Bad Catch (Bad Boys of Baseball #1)

Prologue

Savannah

Five years ago

Goddess in heaven, why do you keep punishing me like this?

As if the divine being above enjoys my pain, she teases me with the cool bay breeze.

My hair lifts off my shoulders and swirls around me, tempting me to chase the freedom I so desperately desire.

Visions of my cozy little apartment in Knob Hill, with my pillow-top mattress and my flannel pajamas, tempt me to make a run for it.

I look around my parents’ backyard and groan. Empty champagne glasses and half-eaten cake plates litter the tables. Scraps of gift wrap and ribbons from the giant pile of presents given to the bride lie on the floor.

How on earth did I get stuck on cleanup duty?

Because there is no fighting Sarah Stratford. When my mother wants something, she gets it, and today that was my complete and utter servitude.

I stop and take in the gorgeous view of the San Francisco Bay to the east and the Pacific Ocean to the west. Just north, the metal structure of the Golden Gate Bridge stands firm as the lights turn on and transform the iconic red bridge into a sunset golden orange.

The perfect backdrop for a bridal shower.

An opulently decorated white tent, adorned with Tiffany blue ribbons and gossamer fabrics, covers the backyard, stone patio, and veranda.

Oversized white floral arrangements fill the leftover open spaces and tables.

My mother spared no expense to celebrate my little sister, Charlotte.

Her favorite child. My older brother, Denver, comes in at a close second, leaving me last, though I’m probably not on her list at all.

Middle-child syndrome much? I internally groan and remind myself that I do not need my mother’s validation to be happy or to be successful. Which is easier said than done when said mother is perfection personified and demands it of others. Especially her children.

My mother and I rarely get along. No matter how hard I try, I don’t meet her standards. She comes from a lengthy line of successful surgeons, and my being “just” a pediatrician is an asterisk on her family tree. A mark of mediocrity.

As if she could hear my thoughts, my mother stops at her place across the patio and glares at me. “Savannah, stop standing around and staring off into space, and start helping.”

Forcing back an eye roll, I bend over to grab a scrap of wrapping paper off the floor and shove it into the trash bag. “Happy?”

“No need to be snarky. Can you, for once, just help without the attitude?”

My stomach sinks at her exasperated tone. She shakes her head in disappointment and returns to stacking dirty plates into the catering bucket.

A warm hand lands on my forearm. “Don’t take it personally, sweetheart. It was a long day, and she’s tired,” my dad says, downplaying the harshness of my mother’s tone.

For as long as I can remember, Dad’s been the mediator between Mom and me. We are like oil and water, and my dad is the whisk, forcing us to mix.

I try with my mother, I really do, but she’s not an easygoing person. She’s intense and stingy with her affection. But my dad? He’s charming and kind. Compassionate. He loves unabashedly. I’m a lot like him. A daddy’s girl to the core.

My dad understands me in ways my mother doesn’t.

We’ve always had a strong bond. He is the top neurosurgeon in Northern California, and he’s never pressured me to follow in his footsteps.

He’s supportive of all my choices—personal and professional.

Not once has he made me feel less than for choosing pediatric critical care as my specialty instead of surgery.

“I wish it were that easy.”

Dad gives me a weak smile. “Your mother loves you. She just has a tough time showing it.”

She doesn’t have a tough time showing Charlotte. But I keep that thought to myself.

My dad, who knows me better than anyone, catches it. He takes the trash bag from my hand and nudges me towards the house as Mom flutters around the backyard collecting plates. “Why don’t you go find your sister? I think she’s had a little too much to drink tonight and could use some sister time.”

Thomas Stratford is the best man I know. My savior. “You don’t have to tell me twice. I owe you one, Daddio.”

“I’ll hold you to that, my Savy girl.”

I kiss him on the cheek and go in search of my sister.

“Char?” I give a warning knock as I push open the door to her childhood bedroom and walk in. Her room looks the same as it did when we were teenagers: canopy bed, pastel pink walls, and boy band posters.

The French doors that lead to the small balcony connecting her room to mine are open. Charlotte is still in the white lace wrap dress my mother had custom made for her as she sits in our spot on the chaise lounge, staring up at the sky.

The perfect bride-to-be.

“Hey,” I whisper. The last thing I want is to disturb her.

My sister turns her head and smiles happily at me. “Hey.”

Charlotte’s eyes are a little glassy from one too many flutes of champagne as she pats the chair in invitation.

I take the spot and, like we did growing up, we lie side by side in contented silence as we watch the last of the sun slip away, giving way to the night sky and the few stars capable of shining through the city’s light pollution.

I break the silence first. “Was today everything you thought it would be?”

“It was perfect.” Charlotte rolls over to face me, and I mimic her.

It’s like looking into a distorted mirror.

We both have the same complexion, facial features, and body type, but where she’s light, I’m dark.

Charlotte takes after our mother with her long blonde hair and blue eyes.

Whereas I take after our father with my long brown hair and amber-brown eyes.

Then there’s our brother, Denver. He’s the perfect mix of both our parents, with Dad’s hair and Mom’s eyes.

My sister smiles lazily, reminding me of a time when I used to call her mini-me and she followed me everywhere.

Returning her smile, I lace my fingers through hers and squeeze, letting her know just how much I love her. “Good. That’s all I ever want. I’m really happy for you, Char.”

I truly am. My sister is the best. She’s generous and sweet.

And a genius. Although she’s younger than I am, she graduated high school with me, and college and medical school before me.

She’s now a very well-respected cardiovascular surgeon, like our mother, and about to marry her medical school sweetheart in two weeks.

She’s everything my mother wished I would be.

It wasn’t always this way. There was a time when my mother was proud of me as well. When I didn’t choose the family business, so to speak, that was the end of my mother’s love. Okay, even that sounds too dramatic for me. I know my mom loves me. Maybe just not as much as she does my siblings.

I don’t begrudge my sister for how differently my mom treats us. I’m wildly proud of Charlotte and her accomplishments. Denver too. I’m just not them, and I wish my mother would understand. I wish she’d see and understand me.

Charlotte sighs. “Thank you. I’m sorry about Mom.”

My smile slips a touch, but I shrug her off. “It’s fine. I’m used to it.”

Charlotte and I have fought extremely hard to keep our sisterly bond from turning into a rivalry. Something my mom passive-aggressively does with her backhanded comments.

Charlotte grimaces as she squeezes my hand. “Doesn’t make it right.”

“I know.” My skin grows tight and itches thinking about my mother and her high expectations. “What can I do?”

“Take that job in LA,” Charlotte says.

“The pediatrics role?” Charlotte is the only one who knows about the job offer I received last week. I’ve barely mulled the offer over.

She rolls her eyes at me as if I’m an idiot. “Is there another job I don’t know about?”

“Smartass.”

My boss and mentor, Dr. Sawhney, who is also the chief of pediatrics at SF General, where I work, recommended me for the role of Head of Pediatric Critical Care at Mercy Hospital.

She’s pushing me to share my talents elsewhere.

Dr. Sawhney believes my talents are wasted here and I need a new challenge.

Don’t get me wrong, being the Head of Pediatrics at one of the most prestigious hospitals in all of California sounds amazing.

But it’s in Los Angeles. I’m a NorCal girl.

I’ve only left San Francisco for vacations.

I’ve gone to college and medical school here.

I did my training here. My family is here. Charlotte is here.

I don’t know anything else.

“Come on, Sav. It will be good for you.” She pokes my shoulder with her index finger until I laugh. “Remember when I did two semesters in LA during undergrad? Best thing I ever did.”

“Really? Because you never talk about them. Did you have a baby and put it up for adoption while you were gone or something?” I tease, poking her back.

“You’re an idiot.” She shoves me away with a bark of laughter, but I don’t miss the hint of water clouding her hazel eyes.

“Charlotte, what is it?”

“I—” Her voice cracks.

“I was just kidding.” I wrap my arms around her and hug her tight. “I won’t judge you if you did.”

“I didn’t have a baby, you dork.” She sniffles, and I start to worry.

“Then what the hell happened?” I whisper, patting her back in soothing circles like I did when we were kids.

Charlotte rolls out of my hug and onto her back. She looks up at the stars as if she can’t stand to look me in the eye as she bares her soul. Her deepest secret. “I met someone when I was there.”

“Ooh.” I did not see that coming. I thought Jonathan, her fiancé, is the only man she’s ever been with. “Was he your first, you know?”

She turns to me and glares, looking way too much like our mother. “Seriously? You think I went to college a virgin?”

“You were sixteen when you went to college.” I honestly never thought of Charlotte having sex until she brought her fiancé home for the holidays while they were in medical school.

“So? I still had sex. I was sixteen, not a nun.” She scowls, affronted at my assumption.

“Sorry, and who the hell did you hook up with before college?”

“Matt Horner,” she chokes on a laugh. “At Kenzie’s graduation party.”

“I did not expect that.” Matthew Horner was your quintessential high school nerd. He was tall, skinny, wore glasses, and had braces. His most redeeming quality was his long, shaggy hair.

“Neither did he,” she quips.

We burst into a fit of laughter.

“Anyway.” She wipes the tears of laughter from her eyes. “I met someone down there. It didn’t work out.”

“What happened?”

She sits up against the back of the chair and crosses her legs. I do the same, waiting for her to answer.

“I caught him with some girl’s tongue down his throat at a party.”

“Asshole.” Rage bubbles in my stomach. I wish I could beat the jerk with a bag of dicks for breaking my baby sister’s heart.

“What did I expect? He was on the baseball team. Amazing and hot. All the girls wanted him.”

I shake my head in disbelief. I’m having a hard time rectifying my sweet, brainy sister dating a jock. “Wait. A baseball player, really?”

“Yup.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me.

“How did you meet…” I wait for her to fill in her mystery man’s name.

“Nico. We met in psychology and worked on a project together. At first, we were just friends, and then it was more.” Her forlorn sigh makes my chest tight and erases all the humor in our conversation.

“I’m sorry this Nico guy hurt you. He sounds like a tool. I bet he peaked in college and is some fat loser with a gambling problem and a dad bod now.” My joke lands, and Charlotte barks a laugh.

She shakes her head, pulls out her phone, types something into the internet browser, then hands it to me. “Far from it. Look.”

On the screen is a picture of a hot-as-sin man with steely gray eyes, wearing a Los Angeles Saints jersey.

His chin is covered in a short beard that borders on five-o’clock-shadow—thick, even, and scruffy.

Black and gray tattoos cover his neck, arms, and hands, making me wonder how far down they go.

There’s an edge to him, but something about his eyes suggests that just maybe, he’s not as hard as he looks.

Nico Romero.

Even his name is hot. I read his bio.

Nico Romero, 6 feet 3 inches tall, 195 lbs, born and raised in Glendale, California. Single. Attended Southern California University. First MLB appearance with the Los Angeles Saints.

Then I scroll.

There are hundreds of pictures of him in his red uniform, suits, tuxedos, and underwear. It’s the photographs of him at events that catch my eye and, for some unknown reason, turn my stomach sour. Each shot of him is with a different woman on his arm. He takes being single to a whole new level.

“He certainly gets around,” I mumble.

“That he does.” Charlotte cackles. Is that a tinge of sadness in her voice?

“Did you love him?” I ask curiously, handing her the phone back.

“Maybe. I was so young. Back then, it felt real, and when we broke up, it felt like my heart would never heal.” She tilts her head to the side in thought, wading through memories. “Then I met Jonathan, and nothing else mattered.”

Charlotte’s smile returns at the mention of her fiancé, Jonathan, who is a wonderful man. He’s also a heart surgeon, and he thinks my sister walks on water.

“I wish you had told me. I would have helped you send him monkey crap or something.”

“What?” Charlotte chuckles.

“There’s a website that will send animal poop to people who’ve wronged you.”

“Really?” Her voice lilts in curiosity, but I know better.

Still, I egg her on. “Yep. I bet we could get this jerk’s address and send him a huge pile of shit.”

Charlotte scoffs. “You’re crazy. But thank you for being a good big sister. I don’t know anyone who would send the guy who hurt me a pile of…excrement.”

“Shit, Char. Just say shit,” I say, making her giggle.

“Fine, a pile of shit. But I’m good, Savy.” She lifts her pinky into the air like we used to when we were kids. “I swear. I’ve moved on. I’m getting married to an incredible man whom I truly love. I’m happy.”

Charlotte holds up her hand. I stare at her, trying to look past the smile, but all I see is happiness. I know in my heart she’s being honest. She’s moved on.

I hook my pinky around hers. “Good.”

“Besides, I learned a great lesson.”

“What’s that?”

“Nothing good comes from dating a bad boy.”