It’s a tack room, and it
has thousands of dollars’ worth of hand-tooled leather riding gear. I made my father put a lock on it because you never know with the people he brings out here. But I . . .” She dug in her pocket. “. . . have the key.”
Glancing over her shoulder, her eyes danced in the golden, dusty light. He couldn’t have resisted even if he’d wanted to. She pulled him into an overcrowded room that smelled like linseed oil and leather. A heavy anticipation pulsed through his veins. He wanted to see her fresh, freckled skin against all that dark leather. He wanted to see the line of her throat, naked, the rich fall of her hair. He wanted to see the pink lips of her sex wet and begging.
From the quickness of her breath, the flush in her cheeks, she was right there with him.
She turned the key in the lock, closing them inside. Then she spread her hands apart, as if to cede the moment to him.
“Get naked,” he ordered. Her eyes flared, then narrowed.
“I’m not a rag doll, to just do what you say.”
“No. You’re not.” He advanced on her, wanting her so badly he could barely walk. “You’re a passionate, sensual, sexy woman with a will of your own. Now get naked.”
She put a hand on his chest, stopping him a foot away from her. “After you.”
“As you wish.” He tore his clothes off so quickly, he hit his elbow on the wall. His cock was already hard. He gripped it at the base, watched her tongue run across her lips. “Your turn.”
She wore a thin-ribbed tank top with a picture of cowboy boots on the front. Underneath, her nipples were already hard. “I changed my mind,” he said, staring at them, stroking himself. “Leave your shirt on and play with your nipples. Pinch them.”
Her pupils expanded to a deep midnight blue. Her chest rose and fell, quick breaths stirring the dust motes in the air. His excitement was nearly unbearable as he watched her bring her thumb and index fingers to the tips of her breasts and gently pinch.
Drive You Wild: A Love Between the Bases Novel Page 18
