“You have no right—”
“Ask him how he likes his coffee.” Trevor heard the icy menace in his own voice, saw how much he was scaring the kid, who was probably no more than twenty. It felt as if he was floating over his body somewhere, watching this encounter. Seeing the violence barely contained in the fist wrapped in the kid’s shirt. Watching the anger flow through his body.
The clerk swallowed hard. Trevor felt the movement next to his knuckles. “How do you like your coffee?”
“Trevor,” said Dwight in a low voice. “Forget it.”
But no, Trevor wasn’t going to forget it. The injustice of the entire world boiled down to that moment. All the ways people mistreated each other. The lack of respect given to the best people he knew. This was for Grizz, who’d had to eat stale sandwiches on the road because restaurants wouldn’t serve the Negro League teams. For Grizz, who’d never gotten his shot at a major league career because of his “beautiful tan,” as his friend Buck O’Neil called it. For Grizz, who loved baseball despite those heartbreaks. “You like it black, right, Dwight?”
“Yeah. With a little sugar.”
“There you go.” He released the kid’s shirt and thrust the coffeepot at him. “Pour a cup of coffee for the man. You might want to keep in mind that you’re pouring it for the best fucking center fielder I’ve ever played with and a future San Diego Friar. If you’re the kind of idiot that means nothing to, just remember you’re pouring it for a stand-up guy who treats everyone with respect. Everyone, even punks like you. Pour, you little twerp.”
While Trevor loomed over him, watching every movement, the clerk grabbed a foam cup from the counter behind him and filled it with coffee. He added one packet of sugar, then glanced at Dwight. The center fielder flashed him a smile and took the cup. He slid a five dollar bill across the counter.
“Thanks. You can stand down now, T. I got my coffee, I’m good.”
Trevor didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Because he’d just remembered the scene that smashed his life to bits eight years ago. The man with the knife to his father’s throat. The menace, the relentless, impersonal viciousness.
Without baseball, that might be him. One man imposing his will on others. Not through a baseball bat, but with his fists, his size, his anger.
Dwight put an arm around his shoulders and guided him out of the store. Outside, the crisp night air bit into him.
“What the hell, T?” Dwight said in a low voice. “Last thing you need is more bad PR. Hope those video cameras were only for show.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Trevor headed for the bus. “If I’m going down, I want to do it right. You deserve better than that crap.”
“You know I don’t like to get into it over little things like a cup of coffee.”
“Yeah, I know. That’s you. This one’s all me. Listen, Dwight—” The knowledge that in a matter of hours he’d no longer be this man’s teammate weighed like a boulder on his chest.
Dwight interrupted him. “Respect, man. Respect. Friends for the long haul, right?” He offered his fist for a bump. Trevor touched his fist to his, then they knocked shoulders. “You need anything, you tell me. And stay out of trouble, mother-effer.”
“Yeah right,” Trevor muttered, then swung back on board the bus.
He knew he’d been stupid, making a scene over a cup of coffee in a hick town in the middle of some Oklahoma oil field. But it felt good to fight back against one tiny piece of bullshit in this fucked-up world.
The doorbell at Bullpen Ranch rang at five-thirty in the morning. Even without the early timing, this was unusual. No one casually dropped by the ranch. The bell rang continuously, like church bells tolling some kind of morning service. Jarred awake, Paige lay still for a moment, Jerome a heavy mass of purring fur on her chest.
Was it Jenna, coming back from the Kilby airport for more lecturing? Paige groaned and shoved her wild bed-head tangle of hair away from her face. She slid out from under Jerome, who briefly opened his one blue eye, then buried his head beneath his paws. She threw a Catfish zippered hoodie over her sleep shorts and ran down the stairs to the urgent rhythm of the doorbell.
She nearly crashed into Crush as he emerged from the master bedroom downstairs. He’d thrown on an even stranger outfit—a plaid blazer over basketball shorts. “Are you expecting someone?” she asked him.
“Nope. You?”
“No.”
“If it’s Trevor Stark, let me handle it,” he told her.
She startled, pausing halfway across the foyer. “Why would it be Trevor?”
“The Friars decided to release him last night.”
Her stomach plummeted. “Oh no. Is he okay?”
“Haven’t talked to him. Duke said he took it well. But still waters run deep with that guy.”
Poor Trevor. Why hadn’t he called or texted or something? She was up late submitting college applications last night, and her phone had been on. In fact, she’d fought the urge to call him for another of those sex-drenched conversations that made her toes curl. He’d told her to bear with him, and she was. But he had to make the next move.
She practically flew across the foyer. It must be Trevor, here to break the news in person. Or maybe he’d come to her for comfort. Finally, maybe she’d gotten through to him and convinced him to trust her.
Flinging the door open, she saw the last person she’d expected to find on Crush’s doorstep. “Nina?”
“Hi, Paige. Hi, Mr. Taylor.” The poor girl looked exhausted, her eyes ringed with purple, a sleep crease bisecting her right cheek. She wore khaki cutoffs and a dirty red sweatshirt with the slogan Stay Calm and Eat Bacon.
“Are you all right?” Paige pulled her across the threshold. “You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”
“I haven’t, much. I took an overnight bus to get here.”
“You don’t have a car?” Paige swept a glance across the front drive, searching for something to explain Nina’s surprise appearance.
“No, I hitched a ride to the front gate and walked from there.”
“Hitched a ride? Does Trevor know about this?” Closing the front door behind her, Paige steered Nina to the big couch near the hearth. The girl collapsed into it, forlorn and knock-kneed.
“No, of course not. Trevor would flip if he knew I was here.”
Paige slid into the oxblood leather armchair opposite her and rested her elbows on her knees. “Did something happen?”
“I just . . . I just can’t do it anymore.” Tears welled in her eyes, but she stubbornly blinked them away. “I know I promised Trevor, and he’s going to be so angry when he hears that I came here. But I just had to. I couldn’t let this go on anymore.”
She gave a furtive look at Crush, who hovered half in, half out of the room.
“Dad, why don’t you give us some privacy,” Paige said, but Nina cut her off.
“No, I want him here. That’s why I came.”
Crush’s eyebrows went nearly to his hairline, but he came closer, dropping one hip onto a stool by the bar. “Is this baseball-related?”
“Not really. But sort of. It’s about Trevor.”
She gave a few more sniffles, using the sleeve of her sweatshirt to wipe the moisture off her face. Even though she was dying of curiosity, Paige jumped up and fetched a box of Kleenex from the bathroom. With a grateful look, Nina grabbed a few and blotted her face.
“I’m sorry. It’s just really hard to talk to strangers about this. But you’re not exactly strangers, and you were kind to me, Paige. I know Trevor cares about you just from how he says your name. I hope he doesn’t get mad at you because I came here.”
“Let’s not worry about that right now,” Crush said. “Between the three of us, we can probably handle Trevor. Why don’t you tell us what’s going on?”
The touch of impatience in his voice made Nina sit up straighter. “Okay. Well, I saw on a sports forum that the Friars fired Trevor. And it’s probably because of the article that came out, right? The
one about how he went to juvie?”
“It’s part of the reason. More like the last straw, but yes. It was a big factor.”
“Well, shouldn’t it matter why he went?”
Paige shot a glance at Crush, who was fighting back a yawn. She knew that her father had already written off Trevor. “It should make a difference, Nina,” she said, “but it probably doesn’t. He did still attack that man, even though it was to protect your father.”
“He told you that?”
“Yes, he told me. He made me promise not to tell anyone, though.”
“I can see why.” Crush laughed cynically. “It makes you look stupid when you try to explain yourself nine years later.”
“That’s not the reason why!” Nina surged from the couch, fists clenched like a vengeful blond fairy. “And he didn’t do a bad thing. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”
Crush pushed his stool in a slow half twirl. “I’m sure there’s a sad story in there, Nina, but none of it makes a difference now. You’re wasting your time here.”
“Dad!” Paige jumped to her feet and placed herself between Nina and Crush. “At least let her finish her story.”
“He confessed to the attack because of me! For me!”
Paige swung around to face Nina. “What are you talking about? He was trying to keep your father from getting killed.”
“No! He was calling 911 when it happened. He didn’t hurt that man. It was me.”
“What?”
Even Crush had gone still and watchful. “Explain.”
“Those horrible men kept coming around the pharmacy and the house, and I hated them. Every time they came, Dad would get weird and quiet and refuse to say who they were. I just had a bad feeling, so I started following him. I felt like nothing too bad could happen if I was watching. That night, he went to the pharmacy and so did I. And I brought one of Trevor’s baseball bats because it made me feel safer. When I walked in, that man was up against my dad, like he was going to kill him, and I just swung that bat as hard as I could.”
Tears flowed down her face in thick smears.
“He dropped down to the floor and I just stood there, still holding the bat. Trevor had been working with me on my swing. We used to play in the vacant lot on the corner . . .”
She trailed off, tucking her chin into her chest. Maybe for some people it felt good to unburden themselves, but that didn’t seem to be the case for Nina.
“What happened next?” Crush asked gently.
“Two other Wachowskis were outside in a car, and they came in. Trevor was there too, because my dad had asked Trevor to meet him at the pharmacy for backup. He’d already called 911, so the police were on the way. I was totally freaked out, and so was my dad, but Trevor fixed everything. He told the Wachowskis that he’d hit the man, and that he was going to tell the police it was all his fault. No self-defense because that would have implicated the Wachowskis. Since he was only fifteen, he figured the justice system would go easier on him than on my dad. The only thing he asked my dad to do was send me somewhere safe, out of Detroit. He was afraid I wouldn’t be able to keep the secret.”
She blotted her eyes with her thumb. “He was right. Obviously. It’s hard to live with yourself when you know your big brother is paying for your actions. And now he’s lost his contract, and it’s all my fault. I just . . . hate it. I don’t want to lie anymore. If they come after me, I’ll run, I’ll hide, I’ll do whatever I have to. But I’m not going to ruin Trevor’s life any more than I already have.”
Chapter 24
IT SEEMED TO Trevor that he’d barely put his head on the pillow when the banging started. Groggy from the long, emotional night, he tried to block out the hammering as long as possible, but finally gave in and rolled out of bed.
“Paige,” he mumbled as she stormed past him. She was a blur of blue jeans and a clingy green top that had him rethinking the whole “sleep” thing.
“Trevor,” she shot back, whirling on him with her hands on her hips, hair fanning behind her. “You lied to me.”
He racked his brain for which lie she might be referring to. “I was going to call you about the Friars as soon as I woke up.”
“I’m not talking about the Friars.”
“Okay.” He rubbed a hand across the back of his head. “What’s going on?”
“Nina came to see us.”
His head snapped up. Paige’s angry presence seemed to send wild sparks around the dull hotel room. “My sister Nina?”
“Yes, your sister. The one who actually attacked someone with a baseball bat. The one you took the fall for.”
He turned away, his mind spinning a mile a minute. Maybe he could still fix it. Say she was being an overprotective younger sister. That she was delusional, that she was too young to really remember what happened. He’d figure something out.
“Trevor, why didn’t you tell me?”
“I have to talk to her. Where is she? I don’t know what she’s thinking, coming here and telling stories.”
“Trevor.”
He felt a hand on his arm and jerked away. This was wrong, all wrong. Nina thought she could change this situation, but she couldn’t. If anything happened to her . . . A sudden rush of air exited his lungs—a sort of gasp, or a wheeze, something that didn’t sound like it should be coming from his body. He hunched his shoulders, feeling the muscles of his back pull wide, the hawk spreading its wings.
And then softness came against his skin, arms wrapping around him, hawk and all. He felt Paige’s cheek against his back, her hands on his bare chest. “It’s going to be okay, Trevor. No one’s going to hurt her. You don’t have to do this alone. You have me, and Crush, and lots of other people.”
Another sound threatened to erupt from his chest. He quaked with the effort of holding it back. It felt as if his rib cage was a dam of bones holding back a wall of water. It built and built until it towered over him. In a blinding rush, it swept him off his feet, and he staggered. Paige held him, murmuring soft words, keeping him anchored against the force of the emotions storming through him.
Maybe he cried, or maybe he didn’t. Maybe he just let the lost years wash through him. He didn’t really know, all he knew was that he held tight to the window frame and Paige held tight to him, and when his vision cleared, everything looked different.
“I guess she had to tell someone.” His voice scraped like razor blades against his throat.
“Yes,” Paige agreed. “She’s a brave girl.”
“She always was. That’s why I didn’t mind taking the rap. If I’d had the bat, I would have done the same thing, except I probably would have killed the guy.”
“Why didn’t you just tell the police the truth? They wouldn’t have sent a twelve-year-old to jail.”
“We weren’t afraid of that. We were afraid of the Wachowskis. They don’t care about details like age or gender. You mess with one of them, you pay.” Trevor touched his stomach, realized he was drenched with sweat. He still couldn’t look at Paige; he felt too exposed.
“Then why didn’t your father take the blame? He was the one who got you into the situation to begin with.”
He shook his head wearily. Why relive the nightmare? It was dead and gone. “Dad was the only security Nina had. I was only fifteen. Nina still needed a home and a father, such as he was. He promised he’d send her someplace safe, get her away from the Wachowskis. It was the best thing all around. For a while I hated him for it. But then Grizz said something to me once.”
He swallowed hard, remembering.
“Grizz said that sending me away was probably the hardest thing my father had to do, but that it was the only way he could ensure my safety. Then again, I have a scar on my back that says I wasn’t that safe.”
“You made the best out of that scar.” Her cool fingers traced the outline of his hawk. Her touch sent shivers across his skin. She spread her fingers apart, the thumbs at the inside corners of his shoulder blades, her fingertips feather
ing his upper arms. Desire stirred, a bird rising from the ashes. “You made the best out of a lot of things. You watched out for your sister. You made a baseball career happen.”
He gave a dry laugh. “For a while.”
She skipped past that. “You try to help kids who are facing the same sort of problems you did.” Those clever, magic fingers stroked down the outside of his arms. Blood sank to his groin, his cock reacting to each soft caress.
“Where are you going with this?” he murmured. Wherever she was going, he’d follow, as long as she kept touching him like that. Biceps, elbows, forearms, each body part coming to life under her palms.
“I wish you saw yourself the way I do. You’re not a badass.” Her hands flexed to cover the backs of his big slugger’s hands. She interwove her fingers with his. “Well, not just a badass. You’re also a hero.”
He jerked back against her. “I’m no fucking hero.”
“Oh no? What do you call someone who goes to prison for something they didn’t do, just to protect their little sister?”
“You don’t get it—” He turned, determined to make her take those words back. But as soon as he met her eyes, filled with all the magic and light that was Paige, he lost his train of thought.
She gave him a little shove with one hand, then let it linger on his chest—as if she knew that her touch was turning everything inside molten. “I get it. Why wouldn’t I get it? You’re the one who doesn’t get it. You’re stuck in this idea that you’re a bad guy. And I hate that because I love you, and I know I’m not in love with a bad person. I’m in love with an amazing, incredible, loyal, strong, protective, phenomenal person.”
“No. No.” He shook his head over and over. “It’s you. You see the good in everyone, that’s how you are. Even after I pushed you away, after I acted like an asshole, you still do. Whatever good you see in me, it’s because of you.”
She tossed her hair, planted her hands on her hips, a righteous goddess in denim shorts. “Are you saying I’m delusional? That I can’t see what’s right in front of me? I mean, maybe you’re right, given my history with Hudson. I must be blind, right? That’s the only explanation there could possibly be for these crazy off-the-wall things I’m thinking—”
Drive You Wild: A Love Between the Bases Novel Page 24
