Page 14 of Convincing the Catcher

Instantly, my cheeks heat, and my heart races. Tugging my batting gloves off, I narrow my eyes at him. “And what, you stayed and listened?”

He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his gray sweatpants. “Well, no. I don’t—kind of, I guess?” He frowns. “I know it sounds bad. But either way, I just wanted to check to see if you, you know, needed anything?”

I search his face, letting my eyes roam, as I try to figure out what the hell his intention is right now. I don’t know him. All I know is, he went out of his way, driving an hour and a half away, to ruin someone else’s dugout. That, and he’s a great pitcher.

Oh, and he’s hot. He apparently used to be the campus fuckboy but seems to have calmed down. Other than that, I know nothing.

“What exactly are you asking me, Hale?”

He rocks gently on his heels. “I guess I just wanted to check that you were able to get your medication, Catch. That’s all.”

Maybe it’s nice that he’s here, trying to help me. But the little girl inside of me, the one who’s had to claw her way tooth and nail every step of the way to get to this point in her softball career, is just irked that this man—this … very entitled man—wants to show up and be her Prince Charming.

Or maybe it irks me that he could be. Because I need help, and I can’t do it myself. And every single part of my being hates to admit that.

“I know you’re aware of who my stepdad is. And so—” He cringes. “God, this makes me feel like a fucking major douchebag to say, but … I have the means to help you.”

There’s no hiding how uncomfortable he feels, saying those last words, which somehow makes him seem more human to me than if he just threw around the fact that his family was loaded. Still, I hate this conversation with everything that I am.

In my mind, I know this would be my best shot to continue affording my medication and supplies. But still, I hate being a charity case for someone like Cane freaking Hale.

“I’m all set actually,” I finally say, backing away from him slowly. “I know you’re trying to … what, right your wrongs and make everyone like you again? But guess what. I’ve done it this far on my own. I don’t need some man who has the world in the palm of his hand and no respect for other teams to step in and try to be my hero.”

Turning away from him, I grab my shit quickly.

“Harley, wait,” he pleads, just as I start walking away.

I can feel my sugar getting low, and I rush to my car, where I know some Skittles are waiting for me, and I never look back at him.

Maybe he does have good intentions, or maybe he doesn’t. Either way, it doesn’t matter. My mom said she was going to talk to the insurance company and that everything would be fine.

I don’t need Cane Hale or his charity.

CANE

I walk into The Tower—the male athlete house—to find Hendrix sitting at the counter, playing on his phone and scowling, and Jameson and a few other guys who live with us playing video games.

“What’s good, Hunt?” I mutter before grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.

“Not a fucking thing,” he mumbles back, setting his phone down. “You?”

“About the same,” I say honestly, leaning against the counter.

Hendrix Hunt is a hockey player—a damn good one at that. Seeing as my stepdad is the assistant coach, I’ve heard he has quite a reputation for fighting and getting into trouble. Though since transferring here—aside from one fight, where he was defending a friend of mine, Isla Hardy—he seems to be a decent guy.

And from what I’ve heard, he’s also obsessed with her, but I don’t want to break it to him that her daddy will never let them be together. Dude is too overprotective for that.

“Does the baseball team have to be in that stupid charity auction?” he asks.

I’m just thankful that Hunt isn’t mentioning anything about the shitstorm I’ve been in on social media from the stupid fucking prank. Everywhere I go lately, everyone seems to bring it up. And not in the best way either. With Hendrix, I think he appreciates that I don’t bring up him getting kicked out of his prior college for fighting, so he’s repaying the favor by not asking me about this.

“Unfortunately,” I grumble, remembering the auction because with everything going on, I forgot.

“Damn Brody O’Brien and his huge-ass heart,” Hendrix says, hanging his head.

“I know. How dare he make money for his charity with our fine asses?” I grin. “With my luck, I’ll get bought by some old cougar or something.”

“Old cougars need love too, Hale!” Jameson suddenly calls from the couch, catching me off guard because I didn’t even know that fucker knew I was here. “Besides, maybe she’ll, like, bake you cookies or some shit.”