by Alice Ward
My fingers gripped the buckle. My other hand reached forward, ready to catch the girl as I unhooked her from the seat. She fell into my hand with a force I hadn’t expected, almost ripping my shoulder from its socket.
“I got you,” I whispered, pulling the screaming child toward the window and backing out with her in my arms.
The mother wrapped her arms around me, squeezing both me and her daughter with an overly appreciative hug. “Thank you,” she sobbed, taking her daughter from my arms, inspecting her from top to bottom. I steered them both away from the burning car, urging those around us to get far away.
EMTs and the police were finally on the scene, and a news crew looking to get the big story were making their way toward me. I walked back to my bike, unwilling to answer any questions or be interviewed, when a firm hand pressed against my shoulder.
“Todd Morris?” I turned to find a man in uniform. Not a cop, but a firefighter. His smile was wide, his eyes filled with excitement as he spoke. “You’re a hero,” he said a little too loudly.
I shook my head. “No, you’re the hero.”
I tried to shrug away, but by that time, the news crew was already in my face. Fuck.
“Todd Morris, a major-league favorite, legendary Mets catcher, is now a hero.” A perfectly groomed blonde woman spoke into a thick, round microphone while the cameraman captured the image of her standing beside me with the wreckage in the background.
No way, this isn’t happening.
“I’m not a hero. And I’m not doing any interviews.” I walked away from the reporter and the camera.
The traffic was starting to move in the far lane, but as I looked at my bike, it was obvious I wasn’t going anywhere. The reporter and the cameraman were back in my face. She pushed the microphone at me again. “What made you run to save that little girl?”
Seriously? Reporters asked the most asinine questions sometimes.
I’m not an asshole. It was a baby girl. There were plenty of reasons why anyone would’ve done the same thing. But, I knew not anyone would have done it. Most of the drivers were more concerned with where they needed to be than with the crying mother on the side of the road. As far as they were concerned, she was the problem, the reason they were going to be late.
“I’m not doing this,” I insisted, pushing the camera from my face.
“Where were you heading before the wreck occurred?” the reporter asked without flinching at my irritation. “Isn’t spring training soon?”
None of your business, lady.
Heading back to my bike, I spotted a dude bent over my bag. “Hey!” I yelled and took off in his direction. He looked up and panicked, picked up the bag, and started to run. I caught up to him. Caught the bag, more specifically, my chute. The damn thing unfurled behind the running man before he dropped the bag and darted between stopped cars. Shit. I looked back, and yep, the fucking camera was still pointing my way. Irritated beyond belief, I balled up the chute and began stuffing it back into the pack.
“Is that a parachute?” the reporter asked. I ignored her as I zipped the pack shut and headed back toward the bike. But I heard her speaking into the camera, excitement at her “breaking news” clear in her voice. “A real daredevil and hero in the flesh, Todd Morris, All-Star catcher for the Mets…”
I was so fucked.
I picked up the bike and moved it to the side of the road. The police began ushering everyone out of the road including the pushy reporter and her sidekick cameraman. Thank God!
“You need us to call you a tow truck?” the officer asked.
“No, thanks. I’ll handle it.”
I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone. Thank goodness for the protective case I’d just bought, not a scratch.
The rental company was more than eager to send someone out to get the bike, and of course, collect me from the side of the highway. When I told them the bike looked totaled, they actually sounded relieved. Guess they stood to make more from a totaled bike than a wrecked one. Whatever.
Traffic picked up its pace, moving smoothly once again after the wreck was removed. The officer who’d run the reporter off sat down on the guardrail beside me. “So, how much trouble is this gonna get ya?” he asked.
I chuckled. In the last two years, I seemed to stay in trouble. The coach was constantly on my ass, and the GM rode me hard with threats of trading me to another team if I didn’t cool it. “Let’s just say a lot.”
He patted me on the back as the tow truck arrived. A scruffy looking man got out, shaking his head and whistling. “This da bike?” he asked, spitting on the ground way too close to my feet.
“Yeah,” I agreed without shooting out any of the sarcasm that lingered on my tongue.
“Good luck, Todd.” The officer gave me one last pat on the back before heading to his car.
I helped the tow truck driver load the bike onto the trailer and then climbed into the front seat beside him. The truck smelled of tobacco, coffee, and raspberries, a weird combination.
I was so happy to be back at the rental office and out of that truck. After signing a shit load of paperwork, I hopped in my car and headed home. All I wanted to do was fall asleep, forget about this day, and hopefully not find myself on the five o’clock news.
“You look like you’ve had a rough day,” my doorman greeted me with his usual too nosey routine.
I grinned, pushed the elevator button, and disappeared inside.
My condo was quiet, peaceful, and inviting. I locked the door, stripped out of my clothes and headed for the shower. A quick assessment of the damages proved to be less than my body took after a tough game on the field. I stepped into the shower, letting the hot jets massage my aching muscles and wash away the grime and blood from my day. All that adrenaline… lost in one split second of bad luck.
I grabbed a towel from the rack, wrapped it around my waist, and found my phone lit up on the bedroom dresser. The coach's mean mug was flashing on the screen with his number displayed at the top. Are you fucking kidding me right now?
“What the fuck were you thinking?” his voice growled through the phone.
I sighed to let him know I’d heard him, but I didn’t speak. It didn’t matter if I wanted to, the man was on a roll. Getting a word in edgewise wasn’t happening, not now, not ever.
“A fucking motorcycle, and was that seriously a parachute in your backpack? Are you trying to kill yourself?”
“It was just a little fender bender. It wasn’t even my fault,” I argued.
“I don’t give a flying fuck whose fault it was, or if you’d saved a burning school bus of children, you know the fucking rules. You should… you break them every time I fuckin’ turn around.”
“I’m sorry, Coach. It was just a little ride. Not like I had any way of knowing that would happen.”
“First thing in the morning. My office.” That was all I heard before the click of him hanging up.
I turned on the news. Sure enough, there I was. That overly zealous reporter was pushing her microphone in my face, and the cameraman was capturing me trying to stuff my parachute back into my bag. This was bad. This was real bad.
I fell onto my bed, phone in hand. I searched the Internet for information on what was said about me. Daredevil on the Diamond Does It Again, read one headline. Another splashed my face with a headline that simply read, Hero.
Several YouTube videos had surfaced, capturing me in the act of saving the little girl. My stomach clenched as I watched. Her mother was so distraught, and that little girl so terrified. I had no choice. I’d do it all again, even with Coach screaming down my neck.
I fell asleep, pushing the thoughts of the day out of my mind. Tomorrow, I’d deal with the wrath of the coach’s anger, but not tonight. Tonight, I’d sleep.
***
The sun beat in through my window, blasting into my eyes as they started to open. I gripped my phone, checked the time, and then jumped out of bed in a panic. Fuck, it was already seven-thir
ty. I only had thirty minutes to get to the stadium.
I threw on clothes, grabbed my phone and keys, and ran out the door. The doorman greeted me, “You feeling better, sir?” I didn’t have time for his inquiries into my personal life. I simply gave him a wave and kept on running.
The stadium parking lot was empty. No practice, too early for games. It felt eerie walking the long halls in the underbelly of the stadium. As I neared the coach’s office, I heard voices coming from inside, echoing down the long, narrow corridors.
“Come in. Sit down,” Coach said sternly as I appeared in the doorway.
The GM was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, his lips pursed tightly together. This isn’t good.
“Todd, as you know we’ve had this discussion time and time again,” the coach started his speech, his brow furrowed with consternation.
“I apologize, Coach. As I said, I had no idea that would happen.”
His lips curled into a smile. His eyes brightened, and a chuckle escaped his throat. I felt at ease for a moment, but only a brief one as his expression quickly turned to a frown.
“Todd, we just don’t feel that you’re the right fit for this team anymore. You have no regard for our rules, which is leading other players to behave the same way.” The GM spoke without emotion.
Wow!
“You’re throwing me out?” I asked, surprised my mouth was able to say the words.
“Not throwing you out. But, we’ve determined it best for the team, for our image, that you be with a team more suited to your, well, your nature.” I leaned against my seat, pushing my back hard against the leather material at the GM’s words.
The last couple seasons were rough, but this was uncalled for in my mind. So I had a few incidents in the past, but it wasn’t like I was the only one. Several of my teammates had been caught riding motorcycles; one was involved in a high-speed police chase that resulted in a crash, and hell, our first baseman was busted for playing hockey during the off-season.
“I know what you’re thinking, Todd.” My coach acted as if he had any idea of what was going on in my head.
“We’ve had a shaky history with the team getting out of control. But we feel that everyone is onboard for a new season, a new image. We thought you were as well. Until this.” I wanted to smack the GM hard enough to make him eat his words.
“I don’t see the big deal. If I’d been in a car, not on a motorcycle, my injuries would be the same,” I snapped at them both.
“And jumping out of an airplane?” Coach glared at me with beady eyes.
“It’s as safe as riding in one.”
“This isn’t your first incident, Todd. As much as we value you as a player on the field, we just don’t feel you carry the same values off the field we require for this team,” Coach said softly. “Rules are in place for a reason.”
The GM crossed his arms tightly over his chest. Coach shook his head, and his eyes dropped to his hands that were clenched together on his desk. It was obvious they’d already made up their minds. It was useless to argue. The Mets had a new look, a new image, and Todd Morris no longer fit in.
“I’ve been traded?”
I couldn’t imagine leaving New York. I loved it here. I loved the people, the neighborhood, the stadium, my team. I wanted to plead with them to let me stay, but it was evident their mind had been made.
That’s that. I’m no longer a New York Met.
“We felt it best to have you here with none of the other players around. You can clean out your locker without anyone looking over your shoulder,” the coach said generously.
I scooted the chair back with a loud screech I didn’t mean to create against the floor. I stood, extended my hand to the coach and then the GM. To leave with my pride if nothing else.
“Where will I be going?” I asked, fearing the worst.
Philadelphia. Cincinnati. Milwaukee. All of those were names I hoped not to hear.
“Rhett.” Coach stood, looking toward his door.
I turned. Rhett Hamilton stood in the doorway. He extended his hand to the coach, and then to the GM before focusing his attention on me.
“Welcome to the Beasts,” he said with a wild grin and extended his hand to mine.
As if on autopilot, I reached out to shake it, feeling as though my coach just made a deal with the devil.
A Beast?
Me?
Hell the fuck no!
CHAPTER TWO
Katrina
“Did you need me to take you somewhere else?” Larry, my Uber driver, was sweet but growing impatient with me.
“No, thank you,” I said quickly, pushing a twenty to the front seat.
I’d sat in the backseat of his Kia Forte for almost five full minutes in the wide, circular driveway. I wasn’t ready to go inside, to face the reality of my life. But Larry wasn’t going to let me sit here forever. I’m sure he had plenty of other poor carless saps to rescue today.
It felt surreal standing at the front door of the large mansion where I grew up. My stomach twisted in knots as I turned the door handle to let myself inside. Geoffrey always greeted me before, but he was gone, along with the rest of the staff. As the metal touched the palm of my hand, I realized that it was probably the first time I’d ever done something as simple as let myself inside my own childhood home.
“Oh, Katrina!” My mother rushed toward me, her long blonde hair pulled into a loose bun, her eyes red from what I assumed were tears.
My body melted into hers. She smelled of vanilla and lavender, and even though her life was crumbling beneath her, she still managed to soothe me.
“Hey, Kitty-Kat, you get the car dropped off okay?”
I opened my eyes and stared at my smiling father, careful to not cringe at my childhood nickname. He looked too chipper for the situation. Delusional. His hand rested on his hip as he leaned against the rounded door frame leading to the dining area. The large room I stood in made me feel small, made him look small. Bobby “Spaceman” Delaney, baseball legend. That was my dad.
“Yes,” I responded, but without showing the true emotion I felt.
“Good girl.” His grin widened as my confusion grew. How could he be so calm? Hell, so cheerful?
“I’ll get you a new car. A better one. Just wait and see, Kit-Kat,” he said with bright eyes and a tone that felt manic on my ears.
My pink Mercedes was a gift for graduating Stanford. It was an upgrade from the one I received for my sweet sixteen, and up until now, I’d always believed there’d be more where that came from. But, not now. Not ever again. I hated dropping it off to the dealership where my father had leased it. The general manager was gracious, but a hint of pity in his eyes told me he knew about my father’s dilemma, my entire family’s dilemma. No matter how hard my parents tried to cover this up, I knew they couldn’t for long.
“Yes, an even better car,” my mother said cheerfully, adding to my father’s delusion.
I smiled graciously, picked up a box, and headed up the long, spiraling staircase to my old bedroom.
The decorative French doors to my childhood bedroom opened to chaos. My furniture was pushed against the far wall, all accounted for by buyers, I presumed. I kicked off my shoes before stepping onto the super plush carpet so my toes would sink into the luxury one last time. This was it. Life as I once knew it was over.
The contents of my dresser drawers were already emptied onto my white canopy bed. I pushed everything into a large suitcase and moved to my closet. I reached up on my tippy-toes, my fingers searching the top shelf for the little velvet box that held my treasures. The soft material against my fingertips gave me a sense of comfort that I’d been missing. My hand gripped around the box, pulling it from its secure spot on the shelf and to my chest. I squatted on the floor and opened the little box to take inventory. I’d been living on my own since college, but Daddy was paying my bills. Now that he couldn’t, this little box of treasures was the only thing I had to make it through.
I looked up to find my mother standing in the doorway of my closet. Her hands were clenched across her chest, her eyes filled with sorrow.
“Your father had to sell everything to survive,” she murmured.
Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. I opened the box, stared at the empty space where my future once was, and felt doomed. “This was mine,” I said softly, lifting myself from the floor on legs that were much shakier than a moment ago.
“Katrina, be fair. He was paying your bills. You needed to finish school.” My mother defended him as usual.
“Yeah, my journalism degree, what good is that?” I snapped.
Breaking into the industry wasn’t easy, and the only way to earn your dues was through internships, which didn’t pay. That was all fine and dandy when I was Spaceman Delaney’s daughter, legendary baseball player with more money than God himself. But, what would happen to the daughter of Spaceman Delaney, baseball legend with a gambling problem that bankrupted his family?
Tears formed in my eyes and quickly made their way to my cheeks. I didn’t mean to be so harsh. I knew my father had given me a good life, a magical life, but I wasn’t ready for it to end. Not just for me, what would happen to them now?
“I’m truly sorry,” my mother said, her pain evident. “Here, I managed to save this.”
Her hand extended, she waited for me to acknowledge her offering. My eyes drifted to her tightly clutched fingers and watched as she opened them to reveal a large, pink pear cut diamond ring. “My sweet sixteen ring,” I exclaimed, suddenly feeling my world lifting from my shoulders.
“Shhh,” my mother warned, placing the ten-carat ring in my hand. It was extravagant, but that was my dad. He always wanted to give me the best, and this ring was the best.
“You should be able to pay at least six months’ worth of bills with this.” Her eyes were warm and gracious. She was right. It would pay at least that, if not more. I could get a car, pay for my condo, or possibly downsize to something smaller and pay cash. That would get me by until I found a paying job.
