by Tara Wyatt
There was a perfunctory knock on the door and Jake stuck his head in. Abby didn’t miss the way his eyes zeroed in on her hand on Javi’s shoulder. His mouth opened, but all he did was stare. After several seconds, he cleared his throat. “Oh, yeah, uh…” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and Abby swore she saw the muscles in his jaw clench. “I’ll come back. This is clearly a coach on coach meeting. Not that you’re on him, or that…Coaches meeting, and I’m not a coach, so I’ll just…” He started to back out of the door, so fumbling and awkward it would’ve been endearing if Abby had been able to feel anything but terrified that Jake was about to give their history away.
“Landon, stop saying coach and come in,” said Javi, standing. “What did you need?”
At that, Jake’s eyes landed squarely on Abby. She felt it almost like a touch, warmth blooming in her stomach. “Nothing. It can wait.” He spun and stalked out of the room.
Javi shook his head. “Great. Something’s up Landon’s ass. Last thing I need.”
Guilt tugged at her, and once she was finished with Javi, Abby headed back into the mostly empty clubhouse and went straight to Jake’s locker, where he was pulling on his gear for BP. “You can’t do shit like that,” she hissed.
He whirled, his eyes bright with intensity, his mouth a thin line. “Thought you wanted to keep your dating life out of the yard.”
Abby’s eyes went wide with shock. Indignation rose up inside her. “Are you jealous?” she whispered, glancing around to make sure the few guys still milling around weren’t listening. “Javi and I are friends. Colleagues. You need to cool it.”
Jake smiled, a frustrated, sarcastic grin she rarely saw on him. “He has a thing for you. Big time.” He jabbed a finger in the direction of Javi’s office. “He wants to be a hell of a lot more than friends.”
“You’re ridiculous. And you’re late for BP.” She pointed at the door that led to the dugout. He arched an eyebrow, but after a lingering look, gathered up his gear and left.
Abby paced through the clubhouse, pretending she was looking for something, when really she just needed to sort through her swirling thoughts. There was absolutely nothing romantic between her and Javi. Nothing.
But Jake’s jealousy had cast a shadow on her mood, and she knew she was scowling when she stepped out onto the field, adjusting her cap. Her eyes narrowed when she saw a woman on the field, talking to Jake. Laughing at something he’d just said, swatting at his muscled arm. He leaned closer, a teasing smile on his face. The woman angled her body toward him, talking animatedly. Then they both laughed.
A feeling of possessiveness surged through Abby, obliterating every thought in her brain. “Hey!” she barked as she headed straight for the intruder, who, Abby couldn’t help but notice, was delicate and petite, with auburn waves framing her pretty face. The kind of woman who made Abby feel like a hulking, awkward, giant. “Who the fuck are you and why are you on my field?”
If she was startled or fazed by Abby’s outburst, the woman didn’t show it. Almost lazily, she held up a press pass. “Brianna Highmore with ESPN. Your manager said I could observe this morning’s BP.”
Goddammit, Javi. She could feel Jake’s eyes on her, could feel the weight of his satisfied smirk as her own jealousy reared its ugly head.
Abby planted her hands on her hips. “Fine. But you watch from over there,” she said, pointing to the sidelines where a single row of chairs was set up for press to observe. “I need the players focused, not distracted.”
To her credit, Brianna gave an affable shrug and headed for the sidelines. It probably wasn’t the first time she’d been given shit as a female sports reporter, and it most likely wouldn’t be the last. Abby felt bad, though, that the shit had come from her, of all people. She started to move past Jake, who bent forward and pretended to tie his shoe.
“Eyes lookin’ awfully green there, Gossman,” he said in a low voice that had her footsteps faltering. He stood and adjusted his cap. “Not such a great feeling, is it?”
She closed her eyes for a moment and then nodded. “Fine. I was jealous, and it felt shitty. But it’s not the same because you have nothing to be jealous about when it comes to Javi.” She started to walk away.
“I’m not wrong. I mean, I’m pretty much never wrong, but I’m especially not wrong about this.” He caught up with her. “Flores wants you, and if he thinks that’s an option, he’s going to have to go through me.” Then he jogged away, joining the rest of the team, who were gathered around the cage set up at home plate for on-field BP. A hot, electric thrill shot down her spine. Was it totally unevolved that a part of her found Jake’s jealousy and possessiveness—even though they weren’t together—kind of hot? She didn’t know. But now wasn’t the time or the place to enjoy it, or unpack it, or rationalize it away, because she had a job to do.
She stood on the plate, and a silence fell over the group of batters as they all turned their attention to her. She didn’t start right away, instead taking her time to look at each and every player, making sure every single guy felt seen and included in what she was about to say.
“Not the best stretch of games. We can all agree on that. We’re struggling at the plate and swinging at absolute garbage. And I get it. When the pressure’s on, it’s hard to stay out of your head and stay focused. To not get caught up in the moment and what it means, and what it might mean down the road.” She paced across the dirt in front of home plate.
“You can’t control what pitch you get, or the way the ump’s seeing the strike zone. But you can control everything that happens in here,” she said, stepping into the batter’s box. “Inside this box, you’re in charge. You’re in control. You control your timing. Your grip. Your swing. Every single minuscule part of your mechanics that I’ve fine-tuned with each and every one of you.” She paused, looking from player to player. “And, most importantly, you control what’s up here.” She tapped her head. “I want you to own this box, every single time you step into it. I want you to believe you own it. I want you to feel entitled to it. Because you are.”
She leaned against the outside of the cage, crossing one ankle over the other, trying to show them with her body language that she wasn’t worried, and they shouldn’t be either.
“You all get paid stupid amounts of money to hit baseballs. I know you can do it, and do it well. You wouldn’t be here if you couldn’t. So this slump we’re in? It’s all mental.” She paused again, letting her words sink in. “Own the box. Say it. Believe it. Know it. You own this box. Own. The. Box.”
That BP, they littered the stands with moonshots. Bring on the Astros.
Seven
They were only two innings in to the game against the Astros, and while there was no score yet and Connor was throwing massive amounts of heat, Jake was ready for it to be over. His knees felt like they’d been through a wood chipper, and every movement caused an annoying twinge in his lower back. He stretched and took a sip of his Gatorade, trying to get the muscles there to calm down.
The energy in the dugout was high, even though they’d yet to put a run on the board.
“Shit, the ump’s name is Ed?” said Hunter to Dylan. “I’ve been calling him George.”
“That’s probably why your strike zone’s so big tonight,” joked Dylan.
“Still made contact though.”
“Yeah,” said Beau. “It was real admirable the way you ran down your pop ups. You’re setting a good example for the kids. Hustle!”
Hunter let out an exaggerated sigh. “I know, but now I’m tired.” They all laughed.
Beau tossed a handful of sunflower seeds into his mouth, tipping his chin at Jake. “Who was that reporter you were talking to this morning at BP?”
“Your dick’s gonna fall off from overuse, Beckett,” chirped Abby, earning a few laughs from around the dugout. Beau was unfazed.
“Brianna Highmore from ESPN,” said Jake, his mind flashing back to that morning and the raging jealousy he’d seen bu
rning in Abby’s eyes. It made him a total caveman, but that jealousy had turned him on. He’d desperately wanted to drag her off somewhere private so he could show her just how little she had to be jealous about.
“She was cute,” said Beau, shocking no one.
Connor made a pffft sound. “She was annoying.”
As the guys talked, Jake’s eyes wandered over to where Abby and Javi were talking, looking at a page in a binder with the pitching coach. She nodded in agreement at whatever had been said, her shiny ponytail bobbing behind her. He had the sudden urge to wrap that ponytail around his fist and kiss her until neither of them could breathe. So, doing the only sensible thing—the only thing, really—he grabbed a bat and started warming up.
They’d won, 8-0, shutting out the Astros and moving within one game of the wild card. “It’s Tricky” by Run-DMC thumped through the clubhouse’s speakers as the entire team celebrated, feeling as though they were back on top after their shitty road trip. Dylan passed Jake a bottle of beer, which Jake accepted with a smile, even though he couldn’t seem to stop staring at Javi and Abby, who were laughing and talking with the bench coach on the other side of the clubhouse.
“You know, I used to think you were a dick,” said Dylan. “But you’re not so bad.”
Jake laughed. “Thanks, I think.”
“You’re the kind of guy that it sucks to play against, but it’s awesome to play with.”
Jake laughed again. “Okay, that one I’ll take.”
Then, Dylan shocked the hell out of him. “So, you and Abby, huh?”
Jake almost dropped his bottle of beer and tried to cover his reaction by taking a long sip. “Me and Abby what?” he asked, wondering how the hell to play this and protect Abby’s reputation. He didn’t care what people thought of him, but Abby was obviously another story.
Dylan shrugged casually. “Hunter’s the one who put it together. He and Abby are buddies, and he knew she had a boyfriend named Jake. Then she seemed off after you got traded here, and I always knew she had some secret boyfriend. We followed the clues.”
“Well, aren’t you just a pair of fucking Hardy Boys?” Jake grumbled. “Listen, it was a thing, but now it’s not, and if either of you breathe a word of any of this to anyone, I’ll end you.”
The music changed to Stevie Wonder and Dylan held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Whoa, dude, we’re on your side. We’d never do anything to compromise Abby’s position, and like I said, you’re not so bad.” Dylan took a sip of his drink. “So, you called it off?”
Jake shook his head. “She did. She had to. I get it.”
“Sucks, though.”
Jake nodded, agreeing with Dylan’s massive understatement. “Sucks, though.” He squinted at Dylan. “Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“Javi’s into her, isn’t he?”
“Oh, yeah. Big time.”
Jake’s heart sank into his stomach, settling among the bricks there. “Shit.”
“Yeah.”
Jake took another sip of his drink and looked at Javi. He had to admit the guy was good looking. Charismatic. Smart. Exactly the kind of guy who probably had his pick of women. And it seemed he’d picked Abby. Jake’s Abby. He couldn’t help the low growl that rumbled deep in his throat at the thought of Abby with anyone else.
He had an immediate and visceral fantasy of walking over there, slugging Javi in the face, and throwing Abby over his shoulder. His stomach burned as he watched them, and he clenched his jaw so tightly that he was probably in danger of cracking a molar.
“Why’d you think I was a dick?” Jake asked as Dylan started to move away, trying to give himself something to focus on besides the need and the jealousy hardening like cement in his stomach.
Dylan shot him a smirk. “You always chirped me anytime I was at bat.”
“I chirp everyone. If I can get in your head, all the better for my pitcher.”
“I know. That’s why everyone calls you Tweety Bird.”
Jake laughed. “Fuck off.”
Sweat dripped into Abby’s eyes as she pushed herself through a grueling workout meant to switch off her brain and exhaust her body. But it didn’t seem to matter how far she ran or how much weight she lifted, she couldn’t escape the thoughts churning through her brain, like a montage designed only to torment and agonize. Everything good—and there was a lot of it—that had ever happened with her and Jake. The night they’d met, and how charming and easy to talk to he’d been. The first night they’d spent together, where he’d made her come almost as much as he made her laugh. The little snippets of time they’d stolen together over the past several months.
And then everything bad. The news that Jake had been traded to Dallas. Breaking up with him. Losing him. Missing him.
Loving a man she couldn’t have, because she was a woman in a man’s world and she didn’t make the rules.
Anger replaced the sadness and she pushed it into her muscles, her legs shaking as she worked through her last few reps on the leg press. Finished, she let it fall with a clang that reverberated around the empty gym. Her phone started ringing from where she’d stashed it in her gym bag, and with a heavy sigh, she picked up her towel, wiped her face, and then pulled it out. She grimaced when she saw the name bouncing on the screen.
Mom.
She closed her eyes and steeled herself before sliding her finger across the screen. “Hey, Mom.” She said, planting a hand on her hip, feeling the need to arm herself with body language even though her mother couldn’t see her.
“Hey, honey. Are we still on for dinner tomorrow night after you get in to Orange County?” The Longhorns were playing an afternoon game today before flying out to Anaheim for a three game stand against the Angels. Her mother had texted her a few days ago and asked her if they could all have dinner together, and of course Abby had said yes, but she wasn’t exactly looking forward to it.
“Yeah, sure. Make a reservation wherever you like and just text me the details.”
“I’ll ask Madison for a recommendation,” she said, mentioning Abby’s sister. “You know, it’d be really great if you two could make up about the engagement party.”
“There’s nothing to make up, Mom. Everything’s fine,” Abby lied. Everything wasn’t fine, but it wasn’t fine in a way that wasn’t fixable. Madison was engaged to a doctor named Steven, and they’d had a swanky engagement party earlier that summer. Abby hadn’t been able to go because of her work schedule, and her family hadn’t exactly understood. Of course, she’d be at the wedding, but she hadn’t been willing to leave the team mid-road trip to go be scenery at some party.
But that was the way it had always been. Madison was the princess, and Abby was…well, she was Abby. Abby was older than Maddy by two years, and when she’d been born, her father had been hoping for a boy. He hadn’t gotten one, so he’d turned her into a tomboy, and then Maddy had come along, so delicate and pretty and unbearably feminine that she’d easily fallen into the role of Daddy’s princess and Mommy’s little girl. Abby had never really felt like she’d fit with her family. She’d always been trying to be who they wanted her to be, to the point where when she was with them, she didn’t really know who she was.
“It just would’ve been nice if you could’ve come,” her mother said, not letting it go.
Abby pinched the bridge of her nose. “I was on the road with the team. I’m sorry that the timing didn’t work out.” A silence hung on the line, and Abby looked up to see Jake and Hunter step into the gym. She gave them a little wave even as her heart lurched at the sight of Jake. “Listen, Mom, I gotta go. But I’ll see you tomorrow night, okay?”
She hung up the phone, gathered up her stuff and headed out, not wanting to watch Jake get all sweaty.
As she walked down the hallway, she glanced around, taking in the Longhorns memorabilia around her. She’d given up so much to be a part of this—a part of the game, a part of the team—that now, it was all she had.
<
br /> Jake watched Abby leave the gym, his eyes moving over her body, and while he would’ve liked to let his gaze linger on her ass—it was a really great ass, a superlative ass, honestly—there was something about the slump of her shoulders, the tension in her neck that drew his attention instead. He wondered who she’d been talking to, what was wrong, how he could fix it…It didn’t matter that he wasn’t her boyfriend. He’d take on the world for her, if she asked him.
He sat down on a bench and pulled on his knee braces, and he could feel Hunter watching him, but he didn’t say anything as they both hopped onto adjacent treadmills to start their warm ups. Jake couldn’t hold back his grimace as he started to jog, the stiffness in his knees radiating through his legs. He took a swig of his water bottle, trying to cover it up, not wanting to look like the broken old man in front of the team’s star slugger who was nearly ten years younger than him.
But it was no use, because Hunter had clearly seen it. He shot Jake a thoughtful look. “So, what comes next? Retirement somewhere on the horizon for you?” he asked casually, cranking up the incline on his own treadmill.
Jake shrugged. “Wish I knew. No one really hands you a road map or a brochure about how to navigate the end, you know?”
“I know. My dad had a hard time with it,” he said. Hunter’s dad was Garrison Blake, an All-Star Hall of Famer who’d played for the Phillies and the Expos. “It’s bittersweet, I would imagine.”
“Yeah. And I just…I don’t know what to do with myself, or even what I want to do, once I leave this behind. Coach? Sports radio? Go to college and start my life over at thirty-seven?” He shook his head. “Fuck if I know. All I’m sure about is that I’m way too young to pack it in, move to Florida, and ride it out with a beer on the beach.” What he really wanted was a future with Abby. If he could have one thing, that would be it. Hell, he’d retire tomorrow if that meant he could be with her. He knew it wasn’t that simple, though, for either of them.
