Chapter 10
TEN
THREE MONTHS LATER
“Jesus,” Cam hissed from his spot in the dugout. “What the hell was that? You can’t keep giving up runs, Lyons.”
Not even bothering with words, I scowled at my teammate. Was that the point of this goddamn game? No shit, I shouldn’t be giving up runs. My fist pounded into my glove as the scoreboard taunted me, the inning number shifting because of my fucking mistake.
The batters lined up, practicing, while the lower half of our order got ready to make up some points.
Weber barked commands at them but didn’t even bother to turn my way when I walked to the bench, my head hung in shame, hands tightening at my sides.
We needed this win, needed to gain back some momentum after Houston swept us last series.
Seattle should have been an easy shutout, but from the moment I walked out onto the field, everything seemed off.
Blame the lack of sleep, blame the drugs leaving my system after last night, but no matter how I looked at it, I’d fucked things up for the entire team. As much as I wanted to get my head together, nothing seemed to work.
The only time I’d felt anything close to normal was during those few stolen hours with Kinsley almost three months ago. For that one night, I’d reclaimed a piece of myself, away from all the pressure and the rush of the game.
At least until the next morning, and she was gone.
That was a first for me. Usually, I was the one trying the early morning escape route, not wanting anyone to get the wrong idea about my priorities.
Sure, sex was fun, but it could never compete with walking out onto the field every day.
The last thing I needed was someone coming into my life and getting attached, fucking with my already screwed-up head.
But with one slight smile, Kinsley did just that, knocking me on my ass until I had no idea what to do with myself.
I’d gone to the Skyline a dozen times since, hoping to run into her.
After last night, the other bartenders got sick of me asking when she was working and threatened to ban me if I kept it up.
Guess that meant it was time to move on.
Whatever happened between us had been one-sided.
She’d used me, like so many other people in my life, deeming we weren’t worth a real chance.
Pretty fucked up, if you asked me.
The bitter sting of rejection raced through me.
It was unfamiliar, leaving a sour note on my tongue.
I needed to let her go, but my mind refused to do it.
Her expressive eyes seared into my memory.
I never got the chance to learn all the ways to drive her wild.
But no matter what I tried—visiting her job, online searches, social media—nothing led me closer to my mystery girl.
Hell, besides the marks she’d left on my skin, there was no trace of her.
“Seda!” Weber barked from the front of the dugout. “Get your ass ready. We can’t have any more rookie moves today.”
Cam shot me one last glare before hustling to the other batters. As soon as we walked away, another one of my teammates, Parker Drobrek, took his place. He nudged my side. “You good, man?”
“Fine,” I huffed, focusing on the dirt in front of me. “Just a bad fucking day.”
His eyes burned into the side of my skull, but I ignored him, focusing on anything other than my team.
I could already hear the headlines, more fans and reporters calling for my head.
My dad would ream me out, reminding me that the trade window might be closed, but I could head back down to the minors at the end of the season.
“How could you let me down again?”
My dad’s words echoed back at me. Fuck if I knew. He was one of those players who breathed baseball, who performed as if he’d been born with a glove on his hand. From the moment he was drafted, he broke records, making himself a household name across the country.
Too bad a car accident ripped it all away.
A car accident. Something so trivial, so normal, ripped my dad’s passion out of his hands, sidelining him for the rest of his career. Even twenty years later, he was still bitter about it, hating that I was the one out on the field.
Despite the Hawks giving it their all, we never regained our lead against Seattle.
I never redeemed myself—Benny pulled me from the game in the fifth inning when I fucked up another play.
Instead, all I did was warm the bench as the other players worked in sync, trying to make up for my earlier mistakes.
But no matter what they did, nothing seemed to work.
When we filed into the locker room, everyone’s heads hung low.
After two losses in a row, no one was in the mood to talk or celebrate.
Everyone wanted to get home and pray some magic would inject itself into our team, but that same sour note hit my tongue.
Not with you out there. Might as well call it now; everyone knows you don’t belong here.
As the other guys cleared out of the locker room, I leaned back on the bench, staring off into space.
This shit was getting to be too much. A few months ago, it had only taken a few drinks to pull myself out of these spirals.
Two or three shots, and I’d forget about the reporters calling me out for my mistakes, ignore the fans who booed when I walked out onto the field.
But the drinks stopped working over the summer, that sweet oblivion was harder to come by, and it had been eating me alive—at least until I was out one night, and someone slipped me a white pill that wiped away all my stress.
The one pill turned into two, and then I’d lost count.
Now, there was always a bottle sitting in the secret pocket of my suitcase, there when I needed to breathe.
It was becoming a problem. Every time Benny walked into the clubhouse, my pulse raced, wondering if it was time for one of our random drug tests.
When it wasn’t, I’d tell myself I was done, that I didn’t want to trade my career because I wanted a little relief.
I’d go home, flush the bottle, and tell myself I was done.
But the next day, I’d call my dealer, begging for more.
The cycle was endless, but it was the only thing that helped. Between the drugs, the memories, and the jeers of fans, the pressure caved in my chest.
“Lyons.”
Benny’s voice echoed through the clubhouse, quiet but full of resignation.
Fuck. The moment I looked up, his reason for wanting to see me became clear, and it wasn’t good.
My legs dragged as I stood from the bench, following him into his borrowed office.
Because we were on the road, the space was empty, just a gray metal desk with a whiteboard mounted behind it.
Cold, sterile. When he shut the door behind me, it was as if a guillotine was being swung down upon my head, sealing my fate.
I sat on the chair across from Benny’s desk, watching as he threw his Hawks cap behind him. He pushed a breath through his nose and twisted his hands together. When his steel eyes met mine, dread pooled in my gut. “Jace, this isn’t fucking working.”
There was nothing left to say, no fight left to offer. I hung my head. “I know, Benny.”
“What the fuck is happening out there? Because that guy?” He pointed toward the field. “He sure as hell isn’t the one I vouched for.”
I shook my head, having heard this speech before. When my performance started going downhill, Benny pulled me to the side, trying to figure out the issue. If it were a technical matter, we could work on it. The team had some of the best coaches in the league. But that wasn’t my issue.
He cleared his throat, running his hand over his graying beard. “All that passion, all that fire—gone, Jace. It’s like you’ve lost your head for the game. And that—” He let out a long breath. “That, I can’t work with.”
I nodded and then got up from my chair. “So I’m gone?”
“That’s it?” Benny scoffed. “Fuck, Jace. I thought you’d say something. Hell, you’ve been battling it out with the team all season, and now you decide to shut your mouth?”
“What do you want me to say?” I bit back. “I hear it every fucking day, Ben. From the media, from the other guys. Shit, my dad calls me twenty times a night, not even waiting until I’ve showered to remind me my ass is on the line. None of it changes anything. If you want me gone, I’m gone.”
Benny leaned back in his chair, dropping his joined hands into his lap. “They want you back down in the triple As. Got a spot on our team up in Portland next season.”
“Fine.” I stood, moving toward the door. “Are we done?”
Benny sat up, shooting me a lethal glare. “Not even fucking close, Jace. The minute we get back into town, you’re going to a treatment program.”
My whole body tensed, and anger radiated through all my pores. A cold sweat climbed down my spine as I turned back to meet Benny’s furious scowl. I cleared my throat, trying to push away some of the dryness. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Bullshit,” he hissed. He stood, and, for a minute, I’d forgotten how intimidating Weber could be.
The man was a giant, and this was coming from a guy who spent his days with professional athletes.
Tension raced through his forearms, especially when he slammed his palm against the surface of his desk.
“I tried to ignore it for a while, but you’re not even trying to hide it anymore.
I’ve been in this game for a long time, Lyons.
Seen a lot of guys get fucked up by the money and the fame. Don’t want that to happen to you.”
I shook my head. “I’m not—”
“Stop lying to me, or I’ll make you piss in a cup right now.”
Shit. I leaned back in the chair and crossed my arms over my chest. He shook his head.
“The only reason I’m not is because, buried underneath all that attitude and snark, you’re a good fucking guy.
There’s no goddamn way I’m going to sit by and watch you throw your life away.
” He riffled through the papers on his desk and pulled out a pamphlet.
Whispering Hills Rehabilitation Facility.
“You’ve got a week to pack your shit, but, next Monday, you show up there.
If you don’t, you’re done with this game, Jace. ”
I swallowed the lump in my throat, forcing my hand to take the crumpled paper. Reading through the words, I shook my head. “Benny, I can’t do this. If the league finds out—”
“They’re already aware.”
“What?” I stepped closer, my hands clenching into fists, turning the pamphlet into a smashed ball. “How the fuck could you do that?”
The treatment board was no joke. If they got even a whiff of players using, they’d be in our clubhouse, demanding everyone submit to a piss test.
“Watch yourself,” Benny bit, his tone low but dark. “It was the only option.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
Benny scoffed. ”When, not if, you fail your drug test, this would’ve gone right to the treatment board.
And the first question they’d ask? If I knew.
I’m not putting my career—the past twenty years—on the line to cover for you.
” When I sank back into the chair, Benny shook his head.
“This way, we’re getting ahead of it. Do the program, keep yourself clean.
Prove yourself in the Triple A’s. Then, get your ass back here, and be the player you should be. ”
I shook my head, shame and guilt curdling deep in my gut. It was one thing to let myself down, but to see that resignation in Benny destroyed me. He’d risked everything by talking to me, planning this out to help me. It was a lifeline, one I didn’t deserve, but one I took anyway.
Standing from my chair, I nodded at Benny. “Won’t let you down, Weber.”
At least, not again.