by Ward,Alice
Continue on to read an exclusive sneak peek of my upcoming book, Ace’s Wild (The Beasts of Baseball – Book Two), HERE!
A SPECIAL SNEAK PEEK
ACE'S WILD
(THE BEASTS OF BASEBALL - BOOK TWO)
ALICE WARD
BOOK DESCRIPTION
Ace Newman was more than just a bad boy, he was a Beast, and Beast's were not meant to be tamed. Holly wasn't planning on falling for the veteran bad boy of baseball, but dysfunction seemed to cling to her like humidity on a hot summer's day. So, when Ace Newman fell into her life, the only thing she knew to do was try to fix him.
Alcohol, drug addiction, torn pasts and tattered futures are the only things that Ace and Holly have in common, so how do they avoid a strike out and score a homerun?
CHAPTER ONE
e
Ace
It was a new season, guaranteed to be better than the last. I was still reeling over losing our chance at the World Series. One fucking game — just one fucking game — and we could have had our chance at being champs. I knew some of the guys choked, never having been so close before, but I was used to winning, and after being in the series four times without clinching the victory, I was ready and thought the Beasts were my ticket.
Coach had given me hell, trying to throw blame on me for losing. Seriously, me? I was the best player on the team. Hell, nearly the best in the entire league with a batting average of .348 and more putouts than anyone else on the field last season.
So how the fuck was that lose mine?
The coach had called me late the night before and asked me to come in early, to talk. Yeah, fucking right! I was late, almost by an hour from the time he wanted me here, but still a few minutes early for practice.
Coach Griffin’s face was bright red, and sweat was beginning to bead up on his forehead as he leaned over his desk to spew his anger onto me. It had been awhile since I was called into his office, so I guess he’d been waiting awhile to unload onto me. I tried to listen, I truly did, but watching his dark skin turn nearly purple was distracting, and the spit that sprayed from his lips wasn’t helping me to focus.
“I get it,” I said, hoping to calm him down.
“You don’t fucking get shit!”
“Yeah, I’m late for our meeting, got it.” I clarified and offered up what I thought was a charming smirk. The look in the coach’s eyes told me he didn’t find me charismatic.
“This is serious, Ace.” His tone was finally lowering, but his breathing still rapid. Man, he was really out of shape.
“You need a glass of water?” I asked with sarcastic concern. “You’re no spring chicken anymore. You need to take it easy.”
“No, I don’t need any fucking water, and that’s something you need to understand too, Ace. You aren’t so young anymore either.”
His words cut through me like a knife. The last thing I wanted to hear or even needed to hear was that I was getting old, especially for major league baseball. I was Ace motherfuckin’ Newman, bad ass of baseball, one of the best in the league. I was the guy who could hit any pitch, catch any ball that flew even remotely near me, the one others feared on the field.
I cursed under my breath, keeping my face neutral, forcing myself to stand there and deal with this shit.
This out of shape motherfucker should be kneeling in front of me, not screaming in my face. This old fool was spouting out nonsense now, just plain nonsense.
Coach’s voice got even softer, which was more deadly than any scream. “There are plenty of guys out there faster, smarter, and younger that would love to take your place.” He looked me dead in the eye when he said it.
Nice motivation, Coach. Appreciate it.
“There isn’t anyone who could fill these shoes, but you, on the other hand, don’t you be a fool. I would worry about your future, especially with that high blood pressure tightening your chest.” I leaned against the doorframe of his office door and watched his face turn a deeper shade of purple as I smirked, knowing I really should shut the hell up.
“Ace, I’m warning you, watch yourself.” His eyes glared into mine, beady and brown. The thick eyebrows that were recently bouncing above them were now pushed far down on his forehead, his resentment evident in every wrinkle. “The only reason you’re here right now is because I fought for you, so maybe I am a fool.”
“Relax old man, I’m a little late,” I explained, barely refraining from rolling my eyes. “It’s the first day of practice, not the World Series.”
I heard voices coming down the hall and glanced over my shoulder to see our first baseman, Marty Peters, heading to the indoor practice field alongside one of the new relief pitchers, Luke Singleton. The rookie was taller than I expected, better looking too. He smiled, lifting his chin at me in a cocky nod I immediately hated, maybe because it reminded me too much of me. Damn, his teeth were so straight and white I felt like I’d wandered into a Trident commercial.
“Hey, good to see ya!” Marty exclaimed with a quick pat on the back. I didn’t move from my seemingly relaxed, don’t give a shit position against the doorframe.
“Yeah, you too.” I stared the new guy down. His smile never faded. In actuality, I think it grew. Wow, this kid was either fearless or stupid, and from the blank look in his eye, I would bet on stupid.
Marty gave me another slap on the shoulder, and they went on their way. The rest of the team was heading to the indoor field, and I really didn’t feel like continuing this conversation where they could hear. Calvin nodded as he passed by, and I tried to control the smirk on my face, but it grew quickly as I turned back to the coach.
“I’m not reliving last season.” Coach gritted his teeth. “Your partying ways, cocky attitude, and selfishness is part of what cost us the chance at the series last season.” He stopped and stared at me for a moment. “Get here on time, stay away from the bars, and keep your fucking nose clean, or you’ll be traded quicker than a schoolyard lunch.”
Yeah, so I partied. It’s not like I was the only one.
I still held my own on the field. Hell, I held more than my own. The partying had never taken a toll on my game, especially my swing. I always stayed focused. I always stayed in control. No matter what anyone else wanted to say, that was the fucking truth.
I laughed at his words, but my voice shook a bit from the anxiety rocketing through my veins. He seriously thought I cost the team the series?
“You know I’m the best fucking player you got, and there’s no way in hell you can pin that loss on me,” I spouted, barely containing my rage. “Are we done?”
He shook his head slowly, lowering his chin onto his chest, and finally taking his beady hot eyes from me. He blew out a breath, but before he could speak, I jumped back in, firing a parting shot. “It’ll be fine. Don’t give yourself a stroke, old man.” I knew I was testing his last nerve when I flashed him a bright smile after my words.
Wow, how’s that for a welcome back for the new season?
My locker was untouched, left just as it had been when I walked out of here last year. I opened it up and pulled out my practice uniform, slipping out of my jeans and tight designer t-shirt. It felt good to have my name and number on my back where it belonged.
“You been doing okay?” Marty asked. He had real concern in his voice, something I hated about the guy.
“I’ve been great,” I answered, tying my turf shoes. “Just ready to get back at it and bring home the big win this season.”
This was the guy who couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn with a Buick. He had one of the lowest batting averages on the team, and if anyone was going to be traded, it should be Marty.
“Yeah, that was brutal last season. Felt good to get so close though,” he said. “Coach really laying it into you huh?”
“Yeah, he wanted me here early, and I blew him off.”
I knew the only reason he called me in early was to talk to me about my attitude. It’s bad, what’s there to talk about? It didn’t affect
how often I sent a ball into the stands.
“He just wants respect,” Marty sighed.
He patted me on the back and headed to the field. What a tool!
“Ace!” I looked up to see our owner, Rhett Hamilton, standing above me and controlled the urge to groan. I wasn’t exactly happy to see him, and the look in his eyes dictated a lack of excitement for seeing me as well. “I just wanted to talk to you a minute before you headed out.”
Great, another talk.
He sat down in the chair beside me, pulling it too close for my comfort, sliding his arm over my shoulders like a teenage boy would do to his date at the movies. “I expect great things from you this season.”
I shook my head while a growling laugh escaped my lips. “Rhett, you get great things from me every season.”
“When you take it seriously, you’re amazing.” His condescending tone made my balls shrivel.
He smiled, smirked really, before giving my shoulder a squeeze. “I like you, Ace, I really do. But, I have to say, if you don’t take this season seriously, this team seriously, your coach, me…” He squeezed my shoulder again, harder this time. “It doesn’t matter how much I like you, you’re gone.”
Oh, so it’s two strikes you’re out. I thought we were playing baseball.
“Got it,” I muttered and stood, pulling away from his grip.
“Good, I’d certainly hate to lose you. I know the Beasts just wouldn’t be the same without good old Ace Newman.”
There was that word again… old, what the fuck?
“Not old, and there’s no worry about that. You can count on it.”
I grabbed my glove and left him sitting there as I walked out of the clubhouse, shaking off the negativity with each step. Fuck them. I’d show them how serious I could be.
It felt amazing walking into the practice field, but I missed the sun scorching my face while the brisk wind spiraled around me, but I’d get that soon enough. Spring training was about to start, and soon, summer would be in full blast and women would be wearing short shorts, bikinis, and have that sun-kissed skin I love so much.
Damn, I couldn’t wait to get to Florida for spring training and my first peek of that!
The winter had been long and harsh, and all the women in New York were still bundled up to their necks, not even showing a glimpse of leg, even now with the sun shining so bright. Not the women at Home Plate; I could guarantee they were wearing short skirts and tank tops. Mmm, yes. They would be ready to show Ace Newman some skin.
Luke Singleton proved to be a pretty good pitcher. His knuckleball wasn’t so fast and furious, and it was proving tough to hit, but he was no Calvin Malone. I was watching him dig his fingernails into the ball as I stood in front of the plate with my bat held high over my shoulder. I smirked, spit onto the plate, and then calmly changed positions.
Yeah, I noticed he wasn’t controlling the ball as well as he would have liked for the right-handed batters. So let’s try left handed, big boy.
His face filled with stress; remind me to play poker with this kid. I kept my eyes on him, not the ball, as he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. I smirked, nodded, and then focused on the ball in his hand. His fingernails were digging into the leather, his knuckles pushed up high, and I knew he was planning on slamming it to me hard.
I loosened up, my shoulders relaxed, and watched the ball heading towards me. Whooweee, that almost hit me! I smirked again as his face grew pale. I knew he didn’t mean to lose control of it that bad, but it was a wild pitch and the fact remained, he almost hit Ace Newman. “Sorry,” he called out. I could smell his fear.
The fingernails didn’t dig into the leather this time. Instead, he argued with the catcher with hard shakes of his head until he finally settled on a more controlled pitch. The ball rolled in his hand, his fingers found their spot, and he wound up the pitch. I could hear it coming; the sheer power behind it would shake up most guys at the plate, but not me. I smirked and winked before swinging the bat with my own display of strength and cracked it deep into the nets. “Ace Newman is back, ladies!” I yelled to my teammates as I made my way to first, second, and then third with little effort. Coach Griffin shook his head but couldn’t hide his smile.
Rhett, on the other hand, sat in his box, and even though I couldn’t see more than his silhouette, I knew his eyes were burning daggers into my chest. It doesn’t matter if you don’t like me, old Rhetty boy. You need me!
“Man, I’m sorry I let that pitch go like that,” Luke apologized hours later when we headed back into the locker room.
“Don’t worry about it, kid.”
He was walking fast to stay by my side, going on and on about how he idolized me.
“You wanna get a drink, kid?” The invitation was partly to allow him to continue his worshipping while I had a drink in my hand.
“Me?”
“I don’t see anyone else standing here in my face.”
“Yeah, absolutely, I’d love to… I mean, can you?”
“Can I what?”
He looked down at his feet. “Drink? I mean, I heard you had a problem.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, and he took a step back. “Wow, now there’s a smart way to get your young ass kicked early in the season. Don’t listen to everything you hear, kid. If I had a problem, I wouldn’t be a Beast.”
His comments irritated me, but not so much because of him, more so because of whoever had been telling him all this false information.
I stripped out of my uniform and wrapped a towel around my waist while the kid stood there looking dumbfounded. “You plan on washing my back?” I snorted.
“I’m s-sorry.” He was stuttering like a nervous bitch as he backed away.
Good ole’ Frank Lewis, the centerfielder, was already in the showers, singing and acting a fool under the streams of water. I wondered why a man who had such an obviously small dick would purposely draw so much attention to himself while naked in a huge open room surrounded by other men.
“You going out for a drink tonight, Frank?” I interrupted the chorus of Welcome to the Jungle.
“Oh hell, yeah. The Beasts are back, that’s a damn good reason to celebrate!” It didn’t take him long to continue his screeching.
I dropped my towel and turned the faucet to hot, watching his eyes involuntarily fall down. He shut up and quickly left the shower as I chuckled to myself. That was one of the benefits of an extra-large cock, running off annoying little dicks who sang too loudly in the shower next to you. One of the benefits, but not the best. I was planning on benefitting later at the bar. Hopefully, they had a few new girls in there to tease.
The locker room cleared out quickly with the exception of Frank, Luke, and Marty who all huddled together talking quietly. “Hey, Marty, you going to have a drink with us?” I yelled out to interrupt their chatter.
“No, I don’t think so.”
Just as good, he wasn’t much fun to party with anyhow.
I nodded and moved to my locker where I could get dressed in peace. I slid into my jeans and tight t-shirt to give free admission to the gun show for anyone who was lucky enough to be nearby and slid my fingers through my wet hair. The stubble on my face was rough and prickly as my hand brushed across my chin. The neat goatee I kept was getting swallowed by my lack of interest in a razor. All I’d allowed myself to think about the last few days was getting back on this field, shaving just wasn’t on my mind.
I shoved my phone deep into my front pocket and headed out the door. “Meet ya there,” I yelled out to Frank and Luke. Now off for the action a true Beast craved, women and booze.
My black Porsche was easily recognized as I pulled up to Home Plate. The two boys at the valet counter were pushing each other to get to my driver’s side door. “Easy, boys,” I said with a chuckle.
“Mr. Newman, it’s good to see you again,” the scrawny redhead greeted me.
“Thanks, kid.” I slid out of my seat, motioning for him to take my place. “Take i
t easy on ‘er,” I warned playfully, but was dead serious. Don’t fuck with my car, my hair, or my game.
The doors were held open for me, and I walked into the place like royalty waltzing into the castle. The smell was so familiar, so soothing. Stale beer that had been spilled on the floor, grease from the kitchen with the aroma of garlic and onion wafting through the air, and ahhhh… cheap perfume. I love cheap perfume. Where there is cheap perfume, there are cheap women.
Some young dingleberry was sitting at my table. He was tall, lanky, and what I would consider scrawny. I walked up the two small steps to my area and slid into the booth. “How ya doin’?” I asked with a quick smile.
His face turned pale, and his eyes locked onto mine like a deer in headlights. “You okay?” I asked with a chuckle.
“You’re Ace Newman,” he said finally.
“Yup, and you… are at my table.”
“Oh, man, I’m sorry…” he slid from the booth, nearly leaping to his feet.
“I’m just fuckin with ya, kid. Have a seat, I’ll buy ya a drink.”
He slid back in and smiled from ear to ear. You would’ve thought I just told the kid I was buying him a pony. “What’s your name, kid?” I asked.
“Chase Long, sir.”
Sir? Am I his dad?
“You play ball, Chase Long?”
“I do. I play first base for the Columbus Clippers.” His pride beamed from his face.
“Wow, a triple-A league. Not bad kid.”
He was young, maybe lucky to be twenty-one, but had a face of a fifteen-year-old boy. “Yes, sir.”
“Drop the sir. I’m not that old.” I waved my arm in the air as one of the waitresses passed by. “You’re a long way from home, kid.”
“No, sir… I mean, Ace. This is my home. I’m visiting my mom.”
“Your mom works here at Home Plate?” I couldn’t resist the sarcasm that seemed to ooze from my lips.
He laughed, but it was a nervous laugh. “No.” He shrugged.
