If I thought my blood was hot from Taz’s comment earlier, it’s boiling now. Lake is with Mrs. Carlisle, and the two guys behind Callie are leaning forward talking to her. One can’t keep his eyes off her tits while she laughs.
Fucking hell.
It was a bad idea to look over there.
Hayes tosses me the ball, and I almost miss catching it, but the top of my glove snags it before it sails toward Easton behind me.
Hayes gives me the slider sign, and I wind up, my usual throwing motion not feeling nearly as fluid as I’d like. The minute the ball leaves my fingers, I know. I don’t need to hear the crack of the bat, the groan of the Chicago fans, or the roar of the visiting fans as the ball sails well over me, all the way over Ian’s head, and into the bleachers.
“Fuck.” My entire body gets tense.
Hayes calls time, and I try to wave him off, but he comes to the mound anyway.
“Hey, we’re good,” he says.
“No, we’re not.” My jaw is clenched so tight it hurts.
“Look at me.” He stands there until I do.
I want to tell him everything. I’m an asshole. I fucked your sister, and she’s pregnant with my baby. I really hope you don’t hate me, and I know I did a bad thing. I’ll just stand here, and you can kick my ass.
“It’s one run. We’ll get it back in the bottom. Let’s wash it and concentrate on the next runner. What are you feeling tonight?”
Soon all of the infield joins us. I want to throw a fit like usual and tell them to fuck off, but Jagger’s words ring through my head. But really, it’s knowing that I have a kid coming and that endorsement deals are even more important now that has me checking myself.
“You good, man?” Hayes asks.
“Best day ever,” I respond dryly.
“It was only one slider,” Easton says.
“It didn’t slide.” I cut him a pissed-off look.
My gaze veers up again, and I see the guy showing her something on his phone.
“Back the fuck up, clown,” I murmur.
“What did you say?” Decker asks.
“Nothing. Just go back to your positions. I’m fine.”
Hayes calls them back, and I inhale a deep breath.
“You too. Go. I’ll get us out of this.”
“What are you keeping from me?” Hayes asks point-blank.
I look at Callie, and this time he follows my vision and turns back. He doesn’t say anything, but there’s no one else I would be staring at, so I wait for him to call me out. I shouldn’t be surprised that this is how it will all come to light—Hayes having to call me out because I’m a chickenshit. He’s always been a more stand-up guy than me.
“You’re gonna do the slider again, and we’ll go from there.”
He doesn’t wait for my answer and goes back to squat behind the plate. And I think I’m so thankful he didn’t ask me—or beat the shit out of me on the mound in front of millions of people—that I actually strike the guy out.
Decker saves me with a homerun in the bottom of the ninth and the Colts win. Thank fucking God.
Chapter
Thirteen
