He sighed.
“You’ve been in a slump as of late. Both in hitting and fielding.” She made the words a statement.
“How did you know?”
She snorted. “Tucker Wilde. I might not be at your games, but I do keep up with you. The games on television, I watch or record if I’m not able to be at home. And I do check the team’s website quite often.”
He blinked as realization struck. She followed his career. One way or another. “Why?” The question slipped out.
“Why what? Why do I check on you? Why do I read everything I can find about you and watch you on television?”
“Well, yeah. You were all too in a hurry to get back to the pack.” And abandon me in the process. Old hurt trickled through.
“Tucker, you’re my son. What else would I do but watch you play baseball? Learn about your life and what’s happening in it? That’s what mothers do when it comes to their kids.”
He rubbed his free hand over his face. The mini lecture went over like a lead balloon. Just like most of their conversations. “Forget I said anything.”
“No. I’m not going to forget it. You don’t get it, do you?”
He blew out a breath in frustration. “Look, Mom. I’ve got to go. I’ll catch you later.”
“Tucker—”
“Later, Mom.” He clicked off the call before she could say anything more.
This must be the week of asshole-hood for him. First, he’d told Dixon that their coupling meant nothing, obviously stabbing the guy in the heart. Now, he’d hung up on his mother rather than argue about her getting involved in his life from afar and years down the road from abandoning him.
“Yeah, I’m not going to win the kind and caring person of the year award any time soon.” He rested his head on the back of the couch and stared at the ceiling.
My life definitely sucks.
Nowhere to go but up, right? He only wished he could believe that would be the case.
Frustrated with the whole day, Tucker made an impulsive decision. He hurried over to his suitcase, pulled out a pair of slacks and a silk shirt, and tugged them on. After a final check in the mirror, he slipped on his loafers, tucked his wallet in his pocket, and headed out the door. A night of hot bodies at a nearby club would surely help. If nothing else, he could put away a couple of drinks or get up close and personal with a lovely young lady. Either one would brighten things up in his world.
No sooner had Tucker stepped out of the main lobby doors than he caught a glimpse of Dixon. Only he wasn’t alone.
Dixon walked next to another guy, this one with light-colored hair, dressed in jeans and a button-down shirt. Good looking, the man had a smile on his face, which only widened when Dixon whispered to him. They had their arms around one another and were heading toward the side entrance of the building. Since Dixon would have a key card, he didn’t have to bring his newfound date through the front doors for all to see.
As they continued on, Tucker saw Dixon cup the other man’s rear and give it a squeeze.
He recalled what Dixon’s touch on his own ass felt like, and awareness hit him square in the chest.
The thought of Dixon screwing another man stirred up both hurt and anger. He couldn’t say anything. After all, he’d walked out and pretty much told Dixon that their time together was equivalent to a faux pas and easily forgettable. But, seeing that Dixon moved on to another hookup changed things.
What do I expect? Dixon to sit at home every night pining away? Of course he was going to find a new man. Shifters were a randy bunch after all. Dixon would be no different, seeking out another guy for sex. For companionship. Maybe even something more permanent. Something more than he has with me, that’s for damn sure.
Just like I did with that woman as soon as we arrived at the hotel. Trying to regain a firm hold on being straight, I pretty much shoved it in Dixon’s face. Regret rested heavily on his shoulders. He now knew how it felt—like he’d been replaced for not making the grade. The sting would last, that he understood.
Seeing Dixon with another man cleared the murky waters a little. While still a bit hesitant, Tucker knew he had to either step up to the plate with Dixon or to wave him good-bye forever.
If only I knew which path to follow.
His interest in going out fizzled. Peace and quiet in the hotel room while watching some television appealed more.
With one final glance at the couple, Tucker turned on his heel and retraced his steps.
Chapter 7
DIXON HEADED to the plate for his turn at batting practice. Tucker passed him by in the opposite direction but didn’t even bother to make eye contact as he went.
The silent jab irritated Dixon and dug at his still-raw feelings.
It had been that way for two weeks now. Ever since Tucker declared their time together was a drunken mistake. No matter what Dixon tried, Tucker eluded him. At his wit’s end, Dixon pretty much gave up on that particular dream. Unfortunately, he seemed to have lost a friend in the process.
No use crying over spilled milk or one-night stands gone bad.
He dug his cleats into the dirt, bent his knees, and assumed his stance. A couple of beats later, he swung the bat, made contact, then promptly cussed as the ball arced into deep left field. The third fly ball in a row. Not a good outing, even for batting practice. The pregame ritual used to relax him, get his mind on track for the upcoming game. Now, it seemed to be just another thorn in his side.
“If you’d quit dropping that shoulder like I told you, you wouldn’t be popping up.”
The all too familiar voice made Dixon cringe. He turned to see his father standing near the warm-up circle, a stern look pasted on his face.
Well, hell. Did he really have to show up here? Right now? Like I don’t have enough issues at the moment.
He spared his father a glance. “Dad. I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Thought I might drop by and see if we can correct a thing or two. Your stats aren’t as good as they could be.”
“Whose ever is?” he uttered under his breath. “Three-fifty isn’t anything to sneeze at.” He turned his attention back to the mound where one of the assistant coaches threw out grapefruits for the players to hit.
Terrance approached with his chin up and shoulders back. A self-confident carriage if Dixon ever saw one. His father knew he’d been big stuff and still was to this day. That certainly hadn’t changed.
“By the time I was your age, I owned the hitting records.”
Dixon lowered his bat and swung around. “Guess what, Dad. I’m not you.” He didn’t realize he’d growled loudly until nearby players jerked around to stare at him. The sound also caught Banner’s attention, and he frowned in Dixon’s direction.
“You’re my kid. I expect better. You could match my average if you’d just try a little harder and take some advice from a pro.” Terrance stopped near the batter’s box and bit out the retort with restrained anger.
“Lucky me.” Sarcasm dripped from the words.
Terrance scowled, his lips pulled back to show his fangs. A sure sign of growing frustration and agitation. “You’ll show respect. I earned it. Every bit of it.”
“I didn’t say you didn’t, Dad, but how about backing off and letting me play as I see fit?” Dixon fired right back. He threw his bat to the ground and fisted his hands. A low rumble inside his head told exactly what his inner beast thought about the situation. As it was, he held the reins of control with an iron grip, for fear his fox half would break free and go on a rampage against his own father.
Some instincts were firmly lodged inside a shifter’s genetic makeup, despite their human parts. Protectiveness, defense of those he cares for, and standing up to a challenge from another male existed at the top of the list.
“I would if you would actually play up to your capability. Laziness and slacking doesn’t leave a bright mark on the family name. I worked hard to keep the name as one of the best in baseball, just like my father befo
re me. And, you’ll do the same.” Terrance finished loudly and with command.
Fur is going to fly. Dixon opened his mouth to tell his father off, only to be cut off.
“Mr. Foxx. I was hoping I’d get to meet you one day. Tucker Wilde.” Tucker walked up quickly with his hand held out.
Terrance shook it. “Good to meet you.”
Tucker smiled at him. “Hey, do you think you could autograph my bat? I’d appreciate it.” He handed over the bat. “I have a place of honor for it. Only the best for the greatest player of our time.”
The pinched expression faded as Terrance smiled at the lavish praise. “Sure. Got a pen?”
“Yep.” Tucker held one out.
Dixon watched the interaction with puzzlement. In all the time they’d played together, he couldn’t recall Tucker asking about getting an autograph from his father. Hell, he couldn’t even remember them talking about his father at all. Which made the scene all that more confusing.
Tucker glanced up, met Dixon’s gaze, and winked.
Dixon gave a brief nod as the puzzle pieces fell into place. Whether Tucker really sought the souvenir was a moot point. He’d intervened to spare Dixon and to prevent the argument threatening to blow out of proportion in full public view.
“Thank you,” he mouthed.
Tucker inclined his head before turning back to Terrance.
Banner nudged Dixon toward the dugout. “Enough batting practice for the day. We have a team meeting in five. Get going.” He looked over at Tucker. “You too.”
“Yes, sir.” Tucker grinned at Terrance once more. “Thanks.”
“Welcome.”
Dixon didn’t waste time. He made a beeline for the dugout and didn’t look back. The far end of the bench was empty and called his name. He sat down and brooded over his situation. His father would never be happy with his play. No matter how hard he tried, he’d never live up to expectations. So why bother?
Right then and there, Dixon vowed to never give a damn about his father’s opinion ever again. To do otherwise would only decay his sanity and put him on the warpath whenever his father showed up. Better to just let it go and move on than to have an all-out fight in fox form on the field. And that’s what it was coming to. Would have happened today if Tucker hadn’t stepped in.
All well and good except the fury hadn’t left his body and the pregame antics stole his focus, only sending his mood further into the doldrums. A hell of a start to a game with nowhere to go but up.
Two hours later he found himself right back on the bench, the exact same spot he’d plopped down at before the game started. Before, he’d needed a break in order to simmer down from the near altercation with his father. This time, he’d been replaced in the game due to poor play and bad temper. Zero for three at bats and two errors charged to him. He’d mouthed off at the ump over a couple of strikes and threw his glove down in the dirt in a fit when a runner had been called safe after Dixon tagged him just before the guy slid into base. While that was awful enough of a showing, it was worse since the game was only in the fourth inning.
He’d kicked at the dirt, tossed his glove to the bench, and glared at those around him. Though not their fault in the least, he didn’t feel up to chatting. Better to warn the others away rather than say something to piss them off as well.
So much for going up.
“If you’d get your head in the game, then you’d still be out there.” Trigger leaned against the railing of the dugout and crossed his arms over his chest. “Drop everything at the door next time.”
Dixon saw red. “You fucking know-it-all.” He stood up.
Trigger arched an eyebrow, seemingly not the least bit intimidated. He didn’t have to be, as he had more than enough muscles and mass to pound Dixon into a puddle.
Still, Dixon wasn’t backing down. He’d had enough of people telling him what to do lately. Enough was enough.
“I’ll let you in on a little secret. People do shit like what happened today to get into your mind and mess up your game. Congratulations. You fell into that trap.” He dropped his hands to his sides. “Next time, remember that you’re in the big leagues for a reason. Do what you do and to hell with anyone else.”
Oddly enough, Trigger’s words hit a chord with Dixon. The anger evaporated, leaving irritation and annoyance in its wake. “What do you know about it?”
Trigger grinned slightly. “I grew up with four older brothers. I know all about mind games, beatings, and sucker punches.” With that said, he ambled down the way toward the cooler filled with water bottles.
Dixon saw Trigger in a new light. Sure, the big guy was an asshole most of the time, but perhaps he had a reason to be. Survival of the fittest and all that.
A LOW growl followed by a grunt carried to Dixon’s ears. He pulled up the sides of the pillow in hopes of drowning out the noise.
He’d been thrilled to have a hotel room by himself. The luxury happened now and again, about half of the away games, players had to double up. He’d been lucky enough to fall into the category of having a room to himself. That had worked out well for him, or so he thought. Unfortunately, his room was bracketed by the two mated couples on the team. Wiley and Ram had the one to the left while Graham and Trigger occupied the space to the right. All fine and good until both sides started getting frisky.
And Dixon’s advanced hearing and nose picked up on everything. Damn it, anyway.
The unmistakable squeak of a bed added into the mix of sexual sounds.
What the hell is wrong with people tonight? The Florida warmth sending everyone into heat? Or the annual breeding season is starting right now?
Dixon groaned as the ruckus continued.
In truth, he couldn’t begrudge them their pleasure. If things had worked out differently, he’d be doing the exact same thing—with Tucker. The possibilities flew through his mind, making him horny and beyond frustrated.
Though he’d hooked up with a guy from a club recently, the night of hardcore sex did little to appease his rampant libido. The man had been a looker and a great lay, but Dixon’s heart wasn’t into it, still too fixated on the one man who he wanted above all else, but couldn’t have.
Time heals all wounds. I just wish it would hurry up.
A sharp yip from one of the rooms sealed the deal.
Dixon got up, threw on some clothes and shoes before leaving the room. He needed space, air, and somewhere quiet. As he stepped out the front door of the hotel, the lights from the stadium across the street drew him. The two security guards gave him a friendly nod and let him pass without a hassle.
Automatically, he strode onto the diamond and took his time looking around. The empty stands suited his mood, as did the vacant field. For the life of him, he couldn’t recall the last time he stepped out on the infield because he loved the game. Nothing more complicated than that. Since childhood, it had been his father’s obsession and the only way to please the man.
Goes to show some things never change. He snorted to himself.
Lately, he’d begun to wonder if the high stakes were worth it. The traveling, the pressure, the demands. Where did his happiness fit into the equation?
When no answer came, he sauntered toward the stands, climbed over the railing, and took a seat in the front row near his home spot of third base.
What a hell of a shitty mess this last twenty-four hours has been. First, Mack opened a can of worms at dinner last night. Then, his father invaded batting practice and tore him apart for his technique and lack of solidly hit balls. After that, his outing in the game royally sucked. Now, it’s screwing time at the hotel of lust and he’d been left out.
He propped his feet up on the center metal bar of the railing, folded his arms over his chest, and simply stared out over the field in search of answers to the silent questions.
A shadow fell across the first base line. Dixon turned to find another man heading his way.
He noticed the walk and the body build a second before his
olfactory senses picked up on the unique scent of the individual.
Tucker.
His heart picked up speed as his breath caught in his chest.
A second later, he recalled the issues of late and checked his excitement. Tucker couldn’t be here searching for him. Instead, he’d probably made a date for some kinky hookup with a woman in the dugout or some such nonsense. Something I damn well don’t want to bear witness to. Even his bid at a quiet night couldn’t come true.
With a sigh of dejection, Dixon stood and turned to leave.
“Wait. Don’t go.”
The quiet words stopped Dixon. He swiveled, caught the sadness on Tucker’s face, and sat back down. Nothing about the man’s body language spoke of sex or a randy shifter on the prowl. Instead, Tucker reminded him of a guy who’d lost his best friend. Dixon’s heart tugged at the thought.
Tucker climbed the stairs, stopped at the same level, then made his way over. He took the seat next to Dixon, folded his hands together, and stared out over the empty diamond.
For a long moment, neither spoke. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it did fill Dixon with an odd type of tension. Words left him completely.
“It’s been a hell of a season so far.” Tucker’s soft voice carried plenty of lackluster energy as well as some self-reproach. “I can’t get back into the game. It’s like the fire has blown out and I’m just going through the motions.”
Dixon empathized. His fire had burned out eons ago.
“I deserved to lose my starting spot. Only now, I don’t know how to get it back.”
“The question is, do you want to?” Dixon uttered the query he’d asked himself dozens of times.
Tucker lifted his head and gazed over to Dixon. “Yeah, I do. Baseball is my life. My outlet. The only thing that keeps me going.”
“That’s a lot of pressure to excel at a sport that’s supposed to be fun,” Dixon pointed out.
Tucker sighed and turned his attention to the field once again. “Yeah, but it’s always been that way. Baseball was my ticket out. I guess it still is.”
Switch Hitter Page 8
