Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
COLBY
The quiet is a problem.
Before Jayden drifted off to sleep, there was his voice. Soft banter. Requests for kisses. Reminders that we would be careful.
“We deserve this,” he said.
Now, it’s terribly quiet. And my mind is ruthlessly loud.
You’re going to blow everything.
My eyes scan the rolling curves of his bicep as he lays on his side.
His hand fell from my arm a moment ago, but it’s not what woke me up.
I never fell asleep. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t move from the bed with Jayden’s hand on me still.
I was afraid to move him, to wake him. If he wakes up, he’ll say the right things, and I’ll rush back into the spiral I’ve already begun.
His chest fills slowly, his mouth closed and nostrils flexing with each long draw of air.
He’s a well-crafted machine of skin, muscle and bone.
My fantasies never did his body justice.
Even the scars on his knees and elbows from years of grinding in the dirt for this game he loves are beautiful.
They’re reminders of the great stories he’ll tell his kids one day, about how their daddy was a real ballplayer. One of the best.
Our kids.
I slip from the covers and sit up with that thought, rubbing my puffy eyes. Fantasies like that will doom me. I can’t get carried away. I’ve gotten too deep as it is. This was indulgent. A culmination of years of repressed feelings. Yearning can make a person act crazy. That’s all this was.
I snag my bra and panties from the floor along with my shirt and pants, my head pounding from my heavy pulse that’s being fueled by my conscience. I’m not sure if I’m toiling with what I’ve done, or what I’m about to do—leave.
After slipping out of Jayden’s bedroom, I sneak into the spare bathroom so I can get dressed and splash some much-needed cold water on my face. I realize too late that there isn’t even a hand towel in here, so I blot my face dry on my shirt.
The room is lit by the streetlights outside. A dusty yellow haze paints the walls. Jayden’s apartment is not much different from my hotel room. Everything in our world is so temporary. Both of us could be sent somewhere else at a moment’s notice. Yet one more reason this tryst is foolish.
I shove my feet into my sneakers by the door, not bothering to slip my knee-high socks back on.
I smirk briefly as I roll them up and stuff them in my pockets.
Jayden actually liked me in these. Of course, it was only these I was wearing.
My mind wanders to other things I could wear for him, ways I could seduce him.
I quickly rattle my thoughts away from that mental trail.
I slip out the main door and pull it shut behind me, bracing its weight so I don’t make a sound.
The hum of the building’s air unit is the only sound in the hallway.
I pause when I reach the elevator, remembering what Jayden told me about the stairs, but as a dozen or so seconds pass while I wait for the elevator to reach this floor, I decide I’d rather be moving than sitting here out in the open, and break for the stairs.
Regret hits me right in the face about half a flight down. Coach Bastion is leaning against the banister, his head propped against one of the emergency fire boxes. My heart stops when I see him, but as I get closer, I realize his eyes are barely open, and he reeks of alcohol.
“Sugar,” he says, the word lingering on his tongue way too long. I’d find it offensive and borderline harassing if he didn’t look so pathetic.
“Coach Kessler,” I correct. I might as well stand my ground since we’re both clearly in a position we shouldn’t be. And my memory of this encounter is bound to be a lot clearer.
“Ha, yeah. Coach,” he says through a sloppy snicker. A chain of drool crawls down his dry, fat lower lip.
“I should say the same thing,” I say, slipping my shoulder under his arm about a half second before he falls.
“Oopsie,” he says, chuckling.
“You out celebrating tonight?” I ask, steadying my legs and urging him up the steps with me.
“Meh, no! What’s to celebrate?” he grumbles.
I roll my eyes and turn my head as his breath hits my nostrils.
“Fair enough.” I don’t indulge his curmudgeonly behavior, but instead focus on getting him to the next landing by the door I just slipped through.
“This is me,” he grunts, and my eyes blink a few times.
“You’re on the third floor? You’re sure?”
He mumbles something about knowing where he lives, then pushes the security bar to open the door. I help him maintain his balance as we enter the hallway, and I finally exhale when he guides me in the other direction from Jayden’s unit.
We putter our way about five units down before he lunges at the door handle for unit three-sixteen.
“This is me,” he slurs, fumbling his keys and wallet from his pocket. He ends up spilling the contents on the floor, including a small prescription bottle that rolls across the hallway. I snag it and read the label.
“It’s fucking heart pills. Don’t be nosy,” he says, snatching the medication from me.
“I wasn’t.”
I was.
“Where’s the fucking key card?” He’s morphing from sloppy drunk to hostile, so I give him a little space while he spreads his wallet and contents around the wood floor.
“Do you know your code?” I ask.
“Yes, I know my fucking code. But I’m not telling you. You’d probably break in and steal my blender.”
I chuckle, but cover my mouth when he glares at me.
“I can guarantee you there is nothing in that apartment I want.”
He rolls his neck, then lets his head fall back as he lets out a heavy sigh.
“Fine, it’s two-four-oh-nine-nine.”
I punch in the numbers and press enter, relieved when the latch on his door releases and I’m able to push it open.
“There, we’re in,” I say, standing with my hands on my hips as he collects his credit card, driver’s license, and what looks like a stack of punch cards for restaurants.
Once he scrambles back to his feet, I open his door wide so he can clear the threshold without running into anything.
He dumps his belongings into a wooden bowl on a small table just inside.
Unlike Jayden’s apartment, Coach Bastion’s is filled with clutter, and there’s a mild stench of cigar in the air.
“Can I get you a glass of water?” I ask as he saunters toward a worn leather chair near the patio window. He pulls one shoe off about halfway there.
“Yes. Water.” His tone sounds more like an order, and I laugh to myself when my back is to him. Even when I’m being hospitable and kind, he’s a dick.
I open the cabinet above the sink and find a stack of plastic cups with various team logos.
He must save them from every field the team visits.
I snag the one from Little Rock since it’s where we’re traveling to next and fill it halfway.
By the time I walk it over to him, he’s made himself comfortable in his chair, one foot propped on a mismatched ottoman, his TV remote braced against his thick thigh as his thumb works to power it on.
He’s holding it backward, and growing frustrated, so I clear my throat.
“Can I help?” I ask.
He throws the remote at me and I flinch but catch it against my chest.
“It won’t fucking work,” he barks.
I suck in my lips, sorting through my options.
It’s clear that he feels threatened by me being on the staff.
He’s obviously a misogynist, and I very much understand why he’s unmarried and unattached.
I can’t imagine being his anything. But he’s also been with this organization for years, and while he’s definitely an asshole, at least he’s not sexually harassing me.
I can’t believe that thought tilts the scale.
“Here,” I say, sighing heavily as I point the remote—the right way—at the television. It comes on at high volume, showing a SportsCenter rerun. I toss the remote back into his lap, and he grunts as if I punched him.
“Try to get some sleep. Bus leaves early,” I say over my shoulder on my way out his door.
“Touché, Sugar. I know you don’t live here,” he throws back.
I pause just inside his apartment, my pulse suddenly roaring to a million beats per second.
I swallow down the bile that threatens to crawl out of my mouth and continue on my way, closing the door behind me and heading back to the stairs.
I take them two at a time, and by the time my feet hit the walkway outside, I’m nearly jogging.
It’s after one in the morning. What was I thinking?
I march toward the hotel, the road empty of traffic. I leap at a heavy clunk across the street, and grip my chest as my eyes scan the front of Earl’s.
“Sorry,” Daisy shouts, holding up a hand before reaching down to hoist another trash bag into the large metal bin near the alleyway behind her bar.
“Scared the shit out of me,” I say through nervous laughter.
Great. Now two people know I’m out here, running away from where most of the players live, late at night. I glance around my surroundings, wondering if I’m going to encounter anyone else.
“You want a drink? I’m closed, but I could use one after the night I’ve had,” Daisy says.
“Uh,” I hem and haw.
“Come on. Who the fuck am I gonna tell? I’ll make yours weak so you can get up early,” she says, waving me over.
I home in on a few key words—who is she going to tell. I could use a friend, and other than my father and Jayden, Daisy is about as good as I’ve got in this place.
“Yeah, okay,” I say, jogging across the roadway. I help her toss four more trash-filled bags into the bin, then flip the lid down before following her back into Earl’s.
“Oh, get the sign if you don’t mind,” she says, pointing over her shoulder as she skips toward the bar. I scan the wall by the main door and flip the switch for the glowing OPEN sign. The neon pink disappears instantly.