by Kristy Marie
“He’s with a friend. He’ll give him a ride home.”
Oh. “That’s shocking.”
“Do I need to repeat myself, McKinley?”
Am I in the mood to give him a hard time? Um, yeah.
“Yeah, I think so. I’m having this issue with my right ear. I think it might be—ahh!”
Before I even realize it, Cooper is out of the car, his hand around my upper arm, guiding me toward the passenger seat, not hard, but definitely aggressive. “People are going to think you’re kidnapping me!” I look around to see if anyone is taking pictures.
“Are you shitting me?”
He seems to be in a really, really foul mood. Worse than I’ve ever seen from him. “Okay.” I sigh, holding one hand up in surrender. “I’ll get in the car, but you’re letting me give you gas money.”
Those dark eyes, the color of steel, hold my gaze, widening ever so slightly as if I have rendered him speechless. “Can we agree to those terms?” I’m no mooch. I refuse to let this man keep coming to my rescue.
Cooper doesn’t answer, only shakes his head and bends to lift my foot into the car before he slams the door so hard it rattles.
When he’s settled and his breathing is more even, he puts the car in drive and pulls out of the lot. “I live that way.” I point to the left.
He glares at me before flicking his blinker, indicating he’s turning left. At least that’s a good sign. He isn’t taking me to his house so I can face him and Pops at the same time.
“Were you really planning to walk home?” he finally bites out.
I’m thinking being sarcastic would only further infuriate him. “Yes. Lu isn’t ready after all.”
His grip tightens on the steering wheel. “Pregnant and with a broken toe, you were going to walk four miles to your house?”
So many thoughts run through my head. How did he know I lived four miles from the field, but more so… “How did you know I was pregnant?”
He scoffs. “My sister-in-law is pregnant. Earlier in her pregnancy, she threw up all day for weeks—harsh, violent puking. It scared the shit out of my brother so much that he took her to the emergency room three times a week until it stopped.”
His brother sounds adorable.
“I don’t throw up very often,” I admit. “Today just happened to be one of those times.”
“Where’s the father?”
If it wasn’t for the pain in my chest, I would have reacted differently, but alas, such is not the case. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
Cooper scoffs and takes the curve a little too sharp. “What man allows his pregnant girlfriend to not only walk home but walk home pregnant with a broken bone? I hate to tell you, Mac, you have shitty taste in men.”
His comments hurt my feelings all for eighteen seconds before I snap. “Stop the car. I want out.”
“No.” His dark chuckle only serves to piss me off more.
“I’ll jump,” I threaten with absolutely no intention of doing so. I’m not a fool. I might be angry with the father of my child, but I would never intentionally hurt the little one growing inside me.
Abruptly, Cooper yanks the car to the shoulder. Those big forearms still clad in his uniform flex as he reaches over and covers my seatbelt buckle where I can’t get to it to let myself out. “You will not jump from this car, nor will you threaten your life in my presence ever again.”
We lock gazes, each of us glaring before Cooper finally sighs and releases my seatbelt, raking his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry,” he says after a minute. “It’s been a rough couple of days, and I’m tired and—”
“Worried,” I supply, reaching over and taking his hand from his hair. He has really pretty hair, all sandy and beachy. If I saw him on the street, I’d think he was a surfer and not a professional pitcher.
“Yeah.” His words sound breathy, and I feel bad for adding to his stress today.
“Pops will be okay. I’m sure you’ll find another nurse.”
His head bows and I could swear he’s praying. “McKinley?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you having this baby alone?”
I don’t like the pity in his voice. “And if I am? Are you going to tell me I’m irresponsible and should have gotten my life together before bringing a baby into this world?”
My chest heaves and my eyes burn. I will not be shamed for my decisions, no matter what. “I’m not having an abortion, if that’s what you’re going to suggest.”
“What?” Cooper’s eyes widen, and he reaches across the console as if he intended on holding my hand, but then thinks better of it and puts it back in his lap where it belongs. “Did someone say that to you?” He swallows. “That you weren’t capable to handle a baby?”
I appreciate him phrasing it better than I did.
Offering the only answer I can think of, I shrug. “I know I don’t have my shit together like most twenty-two-year-olds, but this baby is mine—the only family I have. I might not be the richest mom or even one who knows how to work a car seat. But I’ll learn.” A tear drops onto my hand. “And I’ll love this baby with everything I have. I won’t disappoint him or her.”
At least I will try, so far I’m sucking pretty hard at this mom thing.
I glance at Cooper and see his jaw clenching. What did I say to piss him off now?
“You’re going to be a wonderful mother,” he finally says.
Immediately, I ruin the sweet comment. “How can you say that? You don’t even know me.”
The soft line of his lips flattens before he lets out a pained sigh. “I know enough.”
“Sure you do. You’re just saying what I want to hear.”
I’ve been around enough men to know that they have an uncanny ability to always say what a woman needs to hear to get her into bed.
“Pops always talks about you,” he starts, the harsh lines of his cheekbones softening. “At first, I was jealous.” He chuckles and slides me this boyish look. “I thought you were a guy who drank with Pops during games. I thought he preferred a beer with you over one with me.”
“I like beer—or I used to—and your Pops. He’s nice to me.” I think of the squishy old man and smile. He is more than nice to me. He treats me like I am family, like he genuinely cares about me.
“He told me how you guys met.”
Frowning, I remember that day. “Those boys needed their asses beat.”
Cooper grins. “The way I heard it, they got what they deserved.”
I pat the wrench tucked away in my purse. “They took advantage of an old man who dropped his wallet. The least I could do was get his wallet back while adding a few bruises.”
Pops had been ordering in my line. It was the first time he had come to a game, and he was a little unsteady. His nurse was no help at all—though he probably forbid her to help. Anyway, when he went to pull out cash to give me, he fumbled and dropped his wallet. Two brats walking by swiped it off the ground. I thought they would give it back, but they took off running.
“Pops said you chased them down.”
I did. “I also threw my wrench, catching one in the back where I could wrestle the wallet away. That’s when Lyle ran up and grabbed the little shits, though.” I could have gotten another smack in, but Lyle wasn’t having it. “I don’t like thieves.”
Cooper nods, a hint of a smile trying to break through. “But you liked Pops and gave him a drink on the house.”
I’m not sure what he wants me to say here. I felt terrible…this man, who hobbled with a cane, got robbed in front of my concession stand. I felt like I had to show him we aren’t all assholes.
“When we got home that day and Pops told me the story, I had his seat moved closer to your stand. I knew then you’d always look out for my grandfather. And at the time, when we were new to Nevada and didn’t know anyone, it was good to know he had a friend.”
Another tear slips down my cheek.
“So hear me now, Mac. I kn
ow the person you are in here.” He places his hand on my heart and I drop my head, smothering more tears into my shirt. “And no one with your kindness will ever make a terrible mother. Whether you’re in the ideal circumstances to have a baby is nobody’s business.” His thumb catches a rogue tear, and it only makes me cry harder.
“Thank you for saying that,” I finally say, gathering myself and sitting up, “but I’m still giving you gas money.”
Cooper
She was going to walk home… Pregnant!
Never have I wanted to strangle someone for being so fucking stubborn. Why didn’t she tell me or Pops? Aren’t they supposed to besties? Isn’t that what pregnant women do? Share their news with their best friends? Why did she keep it a secret?
Because she’s got a past… I think to myself. A past that she doesn’t share with anyone, not even Pops.
But Pops wouldn’t care that she’s pregnant. Neither would I. Though I’d like to have some stern words with her about walking home in her condition and doing stupid shit like trying to push her truck onto the shoulder the other night.
“Why is your knee still bleeding?” I eye the new bandage, ignoring the gas money comment. She and I both know that won’t happen. I don’t need her money, nor do I want it. She’s been taking care of Pops; I’m in her debt. “Are you picking the scab?”
She looks at me utterly horrified. “No! What am I, four?”
I shrug. “Then why are you still bandaging your knee? Scrapes need air to heal.”
“If you must know,” she huffs. “I fell again. Now, there’s a gash on top of the scrape.”
“Are you normally so accident prone?”
I’ve pulled back onto the road, and she turns from the window, her cheeks still wet with tears. “No, but ever since, you know—” She points to her belly, “—I’ve been a little off.”
I nod like I understand, but I don’t. The only thing I know about women and pregnancy is that it makes my brother’s heart condition flair up constantly. My sister-in-law, Ainsley, jokes that Maverick is so clingy she might file a restraining order just to have a moment alone.
My brother is the calmest person I know, and if a pregnancy upsets him to the point of insanity, I shudder to think what a woman goes through.
“When is the baby due?”
Her posture stiffens at my question.
“Am I not supposed to ask that?”
Ainsley is an over-sharer, so I don’t know what’s an appropriate question to ask a pregnant woman. All my knowledge has been provided through her random stories.
“No, it’s fine,” she says finally, giving me this smile that says it’s not fine at all. “The thing is, I don’t know. I haven’t been to the doctor yet.”
I fight off the urge to snap out a hateful why. I go for, “Oh,” instead.
She sighs, and it’s heartbreaking. “I’ve only known for a couple of weeks, and…” She bites her lip. “Obstetrician visits are expensive. So are hospital charges and anesthesia, which I won’t get because I can save four grand just enduring a little pain during delivery.”
My stomach clenches at the thought of her enduring more pain. Visions of my mother suffering in the months before her death flash through my mind. I can’t bear anyone—let alone a single woman—enduring pain. “Are you saying you don’t have insurance?”
She laughs, but it lacks sincerity. “That’s what I’m saying. And now, I don’t have a job. Kind of slows down the whole saving thing—which I was doing—I care about my baby; I’m just broke as fuck right now.”
“I can make some calls—”
She doesn’t let me finish. “Hold on, cowboy. Don’t start with all that bossy chivalry. I’ll just use the free clinic close to my house. I’ll make an appointment now that I’m not working ten days straight, and there’s no hope that I’m getting into a private practice now.”
I don’t know that much about free clinics. The care is likely the same but… “Are you planning to walk to this appointment?”
Her eyebrows rise. “Don’t make me lie to you.”
It takes everything I have not to slam my hand down on the steering wheel.
“Don’t look at me all Closer-y either.” She waves her hand in my face.
“What exactly is Closer-y?” I use her term and feel stupid for even saying it.
“You know,” she squints her eyes, narrowing them while her lips purse and her forehead wrinkles, “all menacing. I see how you look at those batters when you come in to save a game… with the shadows over your face and no twitch or anything… It scares the shit out of them. No wonder they can’t hit a pitch.”
“Are you saying I scare you?” And that I’m a good pitcher? Dammit, I’m smiling now, and that’s the last thing I want to do. This conversation is serious.
“Oh, no. I mean, sure, sometimes. Though, I do feel like there’s a level of psycho in you just waiting to jump out and kill me—”
“I could say the same about the woman who carries a wrench and threatens good samaritans on the side of the road.” I think it’s important she realizes carrying around a wrench doesn’t scream normality.
She shrugs. “I never claimed to be sane. I find hiding who I am is a waste of time. The day I stopped caring what people thought of me was the day I stopped being disappointed in people. It isn’t like my mom is going to hear through the grapevine about what a wonderful, normal woman I’ve become and come back, telling me she made a huge mistake by giving me up.” She shrugs. “There’s freedom in not caring, and in that freedom, I find peace.”
Even though she says she doesn’t care, it’s not what her face, or the tear that escapes, relays at all. “You’re adopted?”
She swipes at the wetness on her cheek. “No, I wasn’t. I aged-out of the foster care system.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I had a wonderful foster mother.”
I swallow, feeling the tightness spread to my grip on the wheel. “Do you still see her?”
She shakes her head, pointing at a side road. “This is my turn.”
Rounding the curve, we stay silent until she finally adds to our earlier conversation. “Brenda, my foster mother, wanted to adopt me, but back then, I still rode that cloud of hope that my mom would come back for me. I didn’t want my mom feeling like I betrayed her, you know?”
I can relate. “When my mother was diagnosed with MS, my father decided he was done with me and my brother too. He dropped us off at Pops’s and never came back. For years, I had hope he’d return, that he was just grieving, but as the days went on and Pops packed my lunch, tucked me in, and read me a story, I realized my life had changed without my consent. It was okay though, I had all I needed with Pops and my brother. My father could go fuck himself. “
“Brenda died a couple of years ago.” Her voice trembles. “If I could go back in time, I’d tell her yes, that she could adopt me.” She scoffs, but it sounds watered down. “She was the best mom and I never told her.”
“I’m sure she knew.” I reach over and put my hand over hers. “Parents have a way of knowing. At least that’s what Pops tells me.”
“You’re really close to him, aren’t you?”
I nod. “I went through a spell of being angry that I couldn’t play ball because my mom was sick and my dad was always working. I blamed my crappy season of Little League on the fact I only made the practices when Pops could drive down from Atlanta to take me, which wasn’t too often. It wasn’t until my mom got really bad that Pops came down and rented a house. It was then my dad dropped Maverick and me off and never came back. We moved back to Atlanta with Pops until he could sell his house and move us back home. The new house had a big back yard where Pops never missed an evening of catch.”
Her hand flips over and she squeezes mine. “I’m sorry about your mom.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“Still.” She shrugs. “Time doesn’t heal all wounds.”
True, but… “Are y
ou hungry?”
“What?” She stares at me, confused.
“I have to make dinner for Pops,” I explain. “I’m sure he’d love for you to join us, considering he threatened me before I left.”
That gets a genuine smile out of her. “He threatened you?”
I grin. “He worried when you didn’t come back. I found him hobbling down to the administrative offices looking for you.”
Her mouth flattens. “I told you he lies. I specifically told him to wait for you.”
She’s not telling me anything I don’t already know. “He’s a stubborn old man. Has been for years.”
“Agreed.”
She seems a little lighter now, since the heaviness of our conversation has shifted, so I take that as a yes to dinner and turn the car around, heading home.
“You need any help in there?”
McKinley is sitting cross-legged on the floor, her knee is wrapped, along with a new bandage on her toe that she insisted she do herself. I didn’t argue. Honestly, I thought if I did, I’d yell, which would then make Pops yell, so it was just better that I start cooking dinner.
“No thanks, I got it.”
She ignores me, which I sense is an ongoing trend, and comes to my side. “What are we making?”
I feel my brows rise. “We aren’t making anything,” I say. “You’re our guest.”
And wearing my boxers and t-shirt, smelling like me—thanks to her washing her hair with my shampoo. “When will your truck be ready?” I try for a subject change.
Her grin immediately falls. “Oh, uh. Tomorrow, I think.”
She’s lying.
“What was wrong with it?” Is it me or is the girl cagier than a hamster?
“The radiator.” She turns away and walks over to her malnourished palm tree and rubs over the leaves.
“You have enough money to cover it?” After her story in the car, the thought of her using the money for vehicle repairs instead of medical care has me nauseated.
“Yep, sure do. Thanks for checking.” Her tone is so clipped I almost laugh.
“Good. Pops and I will give you a ride over there in the morning.”
“That’s okay, the shop isn’t far from my house, I can walk.”
