Another ball zipped toward me. I pivoted and drove it high. The thud of the ball against the netting echoed like a heartbeat.
Jake sighed, voice lowering into that calm psychologist tone he used on clients. “Look. She’s not answering because she’s not ready to process with you. She’s in self-protection mode. What happened?—”
“Didn’t happen,Baby Jake.”
“Whatevershe thinks she saw—tripped a trauma wire. It’s not personal. It’s primal. She’s not stonewalling. She’s retreating.”
“If she would just talk to me …” I muttered.
Crack. Another ball. Another release of tension. My tether to sanity tonight? A maple-wood baseball bat.
The phone vibrated in my pocket, indicating another incoming call. Instinctively, I reached for it, dragging it from the cargo pocket on the side of my pants just as a ball screamed toward me.
I dropped, landing hard on my backside. My bat thudded beside me.
The ball slammed into the netting a breath too late.
“Gotta go, Baby Jake.”
“I’m not a ba?—”
I clicked over to the new call.Her.
Heart pounding, I crawled backward, out of the kill zone, resting against the opposite fence. The machine whirred, spitting balls that banged against the netting with the force of my bridled fury. Natasha’s father had tried to kill me, and then he ripped us apart with childish antics.
“Tash?”
Her voice emerged soft, as if buried under a pile of tears. “Hey, Lachlan. I’m sorry … I’ve ignored your calls and texts. Just needed space.”
“Fair enough.” I closed my eyes, wishing last Friday hadn’t just gone up in smoke. “Don’t know that woman or why—howshe found me, Natasha. You gotta believe me.”
“I trust you.”
My eyes snapped open. “You … you trust me?’Oh, thank God.“I’m gonna come to LA on Friday, okay.”
“Alright, but …” Her voice faded. I struggled to hear over the clang of balls against the cage.
Was that … mariachi music? Number Seven was right. I should turn off the machine.
“Natasha, you there, love?”What’s with the hesitation? “Och, I gotta tell you what happened. The reason why I?—”
“Lachlan.” Her voice cracked, and I stopped breathing. “I’ve spent a lifetime seeking someone to defend me. See me. Love me. You’re that guy.”
But why did her voice carry a conclusive weight? Goodbye dipped in honey.
Anger pricked my ribs. “Tasha, I love you. I want to protect you.”
She exhaled shakily. “Right now, I’m confused. Seems like I craved you more than anything. Like … what happened made me throw myself into your arms.”
“Not true. We’d been texting for ages, Natasha. Since the December after my brother’s wedding. You know it. You wanted to take it slow. Understood. My career—the fame—crap gets in the way.”
“Don’t call it crap. Don’t tie your dream to pain. You’re a Dodger.”
“But I didn’t wantthis.” Not the flashing lights. Not the headlines. Not whatever Friday night turned into. “I just love the game, Natasha. And I love you.” My voice grew hoarse. “Yep, I prioritized baseball over you initially. I own that.” I slapped my chest hard. A second later, another baseball rocketed againstthe netting.I gotta get up. Gotta move my legs, turn off the machine, make Natasha hear me.“I own that, love.”
She remained silent for a moment. “I need a break.”
“Alright, have yer break. I’ll sit on the sidelines. How does that sound?”
