Chapter 3 #2
“Abnormal?” I huffed out a breath. “That seems a bit harsh. Is that why you’re not close with your families anymore?”
The question spilled out before I could stop it. And the brief twist of anguish on their faces filled me with regret.
“Ignore that,” I said. “We set boundaries for a reason and I’m not here to push you.”
Cash scratched the side of his head, using the angle to give Sawyer some kind of look I couldn’t decipher if I tried.
“Off the record?” Sawyer finally asked.
I turned off the recorder and set my notebook down, held up my empty hands. “Off the record.”
“Look…I didn’t have a nice dad,” Sawyer said. “Something I tried to hide from Cash at first but…it was tough to do so after awhile.”
“I could hear his dad screaming at him at all hours of the night,” Cash said softly. “And I got tired of seeing my best friend show up to school lookin’ like a dog that got kicked by its owner.”
My heart lurched painfully in my chest. It hurt to picture this sweet, confident man as a kid, abandoned and belittled by the only adult in his life.
“I was young and cocky and thought I was hiding it well,” Sawyer said. “Until one day Cash showed up at our trailer, handed me an empty duffel bag and said ‘pack your stuff, you’re living with me now.’”
This painted Sawyer’s easy-going nature in an entirely different light for me — better to let things roll off your shoulders than risk their anger. I knew this method intimately.
My eyes flicked to Sawyer, but he was gazing at Cash like he was his hero. He most likely was.
“I’m so sorry, Sawyer,” I said. “That must have been awful for you at the time.”
He shrugged. “I’m not. It brought me to Cash, it gave me the life of my dreams. I’m only sorry I didn’t do it sooner. Haven’t spoken much to my dad since and I prefer it that way.”
“That’s because your father doesn’t deserve to be in the same room as you,” Cash bit out.
I twisted my pen nervously between my fingers, remembering what it was like to tip-toe around my ex, always treating him like a bomb about to go off. How quick he was to insult me, especially in front of other people.
“I don’t share this a lot, but I have an ex-boyfriend, from the early days of college, who was similar to your dad.
He loved to embarrass me in front of his friends.
Or pick fights in public so he could raise his voice, cause a scene.
Blamed me for everything.” My voice caught.
“The worst was how often he told me I’d never make it in this industry, that I’d never have what it took to succeed.
He was miserable, I guess. Just a truly miserable person.
And he used me as his emotional punching bag. ”
Sawyer’s upper body went rigid. “Darcy, I’m so damn sorry he made you feel that way. I know what it’s like to be that punching bag. You didn’t deserve that.”
“Neither did you,” I said.
“True. But at the time I swore I did.”
I held his gaze. “So did I. That’s their only real trick, isn’t it? Getting you to believe that you’re worthless.”
Next to Sawyer, Cash’s expression had turned stormy. He flexed his giant hands open and closed, no remaining trace of the boy-next-door facade. “Does this ex-boyfriend have a name and address?”
“Oh…you don’t have to worry about that,” I said, surprised.
“I’m not worried,” he said. “Just furious on your behalf and willing to pay him a visit.”
I understood the look of admiration on Sawyer’s face earlier. If I’d run to a friend like Cash when things were at their worst with my ex, that innate sense of safety and protection would have meant everything to me.
“I told you, Darcy,” Sawyer said with a smile. “He’s a little protective.”
“You’re very kind to say that,” I replied. “And I’m grateful. But last I heard he’s out on the West Coast and I have no intention of ever seeing him again.”
Cash gave a nod. “I don’t say this because I think you can’t stand up for yourself. I sense you’ve got a mean right hook when you need it.”
This startled a laugh from me. “You would be right.” Then I noted the time and started to grab my things, flushed and more than a little jittery from this conversation.
“Shit, it’s getting late. I should let you both go, I’m sure you’re exhausted and I got enough color and extra quotes to finish this next article tonight. ”
I paused to peer up at them. “Thank you for sharing all of that. For trusting me with your vulnerable memories. I know from experience it can feel impossible to talk about.”
Sawyer’s eyes crinkled at the sides. “The same goes for you, ace. I can name the number of people I talk about my dad with on one hand. You’re included in that now too.”
I swallowed hard. “It’s the same for me.”
Dazed, I continued packing up my things like I’d just stepped off a carnival ride. These few minutes of intimacy were a rarity for me and knowing that these men understood what I’d been through literally had the room spinning.
It was even worse when I stood up and realized they were watching me with expressions of bashful appreciation. My stomach flipped over twice.
“Good luck on the article, Darcy,” Cash said. “I’m guessin’ we’ll see you at practice tomorrow?”
“You sure will.” I offered a tight smile. “Have a good night. And congrats again on your win. This team’s lucky to have you.”
I was halfway through the parking lot when I realized I’d left my recorder behind. Jogging back through the still-steamy locker room, I was about to round the corner where we’d been sitting when I discovered them one room over, huddled in a dimly-lit corner.
Sawyer had yanked off his shirt and was starting to work on his pants. Cash, already in his briefs, was all golden skin, rounded biceps, a mat of darker hair on his broad chest.
I was mesmerized by the taut expanse of his shoulder blades and the muscles rippling along his rib cage. Like he was some kind of pitching god sent here to frolic with the mortals.
And I was watching this god place two long fingers on Sawyer’s sternum. One gentle push, and Sawyer’s back was against a locker. Then Cash’s fingers dragged slowly — very, very slowly — down the center of Sawyer’s flexing stomach.
Down and down and down they went, caressing the ridge of every muscle, until they hooked into the top of Sawyer’s pants.
My breathing hitched in shock. Clamping a hand over my mouth, I ducked behind a set of lockers so they wouldn’t see me.
But I could still see Sawyer, biting down on his bottom lip through a flirty grin. Could still see the thick length of his erection, evident through his uniform pants.
“You know you can’t talk about that old barn without me remembering everything we got up to in there,” he murmured, voice husky.
Cash dropped his face close as if he was moments away from kissing his best friend. His teammate. The dynamic duo I’d been tasked with profiling.
America’s newest favorite baseball players.
Cash gripped Sawyer’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting his mouth up.
“My memory’s a bit foggy,” he rasped. “Why don’t you show me some of the things we did in there?”
I spun and pressed my back to the cool metal, ripping my gaze away from this unexpectedly intimate moment. Through the sound of my own rapid heartbeat, I heard the metallic creak of the lockers. A hiss of breath, a rough groan.
Then Cash saying, in his honey-sweet drawl, “Don’t you look pretty on your knees for me.”
I fled, my entire body burning up with embarrassment. There was absolutely no fucking way I’d just seen what I thought I’d seen. Or heard what I thought I’d heard.
I’d been baking in the sun all day, was likely dehydrated. And almost certainly imagining things.
Right?