For the First Time (One Strike Away #$)

by Mary J. Williams

  "I did." Jordyn nodded. "Mom—"

  "Chocolate or caramel frosting?" Dorothy contemplated the three layers of yellow cake that cooled on metal racks. "Which does Murphy prefer?"

  "Chocolate," Jordyn answered without thinking twice. A fact her mother didn't miss. Dorothy didn't comment. But her smile widened ever so slightly.

  "The last time Dad grilled my date, poor Arnie Scholl ran from the house. He wouldn't look me in the face for a week."

  "You have a strong personality, Jordyn. Arnie was sweet, but he didn't have enough backbone. The first time you pushed him, and he didn't push back, your respect for him would have flown out the window. And he would have followed soon after."

  "In other words, you raised a ballbuster."

  "Yes."

  Dorothy nodded. And Jordyn laughed.

  From anybody else, Jordyn might have objected. She'd learned her badassery at the knee of an expert. Dorothy chose a softer velvet glove, iron fist approach. While Jordyn was much more in your face. The end results were the same. The Kraig women ruled.

  "Murphy is a grown man, not a boy. At this point in his life, he should be able to handle a simple conversation with your father—"

  "Simple?" Jordyn scoffed.

  "Without falling to pieces," Dorothy finished. "Will you get me a mixing bowl from the cupboard?"

  "I don't think Murphy will fall to pieces." Jordyn did as her mother asked. "Still, I invited him here for a nice, relaxing Sunday dinner."

  "Which is exactly what he will have."

  Jordyn nodded. She knew her mother was right. No matter how nervous he'd seemed, Murphy could take care of himself.

  "What else can I do to help?"

  "Some company is all I need." Dorothy wiped her hands. "I have friends who never see their children even though they live in the same city. You and your brothers visit all the time. Without parental prodding."

  "Why wouldn't we visit?" Jordyn asked. "You and Dad are two of our very favorite people."

  Dorothy blinked, her dark eyes shining. She hugged Jordyn close.

  "I always knew I would love my children. I'm blessed that I like them almost as much."

  THE SOFA WAS new. The color a pleasing dusky gray. The cushions, soft to the touch. Yet, with Byron Kraig across from him, Murphy felt as if he sat on pins and needles.

  "Good game," Byron said. "Three for four. Five RBIs. The homer you hit in the sixth? Nice piece of hitting."

  "Thanks," Murphy said. He hadn't expected to discuss his day at the plate.

  "The pitching staff has rounded into a solid rotation. You should be proud."

  Murphy shrugged off the compliment.

  "They're a talented bunch. Like all young players, they need consistency. A body behind the plate they know will be around day after day."

  Byron tapped a finger against the arm of his chair, his gaze measured.

  "A few years ago, I'd say you just shot me a shitload of false modesty."

  A few years ago, Byron would have been right on target. Except, Murphy wasn't the same player. Along with his drug and alcohol habits, he'd left behind a good portion of his inflated ego. What was left was still sizable. But he tried his best to tell the truth—whenever possible.

  "I know the game," he said. "Better than most."

  "There's the Murphy I remember."

  Criticism didn't bother Murphy. When warranted. However, he wanted Byron to understand. He wasn't the man he used to be. Hardly perfect. More like a work in progress. One step at a time.

  Murphy strove to be better. Sometimes he succeeded. Sometimes he failed. Either way, he would rather head back to his cabin and spend the rest of his life a lonely hermit than ever go backward.

  "I will never intentionally hurt her." Murphy was ready to get to the heart of the matter.

  "What about unintentionally?"

  "I wish I had the power to guarantee Jordyn's happiness." Murphy shook his head, a little sad, but emphatic. "Would you believe me if I told you I did?"

  "Probably not." Byron sighed. "No. The truth is better. For everybody concerned."

  "I kept the promise I made to you. Jordyn knows who I was. What I did. The many ways I screwed up my life." The fact that she hadn't turned heel and run was a blessing Murphy would never take for granted.

  "And now?" Byron asked. "What do you want from my daughter?"

  Murphy wanted today. Tomorrow. And the next. And the day after. He wanted to wake up with Jordyn in his arms and fall asleep the same way. What did he want? The better question would be what didn't he want?

  Byron claimed the truth was better. So, Murphy would give him what he asked for.

  "I want Jordyn."

  "Do you now?" Byron's dark eyes narrowed. "And you think I should turn her over to you?"

  "No, sir. Jordyn is her own woman. She loves and respects you. However, you can't tell her to walk away from me any more than I can make her stay. In the end, she'll decide what, and who, she wants. All I can do is try to be the man she deserves. And hope she decides she wants me."

  "From the moment Jordyn was born, she's never had a problem expressing her desires. If she wants you, she'll let you know soon enough." Eyebrow raised, Byron crossed his arms. "Once Jordyn commits, you're looking at life. You think you can handle forever?"

  A weight lifted from Murphy's chest. Jordyn was the one who would decide, but Byron's blessing felt right.

  Not so long ago, Murphy had only thought about the here and now. Hour to hour. Then day to day. Finally, a month passed. Then another. But forever? No. The concept had been beyond his scope.

  Until he met Jordyn.

  "If Jordyn wants forever? With me?" Yes, please. "I'll do everything and anything to make certain she never regrets her choice."

  The look Byron gave Murphy said he wasn't completely convinced about his daughter's taste in men. But he didn't harp on the subject. He'd had his say. What else could a good, loving father do?

  "Are you hungry?" Byron rose to his feet.

  "I can always eat." Especially now that the churning in his stomach had almost stopped.

  "Good." Byron clapped Murphy on the back. "One more thing?"

  "Yes, sir?" Murphy swallowed as he waited for the other shoe to fall.

  "Stop calling me sir. The name is Byron. Understood?"

  Relieved, Murphy felt his appetite return in full force.

  "Understood."

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ● ≈ ● ≈ ●

  THE STADIUM WAS eerily quiet. Jordyn had never stood on the Cyclones' home field when the stands were empty and silent. However, just as the thought crossed her mind, the situation changed. The seats behind home plate began to fill up. And the faces attached to the bodies were very familiar.

  "I thought we were supposed to be alone," she said as she absently tossed a brand-new baseball from hand to hand.

  "I did, too." Murphy frowned. "Apparently, word travels fast. Who did you tell?"

  "Blue. But she's my best friend. Even if she weren't, we needed permission to use the field. And Blue was the obvious person to ask. And I may have mentioned something to Claire, however—" Jordyn broke off when Murphy's point hit home. "Don't put all the blame on me. Who did you tell?"

  "I may have said something to Spencer," Murphy said. "I think Travis and Nick were around at the time."

  "Men," Jordyn sighed.

  "Women," Murphy countered. "I see twice as many female spectators as male."

  "Try again, fella." Jordyn nodded toward the Cyclones' dugout. "I count at least ten of your teammates. Not including Spencer, Travis, and Nick. My cheering section only numbers five."

  "How do you know they're here to cheer for you?" Murphy sent the women one of his best, dripping with charm, smiles.

  "Because in a battle of the sexes, we stick together." Jordyn didn't believe her words for a second. A lot of women would side with Murphy and his sexy grin. However, in t
he case of her friends, Jordyn was confident where their allegiances lie.

  "I'll be right back." Jordyn touched Murphy's arm. "Don't go away."

  "Where would I go?" he called after her. "I have a bet to win."

  "You keep stroking your own ego, and you might not have anybody to stroke the rest of you."

  Satisfied with her parting shot, Jordyn jogged toward the stands. She motioned for Blue to join her.

  "What are you doing here?"

  "Did you really expect us to stay away?" Blue chuckled at the idea. "We want to see you blow a pitch past the player of the week."

  Murphy had been on fire at the plate for almost a month. Major League Baseball had acknowledged his accomplishments with the weekly award. If Jordyn had known they would draw such a crowd, she would have waited until he started to slump a bit. Not much. Just enough to level out the field.

  "Our bet was supposed to be private."

  Again, Blue laughed. More of a snort, to be accurate.

  "Throw the ball, Jordyn."

  "But—"

  "And make him miss."

  Resigned, Jordyn walked back to Murphy. When she'd teased him into the silly bet, she hadn't given the idea much thought. She certainly hadn't expected they would draw a crowd. All things considered, she should have known better.

  "My posse isn't going to leave," she announced as they met near the pitcher's mound."

  "Neither is mine."

  Other than his cleats, Murphy had dressed in street clothes. Jeans and a t-shirt. Jordyn wore the same non-uniform. However, the spiked-soled shoes she wore, unlike Murphy's, were borrowed.

  "Are you ready?" she asked, a challenge in her eyes.

  A twin spark of competitive zeal in his blue gaze, Murphy nodded.

  "Give me your best shot."

  "And you'll give me yours? Promise me."

  As long as they planned to go through with the bet, the last thing she wanted was for Murphy to play the gentleman. They either played all-out or not at all.

  "I promise." Murphy nodded.

  Once she stepped onto the mound, Jordyn had always been able to narrow her focus to the ball in her hand and the person at the plate. She hadn't thrown a competitive pitch in years, but nothing had changed.

  Murphy found his spot, tapped the bat against his left shoe once, twice, before he raised the carved wood, took his stance, and waited.

  By touch, Jordyn rotated the ball until her fingers were placed perfectly on the seams. The rest was muscle memory and natural talent. She paused. Rolled her throwing shoulder. Went into her windup. And let the ball fly.

  ● ≈ ● ≈ ●

  IN BASEBALL, THE rule was simple. Never mess with a hot streak. Don't change anything. Except his underwear—socks optional. Pray his hit-making bat doesn't break. Get out of bed at the same time. Eat the same breakfast.

  Basically, follow the same routine until the streak ends.

  Murphy didn't consider himself fanatical about baseball's many superstitions. But at the moment, he was in the middle of a hot spell like he'd never known. Not in high school. Or the minors. Or his glory days as a major leaguer. Everything seemed to go his way from seeing-eye bloopers to no-doubt home runs and everything in between. If he ate the same kind of cereal every morning and treated his bat like a favored child, who could blame him?

  Hot or not, baseball had always come easier than real life. On the field, everything was copasetic. Off, he had a tendency to fuck things up. Royally. His former fiancée was a perfect example.

  Murphy was never really in love with Olga. The leggy Russian model was more for show. A status symbol. He'd asked her to marry him while high on a cocktail of booze and amphetamines. When he ended the engagement, the same chemicals flowed through his blood. He didn't regret the loss. And when he called her a cheating, backstabbing, bloodsucking, moneygrubbing bitch, his words were accurate. He imagined whatever insults she hurled at him in her native tongue were just as spot-on.

  No, Murphy hadn't been sorry to see the last of Olga. However, if he'd been sober, he would have ended their relationship in private, not in public. And not in such a verbally abusive manner.

  Thanks to social media, a lot of people had witnessed Murphy's meltdown. Six months after he'd done his time in rehab, he sent Olga an apology through her agent. She hadn't responded. And he didn't blame her a bit.

  The last words Olga had said to him the night they broke up had been prophetic. She had wished him to hell, and for almost a year, where Murphy had done his time, both physically and mentally, had felt pretty close.

  Murphy brushed his hand over Jordyn's silky hair. Sound asleep, she snuggled closer, her body curled against his side. Talk about hot streaks. For the first time in his life, he could honestly say the good in his personal life exceeded his professional one. And the reason was simple. Jordyn

  Simple? Silently, Murphy chuckled. Jordyn was the most complex, frustrating, intelligent, sexy, exciting woman he'd ever known. She was a constant surprise. In a good way. Mostly. He couldn't think of another human being—of either sex—who could make a major league hitter swing through a seventy-eight mile an hour curveball. Do a happy dance all around the pitcher's mound. Shout at the top of her lungs, suck that, superstar. High-five her friends. Then jump into his arms and end with a scorching-hot kiss.

  Only Jordyn.

  "We both know I'm not good enough for you," Murphy whispered. He breathed deeply. Jordyn's scent both calmed and enticed his senses. "If I were half the man I've tried so hard to become, I would walk away. Let you find someone who suited you better than an old catcher on the crest of a last hurrah."

  Eyes closed, Murphy cursed his newly acquired conscience. His old self wouldn't have thought twice about taking what Jordyn had to offer and to hell with the consequences. The new and improved Murphy. Hell. He wasn't as improved as he thought.

  "I can't leave you, Jordyn." Murphy sighed. "The last time we were apart. When the team was in Oakland? I tried to convince myself you were an addiction. But I couldn't talk myself into the lie. Ultimately, alcohol and drugs made me hate myself. However, the more time I spend with you, the better I become. And no amount of rehab would ever burn you out of my blood. Even if I wanted to. Which I don't."

  Murphy checked the clock. Just after midnight. He needed to get some sleep. But not until he said what he had to say. Even if Jordyn wasn't awake to hear.

  "I know. Get to the point." He kept his voice low. "If you ever decide to leave me, I won't blame you. But I'm still selfish enough to hope like hell you never do."

  "Why would I leave when I'm exactly where I want to be?"

  Murphy maneuvered his long body until he and Jordyn were face to face.

  "I thought you were asleep."

  "I'm glad I wasn't." Her gaze warm, she touched his cheek. "You said a lot of things. Right and wrong."

  Murphy frowned. "What did I get wrong?"

  "Where did you get the idea that you're not good enough for me?" Jordyn didn't let him answer. "You are a good man. Not perfect, but nobody is. You aren't old. And where would I find a man who suited me better? I've looked. He isn't out there."

  Jordyn really had listened. To everything.

  "I hear a lot about what I got wrong. What did I get right?"

  "Hope. You hope I won't leave. And I won't." Jordyn gave him a crooked smile. "I jumped into this relationship. With both feet. And I hoped I wasn't about to make a mistake."

  Murphy hadn't forgotten they were naked. However, when Jordyn rolled on top of him, she reminded him in the best way possible.

  "How has all the hope worked out for you?"

  "I can't complain." They shared a long, promising kiss. "How about you?"

  "Complain? Me?" Murphy shook his head. "Not in this lifetime."

  Their kiss quickly went from promising to interesting. Murphy tangled his legs with Jordyn's as his hands cupped her butt. Firm, yet soft, wherever he touched
became his favorite part of her body. However, he was fickle. As his hands moved, so did his ever-changing preference. Though Murphy tried, over and over again, he failed to find an inch of her that was better than the last.

  "Condom," he sighed.

  "We're out."

  "What?" Murphy's eyes shot open. He would have sworn he restocked last week.

  "Gotcha," Jordyn chortled.

  In mock rage, Murphy flipped their positions. "How dare you joke about such a thing? You realize you must be punished."

  "Oh, no!" The terror in Jordyn's eyes was just as fake as Murphy's rage. "What are you going to do to me?"

  "Only one thing will suffice." He paused for dramatic effect. "Multiple orgasms."

  "For you, or me?

  "You wench."

  What the hell? Wench? Murphy had never used the word in his life. He expected Jordyn to burst out laughing. Instead, she gamely bit her lip and stayed in character.

  "You're so much bigger and stronger than poor little me," she simpered, her deep-green eyes sparkling with fun. She threw her arms wide, her body supplicant to his will. "If you insist, orgasm away."

  Murphy began at Jordyn's feet. Such lovely toes. However, just as he was about to worship her instep, his phone rang.

  Jordyn let out a frustrated sigh.

  "Why did you ever break down and buy one of those things?"

  "What can I say? Civilization has corrupted me."

  A middle of the night phone call was never good news. But Murphy couldn't let voicemail take a message in case something was wrong with his mom or dad.

  "Hello?" he answered without looking at the screen. Though garbled, Murphy recognized the voice on the other end. And his stomach sank. "Whoa. Brett. Brett. Slow down, and start again."

  Murphy felt Jordyn place her hand on his arm, a questioning look in her eyes. He shook his head. He couldn't explain and listen at the same time.

  "Drunk," Brett laughed as if he'd said the funniest thing ever. "As a skunk."

  "Where are you? I'll be right there."

  "Can drive."

  "No!" Shit. He knew better than to argue. More than once when under the influence, Murphy had done something idiotic simply because somebody told him not to. "What's the name of the bar? I'll drop by, and we'll toss a few back. For old times."