The Perfect Game: A Complete Sports Romance Series (3-Book Box Set)

by Samantha Christy

He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. It looks like the surgery went well. She should recover nicely.”

  I nod and mumble more thanks as he walks away.

  When I look at her face, it’s nothing like what I expected. My only frame of reference is how she looked last weekend. I had never seen her uninjured face. I’m not exactly sure what I thought she would look like now, but it’s not this. Her face, the very place they just performed surgery, looks much better than when I saw her last. It’s a bit puffy, but it’s not very swollen. The stitches she got the night of the injury have been removed, and she has a long, thin bandage that runs along her hairline.

  I take in a deep breath and blow it out thinking about the surgery. I looked it up online. I hope Murphy didn’t. Because from what I read, to do the repair, they basically had to pull the skin off her face from a long incision they made by her ear.

  They pulled the fucking skin off her face.

  Because of me.

  It’s unreal they just did that today, only a short while ago, and yet she looks so … pretty.

  I reach out and put my hand on top of hers. I lean over and whisper in her ear, “You did great, old man.”

  A nurse comes over and fiddles with something. “Looks like she’s waking up,” she says.

  I look down at Murphy and don’t see anything. I look back at the nurse for clarification.

  The nurse nods to the machine. “Her pulse just went up. Usually means they are coming out of the anesthesia.”

  I pull my hand away, wondering if I caused it.

  The nurse smiles. “It’s okay, you can touch her.”

  Relieved I hadn’t caused anything bad to happen, I put my hand back on her. Then she moves. She doesn’t open her eyes, but she winces and her mouth opens and closes as her tongue presses against her teeth.

  “Her throat is probably raw from the airway tube,” the nurse says. “Once she can take some liquid, that will get better.”

  A faint noise comes from Murphy. It’s a soft groan, like when you wake up with a hangover after a long night of drinking.

  “Talk to her,” the nurse says, encouragingly. “It’ll help her wake up.”

  “Okay, uh …” All of a sudden I’m at a loss for words. I barely know this girl. Why did I think it would be good for me to come sit with her when she’s so vulnerable? The nurse probably thinks I’m her husband or brother. “Murph, it’s me. Kyle said the surgery went well. He said you will recover in no time. And you have that job waiting for you. Everything will get better now. I promise.”

  Hey eyes flutter open. She stares at the fluorescent lights on the ceiling for a while. Then her eyes dart around. Then her head turns towards me.

  “Hey, you,” I say.

  She looks at me, but her eyes don’t seem to focus.

  “Ton …” Her words trail off and she winces.

  “It’s okay,” I tell her. “The nurse said your throat will be sore for a little bit. You can have a sip of water when you feel up to it.”

  Her eyes close again and she threads her fingers through mine, squeezing them. With her eyes closed, she clears her throat and speaks again. “Love you,” I think she says.

  Oh, shit. She thinks I’m him. The lying, cheating bastard. Did she really love him? Does she still?

  She’s in and out of it for the next ten minutes. The nurse brings a cup of water and raises the head of her bed a little more. “She can have a few sips when she’s ready.”

  “Murphy? Did you hear that? Would you like a drink?” I ask.

  Her eyes open again, this time they are clearer than before. She looks at me in confusion.

  “Caden. It’s Caden,” I say. “Are you okay? Do you remember me?”

  A small smile curves her lips. “You came.”

  “Of course I did. I told you I’d be here.”

  She looks around and then back at me. “Where’s Tony?”

  I don’t know what to say. Did she forget? I just give her a sad smile.

  I see it when realization dawns on her. Her eyes close and she blows out a long sigh. “Right,” she says. “I’m not with the bastard anymore.”

  I pick up her water cup and put the straw to her lips. “Try to take a drink.”

  She takes a few sips and then makes an appreciative moan.

  “How do you feel?” I ask.

  “Better than when your ball hit me,” she says.

  I laugh. “Darn. I was hoping you’d forgotten that part.”

  A doctor comes by to assess her. He tells me she’ll be moved back to her room in half an hour.

  “How long will she have to stay?” I ask.

  “Probably just one night,” the doctor tells me. “It went very well. Her bandages will be removed tomorrow assuming there is no drainage. The steri-strips will probably wash off in a week and she’ll come back to get the sutures removed in seven to ten days.”

  “Just one night? Really?”

  He nods. “Her recovery will be rapid,” he says. “And with you there to help her, I’m sure she’ll be up and around in no time.”

  But I’m not there to help her.

  “Thank you,” I tell him.

  When Murphy falls back to sleep, I get on my phone and make some arrangements.

  Sometime after she’s moved to her room, she wakes up and catches me watching ESPN.

  “What’s a balk?” she asks, motioning to the television.

  “Wait … you were listening? Little Miss I-hate-baseball was listening closely enough to hear that?”

  “Well, there’s nothing better to do.” She shrugs.

  I smile. “A balk is an illegal motion from the pitcher. It’s when he pretends to pitch, but doesn’t.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “To deceive the hitter or runner.”

  “I don’t get it,” she says.

  “Okay, say there’s a guy on first base. He’s going to get a lead, a jump on the pitch, so he can try to make it to second. He’ll take off right when he thinks the pitcher is winding up to throw the pitch. The pitcher wants him to think he’s about to pitch the ball to the batter so the guy on first will start to run, but then the pitcher will throw him out at second, or at the very least, get him caught in a pickle.”

  She looks at me with eyes glazed over. “Pickle?”

  I laugh. “Maybe balk is not the best place to start when you’re learning baseball. I guess it can seem kind of complicated.”

  “You think?” She shakes her head gingerly. “I don’t believe I’ll ever get it,” she says. “I’m a kinesthetic learner.”

  “What the heck is that?”

  “I’m one of those people who has to do something to learn it. You know, use my body—touch, feel, experience things. You can talk your head off, but I’ll never get it. That’s why I wasn’t very good in school. My teachers got sick of having to teach me my way.”

  I get a brilliant idea and I feel my face splitting with a smile.

  “Oh, hell no.” Murphy narrows her eyes at me and then holds up her hand to squelch my enthusiasm. “I know you don’t think I’m going to play baseball,” she says. “Did you not hear a word the doctor said? I can’t do any activity that could re-injure my face.”

  “When did he say you’d be okay to resume normal activity?” I ask.

  “Baseball is not normal activity, Caden. And he said I could go back to work within a week, but I still can’t lift anything over ten pounds. Why?”

  “What are you doing Saturday night?” I ask.

  “Not going on a date with you, Caden Kessler.” She gives me a hard stare.

  Geez. Is the thought that daunting?

  I roll my eyes at her. “No, Murphy Brown, not a date. The last thing I need is a girlfriend and the last thing you want is another failed relationship.”

  “What did you have in mind then?”

  “It’s a surprise,” I say.

  “A surprise?” she asks with raised brows. “A surprise that doesn�
��t include me playing baseball or the shedding of clothing?”

  I hold up my fingers in a Boy Scout salute. “Scout’s honor, I will not try to get in your pants, and I won’t make you play ball.”

  She shrugs one smug shoulder. “I’ll have to check my calendar and get back with you.”

  I laugh. “You do that, Murph.”

  Chapter Ten

  Murphy

  I thought this week was going to be torture at my apartment. Turns out, it wasn’t as bad as I feared. Mainly due to the visiting nurse who came to check on me for the first three days and the catered meals that were delivered every evening. I thought I was going to be eating ramen noodles for weeks. Instead, I ate like a queen. And flowers. I can’t forget the flowers. Wednesday it was orchids, Thursday was lilies, and roses came on Friday.

  My roommates were starting to get suspicious so I told them everything was from my mom and my friends back home. It was a lie. Nobody back home even knows I got hurt. And even though none of the flowers came with a card and the nurse said the hospital sent her, I knew better. This was all Caden and the guilt he feels over what happened.

  However, as much as I enjoyed being the beneficiary of his kindness, I’m going to tell him tonight that it has to stop. I’m fine. My face is healing quickly. I feel pretty good, even. I’ve accepted the fact that I’ll have scars for the rest of my life. And strangely enough, I’m not throwing any temper tantrums over it. Because I’ve had a lot of time over the past weeks to sit back and watch. To listen. And if being a model means acting like my roommates, I think I chose the wrong profession.

  But that doesn’t mean I’m giving up my dream to live in New York. That’s always been my passion. I can pinpoint the moment it happened. My girlfriends and I had a sleepover and Tami made us watch a marathon of Sex and the City reruns. That was it. That was all it took for me to fall in love. From that moment, I researched New York City. By the time I moved here, I could tell you which train goes where and how long it would take to get there.

  New York City was the opposite of Okoboji, Iowa in every way. No county curfews. No miles of cornfields. No endless dirt roads. New York was the city that never slept. And I knew from the minute I saw that TV show, it was where I needed to be. Modeling just seemed the obvious way for me to make it here. I mean, it’s expensive. A good cup of coffee here can cost as much as a meal at The Pit Stop back home.

  My phone pings with a text.

  #8: You ready?

  I look in the mirror and pull my hair forward on the left side of my face until it hides the stitches by my ear. I’m not quite healed enough to use makeup to cover my scars, but I realize it doesn’t really matter. There’s nobody to impress. Not Tony, not my agent, not the other girls I used to be in competition with.

  Me: Yes.

  #8: Bring a jacket. It might get chilly. I’m waiting on the sidewalk in front of your building.

  He never did tell me where we were going. We didn’t even talk all week long. I knew everything was from him, but since he didn’t put his name on anything, I figured he didn’t care to be thanked. I knew I’d do it tonight anyway.

  Me: Okay. See you in a sec.

  I grab a hoodie and tie it around my waist. Since he didn’t tell me where we are going, he’s going to have to live with the fact that I’m wearing jeans and an old concert t-shirt. If he takes me to dinner at a nice place, he’ll think twice the next time he wants to surprise someone.

  I walk out into the living room, past Kirsten and Tori, who are doing each other’s makeup.

  “Where are you going?” Tori asks, as if I’m not allowed to have a life outside of my roommates.

  “Out,” I say.

  “With who?” Kirsten says, straightening her back with alarm.

  I find it comical that she suspects I might be going out with Tony. That maybe he could be cheating on her with me. How ironic. And why would she even care? According to Jamie, he’s sleeping with everyone anyway. But out of spite, I decide to milk it for all it’s worth.

  “Um …” I try to look as guilty as I possibly can. “You don’t know him … I mean her. You don’t know her. Uh, I have to go.”

  I walk out the door and muffle my laughter as I dance down the hall.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Uh … what are we doing here?” I ask, looking around at our desolate surroundings.

  The cab dropped us off in front of Hawks Stadium and we are literally the only people in the massive parking lot. I give Caden an accusing look.

  “We are definitely not here to play baseball,” he says with a laugh, grabbing my arm to pull me towards the dark entrance.

  “Then why are we here?”

  “For your first lesson, of course.”

  “Are you serious? I thought you were joking about getting me to like baseball.”

  He stops our progress and looks me right in the eyes. “I never joke about baseball, Murphy.”

  I take a step back and hold up my hands in surrender. “Duly noted.”

  We start walking again when I see a man come out of the shadows near the entrance.

  “Harold,” Caden says, walking over to shake his hand. “I really appreciate this.”

  “It’s my pleasure, Mr. Kessler,” Harold says. “Everything is set up like you asked.”

  “Thank you. Harold, I’d like you to meet the lovely Murphy Cavenaugh.”

  Harold extends his hand to me as a large smile creeps up his face like he has a secret. “It’s a great pleasure to meet you, Ms. Cavenaugh.”

  “It’s just Murphy,” I tell him, shaking his old and weathered hand. “It’s very nice to meet you, Harold.”

  Harold opens the gate for us and Caden escorts me into a dark tunnel. Normally, I’d be scared. This Midwestern girl knows better than to walk into dark places in New York City. Hell, my mother even made me take self-defense classes before moving here. But with Caden at my side, I feel safe. Still, I think Caden senses my hesitation.

  “Come on, Murph,” he says, grabbing my hand and leading me out of the tunnel and onto what I’m fairly sure is the baseball field. But the sun is down now, and I can just barely see where we are going.

  Caden keeps a grip on me so I don’t trip and fall on my still-healing face. When we stop walking, he yells, “Now, Harold!”

  I hear a series of pops and electrical noises and then, slowly, lights above and all around us illuminate the massive stadium. It takes almost a full minute for the lights to turn on and shine brightly, but when they do, baseball lover or not, anyone would be in awe of what I’m seeing.

  I turn around, looking at the empty stands that must hold tens of thousands of fans. I look at the grass, that appears freshly mowed. I look at Caden, who looks like a kid in a candy store.

  “Wow, this is … this is spectacular,” I say.

  He nods, turning around and taking it all in as if he doesn’t do it every day.

  “How did you … I mean, this is crazy.”

  He shrugs. “Harold likes me. He’s got eight grandkids who love baseball. I showed up at one of their birthday parties and played in a sandlot game with them. It pays to know people in high places.”

  I cock my head at him. Harold looked like he might be the groundskeeper, not the owner of the stadium. “High places, huh?”

  “Or maybe just the guy with the key who owes me a favor.”

  I laugh, and something to my right catches my eye. “What’s that?” I ask, motioning to a picnic basket in the middle of the field.

  He rolls his eyes at me as if it’s obvious and then he talks to me like I’m a two-year-old. “That is the pitcher’s mound, Murph. It’s where a guy called a pitcher throws a little white ball with red stitching to another guy called a batter who tries to hit the ball out there.” He turns around and points to the center field stands.

  I playfully hit him on the arm. I shake my head and chuckle at his dramatics. “Not that,” I say, walking over to the picnic basket. “This.”

  He gives
me crazy eyes. “Did the surgery mess with your brain or something? That is a picnic basket.”

  “Oh, my God, would you quit it?” I squeal at him.

  He bends over laughing. “Oh, but it’s so much fun.” He opens the lid of the basket to show me a variety of breads and cheeses and wine. “It’s dinner.”

  Caden pulls out a blanket and spreads it next to the pitcher’s mound. Then he spends the entirety of our dinner trying to explain to me how exciting baseball is. It’s kind of hard not to get caught up in it. He talks about it with such enthusiasm. It’s obvious baseball is his life.

  I still don’t quite understand all of it, but he’s made me curious enough to come back and watch another game. Behind a glass wall, that is.

  He pours the last of the wine into our glasses. “So, what do you miss most about Iowa?”

  “Besides my mom?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’d like to say my friends, but they’re pretty much all gone. So, I guess I’d have to say I miss the stars.” I look up at the bright lights of the stadium.

  “You know we have those here, too, right?”

  “Obviously. But you can’t ever see them, not like you can in Iowa. There’s too much light pollution. Back in Iowa, if you looked hard enough, you could see a falling star just about every night.”

  “Falling stars, huh?”

  “Ever seen one?” I ask.

  “I don’t believe I have.”

  “You’re missing out then.”

  He pulls out his phone and taps on the screen with a devious smile. I give him a sideways look. “What are you doing now?”

  “Looking for falling stars,” he says, right before all the lights go out and the stadium falls into complete darkness.

  Chapter Eleven

  Caden

  She reaches out and grabs my arm. The lights going out must have scared her. “Oh, my gosh,” she says, lying back on the grass and looking up at the sky. “This is fabulous.”

  The stadium is on the outskirts of the city and the walls go up high enough to block out the light from any nearby buildings. There is still some ambient light, but not enough to spoil our view of the stars. And as our eyes adjust to the darkness, we attempt to pick out constellations. I’m not much of a star-gazer, so I can pretty much only identify the Big Dipper.