The Awful Truth. Crackling with wit and laugh-out-loud humor, the screwball comedy was the perfect way to take her mind off her problems. Or so she hoped.
As she settled down in front of the television, snuggled in her favorite blanket, her phone charging in another room, Blue tried to concentrate on the antics on the screen. Unfortunately, not even Cary Grant and Irene Dunne had the power to keep Spencer from invading her thoughts.
The feminist in Blue balked at what she could only identify as classic needy behavior. You can live without a man for a few hours, she reminded herself. Or days. Even weeks and months. Get over yourself. Spencer is probably exhausted from the game. He'll call. And if he doesn't, so what?
The other side of Blue's brain, the less evolved part, wasn't buying the logical side's hard sell.
You had your second chance. Something most people never get. Spencer did his part. He proved to you that he wanted your relationship to work. But were you willing to meet him halfway? Nope. Your way, or the highway. Well, congratulations. You can enjoy your victory. Alone. Forever.
Damn. Her less-evolved side was a bitch.
Blue wrapped her hands around her cup. The warmth seeped into her hands as she sipped the hot, herbal tea. Ugh. Why had she chosen herbal tea? Because when she reached into her cupboard for the ubiquitous Earl Grey, she heard Jordyn reminding her that caffeine was a bad idea this late at night.
Another voice in her head. Just what Blue didn't need.
Caffeine wasn't her enemy—no matter what Jordyn claimed. Blue wanted tea. The real stuff. Dark. Bracing. She wasn't going to sleep; shouldn't she have something to help her get through the long hours ahead?
Grabbing her cup, Blue pushed her blanket aside and headed for the kitchen. She dumped the offending contents into the sink. Just as she reached for the canister of loose leaf tea that sat near her electric kettle, the doorbell rang.
Spencer. He was the only person allowed up without announcing him first.
Blue glanced at the clock. 1:17 a.m. Her first instinct was to zip across the room and pull him through the door. No questions asked. Or, she could ignore him. Let him stew the way she had the last few hours.
Settling on something in between, Blue chose to stroll—not rush. Her heart raced, why should she?
Calm and casual, Blue decided as she turned the knob. She was determined. Until she looked into Spencer's eyes. Those intensely green, irresistible, made her melt with a single glance, eyes.
Blue jumped without hesitation. Because she knew Spencer would catch her. And because she couldn't wait one more second to be in his arms.
"It's about time," Blue said before fusing her lips to his.
Spencer didn't disappoint. Anchoring her to him with one strong arm, his hand cupped the back of Blue's neck, massaging the tender skin. The thoroughness of his kiss a testament to how long it had been since his last taste.
"Hello to you, too," Spencer said, finally coming up for air.
"I've missed you," Blue whispered, her mouth brushing his ear. "Come inside, and I'll show you how much."
"That will have to wait."
Blue was too interested in the feel of Spencer's soft hair against her cheek to care, but she asked anyway—just to be polite.
"Why?"
"We have company."
Frowning, Blue raised her head, catching sight of another person standing to Spencer's left.
Drake Langston.
"Hello, Ms. O'Hara. Sorry about this. Maybe I should go."
"Don't be ridiculous. Please. Come in." Blue pushed at Spencer's shoulder. Carefully, with a last sweet kiss, he set her on her feet.
"You could've said something sooner," she hissed.
"I was a little preoccupied with your tongue down my throat." To his credit, Spencer lowered his voice so Drake couldn't hear.
As she straightened her robe, Blue checked her image in the hall mirror. Hardly company ready. Her hair was a mess, the clip that had held it in place hung precariously to one side. At least that was an easy fix. With the ease provided by years of practice, she wound the red strands into a simple topknot.
"Sit," Blue told Drake. He complied, his backside barely hugging the edge of the sofa cushion.
Blue didn't know the young man very well, but he'd never struck her as the nervous type. Tonight, he looked like he was about to jump out of his skin. Whatever was going on, he had the look of someone who wished he was anyplace but here.
"I was about to make myself a cup of tea. Spencer?" Blue jerked her head toward the kitchen. "Want to help?"
"Sure. Be right there." Spencer gave Drake a comforting pat on the arm. "Try to relax. And breathe. You won't do yourself any good if you fall over and give yourself a concussion."
"Well," Blue asked, handing Spencer the kettle to refill. "What's going on?"
"First. Thank you for acting as if this kind of thing happens every day?"
"Maybe this is normal. Enjoying late-night visits from gorgeous ball players? Doesn't that sound like me?"
As Blue lifted the lid of the baseball-shaped cookie jar, filling a plate with her mother's chocolate chip cookies, Spencer lightly bumped Blue's hip with his. A smile lit his face.
"No, Bluebell. Unless you mean me, that doesn't sound like you at all."
"Mm. I suppose not. Never mind. Tell me why I'm playing hostess to Drake Langston." Blue's eyes widened as she connected the dots. She worked in PR. Which sometimes meant damage control. "Please tell me he didn't hit somebody with his car. While driving under the influence."
"Nothing like that. But—"
"Should I call a lawyer?" Blue's brain clicked into professional mode. "The Cyclones have an excellent firm on retainer."
"Slow down." Spencer took Blue by the shoulders, his eyes meeting hers. "Drake hasn't done anything criminal. He hasn't committed a felony or a misdemeanor. I doubt the kid jaywalks. A lawyer might be necessary. Eventually."
"Why—?"
"Let Drake tell you his story. Just listen? I promised him you would know what to do. Sorry if I overstepped. This is a sensitive matter, and you're the only person I trust not to fuck it up."
Blue felt a wave of pleasure sweep through her. She was good at her job. And while she didn't need Spencer's affirmation, knowing he believed in her was like a shot of warm honey through her veins. Better than any drug. And she suspected, highly addictive.
Arranging mugs, plate, and a few napkins on a tray, Blue left Spencer to the heavy lifting. Once everything was in the living room, she handed Drake his tea. Something told her that he didn't need coddling. Rather than putting herself next to him, she took the opposite chair, crossed her legs, and waited.
"The floor is yours, Drake," Spencer said, sitting on the sofa.
Drake swallowed. His eyes were focused in Blue's direction, but not at her. At the vase she inherited from her grandmother.
"Somebody is blackmailing me."
Blue didn't react, her face keeping a neutral expression. In spite of her casual attire, she was all business.
"Somebody? Does that mean you don't know who the blackmailer is?"
"I know." Heat entered Drake's eyes. A little anger could be a good thing. Better than misery. "I man I thought was my friend. Andy Franklin. He…" Drake swallowed hard. "We were lovers."
Blue let the information sink in. Drake was gay. Hardly shocking. And no big deal. Except for the fact that he played baseball. With a few minor exceptions, the integration of homosexuality into professional sports was non-existent.
After years of hypocrisy, the military had finally abolished don't ask, don't tell. But where baseball, football, basketball, etc., were concerned, the arcane rule was alive and—for want of a better word—well.
Unofficially, of course. Owners would never say such a thing in public. But they were happy with the status quo. Gay men were welcome. As long as they kept their sexuality out of the locker room and behind very closeted do
ors.
"Your ex-lover? You haven't spoken since college?"
Blue's matter-of-fact reaction seemed to help Drake relax. For the first time, his shoulders lost a bit of their stiffness. He settled farther back on the sofa, taking his first sip of tea.
"About a month before I graduated, we broke up. Or, I broke up with him. Coming out wasn't an option. And truthfully? Even if declaring myself as a gay man had been possible, I wasn't ready for a serious relationship. Andy said he understood."
"You parted on good terms?"
"I thought so." Drake looked genuinely perplexed. "Andy even gave me a party the day before I left for my first minor league camp. We hadn't been together for months but still talked occasionally. The party was a really nice surprise."
Skip ahead two years. On the cusp of becoming a superstar, Drake was a sitting duck for an unscrupulous bastard with no qualms over leveraging an old relationship to cash in.
"When did Andy contact you and what did he say? Exactly."
"Six weeks ago. Just after the All-Star team was announced."
"The first time you were named to the squad."
Spencer and Blue exchanged looks. The disgust she saw in his eyes mirrored what she felt.
"Andy congratulated me. And I was happy to hear from an old friend. Keeping in touch with people I used to know isn't easy. And there are only a few who know about my…"
Blue hated watching Drake struggle to say the words. But she couldn't help. Unable to live—love—in the open? The thought was beyond her imagination.
"Did he ask for money right away?"
"No. We spoke a few more time over the next week. Catching up. Reminiscing. Softening me up so I wouldn't see the big blow coming," Drake said bitterly.
Blue wished she had the words to wipe the anguish from the young man's eyes. But she didn't. All she could do was help him get past this betrayal with as little fallout as possible.
"How much does he want?"
"Fifty thousand."
"To start," Spencer added. "This guy is savvy enough to understand Drake's rookie contract isn't a lot. The price is bound to increase along with the kid's salary."
"Until?" Blue asked.
"Hell if I know. The day I die?" Closing his eyes, Drake's head fell forward. "Andy left his demands open ended."
"But the threat was clear." Angry, Spencer paced. "If Drake doesn't pay, somebody is going to."
The story was juicy. And worth quite a bit to somebody with enough details.
"Does Andy have any proof that you were lovers? Pictures? Letters? An email or a text?"
Drake shook his head. "But does proof really matter?"
Only in a court of law. The court of public opinion was harder to predict. Drake could be skinned alive and left to flap in the wind. Or, because he wasn't a household name, the story might come and go, only a blip on the social media radar.
Blue set her cup on the table next to the untouched cookies. Time to get down to brass tacks.
"Do you want to come out?"
"No," he said firmly.
But Blue could see the want that flashed in Drake's eyes. If he hadn't been given the gift of an athlete's body and the discipline needed to turn himself into a world-class baseball player, he'd probably live his life as a proud gay man.
Blue hated the fact that sports still bred the myth that a gay man couldn't compete on the same level as what the homophobic culture considered a real man.
"Do you want to pay what could turn out to be a lifetime's worth of hush money?"
"Hell no," Drake was emphatic. "But…"
"Let me rephrase the question. If you pay the money, what guarantee do you have that Andy won't break his silence? Next year? Or the year after?"
"Do you want to live with that threat over your head?" Spencer asked.
"I don't know," Drake shouted, dropping his head into his hands. "I don't know."
For the first time since they started, Blue let her demeanor soften. She moved to the sofa, placing her hand on Drake's back.
"Give yourself some time to think about your options."
"I don't have time."
Frowning, Blue looked at Spencer.
"Andy Franklin gave a deadline. If the money isn't paid by game time tomorrow, he'll spill the dirty truth to the media." Spencer frowned. "Franklin's words, not mine."
If Drake were her brother, she'd slap him upside the head. Why had he waited until the last minute to go to Spencer? Why hadn't he given them more time to figure out a strategy?
As soon as she asked herself the questions, Blue knew the answers. Because after living for so long in fear, Drake was afraid of coming out on his own.
"Part of me hoped Andy would change his mind." Drake's laugh didn't have a hint of humor. "I haven't been able to sleep. Or eat. What will I do without baseball?" Panic entered Drake's eyes. "I don't have anything else."
Now wasn't the time to point out how wrong Drake was. He was a young man. There were always options. But he wouldn't believe her. To be honest? If she were in his shoes? Neither would she.
Drake felt as if his world was crashing down around him. Blue's job was to make certain that didn't happen.
"There's nothing we can do tonight. Go home. Try to get some rest. And think about what you want."
"I want to play baseball."
"As an outed gay man? Because if everything you've told me is accurate, that will be your only option."
"Is coming out and playing ball even possible?"
The hope in Drake's eyes felt like a stone in Blue's stomach. She wanted to assure him. Yes. Of course. Stop worrying. Everything will be fine. She couldn't say the words because she didn't know if they were true. She wouldn't give Drake false hope.
But, Blue could give him enough hope to get him to tomorrow.
"Here's what I know. Strictly fact. No bullshit."
"Listen up, rookie. Blue is the master of the no-bullshit straight talk."
Blue smiled at Spencer. His confidence—his belief that she'd do her best to make things right—was the shot of courage she needed.
"You have three big assets on your side. First? This isn't twenty years ago. Or ten. Or even five. Despite the prejudice that still exists—something you know a lot more about than I do—we live in a much more open-minded era. Not perfect by any means. But better.
"Second? A talent like yours doesn't come along every day. Once in a generation. Isn't that what you told me, Spencer?"
"Maybe." Spencer shrugged. But his lips twitched, turning into a smile that told a different story. "Don't let a little praise go to your head. If I see that head of yours start to swell, I won't hesitate to pull you back down to Earth. Understood?"
The threat seemed to lift Drake's spirits, Blue noticed. Spencer knew the truth, yet still treated him like one of the boys. The spark of hope Blue had been looking for.
"My point is this. The Cyclones need you more than you need them. If they were to cut you, or arrange a trade, the backlash against the team would be crippling. But I don't think you have to worry about losing your job. Ross Burton is no fool."
"What about my teammates? How will they react?"
"There will be players who don't want to share a locker room with a gay man. Though chances are pretty good that at some point in their careers, they already have."
"Probably in high school."
For the first time, Drake's laugh sounded genuine, not forced. Music to Blue's ears.
"No doubt. You'll have to deal with the backlash. But you have a big advantage. Asset number three. Spencer Kraig has your back." Blue met Spencer's gaze. "I don't know if you're facing a battle from some of your teammates, but if you are? I can't think of anybody I'd rather have on my side."
A current of charged electricity flowed between Blue and Spencer. Though he stood across the room, she felt his touch. Blue's breath caught in her chest. Like a caress. Warm. Comforting. And, oh, G
od, loving.
Blue blinked back the need to cry. Not the time or the place. Those words had practically become their motto. But there was no way in hell she'd embroider them on a pillow.
Their time had come. Blue and Spencer. Never mind the pillow. She wanted to carve their names in stone.
But Drake had to come first. Blue walked him to the door.
"I'll call you in the morning. First thing. If you still want to go ahead, I'll take care of everything with management. But if you change your mind—"
"I won't," Drake said firmly.
Blue believed him. But she wanted to give him an out. Just in case.
"We'll talk. You're taking back your power, Drake. I won't make a move unless you're one hundred percent on board."
"Thank you." Drake moved to hug Blue, reconsidering at the last second.
"You can't get away that easily," Blue said, taking him in her arms. He held on tight. A little too tight, but Blue didn't object. She hugged him back, giving him all the time he needed. When he finally pulled away, he blinked, clearing away the moisture from his eyes.
"I can get home on my own," Drake assured Spencer.
"You're stuck with me, kid." Spencer punched Drake on the arm. A cliché, but one that fit the moment perfectly. "Give me a second? I'll meet you at the elevator."
Smiling, Drake gave Blue and Spencer some privacy.
"Not exactly how I pictured this evening playing out."
Blue walked into Spencer's arms, resting her head on his chest. With a sigh, she nodded.
"I didn't see that curve ball coming."
Brushing his lips across Blue's forehead, placing a finger under her chin, he tipped her head. His eyes. Such a beautifully intense green. She could look at them—at him—forever without ever losing the feeling of wonder.
"You ran down Drake's assets. Most eloquently, by the way. But you forgot the most important one."
"What's that?"
"You."
Spencer's kiss was ever so soft, but the impact reached all the way to Blue's heart.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
For a Little While (One Strike Away Book 1) Page 16
