Playing Hard

by Melanie Scott

  “I’d be pissed off in your position, too,” Alex said, tugging at the Saints tie around his neck. “So rant all you want. But right now I need you to suck it up and do me a favor.”

  This wasn’t going to be good. “What?”

  “Dan called up. Wants to know if you’ll talk to Finn. Give him the lowdown on some of the Red Sox players. Tell him—”

  “How to do his fucking job? Alex, Castro is the last guy in the world who wants my advice. He’s not going to want to listen to me.”

  “Then he’s going to have to suck it up, too,” Alex said calmly.

  “You really think that me talking to him is going to steady his head?”

  “It had better. Otherwise we’ll have to bench him.”

  “You won’t hear an argument from me.” Maybe that was unfair of him, but Castro hadn’t done anything to earn his loyalty. “Pull him. Put Leeroy on first.”

  “Leeroy’s nursing a bruised finger. We need him to get some runs on the board right now, so no, not risking him at first base. Finn needs to get it together,” Lucas said.

  “Finn can hit.”

  “Yeah, but he’s a better first baseman,” Mal said.

  “Not today he isn’t,” Ollie pointed out.

  “Which is why we need to try this. If this wasn’t Castro, you’d be happy to help, right?” Mal said.

  Oliver swore under his breath. “Right. And I’m willing to help now. I just don’t think it’s going to have the effect you think it will.”

  Alex shrugged. “He can’t get much worse if you piss him off. So if Dan thinks it’s worth a try, then it’s worth a try.”

  This was for his team, Oliver reminded himself. For the Saints, not Castro. Even if it annoyed the crap out of him. “Fine. As long as whatever happens is on your head,” he said to Alex. “Get Dan to put a headset on the kid and I’ll talk to him.”

  * * *

  A buzz of voices ran through the box when Oliver and the terrible trio—as Raina had called them earlier—came back inside at the start of the next inning. Amelia risked a glance over her shoulder. Oliver looked grim, and the expressions on the faces of Alex, Lucas, and Mal weren’t much happier.

  But Oliver’s face softened slightly when she caught his eye. She flashed him a quick smile before turning back to the windows. The Red Sox players had taken their positions around the field. Amelia’s stomach tightened. The Saints were currently four runs down. They needed to get things moving if they were going to have any hope of working their way back to victory.

  She wanted them to win. For Finn. For everyone else in the room.

  But sitting here watching was torture.

  It would be easier if she could hold Oliver’s hand, but no. That wasn’t going to happen. She gritted her teeth and settled in to watch.

  For a time, it seemed like the Saints were recovering. They narrowed the gap to two runs before the second half of the seventh. But when Finn fumbled an early catch and let the batter get by him, everything fell apart.

  By the time “Sweet Caroline” boomed over the PA system just before the bottom of the eighth, it was clear that the Sox had the game sewn up. The mood in the box turned somber. The start of the ninth inning was like a funeral.

  Unable to watch, Amelia excused herself and headed to the ladies’ room. When she found it deserted she used the temporary solitude to text Oliver.

  Sorry. Are you okay?

  The reply pinged back faster than she expected. Yes.

  Really?

  It’s our best result since I started playing.

  Doesn’t mean you can’t feel crappy right now.

  I’ll be fine once we get out of here.

  She winced. If it wasn’t for her wanting to keep things on the down-low, she could be standing next to him. Sorry.

  You can make it up to me later.

  That made her grin. He couldn’t be too pissed if he was thinking about sex. Or could he? Men were strange creatures sometimes.

  Can’t wait. She hit SEND and put her phone away. She’d probably dragged out her absence as long as possible. Time to go back in and commiserate. God. She had no idea what to say to Finn. He wasn’t going to take this well. Not that it was his fault. He wasn’t the only Saints player who’d made mistakes tonight. But she knew Finn. He’d blame himself.

  When the game—and the torture of knowing what was coming—finally ended, Amelia sat with the Castros for a few minutes. The three Saints owners, Maggie, and Oliver had all vanished down to the locker rooms, leaving Raina and Sara to deal with the guests in the box. Eddie Castro refused the offer of another drink, seemingly lost in thought as he stared out the window of the box, watching the crowd start to disperse. Or at least, the Saints fans were leaving. The Red Sox fans were going nuts.

  “Are you going back to New York tonight?” Mari asked Amelia, obviously desperate to talk about anything other than the game.

  “Yes. I have to work tomorrow.” Daniel hadn’t seemed too upset with the fact she’d taken off for Boston but she didn’t think his tolerance would continue if she failed to show up to work in the morning.

  “You work too hard,” Mari said.

  “Says the woman who still refuses to retire,” Amelia said.

  “Teaching English to adults isn’t the same thing,” Mari said. “Three days a week and I’m home by four.”

  “I know,” Amelia said. “But they don’t let economists go home by four. At least not on Wall Street.”

  “You should teach,” Mari said. “Become a professor or something.”

  Amelia wrinkled her nose. “I’ve thought about it. Maybe one day. But academia is hardly a secure job. I’d need a PhD, too.”

  “Mija, nowhere is a secure job anymore. There’s more to life than money. It worries me seeing you and Em working so hard. No men. No children.”

  “We’re hardly on the shelf. People have kids later these days.” It was an old argument. “Don’t worry, I’m sure Em and Finn will provide you with plenty of beautiful grandbabies eventually.”

  “Hmmph. I don’t want to be too old to enjoy them. Besides, your mom deserves beautiful grandbabies, too.”

  “Right now, I think she’s just enjoying not working,” Amelia said.

  “You’re a good girl,” Mari said. “But you don’t know how a mom feels about these things.”

  “Well, I’d need a husband before I got to the babies part.” She’d seen what being a single mom was like. She’d made up her mind a long time ago that if she ever had kids, it wouldn’t be alone.

  “New York is full of men. Look where you are. Surrounded by men. Men who earn good money. And who look good in tight pants.”

  That made her laugh. Which earned her a dirty look from one of the guys standing near them in the box. But she was not about to chat about the possible benefits of dating a baseball player with Mari. She’d screw up and let something slip and then where would things be? Luckily she was saved from any further conversation in this direction by Sara, who came over to tell them that friends and family could go down and see the team now.

  “Do you have time to come and see Finn?” Mari said. “What time is your flight?”

  “I have time,” Amelia said, avoiding the question. She gathered her things and the Castros’. Eddie was still very quiet. God. What was she going to say to Finn? Better luck next time? Seemed a bit harsh even if it was highly likely that Finn was going to get another chance to play in a divisional series. He was still young.

  Unlike Oliver. Who might not get another shot if his hand didn’t heal.

  Well, him at least she could make feel better. Once they were safely away from Fenway.

  But first, Finn.

  By the time they reached the locker rooms, weaving their way through what seemed like hundreds of people—including press and photographers—her stomach was in knots all over again.

  “Let’s wait a few minutes,” Amelia said. “Just until things get a bit less crazy.”

  Eddie look
ed at the crowds and nodded, and they moved back to stand against the wall. After a minute or so, Maggie emerged from the locker room and began directing the press away. It was surprising how much less crowded the corridor felt without a gaggle of cameras and people wielding microphones on poles.

  As she came back, Maggie caught Amelia’s eye and mouthed something she thought might be five minutes before disappearing back inside.

  Sara, who’d come hurrying down the corridor shortly before Maggie reappeared, looked apologetic. “Sorry, they must have decided to keep the guys together a little bit longer. I’m sure it won’t be long.”

  “It’s not a problem,” Amelia said. She glanced at her watch. It was after eleven. Ollie had said to meet at the heliport. Presumably the chopper would wait for them but she wanted to get away. It was going to be late by the time they got back to Manhattan. She couldn’t see Oliver anywhere outside the locker rooms. He must still be inside with the team, right?

  Surely he would have texted if he’d actually left Fenway?

  He wouldn’t leave her stranded in Boston. That was ridiculous. She shoved the thought away, trying to focus on being calm.

  “Sorry, this is one of the annoying parts,” Sara said. “It’s not usually this bad after a game. It’s just because it’s the—”

  “Division series. I know,” Amelia said.

  They weren’t the only families waiting to talk to players. There were quite a few women standing nearby, some glamorous and alone, some glamorous and with kids. Plus a few older men, women, and couples who were obviously parents like the Castros. Their stoic expressions made it obvious that they were feeling just as bad about the loss.

  No one talked much. Everyone watched the locker room door.

  Which finally opened.

  The first person who Amelia bumped into—literally—when she walked into the room, trying to see Finn, was Oliver. He caught her with his left hand, steadying her. She stared up at him, trying to see if there were any clues to how he was feeling on his face.

  But if he was upset, he was giving nothing away. Though maybe the lack of his usual welcoming smile was proof enough. “Sorry,” she managed.

  “It’s okay,” he said.

  “Amelia? Are you going to introduce us?” Mari said, stepping up beside them. She gave Oliver an unsubtle once-over then turned to Amelia, curiosity clear in her eyes.

  “Um, this is Oliver Shields. He’s one of the Saints players,” Amelia said. “Oliver, this is Mari Castro, Finn’s mom. And that’s Eddie, his dad, behind her.”

  “What position do you—” Mari broke off, clearly noticing the sling for the first time. “Oh, you’re injured? What happened?”

  Amelia froze. Oh God. Finn hadn’t told his parents who had been in the accident with him?

  “Just a bit of a sprain,” Oliver said. “You must be proud of Finn. He played well tonight.”

  She’d never wanted to kiss him so much in her life. He’d have had every right to tell Mari exactly how he’d been injured. But no, not this man. She smiled at him, trying to keep her expression to polite rather than enchanted.

  “Did you hit your head when you hurt your hand? No one played well tonight,” Eddie muttered. “But it’s nice of you to say so.” He looked past Oliver, clearly still searching for Finn.

  “How do you know Milly, Oliver?” Mari said, nudging her husband with an elbow.

  “We met briefly at a party the other week,” Oliver said.

  Yikes, the conversation was definitely straying back into dangerous territory.

  She tried desperately to think of something to say to change the subject. But her brain had gone blank. Until Finn appeared behind Oliver, face like thunder. “There’s Finn,” she said, feeling like an idiot.

  Oliver turned. “Castro,” he said pleasantly.

  “Shields.” Finn’s reply was curt. “Always showing up, aren’t you?”

  “It’s my team, too,” Oliver said. His tone was mild but Amelia could see the chill building in his eyes.

  “Finn, we were looking for you,” Amelia said, putting her hand on Mari’s arm. “I don’t have much time before I have to get back to New York.”

  Finn’s expression darkened at that, shoulders hunching. “I thought you weren’t coming. How did you get here?”

  “Flew,” she said. “All the way to Boston to see you play. I—I’m sorry, you lost.”

  “You don’t say,” Finn snapped.

  “Finn!” Mari said. “Be nice. You can be upset about the game but don’t be rude to Milly. It’s not her fault.”

  Finn spun on his heel and walked away and for a moment Amelia forgot how to breathe. Like he’d slapped her or something. But no. Mari was right. This was not her fault and he could take it out on someone else.

  “Maybe I should just go,” she said, not looking at Mari. “It might be better if it’s just the two of you.”

  “Ignore him, mija,” Eddie said. “But yes, you get going. Don’t miss your flight. Finn will be all right.”

  She didn’t know if she believed him, but she wasn’t going to argue. She could try again with Finn when he had calmed down. So time for an exit. She kissed Mari and Eddie and sent one last look at Oliver before heading for the door.

  Chapter Twelve

  Oliver was quiet all the way back to New York. He answered if she spoke to him. Distractedly. Mind obviously back in Boston. After the first few attempts to draw him out, she decided to leave him alone with his thoughts and just watched the glittering lights and dark patches between towns slip by under their flight path, trying not to think about Finn.

  About him snarling and then walking away like that.

  Like she was to blame.

  Which was ridiculous. He needed to learn how to cope with losing better.

  She chewed her lip. Maybe she should have come clean about Oliver. Let Finn be mad straightaway. Instead of adding to his frustrations.

  But no. Finn’s moods were his responsibility. Not hers.

  Hopefully he’d be fine after a day or so to get the shock of the loss out of his system. He had his parents there. He didn’t need her as well.

  She’d call him tomorrow. Maybe. Or wait until Wednesday. Let him calm down. Send him a good-luck text before his photo shoot.

  The flight was uneventful and as they stepped out of the heliport and into a waiting town car, she decided she could get used to helicopters. Much less hassle than airports.

  To her surprise, Oliver gave the driver her address.

  “You don’t want to go to your place?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “You have to be at work in the morning. This will get you a bit more sleep. I’ve already stolen half your night.”

  That was true. She was tired, both from a long day and the slow coming-down from the adrenaline before the game. But she wasn’t ready to sleep just yet. Not until she knew he really was okay. “Will you stay with me?”

  That brought a smile to his face. “Nothing I’d like more.”

  She wrapped her hand around his, rested her head on his shoulder, and they sat in silence for the rest of the journey. She was halfway to falling asleep when the car came to a stop. Oliver nudged her and she shook herself awake, wondering how they’d gotten through the city so fast. Then realized it was nearly two a.m.

  “Bedtime,” Oliver said gently and slid out of the car before helping her. “Which way?” he asked as the car drove away.

  Right. He hadn’t actually been to her apartment yet. That woke her up. For one thing, she had vague memories of failing to do anything sensible like make her bed or buy groceries in the last week or so.

  Well, screw it. He was going to have to take it or leave it.

  When they reached her apartment, she tried to scan the living room discreetly.

  “Do you want me to stand here with my eyes shut while you run around and tidy up?” He grinned at her.

  Busted. “Are you saying you think my apartment is a mess?” she asked, mock-indig
nant. Well, mostly mock.

  “It looks fine to me. But I did kind of spring this on you. And you girls can be weird about that stuff.”

  “Says the guy with a housekeeper.”

  “Guilty,” he said. “I hate cleaning. Lila stops me from living in squalor. Or starving.”

  She sighed, envious. “I need a Lila.” Then she frowned up at him. “Are you saying you don’t know how to cook?”

  He looked around the room. “I can cook. And I can run a washing machine and a vacuum cleaner. It’s easier not to during the season. Saves time. Besides which, I can afford not to. But if this is your idea of a mess then I’m not so sure about you needing a cleaner.”

  “Maybe not. But it would be nice. Now, are you hungry? Thirsty? Sleepy?”

  He eyed her, and that grin reappeared. “Not sleepy.”

  She could feel her brain melting as he watched her. Honestly, the man should come with a health warning. “We could play Words with Friends.”

  He shook his head. “Not in the mood for that right now.”

  “I don’t think I own any other games,” she said, trying not to grin back at him.

  “I had a different sort of activity in mind.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes. I think you’ll like it,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows. “It starts with ladies’ choice.”

  Her choice? Was it suddenly hot in her apartment? She glanced down at his foot and then at his hand. “Ladies’ choice?” That brought all sorts of idea to mind. “Are you allowed to get that wet?” she asked.

  “My hand?”

  “Yes?”

  He nodded. “The splint is plastic and the bandage comes off. The dressing is waterproof. So if you can rebandage me, then yes, it can handle a little water.”

  “In that case, I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling a little grimy after all that travel. Want to scrub my back?”

  “That’s a yes,” he said. He glanced around as he started to lift the strap of the sling over his head. “Where’s the bathroom?”

  “This way.” She stepped out of her shoes and led the way. The bathroom had its very own radiator, so it wasn’t cold. Not that it was possible for her to feel cold with Oliver looking at her the way he currently was.