Chapter Five
I lied.
Lied to Dylan. Lied to Gareth.
Zach doesn’t exist.
Well, he does—he’s the club’s newest prospect—but I barely know the guy.
A few weeks ago, I was forced to improvise when Dylan intercepted an incoming message from Gareth on my phone, immediately demanding to know why his friend was texting me. Even though Gareth and I grew up friends too, Dylan never fully accepted that Gareth cared about the both of us.
I love my brother, but he has the tendency to be immature, and his friendship with Gareth has always been a sore subject between us. A constant thorn in his side.
So I lied to him. It flowed easily from my lips, reiterating that there was nothing between us, and I actually had a new boyfriend named Zach.
I knew what would follow—he wouldn’t waste a minute before relaying that nugget of information to his best friend, and yet again, I chose to protect my brother’s ego instead of my own heart.
I’ve always suspected that over the years Dylan has maintained the seeds of doubt he planted, reinforcing his endeavors of keeping Gareth and I from ever crossing that line.
Or maybe that’s just me projecting my own fears, but I’ve always lived within that narrative, putting my brother first.
Regardless, I wasn’t surprised when Gareth showed up at the bar last weekend. And I was even less surprised when he texted me the following day, telling me he didn’t regret our kiss.
A bold move for someone who believes I’m in a relationship. I know what he’s doing, though. I’m not na?ve, but I am stubborn enough to keep resisting the pull I feel toward him.
And if my brother’s immature behavior is any indication of where he stands on the subject, resisting is the smartest thing I can continue to do.
“Hey, Punk Princess.” Rosie slides onto the barstool in front of me, her hair hanging in a thick, loose braid over one shoulder.
She’s wearing a black lace camisole with a bandeau bra, paired with tight leather pants.
She looks sexy as hell, and I can’t help but laugh as my gaze drifts to her husband, Cain, who’s scowling in the corner of the bar.
Slowly, he nurses the drink I made him twenty minutes ago, his eyes never leaving his wife.
“You know,” I tell her, my tone sassy, “you’re over here looking like a ten while your husband looks like a caveman four. What is happening with his face?”
Cain looks like he hasn’t shaved in months; his beard unruly and uneven, grown far too long. While it adds to his rough, biker aesthetic, it’s aging him.
It was almost comical when he stepped outside to check on me that night.
I could see the cogs in Gareth’s mind working as he tried to piece things together, forcing together puzzle pieces that didn’t fit.
He assumed Cain was my boyfriend—the elusive Zach—and I didn’t bother correcting him.
Cain is a beast, and it felt safer to let Gareth believe he was the guy I was seeing. Maybe he’d stop nosing around.
Not likely, but maybe.
“I know, right?” Rosie scoffs, spinning on her stool to look back at her husband. “He keeps referring to himself as sexy Santa, but, if anything, he looks like the stereotypical version of a biker prez. Maybe if I drag him onto a chair and straddle him naked, he’ll let me trim it.”
“Is he still taking us shooting later?” I ask, excitement zipping through me. Ever since The Sinners were involved in a drive-by shooting during a barbecue here at the bar, Cain’s made a point to take me and Rosie to the gun range to practice handling a firearm and to work on our shot.
The Sinners lost one of their own that day, and it put Cain on high alert ever since. His presence looms over the bar day in and day out, especially when Rosie’s here. Immediately, he bought two guns for us to have for protection—one we keep in Rosie’s office, and one in a lock box under the bar.
“Of course. You know Cain’ll never cancel that standing reservation at the range.” We both laugh at her comment, then she steers the conversation back to me. “So are we going to talk about it?”
“Talk about what?” I ask nonchalantly, picking up a bar rag to clean the counter.
“Oh,” Rosie drawls. “So she’s gonna play dumb, I see.” She pins me with a look that could kill a man point blank, but it only makes me laugh again.
I shrug, not answering her.
Unamused, she swipes the towel right out of my hand.
“I don’t know, how about the fact that my husband had to step outside the bar and watch a little”—she gestures between the two of us—“what’s the word, Indy?
Confrontation? Reunion? Lover’s quarrel?
” A smile plays on her lips. “This time start at the beginning and spare no details.”
Rosie leans her elbows on top of the bar, her chin resting against her fists.
I sigh dramatically. “He wants me to come to a game, and I keep refusing.”
“Oh no! Not a baseball game!” Rosie gasps, covering her mouth. “Wouldn’t want to see a bunch of attractive guys running around in their tight white pants!”
“You're such a dick.”
“I bet lover boy would give you good seats, too,” she adds.
Golden Boy, I think. Not lover boy.
“That’s the whole problem,” I stress. “He’d want me to sit in the VIP box, which is reserved for friends and family.”
“Are you not friends? I thought you’ve known him since you were a teen?”
“I have, and we are. But I know the second I show my face in that box, questions will swirl—and I already have enough questions to fill the entire Coit Stadium, so I don’t see the point in adding to it.”
“But you do want to go?” she pushes for clarification.
What a loaded question. Of course, I do. I’ve never seen him play and would love to, but out of sheer principle, I can’t.
“Girl. It cracks me up how you’re so quick to think outside of the box for the bar, but so slow to do it for yourself.
Indy, my sweet, beautiful dumbass. It’s a baseball stadium—if you want to watch him play, then what’s stopping you from buying a ticket and going?
You can sit anywhere. He’d never even know you’re there. ”
If I’m being honest, I’ve thought about doing that before, but it didn’t feel right. There’s even been times I debated on asking Dylan if he wanted to go. Obviously, I refrained.
“I’ll go with you,” she announces like she’s just made some epic, life-altering decision. I snap my head in her direction. “I can practically see the wheels spinning, so it’s settled. Girls’ day at a baseball game—I’ll find us tickets. Do you care if I invite my friend Elle?”
She’s already pulling up the ticketing website on her phone when I say, “Baseball doesn’t really seem like your kind of thing.”
“Punk Princess, if it makes you happy, it makes me happy.” She stops mid-scroll. “Should we get good seats or nosebleeds? Really drive it home that you don’t want him knowing you’re there?”
“We can sit wherever. Just get whatever’s cheapest. It’s not like he’ll see us in the stands, anyway.”
But she’s not listening. Instead, she keeps rambling while clicking around, trying to find us seats at a game. “Should we wear their team colors? Maybe I should get us jerseys. Is baseball the sport where they rock black smudges on their cheeks? That seems like fun.”
I roar a laugh. “No, that’s football!”
“Damn.” Rosie pouts, and I see her push the buy now button on her screen. With a feline smile, she sets her phone down. “I really liked the idea of painting my face.”
My boss really works fast when she wants to, and that same weekend I’m sitting in the nosebleed section of the stadium, my body full of jitters as we wait for the Bears game to start.
A piece of me wishes I had just taken Gareth up on his open offer of the VIP box. Instead, we’re sitting in the last row of the stadium, and Rosie’s friend Elle has a pillar planted directly in front of her seat, blocking her view.
Rosie barks a laugh as we settle into our seats. “I’m so sorry, Elle. The tickets said obstructed view, but I thought it would just be something minor, not an entire structural beam blocking your way.”
“It’s fine,” Elle comments happily, kicking her feet up on the concrete cylinder. She’s chomping away on nachos, an ear-to-ear grin on her face. “I am just happy for a break. I can’t tell you the last time I went out kid-free.”
Laughing, I pop open my takeout container and look down at the tacos I ordered.
The stadium collaborated with a popular Mexican food restaurant to have pop-up stations all around, and the savory scent of carne asada makes my mouth water.
Rosie peels back the top of her own container, revealing loaded French fries so decadent the aroma wafts around us.
The hot sun blazes against our backs as we eat, watching the Jumbotron project interviews with the Bears players. I don’t know who hired these guys, but they have great taste. Every single one of the men on the team is handsome to a fault, including the coach.
Butterflies ricochet in my stomach when Gareth appears on the screen, the man I have been obsessed with since I was a teenage girl broadcasted across the stadium.
“Oh damn, that’s him?” Rosie asks, French fry mid-air as she stops and turns to me.
I feel her looking at me for confirmation, but I don’t take my eyes off the screen.
“He’s a cutie,” Elle says in between bites.
There’s a lump in my throat I swallow down before nodding. “Yeah, that’s him.”
The Jumbotron announcer refers to Gareth as the best batter the Bears have seen in two decades, and the crowd erupts.
My cheeks heat at the attention he’s getting, even though it has nothing to do with me. Just knowing how adored he is fills me with a pride I have no right to feel, given how little support I’ve shown him throughout his career.
This is the first game I’ve ever been to, and he doesn’t even know I’m here.
The stadium is electric as the Jumbotron cycles through highlights of each player, building anticipation until the final name flashes across the screen and the team pours onto the field.
Roars of excitement ripple through the twenty-thousand fans packed into Coit Stadium—a sea of red, with a few scattered fans wearing black for the Rocky Mountain Raptors since the two teams share the same colors.
It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. Even Rosie and Elle get to their feet, clapping and cheering with excitement. Somewhere across the stadium, a wave starts, and we explode with laughter, throwing our arms in the air when it finally reaches us.
I get it now. The game hasn’t even started, but I can see the appeal.
I understand why Gareth has immersed himself in this atmosphere for most of his life.
“I have to say, Punk Princess, I always thought I was the most stubborn woman on the planet, but you’re giving me a run for my money. How long has Gareth been asking you to come to one of these? The damn game hasn’t even started, and we’re already having a blast.”
“I know.”
I know, I repeat in my head, annoyed with myself on so many levels.
Leaning forward on the edge of my seat, I watch as the game starts, barely able to see a thing from where we’re at, but still unwilling to look away from the field.
At some point, Rosie goes to grab us a round of drinks, stepping past me and momentarily blocking my view.
Thankfully, Gareth isn’t on the field, so I don’t miss a single move.
Still, I’m completely engaged, trying to figure out the sport he loves so much and learn what I can about both the game and the players.
And then, in what seems like the blink of an eye, the game’s at the bottom of the ninth.
All bases are loaded. Gareth’s stationed at third, and every time the camera pans to him, he’s wearing a smug grin. The game is tied, tension thick as the final pitch is thrown, and the batter sends the ball sailing.
The stadium sinks into a somber silence when each of the Raptor’s players runs through home plate, solidifying the Bears’ loss.
“Well, shit.” Rosie sticks out a pouty lip. “Would’ve been cool to see them win in person, but it was still a great game.”
Elle stands, stretching her arms up over her head. “It was so much fun though. We should do this more often.”
“If you’d stop popping out babies, we could,” Rosie quips, nudging her in the side.
Elle recently had baby number three—a little boy.
“Hey, I can’t help it if I like to climb my man like a tree. It just keeps resulting in babies.”
“They make things to prevent that,” Rosie deadpans, and a laugh tumbles out of me.
As Rosie and Elle start to playfully bicker, I glance out at the field again, but both teams are gone. Part of me wishes I could text Gareth right now and tell him I’m here, but I know I’d only be torturing us both.
So instead I text my brother, which I know is just as reckless, but there’s a voice inside of me who wants me to tell someone.
Just went to my first baseball game. I can see why boys like it so much.
I slide my phone back into my pocket just as Rosie loops her arm through mine.
“Alright,” she says, her voice dripping with honey. “You and I are going to have a little chat on the way home, missy.”
“About what?”
We fall into step, descending the stadium stairs with Elle a few paces behind us.
Rosie bumps my shoulder with hers, a mischievous grin playing on her lips. “Well, if more games are in our future, I refuse to sit in the nosebleeds again. So we’re going to discuss your situation with this baseball player of yours.”