10. CADE
CHAPTER 10
CADE
T he absolute best thing about living by myself is… that I can do whatever the hell I want in my house. A rave? Sure. Pool party that doesn’t get contained to the pool deck? Totally. Boozy book club? Hell yeah.
But I mostly employ this freedom to start shucking off my clothes the second I walk home.
After almost a week on the road, we have a couple of upcoming games within comfortable driving distance. I push my suitcase away, not even minding where it stops, and rip off my jacket to toss it over my head somewhere in the vicinity of the couch. Who’s gonna tell me I can’t do that? No one, that’s who. I also leave my sneakers in the foyer and slide on my socks all the way to the kitchen.
Carmen, my housekeeper, keeps it stocked depending on my schedule. When I’m going to be away for a long stretch, she makes sure the fridge isn’t teeming with stuff that’s gonna go bad. When I have a few days at home, she stocks it with all my faves. I grab a carton of orange juice, uncap it, and drink straight from it.
Again, who’s gonna tell me no?
I return the carton back to the fridge and peel off my long sleeved shirt, then scratch my side for a second while I think.
“I stink. Thus, I shall shower,” I declare to the void and the void doesn’t answer back.
My kitchen is pristine, every granite and steel surface gleaming with some sort of lemon scented polish. The counters are clear of any debris, aside from a basket with fresh fruit. It’s like no one lives here and yeah, that’s kind of the case. All those parties I joke about don’t happen because aside from Carmen, and the odd plumber or electrician, I never have anyone over. Not friends, not girls.
This is the result of growing up in the system and never having a space I could unequivocally call my own.
That changed in my second year in the majors, and only because it took me a year to build this house to my very particular specifications. Unlike normal houses, I wanted my parcel to be fully fenced in, with no possibility to be seen from the outside. It’s why I can walk around my house buck ass naked if I want. That’s my revenge for having been the zoo animal at school.
“Look at the orphan kid.”
“Ew, I bet he has cooties.”
“I heard if you touch Cade you might lose your parents too.”
Those were some of the things I heard in middle school, at peak shitty-kids age. Now they watch me from TV screens and I get to show them what I’m really capable of.
And look at me now, on my way to a full walk-in shower with jet streams that come from every direction.
I pause in the hallway to discard my socks. My jeans take marginally more effort so I can empty the pockets on my bed, but then I ball up the garment and pitch it like a fastball to the chair on the corner. By rote I grab my phone and walk into my massive bathroom and get the shower going to build up some nice steam.
My phone goes off with yet another spam call and I take a moment to block it. It’s been getting worse lately, no matter how many privacy protection services I try to join. A quick scroll shows me that today alone I’ve got upward of fifty.
“Maybe I should hire someone to manage my phone,” I mumble, my voice still echoing from the tiles.
Whatever. I’m going to relax and go to bed early. I don’t play tomorrow but I did today, and since I already had dinner, all I want is this shower and to slide into my silk bed sheets.
My whole body relaxes under the shower spray. This is luxury—not having to rush through a shower because there are a million other kids waiting for the one stall to clear, or because I’m an athlete on a tight schedule while at the team facilities.
Of course, the second I start lathering up is when my phone starts ringing again, and no matter how loud the shower is I can still hear it. I should’ve left the damn thing in my room.
I wait, muscles locked, until it stops making noise. “Finally,” I grouch and turn my face up to the water spray.
Then the freaking phone starts going off again.
“That’s it.” I turn off the water spray and, still dripping suds, slide open the shower door and walk around to the vanity where I left the phone.
But instead of turning it off like I intended, I do a double take at the name that appears on my screen and before I can think, I answer the call.
“Cowboy?”
“Uh, yeah. You called me, remember?” Staring at myself in confusion through the mirror, I run my hand through my wet but still unwashed hair. “Everything okay, darlin’?”
“No! Yes. But actually no. Everything is most definitely not okay .” There’s something like a screeching quality to her voice that immediately puts me on edge.
“Okay,” I say slowly, in a low tone of voice to not spike this wild animal on the other side of the line. “I need you to explain to me what is wrong so I can try to figure out something.”
“My freaking ex is what’s wrong!”
My eye twitches.
I remove the phone from my ear because another scream like that will send me to urgent care, and instead I set it to loud speaker and put it back on the vanity.
Now that I have confirmed this isn’t a nine-one-one type of emergency, I ask, “What about your ex?”
“He’s getting married! To my other ex!”
“Other ex?” My eyebrows rise all the way.
“Yeah, my ex best friend. They just—ugh, I can’t believe I found out through Instagram. That like, adds insult to injury.”
“So let me recap. You called me in a panic because your ex is getting married to your other ex, almost giving me a heart attack in the process, and interrupting my shower?”
“I—Sorry, what? You were showering?”
“Yeah, and I’m starting to get cold. Can I finish that and call you back?”
Garcia’s voice sounds several notches higher as she says, “Oh. Yeah. Of course. I’m uh, sorry. Yep.”
“‘Kay, talk to you in a bit.” I hang up and this time make sure to put my phone in Do Not Disturb, which I should’ve done all along. Live and learn.
I can’t get back into the relaxation headspace I was in before Garcia’s call, though. Instead of taking forever and a half to enjoy my two-seventy-degrees water streams, I end up rushing through it as if I had just finished a game and was getting ready for a press conference. As I towel off, I remember I meant to shave as well but that’s gonna have to wait until tomorrow now.
I get dressed in record time and flop on my soft bed, towel hanging from my head, to call Garcia back.
“Sorry about that,” is her greeting the second she picks up. “I momentarily lost my mind.”
“Momentarily?” I tease and receive a huff in return.
“I admit I’ve been in a fugue ever since I found out the two of them got together.”
“Hmm.” I bend my arm to use my hand as another pillow. “I assume that if you called me it’s because you want me to do something about this.”
“You are very clever, Cade Starr. Has no one ever told you that?”
I snort. “No need to butter me up, darlin’.”
“Fine, I’ll get to the point.” She proceeds to make a long pause where she does not, in fact, get to the point.
Picking up my phone from the pillow I tossed it on, I confirm the call is still connected. “Garcia?”
“I’m here,” she says a lot quieter than before. “You already saw how bad I am at the whole flirting thing. Twice.”
“Right…” That’s all I dare to say because she’s legit worse than bad . A cartoon robot probably has more game than her, but I’m not gonna be cruel in pointing that out.
“So, I really need your help to speed up the timetable.”
“There was a timetable?”
“Thanksgiving. It’s uh, a long story.”
I tuck my tongue against my cheek and take a look around my room. The clock on the night table reads eight something, close to nine. And I mean, c’mon, my plan was already derailed and Garcia is clearly upset by this ex or whatever.
Shrugging to myself, I suggest, “Wanna tell me over a drink or something?”
This immediately snaps her back into professional mode. “No alcohol for you, mister.”
“There are non alcoholic liquid things in this planet, you know?”
“I… Actually, I shouldn’t bother you anymore. You need to rest, I’m sorry.”
I volley with, “I don’t play tomorrow.”
“But—”
“Garcia, I’m bored.” I surprise myself with this truth that suddenly decided to tear out of my chest. My amazing house, with its expansive rooms, amazing views to manicured gardens designed with native Florida plants, the pool that flows up the property like a human made river, the perfectly kept kitchen…
It’s all empty. Lonely.
Swallowing hard, I add, “And honestly, I think hearing the story will help me be a more effective coach. It’s like when you’re training us and you need to figure out what exercises will work best to fix any issues or whatever, you know?”
“Then I’ll drive closer to you. What neighborhood are you in?”
“Winter Park.”
“Oh, me too.” She then adds, “Then I’ll text you a nice place we can meet at. See you in like twenty?”
“Roger that. Ten four,” I say like this is the army and hang up.
I jump out of bed to find socks, shoes and a hoodie. My sneakers squeak against the marble floors as I retrace my steps out of the house, and I pause outside to lock my front door with my phone.
Rustling sounds behind me freeze me on the spot. I turn my face, slowly, expecting I don’t know what. It’s quiet again except for the gentle brush of the leaves with the wind. The lights around the yard illuminate a clear grass that twinkles with moisture, but I don’t spot anything human shaped anywhere.
“Don’t be a fool, Cade. This is why you fenced up the whole lot,” I say to myself. The only creatures that can reasonably scale up the walls are cats.
Stretching my shoulders, I make my way to the garage and fire up my pickup, eager to distract myself from my own mind, and drive over to this little ice cream joint at a strip mall in a hipster area of town.
When I arrive, Garcia is already sitting by the window.