11. Jaxon
11
JAXON
Running on only a few short hours of sleep does not give me the mental capacity to sort through the wrench this morning has thrown into my life, much less do more than a passable job of pitching. I grind my teeth as I step off the mound, signaling that I need a minute. I try my best to concentrate on my form as I wind up, but I’m doing a shit job. I know it and so does the entire team, as evidenced by the curious glances from those waiting on me, including a scowling Alexander. He gives me a look that’s easily readable. What the fuck’s wrong with you today ?
Fuck . When I arrived in a foul mood, most everyone had given me a wide berth, with the exception of Alexander. That’s only because he’s not afraid to get in my face and tell me I’m acting like a dick. Probably why he and I get along so well. I don’t like people who don’t call people out on their shit.
I grimace, eyes flicking to Logan. He’d be the other one who tells me exactly what he thinks… only I don’t usually have the patience to listen when he speaks. Anyone birthed by the woman he calls mother doesn’t deserve a fucking thing from me. My vision darkens at the edges for a second as I think back to Mom’s upset last night. Who the fuck in their right mind tries to orchestrate a family dinner to include her estranged stepson and the woman she stole her new husband from? It’s fucking weird. We are not one big, happy family. Any angle I look at the situation from, it’s fucked. And to think Jamie probably okayed it with my dad, too. He fucking knows what he did, knows Mom would never in a million years want to breathe the same air as his new wife.
The pair of them wrecked our lives. What’s so hard to understand?
I heave out a breath, stepping back into place on the mound. There’s only a small portion of my mind that’s on Alexander, who’s still waiting on me. He lifts his glove, awaiting my pitch, watching me with eagle eyes. The last thing I should allow to happen right now is a loss of focus… but I can’t fucking help it today.
My gaze connects with Logan’s at the far side of the bullpen’s bench, where he’s observing me while awaiting his turn. He cocks his head to the side, studying me as if he can see right inside my head. My stepbrother has seen sides of me I didn’t even know existed. Knows things about me I didn’t have a fucking clue about until he dragged them to the surface.
And goddammit, I have no desire to be here right now. Lack of sleep and the heaviness of everything we dealt with last night and this morning is getting to me. I wind up and whip a fastball to Alexander. It’s a bad pitch, and any decent hitter would have taken advantage of it. I give a dejected sigh. Fuck .
“You going to stop throwing meatballs anytime soon, Ledger?” Coach’s sharp tone snatches my attention, and I pivot, grimacing at the irritated expression coating his features.
“Sorry, Coach,” I grind out, knowing he’s right but still struggling to keep my tone in check.
“No sorries. Just pitch like you know how.” He shifts, saying something to Logan. Who knows what, but probably telling him that as long as he doesn’t fuck up today, he’ll pitch at the upcoming game against Kingston University. That’s what I’d expect anyway based on who’s pitched the previous couple games. Coach wouldn’t put me in to pitch even if it was supposed to be me. Goddammit.
I wet my lips, closing my eyes for a quick second to regroup. But it doesn’t fucking help because all I can see in my mind’s eye are Logan and Rya. Her crying, which is a punch to the gut, and him telling me I’m a good fucking boy. Fucked if we didn’t screw things all to hell. I don’t even know what the fuck I was thinking. Things are so twisted in my head, I can’t keep up.
To be clear, I still hate him. But I fucking love how that hate turns into something so animalistic and real.
Opening my eyes again, I attempt to concentrate on the pitch I’m about to send Alexander’s way. I physically see the signal he flashes me from his crouched position, but my brain isn’t absorbing it. Blinking hard, I shake my head at his suggestion, one after another, even though he knows my pitching strengths better than anyone. I’m too distracted by nothing more than my own thoughts and the rising dread that creeps from the pit of my stomach to think clearly.
Just beyond him, those crystal-clear blue eyes of Logan’s are on me, and they hold knowledge of things I don’t need other people being aware of. He’s silently judging me right now. For my shitty pitching? For not wanting to tell Rya about fucking around behind her back? For not saying more? Oh my fucking god, I can’t get my head straight. While I’m careening toward a massive cliff, my stepbrother’s gaining the upper hand. And I can’t fucking have that.
The bitch of it is Logan seemed to notice last night just how affected I was by what happened to Rya. He fuckin’ knows I feel something for her and that is seriously demented, considering how this all started.
Trying to explain what ticks around in my head leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I never would have predicted I’d begin to fall for Rya and her sassy smiles so damn easily. Never would have thought I’d find myself wanting more than anything to be the man she thought I was. She’s a sweet dream that I have no fucking right to claim for myself.
When she discovers the truth—and I do feel like there’s no stopping that from happening now—that’ll be it. She’ll be done with me.
Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I blink hard, trying to make myself focus as Alexander does his best to communicate with me. I heave out a sigh, stepping back for a second to regroup.
I have an absurd urge to walk out of this bullpen and go find Rya so I can come clean about everything. But the problem with telling her what’s in my head is that I can’t be completely sure what would shoot from my mouth… especially since I have so much turmoil swirling within me. Humiliation streaks through me at the degree of jealousy Logan inspires in me. He has everything. I’ve had nothing. And now my actions threaten to tear Rya from me, too. I work my jaw to the side. There’s not a chance in hell she won’t hate me, not for how we began nor for why . If she finds out about that, the fact that she caught me with Logan’s dick down my throat will become insignificant. It’s all so fucking laughable I almost can’t contain my sick mirth.
“Ledger, get your ass over here. Owen, you’re up next.” Coach Kimball claps his meaty hands loudly, and I disguise the sigh of relief I let filter from my throat.
Back at the bench, I pull my hoodie over my head and stuff my hands into the front pocket. It’s bitterly cold today, which isn’t an oddity for mid-February, but I wish we could fast-forward to April. I should be watching Owen’s pitches, but I’m too distracted by Logan, who’s now standing not three feet from me. Edging my way closer, I cast a look at him from the corner of my eye. “See you remembered your fucking fancy hand warmer today.”
Logan’s jaw works to the side as he turns to study my profile. “Yeah. Well, I couldn’t expect my dickhead stepbrother to bail me out a second time. He kinda has it out for me for some unknown fucking reason.” His lips purse.
“So, that’s the game we’re playing?” My brow raises.
“It’s only a game to him. It’s my life he’s fucking with.”
I crane my neck to the side, glowering at him. “I’m fucking with your life? You’ve been fucking with my life since the minute you and your—” I clench my teeth together, slamming to a stop. “Whatever.”
Eyes narrowing, Logan tilts his head to the side. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re the one who was using my best friend to get at me. I don’t claim to know what the fuck you’re thinking, but if you hadn’t started all this fucking bullshit, she wouldn’t be hurting the way she is.”
“Fucking bullshit?”
“Yeah. And I hate to fucking tell you, Jax. You’re like fucking spaghetti, you prick.”
My brain scrambles, and I slide my tongue along my lower lip, considering his words as I stare at him. “Spaghetti.” It’s not even a question because I can’t fathom what the fuck spaghetti has to do with jack shit.
He turns, eyes practically burning into mine. “Yeah, as in you’re straight like spaghetti until your dick’s wet , then you aren’t straight at all.” His lips quirk. “No sense in denying it. Not since whatever this insanity is between us”—he whips his hand out of the warmer and smacks the back of it against my chest—“has now fucked both of us over.”
Before he can pull his arm back, heat rushes through my veins, and my hand darts out fast like a viper’s strike, grasping his wrist. I yank him close to me, so close the warm puffs of his breath tickle my lips. “Listen to me, dickweed?—”
“Ledger.” Coach’s voice at my back has a strange quality to it, and I automatically release the hold I have on Logan and pivot on my heel. Kimball’s eyes are intent on me, his face a mask I can’t read.
Fuck . Did he hear any of that? “Yes, sir?”
There’s something about the look in his eye that makes all the air rush from my lungs. He motions to me that I should step aside with him. If he had a problem with us, he would have asked for both of us. Something all too familiar prickles along my nerves and my brows slowly draw together. I go with him, feeling the weight of Logan’s stare at my back.
Coach shuffles a few feet from everyone before spinning on his heel and rearranging his ball cap. Clearing his throat, he rubs a hand over his lips. “So, I don’t have any details, but your mother is having some sort of a medical emergency and is on her way to Evermore Memorial. I don’t know how serious it is, so I think you need to head out now.”
“What?” At my blurted question, Coach simply watches me, knowing I heard him the first time but waiting for my brain to register what he’s said. It’s an odd sensation, feeling the blood rush from my face like it just did. Lightheaded, I swallow hard. Wet my lips. Nod. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks.” Ugly, horrible thoughts make my gut churn. I exhale, turning in place as I attempt to recall what I did with my bag, but my head feels cloudy. Reminders of other instances like this with my mother foam and froth and roil within me.
When I finally snap out of it, to my surprise, Logan’s standing there with my duffel. “Here, Jax. Can I—?” One look at the expression on my face causes his mouth to clamp shut, lips pursing as his bold, blue eyes meet mine. There’s a hint of anxiety sketched over his features as he continues to hold the bag for me, and it wreaks havoc on the grasp I have over my mental state. I have an almost violent urge to clasp him to me, mold his strong body to mine right here in front of the entire fucking team.
It’s fucking insanity wrapped up in need… but also loathing. Logan’s the last person I should lean on, especially when my problems are his fucking fault. Anchoring that thought in my head, I snatch the duffel out of his hands, then stride away as fast as my feet will carry me before he has a chance to utter another word. I can’t afford to have him claw his way inside my head and tamper with my emotions.
Thankfully, my car is not parked far. Pulling my phone from my bag as I traverse the lot, I tap out a quick text to my mother, unsure if she’ll even be in any state to answer.
Mom?
What’s going on?
Coach said someone contacted him.
I’m on my way.
Hang tight.
I wait several seconds, then check to make sure my ringer is on before I shove the phone away again. The worry hangs over my head like a noose, ready to strangle me, taking my breath and every logical thought in my head. Picking up speed, I run for my car.
I’ve just skidded to a stop to unlock the door when the sound of pounding feet attracts my attention. I’m not alone.
“Jaxon,” Logan heaves out, “wait up.”
I whirl around, immediately shaking my head and giving him a cold glare. “The fuck are you doing? Why are you following me?”
“Coach told me to come with you.” Logan’s eyes dart to mine. “Stuck like glue, remember?” He takes off his ball cap and turns it backward before folding his arms over his broad chest. “He has this idea that you shouldn’t be alone and because we’re technically family that I should be the one to go with you.”
“Yeah well, you don’t have to. You should have told him it was a bad idea. Fuck knows you don’t care a damn about my mother.”
Logan steps forward as I try to open the door, bracing one strong hand against it while the other lands on my shoulder. “Hey. That’s not true.” His lips are mere inches from mine, but I shrug away from his touch, turning my head. His voice is gritty and raw as he mutters, “I’ll be going with you because like it or not, Coach fucking told me to.” His jaw is set, his posture rigid. “And you’re in no way okay to drive. Let me.”
I draw in one unsteady breath, then another. I’m wasting time. “Fine,” I bark out, the word hollow as I press the button to unlock all the doors. I hope my tone doesn’t tell him more than he needs to know about the anguish tearing through me.
“Good. Your mother needs you, and I’m going to make sure you get there in one piece. Get in. Now, let’s fucking go.”
No more than ten seconds later, we’re both in the car, the engine roars to life, and Logan hits the gas, steering us out of the parking lot and picking up speed as we hit the road heading off campus.
I can tell he’s peering at me from the corner of his eye. Disliking the moment of weakness I’d shown by letting him take the wheel for me, I grind out, “Fuckin’ stop. I’m fine.”
“Stop what?” His neck swivels, and he glances my way, but only for a second before his eyes travel back to the road we’re flying down. To his credit, it’s rather impressive that he doesn’t seem to give a fuck about the speed limit. Almost as if he actually is concerned about getting me to my mother as fast as he can.
As he makes the turn into the hospital and pulls up right outside the ER entrance, I work my jaw to the side. Letting out a low, disgruntled groan, I turn in my seat, pinning my gaze on him. “You know, it’d help if your mom wasn’t trying to push all of us together. Do me a favor and tell her to back off. My mother and I have no fucking interest in a goddamn family dinner.” By the end of my demand, I’m practically bellowing at him.
His head rears back, eyes widening as they ping over my features, searching for who the fuck knows what. “The fuck are you talking about?”
A breath heaves from me, and I clench my fist on my thigh, staring into his eyes. Does he know what his mother is doing? Or is his surprised reaction genuine? I shake my head, unsure. “Since you seem to be clueless, I’ll fucking fill you in. While I was getting coffee from the vending machine last night, Mom texted. She didn’t seem like herself. I finally got it out of her that your mom contacted her about some dinner she’s attempting to pull together. The suggestion had my mother slowly spiraling all fucking night.”
“My mother wouldn’t do that.” His brow furrows, staring at me. “She wouldn’t.”
The denial only sets me off, my temper flaring bright as I unbuckle, shove the car door open, and get to my feet. I turn around, my lungs heaving. It’s almost as if evidence of my anger is lingering in the cold Saturday afternoon air. “Really?” I grit out, pausing with my brow raised. “You sure about that? Because she knew what she was doing when she got involved with my sperm donor—a fucking married man with a family—so it’d follow that she knows exactly what she’s doing now.” Without wasting another second, I turn on my heel, hurrying into the hospital to find my mother.