33. HOPE
CHAPTER 33
HOPE
S ilence reigns in the staff room after the game. We’re all sitting around a massive table, coaching staff, trainers, other people from the operations back office, and even legal. Rob Beau sits at the helm as the manager of the team, but even he seems stumped for words.
It’s like maybe this is the first time in their lives that all these men realize that yes, men can get sexually harassed to. The world can also be scary to them.
I wish I could tell them all the times I have—from randos telling me to smile while I’m winded after an hour of jogging, to a guy giving me a weird look in the line to pay for my groceries, and then having to wait until he leaves so he doesn’t see what car I drive, to the drunk assholes at nightclubs who think that dancing is an invitation for them to get handsy.
I expel a harsh breath that invites the attention of a few of them, including Beau. He levels his sharp eyes on me as he scratches his cheek, and finally tips his head in acknowledgment.
“Garcia,” he starts with his scratchy voice. “I want to thank you for your heroic actions tonight. We are truly fortunate to have you as part of our staff.”
I swallow hard and blink even harder because my eyes start to prickle. These are words I never thought I’d hear in an organization that has never seemed to appreciate me.
Clearing my throat, I say, “My job is to look out for the players and that’s what I did.”
“You went above and beyond. You acted when the rest of us couldn’t find how, and you were very clever about it.” For the first time in my life I see Rob Beau smile like the sweet Black grandpa he is to his family, and not as the brilliant yet stoic manager he is to the team. “Taking off your shirt that says staff and not security won’t give them any grounds to file a claim against you.”
Socci nods to his left. “That really was a stroke of genius.”
“But—” here Beau pauses to give me A Look, “—I hope there is no next time so you can always keep your shirt on.”
Someone coughs. They start looking away. Heat crawls up my throat.
Yeah, I also can’t believe I did that. But it wasn’t like I had a SECURITY shirt lying around nearby that I could change into while the creeps kept groping Cade. I just took one look at his pale face, his throwing arm raised high to protect it, and instinct kicked in.
And that instinct was to protect him at all costs.
“Now.” Beau shifts his focus on the operations people. “We need to make sure this never happens again to Starr or to any other player.”
“Of course, we are on it. While the game continued, we discussed some enhanced security measures we will take. In the meantime, we submitted footage and testimonies to the authorities to press charges.”
I nearly melt into my chair. Cade will be relieved to hear about this. I bet he’s going to be a typical guy and pretend like this was no biggie, but it’s a biggie.
The operations guy continues, “The only testimony we’re missing is Starr’s since he went right back to the game and…”
And completely shut out the other team after that.
It’s unbelievable. If anyone had doubts about whether Cade Starr is season starter pitcher material, they’ve effectively vanished. No one would’ve faulted him for being rattled enough to let a bunch of runs through, or heck, even pull away from the game entirely. But he went right back into the rain and pitched in such a stone cold way, that the other team broke their record of whiffs, and Cade broke a personal fastball speed record. It’s almost like being upset made him play better.
Or seen from a higher level, like Cade Starr is so used to adversity that he just takes each one and sets it down like a new stepping stone on his way to greater heights.
And if that’s not what makes a great ace for a baseball team, I don’t know.
“I’ll talk with Starr and his agent to see what they can do,” Beau says.
“For now I think we have enough grounds to press charges for trespassing and disorderly conduct from the organization’s standpoint, but that doesn’t guarantee Starr’s safety outside of the premises,” explains the operations guy, rousing mumbles around the table.
I slide my hands under the table and tighten my fists. Those new security measures better be damn good, then. It’s not like I’m going to be by Cade’s side everyday, all the time, ready to beat off women who want to cross the line. I wish, but that’s just not the case.
Since the rest won’t be solved tonight in this meeting, Beau shifts the focus onto different topics, including the lineup for the next game, as well as sharing some pointers for Steve and the rest of his team to watch out for.
Players will be coming back from dinner any time to get started on their stretches, so he adjourns the meeting. We’re kinda somber as we head back to the training gym and I make a beeline around different machines to sequester myself in the office. Maybe my boss and the other trainers sense that I need a moment to myself because they loiter outside, waiting for the athletes.
I sit on my chair and swivel around, my back to them, and let my face drop on my hands.
Trágame tierra. I cannot believe I showed everybody my bra.
The fact that it was for a noble cause doesn’t let me feel much better. I’m just glad it was one of my newer ones and a black one. A lighter color would’ve probably shown a lot more than I already did. My chest isn’t much to write home about but I never imagined a day like today would come, where it became a leading character at work.
Too bad there isn’t a big enough hole to crawl under around here.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket. I leave it be for a moment while I slouch on the chair, but it shakes again. And again.
I deign myself to look at what’s happening and it’s just my roommates.
Happy Roommate
Oh my gosh I just heard what happened
Are you okay?
Mellow Roommate
That sounds like an absolute nightmare. I’d sue
But if you or Cade want to sue please give me a heads up so it doesn’t turn into a PR nightmare
Happy Roommate
Hush, you corporate drone
HOPE R U OKAY?!
Me
Yeah, I’m not the victim here
And for that reason, I reserve the right to tell them about the bra situation when we’re safely at home, where I can do my best to morph into an ostrich.
Mellow Roommate
What about your man?
“Shh!” I say aloud, even though she’s not in the office. Then I type.
Me
Shush woman, he’s not my man
Happy Roommate
YET
Me
Anyway, we don’t know how Cade’s doing. He kept on pitching and hasn’t come back from dinner yet
Mellow Roommate
HE KEPT PITCHING???
Happy Roommate
And shut the other team out. I saw it with my very eyes
Me
Yeah he’s… something else
A shadow falls over me, followed by a scent I could now recognize in my sleep. But it makes absolutely no sense because I’m alone in the office, and I would’ve heard a sound if…
Slowly, I turn my face up. Cade Starr leans over my chair, looking down at my phone screen until he shifts the bluest eyes to me. “Y’all are talking about me?”
I exceed my multitasking skills by hiding my phone against my chest, yelping, and pushing the chair away from him with enough strength that it crashes against the desk, rattling everything on it and also myself.
“Cade!” I sound breathless and squeaky, like someone caught in the middle of a crime.
He straightens up, hands on his hips, and that’s when I notice what he’s wearing. Just his undershirt, which is tight enough that it hides absolutely nothing and looks like it was sprayed by a can, and his baseball pants rolled up to his knees. No spikes or socks. No wonder I didn’t hear him come in. His hair is still damp from sweat and the rain, and his lips have a tilt that annoys me.
Cade cocks an eyebrow. “So?”
“The news are spreading around. The girls were just worried about you.”
“But you said I’m something else. What does that mean?”
One in eight billion. But also strange. Wonderful. Sweet. Annoying. Talented. Hot. Kind. Sneaky. Adorable. Tender. Strong.
Ugh.
I pick that last one. “Strong. No one can believe you went out to pitch after that and killed it.”
“I’m a pro.” He shrugs like it’s easy pweasy lemon squeezy.
“Are you really okay?”
Cade’s eyebrows rise a notch. “I am, thanks to you. That’s the main thing I came to say.”
“It’s no?—”
“Nuh uh.” He lifts his index finger. “Don’t say it’s nothing. It was not nothing. You were my lady in shining armor and saved my ass out there.”
“Lady in shining armor?” I let my lips stretch into a smile for the first time in hours.
“Your armor was kind of flimsy but hey, no complaints from me.”
“Hold on.” I start looking around. “I need to find something to throw at your face.”
Cade chuckles and the fact that he’s able to produce such sound after what he just went through does something to me. I’m glad it hasn’t ruined his mood, but I’m also angry that he’s not taking himself as seriously as he should.
And yet, who am I to tell him how to feel? So I clam my jaw shut.
“Anyway, there’s one more thing.” He puts his hands in the pockets of his white pants that have seen better days. “Beau said Thomason and I should get ice baths because we pitched hard today. But I saw the other trainers are busy right now, so I figured you could do it.”
“Yeah, of course.” I leave my phone face down at my desk just in case and get up. “Let’s go.” We walk out of the office together, my sneakers making a normal sound with every step, but his feet are shockingly silent for how large they are.
Not far off is the younger relief pitcher, Josh Thomason, hanging around waiting for us. I motion at him with my finger and he follows along right away. It’s not like the players have ever been uncooperative with me before—in fact, fellow staff have been much harder to work with—but the eagerness stands out.
I hope it’s because he knows I’m a go getter and not because he caught a glimpse of my boobs earlier.
We march into the space with all the massage beds and physical therapy equipment for anyone recovering from injury. At the back, we have an area that looks like a bathroom, tiled floors and walls, with state of the art ice bathtubs that look like something out of a sci-fi movie. Years ago, staff had to cart buckets of ice to each tub and then fill them with water, old school, but now the machines take care of everything themselves. All I have to do is press a few buttons on a control panel to adjust the settings, and voila, they start whirring away.
Once I’m done, I turn around and open my mouth to say something. But now I don’t know what. Both players are removing their clothes and I’m a professional—it should be whatever. Besides, the white ceiling lights are harsh and not flattering.
But Cade Starr doesn’t need any cozy lighting to look amazing.
I’m almost sorry for Thomason, but he barely registers as he stands in his sports underwear, waiting for his tub, and chatting with Cade about their game today.
“—And when you threw that last cutter, I really tried to look at it and see if I can get some pointers, but man?—”
Meanwhile, Cade’s peeling off the undershirt, his muscles bunching like poetry in motion. I wish I could particularly congratulate him for his posterior deltoids. Chef’s kiss, no notes.
Oh shit, he’s taking off his pants.
I whirl around to check the screens. The ice levels are not high enough yet.
“It’s all about the legs,” Cade explains behind me. “Everybody thinks it’s about the grip and of course that’s a key aspect, but you put the power with your legs.”
Thomason sighs. “Yeah, I gotta work on them. Mine are some of the scrawniest in the team.” They’re really not scrawny for anyone’s standards, but it’s true that his legs are the reason his stamina isn’t where it should be, if he wants to shoot for the starter pitcher position.
“You have a great trainer here who can get you to that level,” Cade says, followed by a very long pause.
They’re both staring pointedly at me. “Oh, me?”
“No, the ice tub,” Cade says, his words drawling even thicker with the sarcasm.
I’m happy that I can still recognize how annoying he is, even though he makes me salivate.
The tubs beep and I clap. “All right, boys. Hop in.”
Thomason is already whining before his foot even touches the surface of the icy water. In contrast, Cade dives right in like this is a hot tub instead. He’s not even trying to be macho about it, it’s how he’s always done it. The only sign that it does affect him is by how his body tightens with the temperature shock.
“Arms in, down to the neck,” I command to him, because he’s being sneaky by keeping his arms around the edge of the tub.
“Do we have to?” Thomason whispers.
“Yep.” I fold my arms. “I’m not above pushing you down with my own hands if I have to.” At that, the two of them do exactly as told and sink all the way down to their necks. “Atta boys. Now, I’m going to set my timer for fifteen minutes. Try to make it.”
“Good luck,” Cade grunts.
In contrast, Thomason squeaks, “You too.”
Otto would leave and come back in fifteen minutes, not really caring that sometimes players get out of the tubs, lounge for a bit, and jump back in when they hear him coming.
Not me. I pull up a chair and sit between the tubs, facing the players. Thomason keeps his eyes shut tight, no longer capable of any chatter. He lasts for eight minutes and thirty four seconds before he allegedly feels like he’s dying. He gets up shivering like a leaf, steps out of the tub, picks up his clothes and power walks away.
Shaking my head, I set about draining his tub and starting the self cleaning cycle.
Meanwhile, Cade rises higher and makes his ice water slosh out of the tub. “Hope?”
I keep my back to him on purpose. “Hmm?”
“I meant it earlier.”
“Meant what?”
“Thank you.” That works like a rope that pulls me back to face him. He has his right elbow over the edge of the tub, chin on his forearm as he watches me. “I really don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”
“I—Well—” I raise my hands to tuck my hair behind my ears, except it’s gathered in a ponytail and I look like a fool. I lower them again. “You’re wel?—”
I get interrupted by the beep of my watch, signaling that fifteen minutes have passed. And then the worst happens.
Cade starts to get up.
Water sluices down his body, his skin gleaming as his muscles work with the movement. I try not to stare but I’m not strong enough. Instead, I drink it all in, his wide shoulders, his firm chest, the cinematic eight pack, the defined V that starts at his outrageously narrow hips and disappears down his underwear.
Oh my gosh. He’s in his underwear. I need to lift my eyes right freaking now.
I do, right in time for him to step so close that I can feel the cold radiating off his skin. His expression is blank but his eyes searching. They roam all over my face, leaving tingles in their trail. For a wild second they settle on my lips—and the traitors part. I don’t know if it’s because I want to tell him to kiss me or if I’m just shocked.
But then his eyes rise to mine and slowly, like molasses, his lips lift into a smirk. That gesture alone sends a stab of need through me, traveling like heat all over my body until my toes curl in my sneakers.
Cade lifts a dripping hand, and one of his freezing fingers runs across my cheek for a second, then farther up behind my ear where he hooks a strand of my hair I wasn’t aware of.
“See you later, my lady in shining armor,” he whispers with a deep voice.
I steel myself against the shiver but his smirk deepens. Cade steps away and bends to pick up his clothes, and I’m ashamed to report that I do look at his perfect bubble butt. Without a glance back, he walks away leaving me a mess.