Chapter 2
Casey
Asshole?! What the hell just happened?
The fiery blonde storms across the bathroom and slams the door behind her.
Well, damn.
I asked for my shirt nicely, didn’t I? Shaking my head, I rub my glute as I shuffle to the vanity and pick up the clean T-shirt.
While I pull my arms through the short sleeves, regret replaces confusion.
That woman was the hottest girl I’ve seen in forever.
Her eyes were the most incredible shade of steel blue, and her body with those toned arms and tight bottom…
I rub my hand over my mouth just thinking about it.
I obviously said something to upset her. I wish I knew what it was.
Grabbing my wine-stained shirt, I head back to the party. Charlotte spots me as soon as I reach the living room and rushes toward me. “Here, let me take that.”
“Thanks, Charlotte. But I’ll just bring it to the cleaners in the morning. It’s no big deal. Thanks for the clean one, though.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, of course.” My gaze finds the hot-tempered temptress across the room. She is talking to Billy, so she does know him, maybe she’s even dating him. Charlotte turns to follow my gaze.
“That’s Sage. She’s one of your biggest fans. She is excited to meet you.”
I smirk. “I doubt it very much, Char.”
“What do you mean?”
“We met in your bathroom, and she wasn’t too happy to see me. Is she with Billy or something? I might have said something to offend her.”
“Billy? No, no. They’re just friends. Wait. What happened in my bathroom?”
“Well, she called me an asshole, then left.”
“She did? That doesn’t sound like Sage. Well, maybe a little, but she wouldn’t do it for no reason.”
I shrug my shoulders. “I’m not sure what I said that would have upset her personally.”
“Okay, let me find out.”
I pull her back. “Don’t bother. But I was hoping to speak to you for a minute.”
I pull out an envelope from my back pocket. “Can you give this to Anthony for me? I won’t make it to his birthday party next week.” My nephew turns eleven in a few days, and while I won’t make the party, I’ll call him.
“Oh,” she looks down at the white envelope but doesn’t reach for it. “Why don’t you give it to him another time? Maybe you can pop in for a visit during the All-Star break.”
For a second, I think about her proposal, but I know it won’t happen. I have no free time when I’m in New York, and if I do, I’m usually catching up with friends.
“You know what?” I say, stuffing the envelope back in my jeans. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll give it to him after the game tomorrow.”
A flash of disappointment crosses Charlotte’s face. She opens her mouth, but quickly shuts it and pastes on a smile. “Yeah. It’ll be great to hang out together tomorrow.”
“Yeah. Great.”
Charlotte pushes her hair off her face and stares at me. “Is everything all right, Casey?”
“Of course. Why do you ask?”
“You just haven’t been yourself lately.”
I press my lips together and shake my head. “I don’t know what to tell you. I’m perfectly happy. Having the best season of my career, and even your husband wants to sign me when I become a free agent at the end of the season. What could possibly be wrong?”
Charlotte opens her mouth to answer, but Cara, the girl I came in with, runs up to us. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Can we get out of here? This party stinks. No one is even high.”
Charlotte raises her eyebrows, and I cough into my fist, hiding my smile. “Darling, this is Charlotte. The party’s host and a dear friend of mine.”
Cara looks at Charlotte, as though just seeing her for the first time, and rakes her eyes down and then up again. She shrugs and purses her lips before replying, “I can give you a name if you need a contact. It’s no trouble.”
“I’m good,” Charlotte responds with no hesitation. “Thanks.”
There’s an awkwardness now, a familiar one that’s been there the last couple of times my old friends have clashed with my new ones. It feels as though, like the town, I’m starting to outgrow them, too.
“Thanks for inviting me, Char, but we’re going to head out. Enjoy the game tomorrow.”
Charlotte’s frown makes me second-guess my early exit, but it doesn’t last long. She nods and leans in for a hug. “It was great seeing you, Casey. Don’t be a stranger, okay? I know everyone would love to see you again.”
Her words have the same effect on me as when my mother says them. I feel guilty for a moment, but it passes quickly. Everyone must realize that I’ve moved on… to bigger and better things. It’s not that I don’t care about them anymore. I just have a lot going on and it takes up all of my time.
I kiss her cheek, then pull away quickly. “Say hi for me.”
She smiles, but her eyes give away her disappointment. “I will, Casey. Goodbye.”
*
My head’s pounding and I toss another ibuprofen into my mouth. It’s the third one this hour. I should have called it an early night, knowing I would pitch today’s game, but late nights never stopped me before.
The cold water from the shower shocks me awake and I quickly lather my body and rinse off before towel-drying my hair.
The cab driver spots me as I rush through the lobby doors, so he starts the car.
“Morning, Mr. Tucker. Hell of a day for a baseball game.”
I squint at the sunshine piercing through the passenger-side window and grab my sunglasses. “Yeah. Hell of a day.”
He turns up the radio when a trending song comes on and I groan inwardly and slouch back, trying to get as far away from the blaring sound.
“Can you turn that off?”
“The radio? Oh, sure.” He immediately snaps the dial and the music is gone. I get a few minutes peace until
he turns into the ballpark entrance, and I hop out of the car. He offers some sort of goodbye, but I miss it as I race toward the training center’s entrance. I’m five minutes late for practice.
“Nice of you to finally join us, Tucker,” says Gavin Neuman, the head pitching coach. His frown tells me he doesn’t think it's nice at all.
“Traffic,” I mutter as I set my bag down.
“I think you’ve forgotten that you’re pitching today, and you need to warm up that arm. Do five sets to stretch before meeting us on the mound.”
“Will do, Coach.”
Valentin Garcia smirks when he walks past me, rotating his shoulder. “See you outside, Tucker.”
My jaw clenches and I fight to release it since my dentist warned me that I would pulverize my back teeth if I didn’t stop this habit.
But Valentin knows how to get under my skin. He’s a veteran pitcher on the team and while I’ve played in the major leagues for years, he never misses an opportunity to tell me when I fall short.
I watch them leave as I swing my arm back and forth.
Reaching for the armband, I start my stretches.
Despite being late, I won’t risk injury, so it’s at least another ten minutes before I head toward the field.
As soon as I open the steel doors, I’m blinded by the sunshine and view of the ballpark.
Even after five years in the majors, this view never fails to stop my heart for a second.
I imagine voices shouting from the empty stands and players throwing the ball around in the vast field.
The energy fills my lungs, and I smile as I jog up to the bullpen.
Neuman eyes me suspiciously. “Did you do all of your warm-ups?”
“Sure did.”
He frowns but doesn’t argue any further. “All right. But take it easy on the first throws until your arm is loose and ready.”
I nod and catch the baseball he tosses to me.
Scotty, one of our catchers, punches into his glove and drops down to his haunches.
Standing on the pitching mound, I dig the dirt with the top of my shoe, rubbing it until I form a small hole in the ground.
Ready, I turn, drive my knee up, and throw the ball toward Scotty.
It spikes into the ground in front of him, tossing up dirt, and he uses his chest protector to block the ball from getting behind him.
Valentin snickers beside me. I glare at him as he sets up his pitch and throws a bullet into the catcher’s glove.
“Nice one, Valentin,” says the catcher.
Neuman, who’s standing behind the catchers, eyes me but holds back any comment. Not one to back down from a challenge, I set up for the next pitch, raise my knee, and throw the ball as hard as I can toward Scotty.
“Strike,” he shouts from the other end of the bullpen.
But I don’t celebrate. Instead, I rub a sore spot that suddenly appears at the top of my arm.
Rounding my shoulders, I forget about the tinge of pain and set up again.
Zeroing in on the strike zone, I raise my leg, grasp the baseball between my fingers in a four-seam fast ball position, and release it.
“Strike again.” Scotty punches his glove, and I see his eyes dance through the mask. Everyone is aware of the rivalry between me and Valentin. It started off friendly at first, but slowly, the tension increased.
My shoulder burns, but there’s no pain, so I throw again.
“Looking good, Tucker,” says Neuman, and I nod to hide my grin. No matter how old I am or how many years I play, validation always feels good.
Scotty and I practice a few more pitches before the hum of the crowd grows louder. The stands are nearly half full now with less than twenty minutes before game time.
“All right, boys, pack it up,” says Neuman. “Time to head back to the clubhouse and prepare to run out with the team.”
The locker room is brimming with baseball players in full uniform: light blue jerseys and hats paired with gleaming white pants.
My college coach used to say, ‘If your uniform is white at the end of the game, you didn’t try hard enough.’ The dirtier the jersey, the better the player.
It’s almost game time, but I realize I forgot to call my dad. He left me a message earlier and I didn’t call him back. Walking to a quiet corner, I dial his number. “Hey Dad, it’s me.”
“Casey, how are you feeling, son?”
“Good. Just about to hit the field but wanted to call you back. Is everything all right? Is Mom ok?”