chapter 46
I didn’t want to see Chase Stern ever again.
I didn’t want to see the smooth arc of his body as he jumped for a catch.
I didn’t want to see the hug of his ass in baseball pants, the muscles beneath his uniform when he lifted his hands to adjust his hat.
I didn’t want to see the twitch of his smile when his eyes met mine.
When he came on deck, I stayed in place, his slow and lazy climb passing up the steps to my left.
I held my breath as he passed, my chin resting on my crossed forearms, my eyes stuck on Rodgers, who took a step off second.
Chase stopped in the dirt before me, right in my line of vision, his practice swings slow and perfect.
I straightened, my irritated huff subdued as I moved left, leaning against the dugout wall.
“Grab me a new bat?” My eyes flicked to him, dropping to the bat he held out.
“What?”
“I want to hit with something else.” His mouth did that thing that I didn’t want to see, where it twitched, as if we shared a secret.
“You always hit with that bat.”
His eyes flickered at my tone, and he stepped closer. “I’ll try the Marucci.”
“Why?” This was stupid. He’d hit with a Louisville Slugger all season, and now he wanted to try something new?
“Is something wrong?” Dad was suddenly there, next to me, his eyes hard on Chase.
“No,” I muttered, grabbing Chase’s backup bat, another Slugger, and thrusting it out to him, my eyes daring him not to take it.
He did, flipping the old bat toward me, the exchange wordless, the weight of Dad’s eyes stifling.
Then Cortez hit a single and Chase was up, his glance at me unreturned, my actions brisk as I wiped off his original bat, sliding it into place, my back to him when he swung hard, the Louisville Slugger sending the ball high into the cheap seats, the home run adding three runs to the board.
Try a Marucci bat. Guess I wasn’t the only one walking around with a head full of stupid.
“What’s wrong?”
I froze, bent over my tennis shoe, my final knot of laces slow as I bought an extra second before standing. I looked up to the front of the locker room, where he stood, his hand on the doorway, an edge to his voice.
“Nothing.” I grabbed my jacket and shrugged into it.
“You’re not staying for the second game?” His gaze skated over my jeans. We were into the first inning of the second game, today a long doubleheader day.
“Just running up to the box, got a message for Heston’s wife.” I held up the folded piece of paper, a note I already peeked at, the sexual promises in it stopping my snoop three sentences in.
“You’re acting weird.”
I pulled the end of my ponytail out of my jacket, avoiding his eyes. “I don’t feel well.”
“This have anything to do with last night?” He stepped closer, and I moved back, grabbing at my phone.
I wasn’t going to cry. Not here, not in front of this asshole.
“It does.” He sounded surprised. “I thought you were okay with all of that. It wasn’t…
” His voice softened. “I didn’t mean to push, if you weren’t ready—”
I cut him off before this conversation got more off track. “It wasn’t that.”
In the stadium, there was a cheer, something happening. I felt a sear of panic. “You need to go. You’ll be up soon.” Someone could come in at any moment. Our staff. The Reds’ staff. Another player. Someone could come in and we’d—this—would be caught.
“Did I miss something?” He moved, blocking my exit, and gripped my shoulders with both hands.
I finally looked up, a mistake. He looked so innocent, so sincere, his brow furrowed over those gorgeously dark eyes.
Eyes that I had fallen into last night. Eyes that I had seen a future in, some ridiculous imaginary future.
“I thought…” He swallowed. “I thought last night was pretty great.”
Ha. Fury boiled in me, images burned in my soul pushing to the surface, the heave of cleavage, his bare back, the run of a girl’s hand down it, her mouth reaching for his face…
“It was great,” I spit out. “Until you left. Until you went back to your room and—” I couldn’t finish. The words stuck in my throat like bile.
He let go of me. “You went to my room? Last night?”
“Yeah.”
He looked down, rubbing the back of his neck. “And what’d you see?”
It was the wrong thing to say. Not a confession, just a request to know how deep his grave was dug.
I shouldn’t have answered. I should have pushed for more, pinned him until everything came out. But we were in the middle of the game, and our time was short. “Girls.” I swallowed hard. “Kissing you.”
“They didn’t kiss me.” One of his hands was back on my arm, and he was guiding me, until my shoulders hit a locker, and his stare was impossible to escape from. “Look at me.”
I was looking. I couldn’t not look. I was staring into his eyes, and I believed him when he spoke.
“They had a connection. They got me some coke. They were there, they snorted it with me, they left. Nothing happened.”
“Coke?” I whispered. “Cocaine? Are you stupid?!” I yelled the word, shoving at his chest, but it didn’t give. I glared into those eyes and saw shame.
“Yeah.” He gritted out. “I was. And I was weak. And I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry to me!” I exploded. “If you get tested—”
“It’s out of my system in three days. And I’m not going to get tested. You know they don’t test for that unless I give them a reason—”
The door at the end of the locker room banged open, and a ball boy squinted at us, Chase caging me against the wall. “Mr. Stern?” the teenager called out, some Cincinnati local.
“Yeah?” Chase didn’t turn his head; he stared at me, eyes begging for understanding that I couldn’t give.
“You’re in the hole.”
Shit. There would be talk. Speculation. The door slammed shut, and we were alone again.
“I like you,” he said, and there was never more simplistic beauty.
“You hurt me,” I accused and felt tears come. Tears at a terrible time, our team’s needs imminent. “You’re stupid,” I repeated. Drugs? I hadn’t believed the rumors, too many of them swirling around these men. I’d thought he was above that. I’d thought he was stronger than that.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and he leaned forward, his lips gentle as they pressed against my cheek, underneath my eyes, my tears kissed away. “Forgive me. Please. I need it.”
I didn’t know if I could. His need for drugs had led to too much.
What I had given up in Tobey’s hotel room …
it hadn’t felt valuable then, it hadn’t felt major.
But now, looking into his eyes, I wanted it back.
I wanted Chase to hold me and love me, and I wanted to have that to give to him.
I hated him for ruining that. And I loved him for his regret—regret that matched my own, my heartbeat echoed in his eyes.
Both of us had made mistakes. He had confessed his. I couldn’t begin to bring up mine. Instead, with precious seconds ticking by, I ducked under his arm. “You’ve got to go,” I called over my shoulder, heading toward the door.
I was almost there when I saw the handle turn, my jump to the side barely in time before it flung open, in my direction.
I flattened against the wall, hidden by it, and heard the bellow of our manager.
Chase had been following me, almost running into Don, and I watched his fingers wrap around the edge of the door, keeping it away from me.
“I’m coming,” he gritted out, his eyes darting to me, and I mouthed the word GO.
He didn’t move, and I gave him the only thing I could, a smile.
It was small and hesitant, but his eyes grabbed at it, his fingers leaving the door, and he reached for me, the pads of his fingers brushing over my cheek for a brief moment, and then he was gone, the echo of his cleats bouncing off the walls as he followed Don to the field.
That night his disappearance was the talk of every sports show, our own team giving him hell, his bathroom excuse bought by most but not by all.
Maybe it was just paranoia, but I felt my dad’s eyes, boring into me, past the laughter and the ribbing.
I focused on the glove I was oiling and didn’t look up.
That night, he texted me and asked if he could come by.
That night, by the time he gently knocked, I had my mind made up.