The Wild Card (The Dugout #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Callie

If I was the heroine in a rom-com, seeing the father of my unborn baby in a Chicago Colts baseball uniform would ignite a warm, glowing sensation bursting through my belly.

Instead, my stomach mutters, Congrats. You’ve officially outdone yourself.

Was my pregnancy planned? Of course not.

Truth be told, I’m a lifelong safe-sex-always card-carrying member. We’re talking VIP, platinum status here.

Condoms in my purse? You betcha.

Birth control pills? On them since college.

Regular testing for an STI? Mandatory.

But somehow, even with my type-A safe-sex checklist, I’m still growing a baby in my uterus.

And a fucking Chicago Colts child at that.

Yes, I realize for some women, that would be a dream.

But I’ve sworn off baseball players my entire life, which leads me to the third problem in my dilemma—my baby daddy is…

wait for it…my older brother’s teammate and friend.

Don’t worry though, neither of them has any idea I’m carrying said baby. Only one other person knows my secret so far, but time is ticking, and I need to tell the father and then my brother.

“So, give me a hint,” Leighton whines. “It’s, like, best-friend code. You can’t tell me you’re pregnant and then not give me the most important detail.”

She’s already asked me ten times today. “You’re picking up bad habits from Monroe.”

Please note, Leighton is my best friend, but she’s also my brother’s fiancée.

She’s in her happily-ever-after bubble with Hayes where everything is magical and sparkly, and life is perfect.

Meanwhile, I’m choking on every thought that crosses my brain (and almost every piece of food that hits my tongue).

Can I navigate pregnancy and motherhood and maintain the success I’ve had with my podcast?

Are women really telling the truth when they say I can have a family and a career?

Or is that something society tells women so we inevitably feel as though we’re failing when we can’t juggle it all?

I sure as shit hope I can handle both because I didn’t put all my blood, sweat, and tears into this dream just for a few minutes of success.

Leighton’s brows draw down. “You’re comparing me to a six-year-old?”

We look down the row of seats behind home plate to see Monroe jumping in place and my dad getting up from his seat to go buy her ice cream.

I chuckle. “She’s relentless, and you’ve been the same since I told you the news.”

Thankfully, my mom can’t hear us because she’s busy pestering Lake to stay away from boys and telling Lincoln to sit down.

The fact that my BFF took guardianship of her deceased cousin’s three kids last year makes her and my brother this cute-as-hell instant family. Just more sparkly magic shit for them. Sometimes it’s nauseating to witness, but I’m still over the moon happy for them all.

“Okay, tell me one characteristic he has.” Her eyes zero in on the field as the Colts take their positions. She taps her finger to her lips. “Is he quiet?”

I roll my eyes, knowing she’s talking about Decker.

“Cocky?”

I glance over to where Easton stands in his shortstop position. “If I told you either one of those things, it would narrow the choices significantly.”

Hayes jogs out to home plate, lifting his helmet and winking at Leighton before his gaze strays to the kids. Lake is too cool to give him any attention, but Lincoln jumps up and shouts at him. Hayes gives him a wave, and his gaze strays to Leighton one more time. She blows him a kiss.

“I think I’m going to be sick.” I mimic a vomiting noise.

“Tell me about it,” Lake says. “I came downstairs this morning to them making out on the counter.”

Leighton scoffs and whips her head toward Lake. “We were not.”

Lake only gives her a look, and Leighton waves her off.

My mom taps Lake’s leg. “They’re in love, let them be.”

“Back to the question of the hour…” Leighton whispers, secluding us in our own little conversation once more.

“You’ll find out after he does. You’ll be the first to know, I promise.”

I could tell her. She wouldn’t spill the secret until after, but for some reason, I feel like telling the father first is the right thing to do. Allow him to digest the information before we tell anyone else. After all, we got ourselves into this mess together.

Leighton balks and straightens her back. “Your brother has such a great ass. Last night in bed—”

“Oh, so you’re gonna play dirty?” I raise an eyebrow at her.

She shrugs. Leighton knows I don’t want to hear the details of their sex life.

Do I know they have sex? Of course, but I don’t want to hear about it.

Immature? Maybe, but believe me, once my brother finds out who I conceived his niece or nephew with, he’s not going to want the details of my sex life either.

Which, thinking about it, I wouldn’t mind being a fly on the locker room wall when this secret comes out.

Hayes throws a runner out at second, and our entire row gets on their feet, screaming and cheering for him.

“Did the baby daddy just tag that runner out?” Leighton whispers in my ear.

I shake my head. “Like I said, relentless.”

The game continues, and the best thing about her now being guardian to three kids is that her attention gets diverted a lot.

The smart thing to do would have been to keep this news to myself until after I’ve told the father, but I was kind of freaking out.

Me… pregnant? A mother? It’s hard for me to visualize, and I’m sure it will be for others as well. I’m not exactly Mary Poppins.

By the time we get to the eighth inning, the Colts are winning, but only by one run.

Taz is losing his cool on the mound. Hayes calls time and walks out to talk to him.

Two girls who haven’t been here the entire game stop beside the row in front of us, causing everyone to stand to allow them to pass.

Leighton and I glance at one another. We’ve seen women like them enough over the years.

A player got them tickets. The question is who exactly?

They definitely don’t fit in with the rest of the crowd with miniskirts so short I’m about to put my hand over Lincoln’s eyes.

They’ve matched their skirts with tight crop tops that have their boobs spilling out.

Leighton leans in closer. “Aren’t they cold?”

“I’m pretty sure they prefer to be nippin’.”

“He told me as soon as the catcher guy talks to the pitcher, I should make sure I’m in my seat,” one woman says to the other one.

Leighton and I glance at each other again, and she mouths, “Who?”

I have a suspicion, and my body plays war with itself on whether I care if I’m right or wrong.

Hayes jogs back to home plate. Taz, being the dipshit he is, walks along the back of the mound and sets up.

“Oh, so… no then?” the one woman says to the other.

I’m really curious where they’ve been seated up until this point.

“These seats are so uncomfortable.” The other woman elbows the nice man to her right while trying to situate herself as if there’s a cushion out of place. “If he’s such a big deal, he couldn’t get you a suite?”

“He said he wanted me up front and center.” The blonde shrugs.

Taz walks the first runner, and it’s over for him in this game. Ripley steps out of the dugout, meeting the infield on the mound, and Taz puts the ball in his palm.

The minute Taz is in the dugout, the lights cut out in the stadium. My stomach swoops as if it’s in a stunt airplane.

The Jumbotron flashes ALL ABOARD! in bold, blinding letters as “Crazy Train” by Ozzy Osbourne plays and a train engine bursts from the shadows on the screen, wheels sparking as it barrels down tracks of pure lightning, racing straight toward the fans until it feels as if it might crash through the screen.

“Oh, is it…?” The blonde elbows her friend, whose attention is on her phone. “This is him, I think.”

“Seriously?” Leighton grumbles.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the stadium announcer says, “it’s closing time, and we all know what that means. Let’s all rise for our… number fourteen… FOSSSTTEERR ‘The Reaper’ DAVVIISS!”

Foster jogs out of the bullpen and stops at the edge of the infield to let the umpire check his hands and glove.

His tattoos sneak out past the edges of his jersey and up his neck and down both arms. You can’t see much of his dark blond hair because of his ball cap, but his blue eyes shine on the Jumbotron screen.

“Okay, you’re right, he’s hot.” The friend sits up in her seat. “Does he have any brothers?”

I feel like a mean girl in high school from the number of times Leighton and I have shared a judgmental look at these two women’s expense.

“Decker Davis.” Lincoln’s voice has both mine and Leighton’s heads swiveling to see him standing next to Leighton. At some point, he and Lake must have switched seats.

The lights are back on, and all the infield gives Foster slaps on the back and fist bumps.

The two girls turn around and look at Lincoln.

Lincoln points toward third base, and the friend’s shoulders deflate.

“No tattoos?” Her disappointment is clear in her voice.

My eyebrows are at my hairline. Did Foster really get these women tickets? I look at the blonde. So, she’s his type—blond, young as fuck, and doesn’t know anything about baseball. Good to know he’s as superficial as I thought.

I have no idea why it upsets me… well, that’s not exactly true.

But it’s not as if I had any delusion that Foster Davis and I would ever be romantically involved. He’s only going to be the father of my child. I just need to get up the nerve to tell him.