I fumble with the keys in my purse, trying to get them out and the car unlocked before I reach it. My walls are crumbling. Ripping the door open, I fall into the driver’s seat and fling my bag into the passenger seat beside me. The door falls closed behind me right as a sob chokes out.
I cover my mouth with my hand. I need to keep this at bay until I’m home. The last thing I need is to wreck.
“You good?” Ivory’s question pulls me out of my wandering thoughts about this afternoon’s doctor’s appointment. The sounds of the stadium infiltrate my system as the announcer introduces the teams. “You seem quiet today.”
No, I didn’t have time to wallow in self-pity and rage about how unfair life is in peace.
Taylor pipes up from beside me, “I’ve been wondering the same thing. She’s been weird since she came home this afternoon.” When I got home from my doctor’s appointment, she was waiting in my kitchen with a million questions about where I’d been. I had to dodge by saying I was up early for a workout class and then getting some work done at my favorite coffee shop. I don’t want her or Ivory to know about my appointment until I can get a handle of what’s going on myself.
“I’m fine. I just wasn’t expecting you or I would’ve been home sooner. It’s a busy time right now,” I lie as best as possible. But I’m a terrible liar and my friends know it. Thankfully, the announcer interrupts.
“Now, get on your feet for your Music City Troubadours! Your starting catcher, Ryan Millerrrrr,” he calls as Miller climbs the stairs from the dugout in his gear, lifting his catcher’s mask above his head to acknowledge the crowd.
“Let’s go, Mills!” I scream above the crowd. He’s the only one who knew about my appointment. He texted me earlier to ask how it went, and I told him it was fine. He’ll be hurt when he finds out I lied, but I’m not ready to talk about it. The fear paralysis is making everything shut down. All rational sense out the window.
“Second baseman, number ten, Preston ‘Fielder’ Fields.” Preston runs up the stairs and points back at Ivory who is screaming at the top of her lungs like she always does. I get lost in the noise, clapping along until the announcer gets to Chase.
“And you know him as The Chaser, shortstop, number three, Chase Bennett.”
My pulse quickens and my heart feels like it’s going to pound out of my chest as he runs onto the field and takes his position for the anthem. Latching onto him to bring me out of the darkness, I smile at seeing him in his uniform, the same jersey I wore this morning.
Today’s singer takes the field, and we turn our attention to the flags over the outfield for the national anthem. When she’s finished, the camera pans to all the players as they start warming up for the first inning. The camera zooms in on Chase as he takes his jersey into his mouth and winks at the camera.At me. I can’t help the gasp that leaves my mouth and the butterflies that take flight.
“OH MY GOD,” Taylor fans herself beside me. My eyes widen in horror at being caught.
“That is so hot,” Ivory agrees
“Shut up,” I hiss, because despite basically telling him this morning I was ready to stop hiding our relationship, I can’t stop the intrusive thoughts that appear out of thin air when I look around and see every other girl in the stands also fanning themselves at Chase.
Young girls. Pretty girls. Girls who wouldn’t demand secrecy and throw a fit about even her closest friends knowing they were sleeping together. I thought I’d gotten past this, but today’s newsis attacking my brain and making it hard to think clearly. Maybe this is a sign. He deserves someone who would proudly shout about their relationship with him.
He also deserves someone who wasn’t wondering every year if this would be the year she’s diagnosed with cancer.
“Man, I don’t know about y’all, but I can’t wait for this series to be over.” Fields drops into the chair beside me in the dugout. He and Miller joined me at the children’s hospital this morning before our game against Arizona tonight. It’s been a rough series, but thankfully it’s Saturday night so we only have two more games against them. Tomorrow night we fly out for a three-game away series before we finally get a day off on Thursday.
By the fifth inning, everyone is on edge. The trash talking is starting to get out of hand as I step into the batter’s box in the bottom of the inning. Jack, the catcher, is an ex-teammate from Triple A who got traded to Arizona during the off-season.
“Ah, The Chaser is back in the box,” he starts in immediately. “What are you known for chasing again? ‘Cause all I’ve seen is you chasing strikes.” As if to prove his point, the pitcher throws a nasty slider and I fall for it.
“Fuck,” I shout. Stepping out of the box, I roll my shoulders to shake it off and recenter in the box. I dig my right foot into the dirt, then step in with my left, swinging the bat a few times to settle into my stance.
“You still in trouble? Only the golden boy could get arrested and get off with a slap on the wrist.” Jack catches a wide curveball and stands to throw it back to the pitcher, knocking into my arm in the process. I try to ignore him, but what he says next makes me second guess keeping my mouth shut. “Or does thishave anything to do with the hot piece of ass in the Troubadours’ front office?” Jack and I have never gotten along great, but we hung out as a group and he was part of the crew in St. John, so I know he’s referring to Bree.
“Knock it off,” I snap, watching him lower back into position behind the plate. The smirk on his face tells me I won’t like what’s about to come out of his mouth. The pitch clock is winding down, so I have no choice but to get back in my stance and ready for the pitch.
Right as the pitcher winds up, Jack delivers his next threat, “Anyone else know you bang the team lawyer?”
Seeing red, I swing too early and foul the ball.
“Watch it, asshole,” I say, turning to face Jack and he gives me a predatory grin. He takes his sweet ass time standing to get a ball from the umpire who’s chalked this up to the trash talk we’ve been exchanging all game.
“Is that what you’re chasing these days, Chase? I’ll admit she’s a looker.” He throws the ball to the pitcher and leans in close to me while looking back to the stands where Bree sits with Ivory. “She was in that bar, and she must have a good pussy if it’s keeping you interested.”
This motherfucker.
“Shut the fuck up!” I yell into his face, pushing him back with my chest to his. I’ve had enough. The bat drops to the dirt, and I ball my hands into fists, ready to throw a punch as Jack laughs and keeps running his mouth about Bree. The urge to ruin him consumes me.
Jack throws his mask off. It hits the dirt at the same time as Miller runs up and wraps an arm around my midsection to hold me back. He whispers in my ear, “Calm it down, Rook. You’re on a short leash.”
