“Auntie Paze!” A little boy’s screech erupted from behind Zeke. Before she or Zeke could react, Brayden launched himself at Zeke. Caught off guard, Zeke fell on his side and rolled while Brayden pummeled him with his little fists.
“Leave her alone. Don’t hurt her.” He screamed as if Zeke were a knife-wielding serial killer.
Zeke grasped Brayden’s hands to hold him still. The child fought like a wildcat. Paisley leaped into the fray, trying to pull Brayden off Zeke.
“I’m okay, Bray. It’s okay.” He was incredibly strong for a little kid. She wrapped her arms around his waist and dragged him off Zeke. Brayden cast an accusing glare over his shoulder at the man still lying prone on the floor. Then he threw himself into Paisley’s arms, his little body shaking with silent sobs.
* * * *
Zeke sat up and stared at the scene with a mixture of horror and disgust. Horror that he’d made the little boy cry and disgust that he’d given in to his baser needs and gotten too friendly with his housekeeper/assistant. She was here to organize his life, not fulfill his sexual needs.
He was a dick. A true selfish dick. No better than his brothers or his father.
Standing, Zeke ran his hands over his face and rubbed the back of his neck. He prided himself on being superior to his two older siblings, swearing he was nothing like them or his father. Only he was everything like them. It was all in the genetics, despite how hard he fought against them.
This debacle drove home his greatest fear one more time.
What the fuck had he been thinking? It wasn’t like him to do stupid shit, but he’d been feeling out of sorts, disconnected from life, and unhappy with his career, his location, and his lack of control over even the simplest things. He’d been about to use Paisley as a means to forget, because she’d been convenient. She seemed like a nice girl, and he didn’t mess with nice girls for occasional sex. He lived by that rule with no exceptions.
Two pairs of eyes watched him, one pair embarrassed and one pair accusing.
“I’m sorry,” he said, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets.
Paisley gave him a sunny smile as if nothing had happened, despite the kid sniffling next to her. She took the boy’s hand. “We’re going to bed now. Good night, Zeke.”
Zeke nodded. The kid stared up at him with narrowed eyes set in a tearstained face. Zeke was the worst jackwagon known to man. The poor kid thought he’d been attacking Paisley. Jesus. What kind of childhood made a kid react like that? But Zeke knew that answer as surely as he knew his own name. The same kind of childhood Zeke himself had endured.
Paisley was most likely the only thing those kids had to cling to, just as Karen had once been his rock.
“I’m really sorry.” His softly spoken words echoed through the cavernous room. He studied the large parlor with its dark wood trim. No pastoral scenes hung on the walls. No colorful rugs adorned the floors. The furniture consisted of an old couch and a stand for the TV. He’d insisted on buying an old house, believing the house’s character alone would make it feel like a home, but it was as empty inside as his contemporary condo had been, just as he still was.
He sighed.
He hated how stark and empty his life was, but he didn’t have a clue how to change or where to start. He had only Fernando for a friend in this area. He’d always made it a point to keep his teammates at arm’s distance. Tonight hadn’t exactly been fun, but he’d faked it well.
Coming on to Paisley and being attacked by her nephew…well, that shit cracked his heart open, made him realize he wasn’t good for anyone. Despite the thousands he’d spent on counseling, he was still Zeke Wolfe, loner, counterfeit good guy, and a damaged product of his genetics and his upbringing. The harder he tried to deny the past, the more it came back to haunt him.
He didn’t need extra drama in his life, not with the home opener tomorrow and him playing like crap.
And Paisley. She had enough of her own problems without him dragging her and her brood into his dysfunctional world.
Tomorrow he’d pay her a handsome sum and send her on her way.
* * * *
Monday morning came too soon. Paisley rose early per usual and cooked breakfast. She drove the kids to the closest elementary school according to her GPS and registered them for school. Kids were incredibly resilient, and Brayden couldn’t wait to meet his new teacher, last night’s incident long forgotten.
She’d talked with Brayden for a short while before he’d nodded off the night before, and he understood that they’d been playing an adult game. No big deal. No one was getting hurt. At least, not yet.
Regardless, she understood Zeke more than he understood himself. He’d be running scared and would attempt to get rid of her.
Leaving the kids in the care of their teachers, she returned to the house. Zeke was slumped on one of the barstools at the kitchen island looking like something the cat had dragged in and kept for a play toy. He was adorably cute in his current disheveled state. She wanted to wrap him in her arms and hug the hell out of him like she used to hug Barry, her bedraggled teddy bear, to make him feel better after she was punished for his spilled milk. Naughty Barry got into all kinds of mischief. At least, that’s what Paisley tried to tell her mother. Her mother didn’t care. She was either comatose or barhopping. On the rare occasions she did notice, the punishment was swift and harsh. Paisley had preferred her passed out drunk.
“Good morning,” she said cheerfully as she cracked some eggs for his breakfast. He watched her with bloodshot eyes, his elbows on the counter and his head propped in his hands.
Finally, he spoke. “I’m so sorry about last night.”
“It’s already forgotten. Bray overreacted, and he’s fine this morning.”
“Did you forget?” His voice dropped to a husky rasp.
“It’s all good.” She ignored the possible double meaning in his question.
He took a long gulp of coffee, watching her over the rim. “I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t drink much, so when I do, it goes to my head, affects my rational thinking. I’m truly sorry. I—I was wrong.”
“Uh, hello.” She pointed at her chest. “There were two of us involved last night. Maybe it wasn’t the wisest move on both our parts, but don’t deny me a little honest guilt by taking all the blame yourself.”
He blinked at her a few times, threw back his head, and actually laughed. “You’re something else, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told.” She flashed her smile in his direction.
“Well, I’m still sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“What won’t happen again?” She gave him her best impish wink.
He grinned. “Nothing. Nothing happened. And nothing will ever happen again.”
She turned her back to him and tended to the eggs so he wouldn’t see the disappointment in her eyes. She’d liked what they were doing. She’d rather acknowledge it for what it was—two consenting adults having a little fun. Nothing wrong with it.
“Look, if you aren’t comfortable here, I can give you enough to get on your feet and help you find another job.”
She whipped around, skillet in hand. “Oh, no, you don’t, buster. You’re not getting out of this situation that easily. I have Al’s stamp of approval, and I’m staying.”
“Okay, then. Just put down the skillet.” He raised his hands in the air palms-out. “Uh, do you know anything about decorating?” His ran a hand through his hair, leaving tufts of it standing up on end. It was almost comical, yet sexy as hell.
“A little.”
“Well, good, then. Find me a decorator. Nobody stuffy. I want this house made into a home. I don’t care about cost. I want comfortable, cozy furniture. None of that stark modern shit. I want everything to say welcome home, even to my guests. I want the kind of place a guy can put his feet up on the furniture and not think anything of it.”
Something told her this wasn’t a man who had overnight guests or friends over. He most likely
kept his liaisons to hotel rooms. It’d be less messy that way.
“I’m on it.” She snapped her heels together and saluted him.
He rolled his eyes, and Paisley relaxed slightly, but she kept a distance. Not because she was afraid he’d reach out and grab her, but because she was afraid he wouldn’t.
Chapter 5—Opening Day
First Monday in April. Opening day for the Skookums at home. The day Zeke had lived for every year of his pro career. This year, not so much.
He arrived at the stadium four hours early, not exactly to beat Seattle’s infamous traffic snarl around the stadium area, but to get away from Paisley.
She was staying. She’d communicated her intentions quite stubbornly. And cutely, too. When she dug in her heels, her little nose wrinkled, and it was as adorable as hell.
Damn. Adorable? Cute?
Zeke pounded a fist on the dashboard in frustration. He shouldn’t be thinking about how cute his new—uh—what exactly was she? Housekeeper? Assistant? Girl Friday? Temptress?
He’d go with personal assistant. The term was probably more politically correct anyway.
He had to stop thinking about her. She’d been in his life since Friday night, just a few days.
He’d played Carrie’s songs all the way to the ballpark, which was fucking crazy. Grabbing his phone, he deleted every Carrie Underwood song off his music app because one reminded him of the other, which was nuts. Paisley probably couldn’t carry a tune. Carrie probably couldn’t and wouldn’t harass a baseball player to distraction.
This shit had to stop.
When his head wasn’t on straight, his game suffered. This cold, hard fact outlined another reason he’d cut off his family four years ago and never once looked back or regretted his actions. Sometimes a guy had to save himself.
A few reporters stood near the entrance. Zeke hesitated. He despised reporters, but like all else in his public life, he played nice and gave them what they wanted: a piece of his soul. Or so they thought. Truthfully, the pure blackness of said soul would shock the hell out of them and send them diving for cover.
A microphone was shoved in his face. For such a small group, they packed a punch. They shot rapid-fire questions at him. Are you going to be able to regain your All-Star form? How do you feel about playing for the Skookums? What are you doing to increase your batting average? And his personal favorite: How thrilled are you to be playing in the same town as your brothers?
That last question came from a woman reporter he didn’t recognize. She was tall and willowy with a too-tight suit, nice cleavage, and overdone makeup.
He stared her straight in the eye and lied through his cosmetically whitened teeth. “This is a dream come true for the Wolfe Pack to be together in one city.”
She didn’t stop there. “When can we see the three of you together? Maybe at a charity function or a signing?”
He hoped fucking never.
“My agent handles all those details.” He graced her with his trademark smile, tipped his baseball cap at the group, and pushed through the door, grateful the huge security guy held the reporters back with a death glare.
Fernando waited for him in the hallway. The bastard was grinning at Zeke’s discomfort, but Zeke caught a hint of concern in those deep brown eyes. “You handled them like a pro, amigo.”
“Of course I did. I always do.”
“It’s inevitable.”
“I know.” Zeke didn’t have to ask what Fernando referred to.
“You’re going to have to face your brothers eventually.”
“I’m taking it one day at a time and hoping that eventuality never comes.”
Fernando shrugged. “Good luck with that.” He clapped his friend on the back and led the way to the locker room. Zeke followed, knowing he’d need to calm down before he could get his head in the game.
He slumped down in front of his stall and put his head in his hands, closing his eyes and concentrating on his safe, calm place, with its green meadow, babbling brook, and rays of sunshine glinting through the old oak tree. He’d visited this imaginary place countless times as a child to escape the abuse. As an adult, he came here to relax and get in the zone. One of the reasons he’d bought that old house was the big green lawn, huge trees, and water feature. It was as close as he’d gotten to his peaceful meadow.
He visualized himself lying on the cool grass, wearing nothing but shorts, his head pillowed on his T-shirt. He smiled as a butterfly tickled his nose.
He wasn’t alone. She was there. At first, he wasn’t sure who she actually was, but she gave him peace, made him feel safe and loved. He opened his eyes, smiling at the woman as her face came into focus.
Paisley?
What the fuck?
Zeke bolted upright and blinked several times.
Paisley?
Never before had a woman invaded his safe place unless it’d been his mother or sister. Certainly not a girlfriend. Ever.
And she wasn’t even a fucking girlfriend.
Realizing he’d broken into a sweat, he wiped his brow. Forget getting into the zone today.
The door opened and Gavin Sullivan, the team’s shortstop, strutted in. The guys called him Sully, but Zeke secretly called him Sullen Sully. He was arrogant, undisciplined, and annoying as hell. He grabbed the hat off a rookie’s head and tossed it in the garbage.
“You’re here early, Wolfe,” he noted as he strolled by with his cell phone plastered to his ear. He appeared to be arguing with some woman—he had many—and trying to placate her about the night before.
Zeke nodded a greeting and ignored the guy. Gavin was one of many reasons this team was so dysfunctional. He caused trouble in and out of the locker room, not taking the game seriously and playing harder off the field than he did on the field. He fought with his teammates and publicly called them out when the team lost, pointing fingers at everyone but himself. The GM and coach didn’t have any control over him, and he knew it. In fact, they didn’t appear to have control over anyone on this team. It was a mess and the worst team Zeke had ever played on. The Skookums were certainly not the supportive group nor was this the environment needed for a guy to get his groove back. They comprised a bunch of misfits and overpaid malcontents other teams didn’t want, yet this team had taken a chance on them.
The Skookums had one of the lowest salary levels in baseball. Their ownership was disinterested, and it showed. They didn’t mind producing a losing team year after year.
Zeke didn’t understand that mentality. For him it was all about winning. For this organization, it was all about slogging through the season. They considered being the second-worst team a triumph. Way to create a winning attitude by rewarding mediocrity.
Zeke had never been much of a team player, which was why baseball attracted him. He’d forget about these idiots and play for himself, his stats, and his next contract.
What else could a guy do?
Win a World Series before he retired?
Yeah, well, he had plenty of time. He was young, and he’d win one. Just not here. If he could improve his game in the next few years, he’d be a free agent and out of this town and far away from his brothers. God help him if the bastards showed up for a game. Isaac, his oldest brother, was still playing hockey. The Seattle Sockeyes’ hockey season didn’t end until April 9, and then there were the playoffs. Zeke didn’t keep track of hockey much, but he knew his sports. He also knew the Sockeyes would probably clinch a wild-card play-off spot. Not that he gave a shit, but it paid to know your enemies and your brothers.
Zeke was spending too much time in his own head before the game. He was so sick of himself, he couldn’t wait to get on the field and start tossing balls around with the other infielders.
He relaxed visibly as he inhaled the scent of newly mowed grass and listened to the smack of the ball as it hit his glove. One concession he had to give the Skookums was their shiny new stadium. It was the nicest one he’d played in as the home team. Too bad it w
as in Seattle.
This early April evening was unseasonably warm. The sun shone brightly in a brilliant blue sky as the early evening temps reached sixty. Zeke glanced around. The stands were nearly empty. No surprise there. Even though it was their home opener, who wanted to watch a perpetual loser? The Skookums hadn’t been in a play-off game or had a winning season in over a decade.
Not Zeke’s problem.
Despite this less-than-desirable situation, Zeke had to smile as he soaked in the warmth of the sun and the atmosphere of the ballpark. This was where he belonged, where he excelled, where he truly lived. Everything else in his life was just white noise. Nothing mattered but the game and the feel of the ball in his glove or the sound of his bat when he connected with that sweet spot.
This was his passion, and nothing else would come between him and the game. Not even a woman, even one who made a killer breakfast, had a sassy smile, and harbored a soft spot for abandoned little kids.
* * * *
Paisley picked up three twin mattresses at the Goodwill along with sheets and comforters while the kids were at school. She set up their rooms as best she could. The basement apartment had three bedrooms. The twins would share, and Brayden would get his own. It wasn’t much, but they’d dealt with less. They were safe and warm, and their bellies were full. She rejoiced in the little things.
She put the kids to bed about eight thirty and caught the last four innings of the game. She’d played softball as a teenager and was a fan of the sport, so she knew more than most.
Zeke played first base, and she spotted him immediately with his tall, lean, athletic body. His baseball cap was pulled low over his eyes as he set himself in a half crouch waiting for the pitch. He was pure athletic grace, whether he was stretching to catch the ball, swinging the bat, or running the bases. Zeke made baseball even more interesting. At least, he did for her.
Bottom of the Ninth: Seattle Skookums Baseball (Game On in Seattle Book 6) Page 5
