Chapter 28
Sloane
I could feel it.
The sinking feeling in my gut as I watched Rhys fiddle with the ball in his hand told me this was going to end poorly. His muscles were tense, his broad shoulders raised and tight.
This is not going to end well.
It’d been a rough game; both teams fighting tooth and nail to get the upper hand, and now it all fell to him. And he was too damn deep in his own brain to pull off the win everyone was hoping for. It was written all over his posture.
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my thighs while he rolled his shoulders again. My interlaced fingers covered my mouth. My eyes locked on Rhys; the stadium lights were blinding against the night sky.
It was the bottom of the fucking twelfth inning; the game went into extra innings three hours ago. Not a single run had been scored. Rhys walked the first two batters. After a brief timeout and a visit from the coach, he managed one strikeout before another walk.
The bases were loaded. One out.
It was not looking good for his confidence.
“Come on, baby. Come on, baby,” I muttered into my hands, my left leg bouncing as he began his windup.
His chest expanded with a deep breath as he squared his shoulders, rolling the baseball in his glove a couple of times. Rhys rocked slightly before hitching his left leg up and then launching forward for the pitch.
The ball flew in, hard and fast. I wanted to close my eyes, but I forced myself to keep them open.
My heart sank when the crack of the ball against the bat echoed through the stadium.
The ball soared, Rhys whirled around, keeping his eye on it as it grew smaller and smaller with distance.
For a split second, everything hung in the balance.
But all at once, it came crashing down. The ball flew into the crowd, the Nighthawks fans jumping and shouting in their seats—a goddamn grand slam.
Are you kidding me?
The runners rounded the bases, their arms pumping above their heads. Everyone knew we had one at-bat left, but the vibes in the stadium had changed entirely.
Bandits fans were packing up and heading out, Nighthawks fans were ordering another round of beer to celebrate. And Rhys felt it all.
His shoulders slumped when Coach stepped out onto the field, the relief pitcher tailing closely behind him.
Dammit.
They were taking him out.
Rhys slapped the ball into his teammate's hand and began his walk off the field.
“Motherfucker,” I mumbled, closing my eyes and sitting back against the hard plastic seat. I adjusted the Bandits cap on my head, pulling the brim down to cover my eyes.
I looked up just in time to see Rhys’s glove fly into the dugout, his face burning red.
It was going to be a long night.
***
As predicted, the game ended with a four-zero score, and no one was pleased.
No team was perfect. A loss was inevitable. But the sting was unbearable nonetheless.
“It was a good game.” Cami leaned over, patting my thigh after the players cleared the field.
“I know,” I sighed. “He won’t think so. You know that.”
And she did. She smiled softly. “They never do.”
“Touche.” I snorted a small laugh.
“He’ll be okay.”
I knew that. He always was. But I understood his frustrations. Rhys knew himself well enough to see that he was in his head and that was the only thing stopping him from pitching to his full potential.
“I know, I know. I hate that I can’t do anything to help.”
Cami stood and stretched, yawning softly. “You want a ride?”
She knew Rhys’s loss routine almost as well as I did. Not that it happened frequently, but she knew he’d be here for hours going over every single mistake before he finally came home. “No, that’s okay. You go home. I’ll hang around until he’s ready.”
She shrugged, gathering her things. “If you’re sure. Let me know if you change your mind, though.”
I stood, wrapping my best friend in a hug. “Thank you, babe. I’ll be okay. Go home and get some sleep.”
“Dom wants to go out. So I will not be doing that.” She laughed and squeezed me once before pulling away. “But let me know if you wanna meet up.”
After Cami walked away, I slumped back into my chair, knowing I was in for a long night. Rhys was going to stay in the locker room for as long as he could and be grumpy until the sun came up. Which was understandable given the circumstances, but that didn’t mean I didn’t hate it.
The seats around me slowly emptied, and everyone was making their way home after a long game. But not me. I waited. And waited. The same crew members I was used to seeing after a loss were sweeping the stands around me as I waited some more.
I scrolled through my phone to pass the time, almost an hour passing before the athletic trainer, Josh, poked his head over the dugout, whistling for my attention. “He said to go home.”
“He knows better!” I called back, rolling my eyes. In the month that Rhys and I had officially been dating, I’d somehow gotten to know the team and every member of the staff better than before.
I couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
“That’s what I tried to tell him. But he thought you might listen this time.”
I snorted, Josh’s face telling me he thought Rhys was full of shit for thinking I’d actually leave. He beckoned me with a wave of his hand. “Come on. Everyone else cleared out. It’s just him.”
I rose to my feet, walking toward home plate as Josh popped the gate open for me to walk onto the field.
I had a strong suspicion that Rhys would tell me to leave immediately.
It worked once. But never again after that.
Even if he wouldn’t admit it, my comfort after a game pulled him out of his head faster than just sitting there by himself.
“He hurt?”
Josh shook his head. “Only his pride.”
I sighed in response. “It was a good game.”
His hand clapped over my shoulder as he led me through the dugout and to the locker room. “It was.”
“You hanging around?”
“Nah, I gotta get on the road. Rhys knows the deal. I have a wife and a newborn waiting for me at home.”
I smiled, thanking Josh when he pushed the locker room doors open for me, gesturing for me to walk ahead.
Most of the lights were off, except for a couple of dim ones illuminating the cubbies that held their gear.
Rhys sat on one of the tables used for physical therapy and stretching, his legs dangling over the side, chin pressed to his chest. His large hands gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles white.
“Good luck,” Josh whispered, smiling softly as he hoisted his bag over his shoulder. He nodded at Rhys, though Rhys wasn’t looking, and walked to the exit.
I knew that Rhys knew I was there, but still, he sat.
I waited for the door to latch shut before making a move toward him.
There was a towel wrapped around his waist, his brown hair disheveled.
Droplets of water dripped from the ends of his hair, down to his face.
At least he showered. That was a step in the right direction.
I stepped between his legs, using my finger to tilt his chin. “Hey, baby.” I smiled softly, dark green eyes meeting mine. Rhys’s stubble scratched against my palm as I cupped his chin. “It was a good game.”
All he did was huff in response.
“You had a good game, Rhys.”
Another huff. The corners of my mouth twitched as I held back a smile.
“Anything I can do?”
Rhys sighed. “No. I just—That fucking sucked.”
It did. It really did. Seeing the way his shoulders slumped as he made his way into the dugout sank my heart.
He always took every loss to heart, whether it was his doing or not.
This late-night locker room hangout was nothing new to me.
Usually, I’d sit off to the side and let him process whatever emotions and frustrations he needed to before heading home to our apartment.
Tonight seemed different. Like he was taking this hit harder than usual.
“I know. I’m sorry. I wish I could say something to make it better.
I really do. Even though it was a loss, you had a great game.
We both know I’m a stats girl. Strikeouts in the double digits.
A few walks… One grand slam. Overall, that’s pretty fucking good.
” I reached up, raking my fingers through his wet hair to brush it out of his face.
His hands found my hips, squeezing gently as he pulled me closer. “Why are you so amazing?” Rhys smiled, his hands sliding up to my waist. “I just need a second to cool off. Blow off some steam or something.”
“I am pretty amazing, huh?” My arms snaked around his neck, fingers interlacing behind his head. “Let’s just get you home.” He smiled at the flicker of mischief in my eyes. “Get you into that jet bath… Nice and relaxed.”
Rhys chuckled. “Jet bath, huh?”
“Mmhmm. The jets.” I nodded, waggling my eyebrows at him.
His hands slid down my back, tucking into the back pockets of my shorts. “I could think of a couple of things that could make me feel better right here.” Rhys’s hands squeezed my ass, yanking me even closer, his breath warm against my lips.
“Just one or two things?” I whispered, meeting his eyes. He licked his lips and pulled me even closer. “Whatever you need, Rhys.” I ran my fingers through his hair again, scraping my fingernails softly against his scalp.
“I just need you.” His lips crushed against mine with force, one of his hands gripping the jersey I wore with his last name spelled across the back.
His tongue slid against the seam of my lips, parting them gently.
Rhys worked at the buttons on the jersey while our tongues curled together, eventually getting frustrated and pulling at the fabric.
Buttons flew across the locker room, and he smiled against my mouth.
I reached down, palming him over the towel while he yanked me closer, a low moan building his chest.
Rhys pulled the jersey off my shoulders in a rush, flinging it aside, and, in one swift motion, unclasped my bra, quickly joining the jersey on the floor.