“It’s that son of a bitch, Damien,” Lance growls.
“Yep. I need to get the fuck out of here and get home to my woman.”
“Dude, we have a game. You can’t go anywhere.” Reed glances around the group, waiting for someone to back him up. No one does.
“Romero!” The deep rumbling voice of our coach cuts through the air. “Get your ass over here!”
I approach Coach Anson with the guys behind me. “Yeah, Skip?”
“Don’t ‘yeah, Skip’ me,” he mocks. He holds up his phone, with the headline that readsCatchBaseball’s Bad Boy Nico Romero in leaked Sex Tape Scandal.
“Fucking hell,” I groan. “I swear, that’s not me.”
“I know, you dumb fuck. Anyone who knows you can see the tattoos aren’t the damn same. But try explaining that to the front office. They are up my ass and fuming.” I knew Anson was perceptive, but his attention to detail is impressive. Also, it’s worrisome. He watched the video in full.
“Sorry, Coach, but I can’t help you. I have to get home.” I try to shove past him, but Anson lays a thick, leathery hand on my chest.
“What the hell are you on about? We have a game in a couple of hours, son.”
“Don’t care. I need to get home to my woman,” I explain.
Anson places his hands on his hips and sighs. “You can’t leave. You’ll be fined. Maybe worse.”
I shrug. “Fine with me. But you can’t stop me. Fire me if you must. But either way, I’m getting home to my girl. She’s the one, Coach. I’m going to marry her. Well, I will if she doesn’t kick me to the curb first.”
“Well, shave my mustache as smooth as a baby’s ass. I never thought I’d hear you talk about a woman like that.” He rubs his thumb and pointer finger over his mustache. “I think I can make something work. Go on, get out of here. But limp. Then we can put you on the injured list pending a physical.”
“You can do that?” I ask, dumbfounded.
Anson chuckles. “No, but I’m going to. Now get the fuck out of here before I change my mind. And lie low. I don’t want to see any other crap about you online, you hear me?”
“Yes, sir.”
Anson gives my shoulder a squeeze, turns on his heel, and walks out of the PT room.
Reed is the first to break the silence in the room. “You’re not seriously going to leave, are you?”
I turn around to face him. I’m shocked by the words that fall out of my mouth, but I mean every one of them. “I am. Some things are more important than baseball. Maybe if you’re lucky, you’ll understand one day.”
“Fuck yeah. Go get your girl, bro,” Cam cheers. I roll my eyes at him, and he barks a laugh.
“Wait. How the hell are you going to get to LA?” Lance asks.
“No idea.” I place my hands on my hips. We’re in Colorado. I can’t just drive home; that would take me a whole fucking day.
“I got you,” Cam says. He gets on the phone and calls his brother. “Eli, Romero needs a favor.” He fills his brother in on the situation, and explains that I need help to get the video down and a plane for me to get home. He hangs up and grins. “It’s all set. My brother’s business partner owns a private plane. He’ll send a car for you.”
“Thank you, brother. I owe you one.”
Cam crows with laughter. “Unnecessary. But you owe Eli one. Actually, he said three. You owe him three favors for this.”
“Fine.” It can’t be too bad, can it? I look at Cam, whose grin has turned villainous.
Maybe it is. Fuck it. I’d do anything to get to Savannah right now.
“When he calls in those favors, and he will someday, just do what he says, or he’ll make your life a living hell. Now get out of here. Blake will pack your stuff and take it home.”
“I will?” he asks, scratching his head.
