“But Hadley cares.” I do consider that. I don’t want her embroiled in something that’s not true just because of my indifference. Either I’m banging a married woman, or I’ve led people to believe I am. No matter which route I take, I’m a dick. Such a conundrum that can take a hike.
Amos limply throws the ball in the air, waiting for a reply. I don’t want to tell him shit, but if it stops him from questioning me, I’ll take one for the damn team. Sighing, I say, “We’re not sleeping together, Amos. We never have.” Just almost. Twice.
“You can tell me the truth.”
Stretching out my glove, I pause with a frown. “I just did.”
His eyes nearly swallow his face. “Really?”
I roll my eyes as I take the ball from him and throw it in the air, catching it. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, boss.”
“Then why don’t you set people straight?”
“It’s none of their damn business. That’s why.”
“But it’s her husband’s business.”
“He hates me being friends with his wife but knows she would never sleep with me. He’s just creating drama for himself.”
“You say she would never, but what if she changed her mind?”
I concentrate on tossing the ball in the air, not having an answer for fucking Amos Vaughn. He wouldn’t like my answer. Tired of this conversation, I pace back a distance and wait for him to be ready for my pitch. While I do, I see Hadley and Rhonda practicing together and beside them, Crick and Simone. When Rhonda accidentally makes eye contact with me, she nearly retreats into her hat.
After our field stint, we each take a turn at bat to warm up. Wilder leaves me alone, this time, as he stands next to the fence, talking to Rhonda. His arm is propped on the fence while she seems semi-animated and they both laugh. Two things strike me as odd. First, Rhonda appears to have no problem talking to Wilder. If she supposedly likes me, she makes no effort in trying to talk to me, or exist around me for that matter, not that I’m interested. Just an observation.
And second, even a funeral is funnier than Finn Wilder. It contains the word fun. Point made.
Without his help, I hit the first and second balls into center field, and the third into right field, all three potential home runs. When I step back from home plate, I notice Wilder looking away from me at the same time. He then smiles at the Road Hogs’ coach and shakes his hand.
Returning my bat to the fence, Nico says, “You were great out there.”
I pull off my batting gloves. “Thanks.” In the stands, I see Ali sitting at the top, playing with her phone. I stuff my gloves into my ass pockets and ask Nico, “What’s the story with your sister? Is she as chilly as she seemed earlier?”
Nico nods. “Oh, yeah. She’s like that with everyone. I don’t see how she keeps a boyfriend past a week. She’s a business major and wants to be a wedding planner. I don’t see her ever planning her own with that attitude.”
“Didn’t she date that gay choreographer for a while? Wade?” I snort.
“He was straight. But, yeah. Ali didn’t like his career choice. He comes from a family of surgeons, and she constantly harped on Wade to become one, telling him to get his head out of his ass, and that dancing wasn’t a real job—her words. I guess he couldn’t take it anymore. I don’t know. I love my little sister, but damn, she’s cold.”
I watch her look up from her phone, still bored. When she catches me staring, I wave with a grin. Behind her sunglasses, I can’t tell if her eyes lit up or if she rolled them.
“What are you doing?”
I shrug. “Just making friends. She’s hot.”
Nico says, “Don’t even go there.”
I laugh. “Why not? I think I can break her ice.” I need a distraction, and I have to start somewhere. Finn Wilder isn’t the only one who likes a challenge. I just go about them at a much slower pace.
“She’s an iceberg, and you’re the Titanic. I’m sounding the alarm, Greg. Just don’t.”
Again, I laugh. “You afraid I’ll scar your little sister, Nicky?”
He shakes his head. “She’ll be fine.” Nico stands and grabbing my arm, he leads me away from everyone. He peers around us and says, “I mean it. I’m worried about you. Is something going on with you and...?” He sighs when I cross my arms, looking out to the north field, next to us, filled with another ballgame. “We can talk sometime if you want.”
“I don’t.”
From my peripheral, he nods. “Okay. The offer stands. Just...”
I look back to him, waiting for him to go on, but he doesn’t. “Just what?”
“Be careful.”
Am I that fucking obvious?
I mumble, “Too late.”
Ricky calls everyone together, and with us being the home team, Wilder goes over the field assignments again, and then we grab our gloves, and I take my place at centerfield, with Hadley at right field and Val at left. Tesco and Wilder lean against the chain link, watching the game and yelling instructions at us. Crick is off to a phenomenal start, pitching a near no-hitter inning, with Amos catching. In the dugout, Simone and Rhonda sit together. Again, Rhonda talks to her with no issues. Hell, she even speaks to Grant, who’s sitting on the other side of her, without becoming a statue. Though, I’d rather be a statue covered in bird shit than to be stuck next to that dick lick.
My first turn at bat, I take some practice swings and approach home plate, hearing the trash talk already starting. The Road Hogs’ coach yells for everyone in the outfield to go out further. I guess my reputation gets around. From my team’s sideline, I hear the familiar voices shouting encouragement, and it pumps me up.
The first pitch, I let go, and the umpire announces it’s a ball. The second pitch, I use my entire upper body to send that fucker into centerfield, over the heads of everyone. Screeching erupts from my side as I take off, rounding the bases, I see the right fielder scoop up the ball when I land on third. I stop, not wanting to push it, but then I catch sight of Hadley cheering for me. I make the split-second decision to run home, not knowing where the ball is. Right before reaching home plate, I kick out my feet and slide into it, stirring up a dirt cloud. For some unknown reason, I twist from my hip to my ass, and I hit the plate at a weird angle, and sharp pain tears up my side.
“Safe!”
Thank God. Amongst the yelling from my team, I stand, but when I put pressure on my right foot, the literal pain in my ass burns. I limp off the field, picking up my blue aluminum bat as I go. When I limp behind the fence, Patrice says, “If you were hurt, you should’ve stayed home.”
My forehead scrunches as I wince from the pain and her stupidity. “Noted.”
As I set the bat against the fence, Hadley puts her hand on my shoulder and walks with me to the bench, asking, “You okay?”
Wilder follows us into the dugout. “He’s fine. Just sit out for a while. Put some ice on it, Rodwell.”
“I don’t need ice.” I sit on the bench but hurting at the moment, I stand back up, limping over to the chain link, stretching my ass cheek and leg.
Wilder says, “Nice hit but I don’t know why you need to slide. You’re the only one who does.”
I take more steps, feeling better as I do. I imagine I’ll have a monster bruise on my ass for a while. Hadley asks, “You want me to get some ice just in case?”
Grant laughs. “How about Scanlon ice his ass for him?” I’ve never punched anyone in my life, but they always say to learn a new skill. That prick takes every opportunity to make Crick feel like a freak that only Amos is.
“Don’t worry, Majorca. Your wife will do it for me later.” I smile because I don’t even have to see his face to know I hit a nerve, especially with Sylvie next to him.
“She wouldn’t touch you.”
“You’d think. But you never know what some people will do when the opportunity presents itself. Damn temptation, right? Nailing even the best of us.” I smirk at his sudden anxiety. “Or worst.”
Grant sneers, “If you can with a broken ass.”
This time, I ignore him and tell Wilder, “I just need to walk it off.”
Nico hands me a cup of water and says, “Great hit, Gregger.”
I take the water, and Val hands me Tylenol. “I knew that had to hurt. Take these. They should help.”
I tell them both thanks and finish the water. As I make another round of pacing back and forth, Shasta and Simone both peer into the dugout, but their expressions are very different. Shasta frowns while Simone smiles. When I walk near Simone, she says, “I see that you kicked your own ass.”
“Yeah. You going to kiss it and make it better?”
“Only after you shower and I get piss-ass drunk.”
“Is that a promise, Garrison?”
Simone laughs, but when I flinch from a jab of pain, she flinches with me. She then says, “Jesus. I’d take it easy on you. A free pass.”
Through the chain link of the dugout, I lean close to her face and whisper, “Pussy.”
“You’re giving me a chub, Rodwell,” she whispers. But then, throwing her head back, she laughs.
She’s close enough, so I reach around the fence at the doorway and yank on one of her pigtails like we’re kids at recess. Simone squeals and Ricky says, “Okay, Simone. Stop flirting with Rodwell and get out there and bat.”
Simone tilts her head, looking up at him. “You jealous?”
Ricky laughs, a little too fast. “Jealous? Me? Of what?” Go fuck yourself, dickmunk.
“I do have a life.”
“Uh, okay. Good for you.” He wrinkles his forehead, probably wondering how the hell he gets out of this one. “They’re waiting, so...”
“Just think about it the next time you take women for granted. You could miss out on the love of your life.” I’m assuming that’s not the best thing to say to a newly divorced guy.
“Go, Simone,” Ricky insists while removing his hat to adjust the plastic band. His hair automatically pops up like a Jack-in-the-box, and I swear the women watching the game become the paparazzi, hanging on the perimeter fence to get his picture. Fucking ridiculous. But I guess that’s a testament to Finn Wilder not measuring up to his BFF.
As I watch Simone leave, I stretch my leg out in front of me. The pain isn’t so bad if I keep moving. Hadley slides in front of me, watching me stretch my leg while I watch Simone at-bat. She gets to second base. Not bad. I think she’s underrated on our team, but I’ll never tell her that.
While Ricky is objectified and Wilder is doing another mini interview, which he’s been doing between batters or innings, Hadley and I are the only ones in the dugout. Most of the team is either now at the fence, watching the batter or milling around outside of the dugout. Wilder’s current victim is Betsy. I wonder if the camera guy needs to use a filter. Like a lens cap.
Hadley just watches me. I feel her eyes on me, and it’s not a feeling I can revel in right now. I distract my thoughts by watching the game, but it proves to do the opposite, knowing she’s close. The situation will only escalate for me, so I finally look at Hadley. “What?”
Her green eyes are anxious as she studies my face. “I want you to go to the hospital.”
I crook an eyebrow, wanting to laugh, but I refrain for now. “What the hell for? It’s a bruised ass.” And maybe an ego.
“I’m worried. I don’t know. Can’t a blood clot form and go to your heart or lungs? A bruise is a small, internal bleed, right? What about gangrene?”
I smile with a laugh. “You weren’t this worried when you were the one bruised, and yours was serious. Calm down. It’s all good. I’m not dying today. Maybe tomorrow.”
She frowns and I want to kiss it away, tasting her lips as I do. “That’s not funny, Greg.”
Dropping the laugh, I dim my smile somewhat. “Sorry. I didn’t get hit in the stomach with a ball like you had. I think I’ll survive.” Just another dent in my life.
“You’re laughing at me worrying about you. Thanks.” Hadley turns away from me to watch the game, embarrassed probably. She drapes her ponytail over her shoulder, exposing her neck. I’ve always wanted to kiss her there, inhaling her perfume as I kissed down to her shoulder, and then turning her around so I could suck on her tit.
Christ Almighty. That’s not helping either.
She crosses her arms, quiet. I hate when I say or do something stupid, which is often it seems. And I can’t even stop myself from doing any of it.
Moving closer, I put my arms around her, resting my forearms on her upper chest, above her tits, and my chin against her temple. The damn hat scratches my face. I sigh, blowing hot air over her and even though it’s a hot day, goosebumps form on her arms. She adjusts her arms, tightening them against herself, which also moves her ass against my dick. The light friction is enough to set me off, but I don’t walk away. I whisper, “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m okay, Hadders.”
She whispers, “Don’t joke about dying.” Shit. I’m a bigger tool than Grant. Much bigger.
I was with Hadley at the hospital when Dash died. That same night, shortly afterward, I was still with her when she found out she was pregnant. I refused to leave her. I couldn’t, especially after that. Since Hadley didn’t want Wilder with her at the funeral and I didn’t want her going alone, I went with her. I protected her. Or tried to as much as I could. I had to because when the doctor told Hadley that Wilder was likely the father, not Dash, I knew it was wrong. I wanted to speak up, confessing what I did to her in the hotel room right before she and Wilder started fucking again. But I didn’t, and in all likelihood, Hadley was pregnant with my kid. I was terrified, happy, and sad all at once, but I couldn’t show any of it. I was so close to telling her the night Dash died, but she didn’t need to deal with that news then either. Or never.
I say, “I didn’t mean it. Really. I’m sorry. I’ll be fine.”
Hadley slightly nods, rubbing the cheap hat against my jaw. “I’ve lost...”
“I know.” Not obsessing over who’s watching, I impulsively kiss the side of her head, below the stupid hat. I don’t know if I do it to make her or me feel better. My lips graze her skin over her temple, and the feeling is intense, but I manage. I always do. It’s still not as good as when my lips were on hers. With my mouth still against her hair, I say, “I told you, I’m not going anywhere. Okay?”
“Okay.” I feel her relax as I tense with my dick growing against her. I shift, but there’s nowhere I can go with her in my arms.
Hoping a deep breath will help, I hug Hadley to me a little more as Patrice returns from batting, having struck out. I don’t think she even knows she’s supposed to swing. On the side, off camera, I see Ricky talking to Wilder with his hands on his shoulders. Neither are smiling like they’re into something heavy. Probably stock options.
Not far from Wilder, Val and Amos are huddled together, but with Amos looking my way more than at Val, I can imagine what he’s yammering on about me now.
Since it’s our turn on the field, Shasta grabs her glove and shoots me a few dirty looks. I roll my eyes at her from over Hadley’s head. Maybe some decade I’ll be able to tolerate her again.
Knowing I’ve pushed my luck and self-control enough already today, I release Hadley and move away from her, hating the hollowness that goes with it.
Betsy takes my place at centerfield for this inning. Hadley smiles at me. “Back to the grind.” She’s not kidding. Jesus.
Hobbling over to the water cooler, I fill a cup and then lean against the tall chain link surrounding the dugout, feeling like a caged animal, but not wanting to stand at the field fence with Wilder and Tesco either. Sighing, I hook my left-hand fingers into the fence and watch the game.
Crick is on fire, as usual, striking out the second batter out of the three so far. And this is slow pitch softball—child’s play for Scanlon. Plus, underhanded or over
handed, he’s a lefty who learned to pitch right-handed so he could fit in. I know that much about his past.
The Amazon approaches the plate and our outfielders back up. She usually hits pretty well, going for the high pitches. So with her, Crick sends them low, and so far, she’s stupid enough to take the bait, practically turning the game into a golf tournament, only hitting grounders to the infield. She’s out before she reaches first base. What a giant dumbass.
The first pitch is a ball, having gone too low. Shit. With the next pitch, Crick pulls it up some but then like a flash explosion, the ball slams into his left shoulder and even faster, he’s down. Throwing my plastic cup full of water, I forget about my own pain as I run to the field fence while Ricky and Wilder run to the mound, meeting the Road Hogs’ coach, as does my entire team on the field. From here, I can’t see shit, except Crick’s legs kicking up dirt as he writhes in pain.
At the fence with Patrice, she asks, “Is that an out?”
I can’t just stand idly by while Scanlon is hurt. I run for the mound as fast as I can, but with the small mob, I still can’t see him. The Amazon is standing on the outskirts, blubbering, sounding like an angry seal. Christ. Someone get her a horn. It’s the least she could do, entertaining the spectators and earning some money for Crick’s damn hospital bills. I push past some of the Road Hogs who are now on the field. Entering the inner sanctum, I see Wilder and Tesco tending to Crick, whose face scrunches as he huffs heavy breaths. I ask, “Do you need me to call 911?”
Crick shakes his head for no, and he tries to sit up, but can’t do it with one hand and falls back. Ricky tells him not to move in case it’s broken. Proving he’s a beast, Crick tries again, which he succeeds. Once he’s sitting up, Ricky props Crick against him, asking, “Can you move your arm?” Scanlon moans, trying to lift it. His arm moves slow, but the look on his face says it’s not easy. Ricky nods. “Okay. That’s good, at least. But you could have a tear. Let’s get it checked out at the hospital.”
The Road Hogs coach, who is either a feminine man or a woman with a beard who far outranks Betsy and Gloria combined on the hotness scale, helps Crick stand, who’s still holding onto Ricky. The crowd cheers for Scanlon’s tenacity. I knew he was a hardcore motherfucker.
Unscrewed Page 11
