Chapter 20
Renleigh
I see the way Daisy, my boss, looks at me. Like I’m opening an enormous can of future heartbreak and trouble. I get where she’s coming from. She fell in love with a ballplayer, then spent the next twenty-plus years trying to get over him, only to have him come back.
I’d like to say my story is nothing like hers, but I bet she thought the same thing when she was my age, and someone warned her about getting involved with a pro athlete.
I do believe this thing I’m in with Hunter is different, though.
I know the rules. I’m the one setting them.
This is a good time. And I know it will end.
“Someone left something for you this morning,” she says, pulling an envelope from under the register and sliding it across the bar toward me. I slap my hand on top and say, “Thanks,” before tucking it in my apron.
It’s a pair of tickets for me and Lindsey.
If I’m being replaced at home by my mom, then I may as well enjoy the free time with my sister while I have the chance.
Lindsey’s taking her up on her babysitting offer, too.
There’s a chance an afternoon helping Dad with home rehab while running after those boys might be enough to send her packing again, so we may as well get the free time in while we can.
“I heard them talking about him this morning. You know, on the news?” Daisy says.
She leans over the bar and rests her head in her palm while she taps her long red nails of her other hand on the tabletop. She’s judging me.
“Yeah? Sports Center on because Roddy was there?” I purse my lips and glower at her, because two can play at this game.
Her gaze narrows on me, but she doesn’t answer.
I know he’s been spending the night at her house.
And there’s a lot of messy history for them to unpack.
None of my business. Just like Hunter is none of hers.
I pick up a bar towel and move toward the table just abandoned by a group of fans. I bus the glasses then wipe the surface down, only to turn around and find Daisy’s glare still waiting for me.
“I guess this is a big start for him today. They’re talking about calling him up early. Guess one of the starters went on the injured list, so this would be his shot. Just . . . something to consider.”
By consider she means weigh against getting involved with him further.
“Yeah, I hear you,” I say. And I do. I don’t need the warning, though. I’m going into this with wide-open eyes and a guarded heart.
“Mmm hmm,” she says, leaving me with one finally rap of her fingernails on the counter before going back to tending bar.
It’s a steady stream of fans and college kids for the next hour.
There’s a band coming in to play tonight, so the place is getting packed by the time my sister shows up and I clock out.
I’m glad I got the night off, though my coworker, Brandon, is going to kill it in tips tonight.
Whenever Earl’s has live music, the take goes way up.
I change in the back room, slipping on the new Maverick’s jersey Hunter gave me yesterday.
I feel a little self-conscious wearing his last name on my back, mostly because I know the look I’m going to get from Daisy when I walk by, but I keep it on.
It was a thoughtful gift, and truthfully?
It feels nice to have a man’s attention. I’d forgotten what it was like.
“Look at you,” Lindsey teases as she greets me by the exit. I glance over my shoulder and am relieved Daisy’s busy with customers.
“Yeah, Hunter got it for me. Do I look like a bimbo?”
My sister snorts.
“That’s such a Mom word.”
I roll my eyes, but she’s right. My mom used to call the girls who hung around Earl’s trying to get ballplayers to hook up with them bimbos all the time. We used to laugh when she did. And now here I am. Bimbo.
My sister leans into me as we walk along the small businesses that are slowly flicking their neon signs on as the sun goes down.
“You’re not a bimbo,” she whispers. I suck my bottom lip in as I smile in return.
“Thanks.”
Night games in Sweetwater are special. We didn’t always have lights on the stadium.
It was a big deal when the first night game was played about ten years ago.
It revived the downtown strip in many ways, spurred on a late-night vibe that kept Earl’s alive in many ways.
Without the college in session, things at Earl’s would get pretty slow.
Now, though, the Mavericks games fill the bar all summer long.
We get to skip the line outside, thanks to the special tickets Hunter gave me.
We’re closer to the dugout tonight. I think he didn’t want my father to have to take many steps when I came last time.
It was thoughtful, and of everything that’s attractive about him, I think it’s the little things Hunter does that catch me off-guard and hook me deeper than I want to be.
Still, he is thoughtful. And it is striking.
“Girl, I could get used to this,” my sister says as she settles into the seat beside me. We both prop our feet on the dugout.
“They’re really nice seats.”
Lindsey snickers under her breath, then echoes my words in a mocking tone.
“Okay, okay. Don’t act like we’ve never been here,” I say, brushing her thigh with the back of my hand. She laughs louder at that remark, and I give in and join her.
The front rows at Mavericks games are strictly VIP.
The seats are extra wide, with leather cushions that get covered after every game and polished before the starts.
We also get our own servers who will take concession orders and deliver the food directly to our seats, just like they do in the majors.
And as if the leg room and food weren’t enough, there’s also a special tunnel to a private bathroom and access to chat with the players anytime we want.
And one of those players is crooking a finger at me right now.
“You’re being summoned,” Lindsey teases.
“Shush. That’s worse than bimbo,” I chastise her.
I skip down the aisle to Hunter, and he leans over the short wall to press a chaste kiss on my mouth that earns a few whistles from the fans nearby. My cheeks burn, but I smile right through it. Turns out I kind of like this attention.
“You ready tonight?” I tug down the brim of his hat, and he chuckles before adjusting it.
“Yeah, I’m ready.” Of course he is. He’s Hunter Reddick. Number one draft pick.
“Daisy said it’s a big game tonight. She heard something on the sports show, I guess?” I squint from the glare of the lights as I look up at him. He shifts so he’s blocking the bright beam from my eyes. Thoughtful.
“It’s just like every other game.”
He sniffs as he shrugs, but underneath the bravado, I catch a glimpse of his nerves. It’s in the way his upper lip twitches, fighting against a nervous smile, and the rapid blinking as he glances around.
“Hey,” I say, centering his gaze back on me.
I grab hold of the collar on his jersey, the top two buttons open and exposing the thin silver chain he always wears.
It was a gift from his mom in high school, and he said he never pitches without it.
I tap my finger on the chain link and he tucks his chin, glancing down.
“You’re gonna be great,” I assure him.
He gives me a crooked smile and utters, “I know.”
I shake my head and laugh, the cocky young hotshot still beating strong inside him.
“Hi, Hunter!” My sister waves behind me, and Hunter leans over the wall further to wave back.
“Thanks for coming, Lindsey. I’m gonna need you to keep your sister in check tonight. Things are gonna get a bit intense.”
My sister gives him a thumbs up. He leans back and shifts his gaze back to me before darting it over my shoulder again. He’s a lot more nervous than I thought he would be.
“Why is it going to be intense?” I chuckle.
“Oh, no real reason. Just . . . well . . .” His eyes lock on something behind me, and I follow the path of his gaze until I see a man and a woman waving at us as they take the steps toward us two at a time. They’re both incredibly tall. And they look strikingly similar to Hunter.
Oh, fuck.
I swing my gaze back to him and lean in close.
“Did you invite your parents to this game? Is this a parent meeting ambush? Hunter Reddick, I swear to—”
“There he is,” the woman says, stepping into the space next to me. I shift to the side as Hunter envelopes the woman—clearly his mom—in his arms and kisses the top of her head.
“You look good in blue,” his dad says, taking Hunter’s hand for a shake before the two of them pull each other in for one of those back-slapping man-hugs.
“If they wanted me to wear hot pink and neon green to pitch in the big leagues, I would,” Hunter says.
His dad laughs, and the sound it makes is eerily similar to his son. My shoulders hike up. I think I may be a bit freaked out.
“Mom. Dad. This is Renleigh. Ren, these are my parents, Allison and Chandler.”
I blink my gaze from Hunter to his parents and laugh through my freaked-out grin.
“Hi! It’s so nice to meet you both,” I lie. I mean, it’s lovely to meet them. And I wouldn’t have minded. But a warning would have been nice. Plus, meeting parents is an extra level of intimacy. I mean, sure, he met mine, but still.
“Renleigh, it is so nice to meet you. Hunter tells me you grew up here in Sweetwater?” This sweet woman is softspoken and warm, and her son’s blue eyes are clearly the carbon copy All I can do is stare at her with wide eyes and my dumbfounded expression.
“I did. Yes.” My gaze flits to Hunter, but all he does is offer a tightlipped grin.
He told his parents about me. Facts about me.
“Hey, I gotta warm up, but Renleigh can show you your seats.” Hunter’s gave shifts to me. “They’re next to you and Lindsey.”
Hunter backs up a few steps, and once he’s out of view from his parents, he mouths, “I’m sorry.”
I’m gleaning that their attendance was a bit of a surprise for him, too.
I guide his parents to our seats, then introduce them to my sister, whose expression is a lot like what I imagine mine was.
The four of us settle in, his mom next to me, and his father next to her.
I’d love to trade places with Lindsey right now.
She’s better at small talk. Also, she’s not the bimbo fucking this woman’s son.
“You know, he told us he was going to be a starting pitcher when he was five years old. He refused to play by the rules in tee ball,” his mom says, the proud smile of a mother denting her cheeks.
“He insisted on pitching to the other kids. They kicked him out of the league,” his father adds with a chuckle.
My gaze drifts to the field where Hunter is starting his long toss with Roddy, and I smile.
“I could see that,” I say.
The four of us watch him stretch his throw across the outfield, and his dad says his wife was better at catch than he was.
She makes a remark about being around more, and I sense a heaviness in the air when she does, but it dissipates quickly when his dad leans over, kisses her cheek, and whispers, “I love you.” It’s sad and sweet at the same time.
“Hunter says he met you because of a bet,” his mom finally says.
“Oh, well, sort of. He lost that bet, but it did break the ice,” I say.
“She took him for a hundred bucks,” my sister adds.
“Linds!” I nudge her, not-so-gently, with my leg.
“What? You did,” she says.
Hunter’s parents laugh, and his dad holds out a fist for me to pound. I do and he winks, adding, “You should have held out for two hundred.”
By the time the game starts, his parents have filled in most of the gaps from his childhood, all the pleasant things parents like to brag about their child, and I mesh the fondness he seems to have for them with the stories they tell.
It’s a beautiful adolescence, and they seem like a beautiful family, despite the challenges Hunter confided in me.
They are nothing like the messy relationship my parents have, and as warming as it is, it also sits heavy in the pit of my chest.
I’m jealous.
“You’ve seen him throw this spring. What do you think? Does he really have it?” Chandler’s hands are clasped across his belly, and he’s wringing his hands. I think maybe he’s nervous, even after all these years.
I nod and shift my attention to the tall, stoic man on the mound.
Hunter pulls his hat off to run his arm over his forehead, then pushes it in place, the curled ends of his hair poking out the back and sides.
He feels the ball in his glove and nods to Roddy before zipping his last warm-up pitch into the glove.
“Yeah. He’s got it,” I say.
He’s got me, too. And that’s definitely not part of the plan.