Triple Play (Deltry Ocelots #2)

Prologue

May

Rhys Molson pressed a hand to his pounding head as he rolled to the edge of the bed. You would think he’d learn his lesson. Why had he gone out drinking the night before?

You never learn. You keep making the same mistakes and thinking we’ll forgive. At some point you need to take responsibility for your own actions.

He shoved that voice out of his head. He didn’t need to hear it now. However, he did need to get to the clubhouse.

First, though, he needed to figure out where he’d left his clothes.

A dresser stood against the wall to his left, and he was sure that was one of his socks sticking out from under it.

Fingers brushed down the length of his spine. “Come back to bed,” a voice whined. “It’s too early.”

“It’s after ten.” Rhys’s voice came out scratchy. “Pretty sure that’s only early for ballplayers.”

“I did play with some balls last night,” the person said, tracing their fingers in the dip just below Rhys’s spine.

Rhys couldn’t help but smile. “As I recall it was into the morning as well.” And they could wrap their fingers around them better than any pitcher he knew.

“Really, really late. So, this is early. Come back to bed.”

Rhys looked over his shoulder at the person sprawled on the bed beside him. He wouldn’t say he wasn’t tempted. All those inches of naked flesh. A part of him wanted to dive back into it. Forget about everything else.

He knew exactly where that would lead. He had a tendency to take risks he shouldn’t. His best friend would say that going out the night before for the express purpose of finding a stranger to hook up with would prove that.

The one thing he wasn’t willing to risk was his place on the team. Showing up late… and hungover… was not a good way to prevent that. He could only control one of those right now, so he shifted away from their touch.

“I really do need to go.”.

“It’s Saturday. You shouldn’t have to do anything on a weekend.”

“Monday is my weekend,” Rhys said as he finally spotted his jeans. All the way on the other side of the bedroom. How had they gotten over there? Maybe he didn’t want to answer that question.

“You know I can go out tonight and find someone else easily. Your ass wasn’t all that.”

That certainly hadn’t been what they’d been saying the night before. “Good.” Rhys pulled his jeans up before grabbing his shirt. It stank of dance sweat and alcohol, but it would have to do for now. “You should do that then.”

“I can’t believe I wasted my time on you,” they spat out. “It wasn’t worth it.”

Rhys tried to ignore that as he called for a rideshare. He might be impulsive, but when he planned to get drunk and hook up, he wasn’t going to risk driving. So, he’d left his car at his apartment.

At least he’d done one smart thing the night before. There would be a handful people who would be surprised he was even capable of that.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long for the car to arrive, or to get back over to his apartment.

After a quick shower, he changed into a t-shirt that didn’t smell like bad decisions and dragged on a pair of sweats.

He could really use some coffee, but he’d have to get that at the clubhouse.

The bitter brew from the communal coffee pot never seemed worth the eventual crash, but it was still better than nothing.

By the time he got to the clubhouse, he felt on more of an even keel, even if the words ‘not worth it’ kept banging in his head.

But, he had several hours of baseball to look forward to. Once he slid the mask over his face and crouched behind home plate, everything else would fade away.

It always did.

He smiled as he jogged toward the clubhouse door. He stepped inside to find Brock and Caleb on one of the couches, practically inside each other’s skins. They hadn’t wasted any time since Caleb returned from his stint with their parent team.

And finally worked their shit out.

“Ew, gross,” he said. “Get a room.”

Caleb flipped him off but he did pull back from Brock. “That’s funny, I thought we were in one.”

“How about one with a door that closes.” Rhys choked on his own laugh. Caleb could definitely give as good as he got.

Brock shifted away, but Caleb slid an arm around him as he crossed his eyes at Rhys.

Being in love had apparently turned him into a goofball.

He patted Brock’s leg and pushed up from the couch.

“I should watch some of the highlights of Eaton’s last start.

I haven’t batted against him before. Every time the Sailors faced him, I was on the bench. ”

That was the Sailor’s mistake, as far as Rhys was concerned. They’d had a damn good defender and base runner on their hands with Caleb. They’d gone and squandered that, all because some people on the team had a problem with the fact he hadn’t been born with a dick.

None of that made Caleb less of an athlete. He’d certainly proved he was where he belonged, even if not everyone else had caught on yet. But, Rhys was glad he’d been traded here at the beginning of the season. Not just because this was the first time Brock seemed actually happy since Rhys met him.

The team was better with him.

“I should probably do that, too,” Rhys said. Not just the pitcher, but he should watch highlights of their opponents’ batters, so he’d know which pitches to call for.

As soon as they stepped into the hallway, he saw the team’s PR liaison standing there. Like she’d been waiting. Hopefully not for him.

Except her gaze was lasered right on him.

Great.

He knew what was coming. He still plastered on a smile as Caleb stepped up next to him. Almost in front of him.

As if he might need help against a woman who stood a few inches shorter than him, one of the few here he had some height over. Yet she still managed to stare him down.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she accused.

“Now, would I ever do that, Samantha?” He sent her a wink.

Caleb headed off toward the video room. At least they wouldn’t have an audience.

She drilled a finger into his chest so hard he expected her to bend her nail back.

They were as tough as her apparently. “That is exactly what you’re doing, and you know it.

I need those pictures, Molson. Everyone else has already given us what we need for the Mother’s Day presentation. You’re the only holdout.”

Rhys flinched. “I told you I can’t do that.”

“I get that you might not have pictures on you, but surely your mother—"

“She doesn’t,” he snapped, harder than he’d meant to. “Even if she did, I’d have no way to get them.” He didn’t know if his mother was alive, or that he’d recognize her if he saw her. You couldn’t exactly trust a two-year-old’s memory of a person’s face. Especially not two dozen years later.

“Don’t you think your mother would want to be honored on her special day?” Samantha pressed.

If she had, she shouldn’t have abandoned her toddler son in front of a fire station. He wasn’t going to tell Samantha that. He didn’t talk about this shit.

“I said I can’t,” he nearly shouted. “Will you just leave it the fuck alone?”

She took a step back, and shame swept through Rhys. He usually had better control over his temper, which hadn’t always been the case. He hated that he’d lost it now.

“Sorry,” he muttered, turning away. “I need to get ready for practice.”

“Molson, I’m sure your family would love—“

Still she wouldn’t give up. Rhys hunched his shoulders up near his ears and hurried down the hallway, as if that would protect him.

As soon as he closed the locker room door, he smacked the flat of his hand against the wall.

Giving it a hard kick for good measure, glad no one else was in here yet to see him losing it.

He’d have to apologize later, but he couldn’t take anymore. He didn’t have a family. Not even Simon, who had been sure to check on him every time he’d moved to a new home, had really ever wanted Rhys to be fully a part of his life.

And still, he was gone.

At least Rhys had baseball. As long as that never went away, he would be fine.