Chapter 11 #2
When I catch up to Layla, I find her standing beside the lockers, one hand gripping the shelf tightly, eyes closed as she takes in deep breaths.
Looking around, I find no one else in the locker room, and I’m glad Javier didn’t follow her in here.
There’s no telling how long he may have had her pinned to the wall before someone noticed.
“Hey,” I say quietly, but she still jumps. “Just me. Sorry.”
“You’re fine,” she whispers, and it’s then that I notice her shoulders subtly shaking.
“Shit, Lay. Come here.” Walking around to face her, I pull her into my arms. She lets out a shuddering breath. “It’s okay. I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“I don’t understand what he’s talking about,” she says, her voice full of pain.
A subtle sniff tells me she’s close to tears as she clutches her arms around me.
“I haven’t talked to anyone about him since I left Atlanta.
No one there believed me anyway, but I did report him.
Since then, I haven’t said a word. I swear. ”
Rubbing her back slowly, I nod. “I believe you. I had words with him after you left, and he insinuated that teams always believe him. I have to assume it means he’s had similar things happen with other women. May have just been timed with our series, so he assumes it was you.”
“I hate him,” she says with so much force it makes me chuckle. “What? I do. I hate him. He’s such a jerk, and I hope he steps on a million Legos for the rest of his miserable life.”
“I hope that too.”
It’s the top of the eighth, and we’re tied with Houston. I’ve yet to score, but I did manage to make it to second base, where Javier continued to make snide comments from between second and third base. Now I’m up to bat, and I have an idea.
I might not be able to pave Javier’s life with Legos, but I can certainly try to get a base hit where I aim for his balls.
Batting isn’t like pitching. We don’t have the same ability to aim, like when a pitcher will consciously choose to hit a player for one reason or another.
I usually have fairly good aim, though, and right now I’m feeling pretty damn inspired.
First two pitches are balls. Third is a strike, and I internally curse myself for not swinging.
The next pitch is perfect, and it hits on that sweet spot on my bat where I know it’s going straight for Javier.
It’s got speed, and Javier makes the stupid decision to take his eyes off the ball for a half-second to make eye contact with me, allowing the ball to slam him right in the groin.
I hide my smile as I toss the bat and take off for first base, where the first base coach is waving me on to second.
When I get to second, I’m waved on to third, and I’m all too stoked to call out “Karma!” as I run pass Javier.
Stopping at third, I look to the third base coach.
“How the hell did that turn into a triple?”
“Fucking dumbass collapsed into the dirt, right on top of the ball,” Coach Brown says, laughing so hard he has to rest his hands on his thighs. “Never seen anything like it. They were all yelling at him to move. You got him right in the nuts.”
Gameplay is stopped for a few minutes while Javier is carted off the field, clutching his dick while wailing. I try to keep my expression composed, but it’s difficult. I have to assume there are multiple women around the country who are cheering loudly right now.
“Did you know only twenty-five percent of players in the League wear a cup these days?” Coach says.
“I didn’t know that,” I answer, adjusting the one that I do in fact still wear. “Us senior citizens recognize the importance of penile protection.”
Coach leans in. “Was that coincidental, or possibly a purposeful penile shot?”
I shrug, biting my lip to keep from grinning too broadly. “I’m too old to have that good of an aim.”
Holloway, batting next, manages a single, and I sail across home plate with a huge smile on my face. My run wins us the game, and I’m one hell of a happy man.
Once back in my hotel room, I hear a soft knock on the shared door between my room and Layla’s.
I didn’t see her after the game, and the bus back to the hotel was full of chatter as everyone talked about my hit.
The general consensus was how much everyone thought Javier deserved it, and that he’s a complete asshole.
Upon opening the door, I find Layla holding two longneck beers.
“I feel like I definitely owe you a drink,” she says softly, a serene smile on her gorgeous face.
Blonde hair pulled up into a messy bun, she’s wearing a pink tank top and sleep shorts, the edging on both a cute ruffle.
Face clean of makeup, I’m close enough to see a smattering of freckles dotting her nose and cheeks.
“I will gladly accept a drink, but nothing is owed. Old men like me can’t control our aim. It’s an unfortunate coincidence he got nailed in the balls.”
Layla raises an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
I take a long swig of the beer, relishing in the cold liquid sliding down my throat. “Of course. What man would choose to aim at another man that way?”
Layla snorts. “You.”
I smile around the rim of my bottle. “You’re damn right.”
Throwing her head back with laughter, I’m captivated by her beauty. With only a few lights on in our rooms, Layla appears young, lively, and happy. I wish I could take her picture right now, because it’s exactly how I’ll always want to remember her.
My phone buzzes across the room, alerting me to a text. I walk to grab it, seeing it’s from my agent.
Troy
No matter what anyone asks you, say it wasn’t intentional.
Me
What?
Troy
Dude. I know you, and I know your aim. Whenever you want to tell me WHY it was intentional, I’m here.
Me
Noted.
Troy
I’m glad Coach still has you off the interview list, because I can hear your smile from here. No way you’d get out of an interview without someone recognizing it was an intentional play.
Me
You can HEAR my smile?
Troy
Yep. I’m just that good, asshole.
“Why are you smiling?” Layla asks, stepping further into my room.
“My agent wanted me to know I have to say it wasn’t intentional. You know, if I somehow get interviewed.”
“I still can’t believe that story about the interviewer and her shoe, but I guess it’s you, so anything is possible,” she says, giggling. “What does your agent think about today’s hit?”
“His response was ‘I know you, and I know your aim.’”
Layla hums. “Sounds like your agent knows you a little too well.”
I nod. “He’s a good guy. He’s been my agent for a while. He was thrilled I got traded to Denver, because he’s here a lot for stuff with Jamie Wahlberg, even though he knew I didn’t want to move to Denver.”
She tilts her head to the side, studying me. “Are you still hating it?”
It takes me a moment to reply. “Not anymore.”