by V.K. Sykes
* * *
Holly.
Nate couldn’t believe how guilty he felt about leaving her. By the time he’d walked out to the mound at six o’clock, his concentration had been shot.
And, man, did it ever show.
The Ottawa fans must have thought it was some Nate Carter impersonator out there. From the first inning, he’d had to struggle to get the ball to do what he wanted. And when he did manage to find the strike zone, it was too often over the heart of the plate. When that happened, the Syracuse batters licked their lips and teed off on him.
By the top of fifth, the manager had seen enough and yanked him out of the game. Nate had managed to retire only twelve batters, and had given up five earned runs in four innings—a miserable performance. The same crowd that had given him a standing ovation when he was introduced was deathly quiet as he’d trudged back to the dugout. In frustration, he’d fired his glove against the Gatorade cooler and headed straight into the clubhouse.
Ten minutes in the shower had made him feel only slightly more human. His revolting outing had wounded his pride. Five earned runs to a bunch of minor leaguers?
But he’d get over it. What he couldn’t get over was worrying about Holly, all alone at home with that bastard Arnold still in the picture. Every moment he was away from her, Nate’s sense of urgency mounted, grinding away at his gut. He’d spent all day trying to convince his sorry self that Holly would be safe until he got back tomorrow, without any positive results.
And when he wasn’t thinking about her safety, he was thinking about how she’d felt wrapped around him, her luscious body taking him deep inside. Either way, thinking about the woman was driving him crazy.
Getting back into his street clothes, he glanced at his watch. Just after eight o’clock. It was early, because he’d only lasted on the mound about an hour and a half. He’d planned on staying in Ottawa overnight because he couldn’t count on being done until nine-thirty, or maybe even later if the game went into extra innings. But after the pasting he’d taken, no one would criticize him for not hanging around until the game was over. And even if they did, at this point he could live with it. He didn’t want to stay in Ottawa any longer than it took him to get a cab to the airport and fire up the Bonanza.
His stink bomb pitching had one positive outcome. It wasn’t too late for him to fly home tonight.
And get back to Holly, where he needed to be.
He only had two calls to make. The first to Holly, to let her know he was coming. The second to the airport flight services center to ask them to get the Bonanza ready for an immediate departure. He got Holly’s voice mail, as he expected, since he knew she’d still be at Jake’s place. He thought briefly about trying her there, but decided instead to leave a message at her house. It would be a welcome surprise for her to get home and find out he was already in the air.
And even if she wasn’t overjoyed to see him, there was no damn way he was leaving her alone a minute longer than necessary.
