Fastball (Wilde Players Dirty Romance) (13 page)

Her car is out in front of their house. When I knock on the door, I get no answer. That freaks me the fuck out. Luckily, I have a key. I use it and go inside. Only, calling out her name gets no response.

Two at a time, I climb the stairs. I find her passed out on the bathroom floor. My heart races as I call her name.

“Cassie!”

Her eyes blink and focus on me. “What happened?”

Crouching down, I brush back her hair. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

She presses her fingertips to her forehead. “I haven’t felt well. I’ve just been so damn tired. I couldn’t keep anything down, and I felt dizzy.”

Pressing the back of my hand to her head, she doesn’t feel warm, but I don’t know shit about this type of thing.

“I should call 911 or Fletcher.”

With sudden strength, she sits up. “No. Don’t. I’m fine. And Fletcher’s on a plane and he’ll just worry. I feel better. Just a little hungry.”

I help her stand, but she’s not exactly steady. She ends up only making it as far as her bed.

“Cassie, don’t be stubborn. You should see a doctor.”

Biting her lip, she says, “It’s like one of two things.”

“What’s that?”

There is a long pause. “It’s either some stomach bug or… I’m pregnant.”

My eyes grow wide. “You’re pregnant.”

It’s not even a question. She nods. “I think so. That’s why I went into the bathroom to take a test, but I got dizzy before I could take it.”

“Stay here.”

In there, I find the unopened box. Back in her room, I plop down next to her.

Maybe you should eat and drink something first. Let me fix you something to eat. Her eyes grow in alarm.

“Oh my God. I’m not that bad of a cook.”

Pursing her lips together, she almost turns green.

“I can make you some soup and bring you crackers.”

She nods. I venture downstairs and find a can of classic Campbell’s Chicken Noodle soup in her cabinet. The directions are easy to follow and require very little in the way of culinary skills. And soon, I’m bringing her a steaming bowl of soup and crackers.

Her appetite isn’t there yet. She stirs the soup, but hasn’t committed to eating anything yet. Part of me wants to call Fletcher because he’s going to be pissed if anything happens to her. But loyalty wins out.

“I won’t call him if you eat something.”

Her eyes narrow, but she knows defeat. “Fine, but tell me. What’s going on with you? I feel like a dick I haven’t called you back, but I can barely keep my eyes open these days.”

“You mean, when your eyes are open, they are busy giving Fletcher those come hither looks. That’s how you got knocked up.”

I miss my friend like crazy, but I can’t be mad at her for living the life she’s always dreamed. She has the career and guy she’s always wanted. And she’s always taken care of everyone, including her ex and me until he crossed over into crazy town.

“I found out who my mom is,” I announce.

The spoon that had been halfway to her lips slips from her hand and causes soup to splatter all over the tray.

“What? Why didn’t you call me?”

I don’t have to answer as she realizes that I had called her. “Damn, Gina. I’m so sorry.”

Shaking my head, I say, “It’s okay. You were busy.”

“Never too busy for you. I swear, it’s been crazy traveling back and forth, taking care of patients and trying to keep an eye on my dad.”

“Exactly. And I love you for that. I’m good—really.”

She sighs with pain and regret so obvious in her face. She leans over and wraps me in a hug. And that’s when I finally loose my shit. I’d been holding it in all this time, but my birth mom had contacted me, and that was a big fucking deal.

I’m a torrent of emotions. “She wants to meet me,” I begin before I tell her the rest of it.

Before I leave, she’s tucked in bed. We both have answers about what to do next. I promise to spend the night at her house, not wanting to leave her alone. I talk to Sam about getting the day off when I go into the bar that night and get the green light.

All my plans change a few days later when I get the call. I hadn’t had much communication with Ryder because he had games and practice. We’d traded sexy texts, but I hadn’t seen him. Tonight, I’m supposed to show up at his game wearing his jersey, and that’s not going to happen.

“I’ll go with you,” Mark says.

He’s at my house because we were planning to ride to the game together. I nod and send off a text to Ryder he probably won’t see until after the game.

Me: I’m sorry I couldn’t make it tonight. I’ll explain when I see you.

There is so much I want to tell him, but I want to do it in person.

On the private plane that has been arranged, Mark looks as lost as I feel.

“Tell me what you’re thinking?” I ask.

The setting sunlight shoots through the window and highlights just how handsome Mark is. The woman who snags him will be the lucky one.

“Are you sure about this?”

I shrug. “Do I have a choice?”

“Have you told your boyfriend?”

“He has a name.”

“He does, but can you call him your boyfriend?”

I shift to look anywhere, but at him.

“Gina, you know I love you. I’ve loved you since third grade probably. And Ryder’s a good guy. Don’t let your fear ruin things.”

Bluster and deflection, my main go-tos shape my tongue.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

There is a long moment.

“It means when anyone gets too close, you shut them out unless they are checked safely in your friend box.”

As he said it, he held my gaze. But as soon as the words leave his mouth, he can’t look at me. And I hate I’d hurt him so long ago. But he’s right. It’s easier to let someone go first before they have a chance to hurt you.

“I love you, Mark.”

Sad eyes briefly glance at me. “I know you do, and you deserve someone who is going to make you his fairy princess.”

His use of Ryder’s term for me causes a lump to form in my throat.

Whispering, I say, “What if—”

He cuts me off, “You’ll never know unless you try.”

“What about you? That girl you wouldn’t tell me about before.”

“Apparently, she’s not interested in dating jobless guys.” He shrugs and then he squares his shoulders with a twinkle in his eye. “Who knows, maybe I’ll get another shot with Riley.”

My jaw drops and finally his face fills with mirth.

“Spill,” I say, remembering when his name was mentioned before I thought I caught a sign of recognition she hadn’t copped to.

RYDER

Every chance I get, I find myself scanning the stands, searching for Gina. But no success. My stupid imagination is filled with images of her wearing my jersey, along with the Cougars hat, cheering me on. Disappointment ends up being the name of my game as far as that goes. The pitching coach has me step in as a reliever in the bottom of the fifth. Forcing every thought of that black-haired sex engine out of my mind, by some miracle, I end up pitching the game of my life. The manager leaves me in until the ninth inning when I’m replaced by the closer. I’ve given up zero runs and only one batter gets a hit off me. Maybe it was anger that fueled my arm, but whatever. The congratulatory pats on my back feel good, but do little to replace what I would’ve felt if Gina had lived up to her agreement to be here.

We end up with a solid win, which puts us one step closer to the playoffs. When I get to the locker room, I grab my phone and see Gina’s text. If that’s supposed to make me feel better, it’s an epic fail. In fact, it pisses me off even more. She waited until the last possible minute to send it, knowing I wouldn’t get it until after the game. What the fuck is that all about? Does she have such little respect for me that she can’t even give me an explanation of any kind?

Sorry, Ryder, but I couldn’t make it because I had to wash my hair.
Or
, Sorry, Ryder, I needed to go out and buy some toothpaste, so I hate that I missed the most important game of your career.

All this shit rolls through my head while I shower and sours my mood, even after the accolades on our win.

As I’m packing up my duffle bag and getting ready to leave, Robinson yells, “Hey, Ryder, you coming?”

“What?”

“You coming with us? You know, to celebrate?”

“Oh.” I scratch my chin. “I don’t know. I’m wiped out.”

“Yeah, but you need to party, dude. You totally killed it out there.”

“Thanks, man. Appreciate it.”

He grabs my arm and starts pulling me in the direction of the exit. “I’m not taking no for an answer. Let’s get out of here.”

Looks like I won’t be getting out of this, so I follow him to The Cougars Beer Stand, the team’s favorite watering hole. The place is jammed when we get there. The management is even present, including Ms. Whitestone herself. She’s buying drinks for everyone, and it appears it’s going to be party time tonight. I might as well join in the fun.

“Ryder, that was one hell of a game you threw tonight.”

“Thanks, Ms. Whitestone.”

“One step closer to that ace position you covet so much.”

I shrug. I think it’s bad karma to talk about this in front of other players, so my deal is to play it off as noncommittal. But she doesn’t drop it.

“I owe you a favor anyway, for what you did for me. You know, the escort service?”

Heads turn our way when she mentions it.

Immediately, I jump in with, “How could I forget? It’s a great charity. I love kids, and I was glad to help raise money for such a worthy cause.” Hopefully, that will stop the gossipers from starting any crazy rumors.

A shot of something clear is shoved in my hand, and everyone around us raises their glasses as we toast our win. I down the clear stuff, and it burns a path to my stomach. Someone calls my name and motions me over. It’s the perfect distraction, so I excuse myself and head in that direction. Another shot of something, this time it’s red, is handed to me. I honestly don’t want it, but if I don’t down it, they’ll call me a pussy. That’s one moniker I don’t want attached to my name. So I tip the glass, and in one long swallow, it’s down the hatch. It’s sweet and leaves my mouth feeling sticky, so I know to stay away from that crap.

Pushing my way through the crowd, I make it up to the bar and order a Jameson on the rocks. It reminds me of my cousin, Fletcher, and that I need to give him a call. His season is underway, and the Rockets are having a helluva year so far.

“Hey, Ryder. Great game, man.” It’s one of the other pitchers, and he slaps me on the back.

“Thanks. I appreciate that. Great work in closing out the game.”

He nods. “Hey, keep that up and you’ll be the starter next season.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.”

“Your speed, accuracy, and the fact that you’ve never been injured or have had any issues make you a pretty good bet.” He acts damn convincing. “But, cheers. Here’s to a great game.”

We clink glasses. With the way the alcohol is flowing, it won’t take long for me to get tanked. The music is loud, and people are already dancing.

All of a sudden, one of the guys yells out, “Tequila shots on the house.”

David Lester moves in on the other side of me and says, “My fucking head is going to be exploding all over town tomorrow.”

“Same here.”

Then I see one of our outfielders walking by guzzling a bottle of champagne. I hope no one plans on driving.

David leans close to my ear and says, “What do you think about Whitestone?”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Would you fuck her? She’s a pretty hot cougar, if you ask me. You know, cougars and MILFs are the thing these days.”

“Lester, who are you? Are you the same guy who wanted to tour a corn pipe factory in Ashville and had never been to a sex club?”

David laughs and ignores my jab. “What? She remind you too much of Mom?”

“Okay, that’s just disgusting. You can’t be saying shit like that, man.”

All I can see is Gina with her dark hair, smooth as silk skin, and gorgeous eyes, and I say, “I think I’ll pass on that one.” The thought almost makes me gag.

“Yeah, sorry.” He shakes his head, still chuckling.

“Besides, it’s not that—”

He doesn’t give me a chance to finish. “That’s right. You’re with someone, that girl from the club, aren’t you?”

“Thought I was,” is all I say.

“You two break it off?” David asks.

“I don’t know what the fuck we are, if you want the truth.”

A waitress walks by with those test tube shots, and David buys a couple. “Here.” He hands me one. “You need one of these.”

I down it, and it tastes like butterscotch. I have no idea what I’m drinking, but I don’t even care anymore. “I don’t think I need any more alcohol.” My words are already slurred.

“Who does?” he asks. “The point isn’t that we
need
it. It’s that we
want
it, Wilde.”

As I glance across the room, it suddenly looks like a swarm of half-naked women have invaded this place. Their phones are out as they snap pictures of everyone.

“Photo alert. The groupies have descended,” I say.

David turns around as three of them approach us.

“Aren’t you Ryder Wilde?” one of them asks.

David points at me and says, “That’s him. In the flesh.”

One of them, a bleached blond says, “Oooh, can I get a picture with you?”

Not giving me a chance to reply, she sidles next to me and takes a selfie. I’m sure I appear to be a wide-eyed inebriated idiot. The other two replace her and do the same. Then all three of them are hunkered around me, and I am the object of the selfie invasion. More women approach me, and I see David backing away, laughing. That fucker. They grab my ass, my arms, my pecs, and one of them even does a crotch squeeze and tries to massage my balls. What the hell kind of women are these?

“We heard you like it wild, Mr. Wilde.”

“Yeah, well, you heard wrong. I’m the tame sort, if you want to know the truth.” By now, the vultures have me backed against the bar, and I’m trapped, with no escape in sight. One of them leans into my face, and she smells like week old stale beer. Short of decking them with my fists, I don’t know what the hell to do.