Playing Catch: A Baseball Romance (16 page)

“I’m not going.” Jeanine put up a feeble fight. “I’m not a psycho. I’m doing well. I am.”

“You are, to the best of your ability.” He lay down next to her and cradled her in his arms. “You have so much strength, but even the strongest need a rest. Need someone to share your burdens with.”

“Why do you care? I’m a mess.”

“You’ve been through so much. The fact that you’re still running your business, caring for your friend, and looking like a million bucks shows how strong you are. But you need more than strength. You need to trust and let someone care for you. You never had that growing up. You didn’t even have a mother or a father. You had strangers flit through your life, and you built a wall to protect yourself. But that wall you built keeps people out, so there’s no one to help, no one for you to lean on. No one to care for you and love you like you deserve.”

“No one would ever care if they knew.”

“I know, Jeanine. I know, and I care.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “You were sexually abused by a man you trusted. He wrote you letters and he called you his lucky charm. On your sixteenth birthday, he took you and your friends to an amusement park. He commended your behavior, and he claimed to love you. I know about all this, and I want to help you.”

Every muscle in Jeanine’s body clenched and goosebumps seized her skin. A strangled cry tore through her throat and her stomach wretched with nausea.

“Who are you, Kirk? Why are you bothering me?”

Footsteps thumped at the door, turning both Jeanine and Kirk toward a man holding a gun.

It was Mr. Simpson. George.

He waved the gun. “That’s right, Kirk. Why are you bothering my Jeanine?”

Jeanine’s jaw dropped and her blood pressure shot through the roof. Sweat drenched her, and she couldn’t get enough air. Her fingers tingled and stars zapped in front of her eyes. She clung to Kirk, whimpering.

“Coach Simpson?” Kirk shielded Jeanine with his body which instantly tightened into a protective shield. “You mean she’s the one you went to jail for? The one you claim framed you because you failed her in biology?”

“She betrayed me, but she’s still mine. We were in love and then she had to squeal, all because I wouldn’t buy her a car. The bitch wanted a Mustang GT.” His voice was older and more gravelly, but still powerful. “Go away, Kirk. None of this concerns you.”

“She’s my friend.”

“She’s not worth getting shot for. She’s my little whore, and she’ll get what—”

Kirk launched himself at Mr. Simpson at the same time the gunshot exploded.

Jeanine held her face and screamed and screamed and screamed.

A
white hot
pain flared over Kirk’s thigh, but it almost seemed like a mosquito bite as Kirk tackled his former baseball coach.

Behind him, Jeanine screamed and the baby cried, but he couldn’t tend to them. He had to stop the monster. Stop the liar. The creep who’d let him and his teammates believe he’d been framed by a lying woman.

The gun went off again before Kirk was able to twist it from George’s hand and knock it from his grip. He punched and pummeled him in the face, over and over, even after he passed out.

“You’re hit. We have to stop the bleeding.” Jeanine grabbed him from behind.

He looked down at his leg, and then he was retching, throwing up. A fierce pain burned through his leg, and he fell back, blood spurting from his thigh.

“My belt. Use my belt,” he struggled to speak as black dots like flies hovered around his visual field.

She ripped the belt from his jeans and fell on him, yanking it around his upper thigh close to the hip joint. Blood covered his pant leg, Jeanine’s chest, arms, and hands as she stuffed the throw blanket over his wound.

“This is all my fault. It’s all my fault,” Jeanine muttered repeatedly. “My fault.”

“It’s not your fault.” His teeth chattered at the effort to speak. “I couldn’t let that scumbag touch you.”

“He came after me, not you.” The heels of her hands were soaked with his blood and the pressure she applied was like a hot iron crushing him to the bone.

“If he hurts you, he hurts me. You’re mine, Jeanine. You’re my treasure.” Kirk lay on the ground, helpless as his blood drained. He fought to hold onto her. To memorize her face, her touch, the way she pushed on his leg, trying to stem the blood flow that was rapidly soaking the blanket.

“Kirk. Kirk. Stay awake. Don’t go.” Tears mixed with splattered blood streaked down her face. “Don’t die, Kirk. Hold on. I can’t bear to lose you. I can’t bear it, Kirk. Don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

Her voice was fading into a dull hum. He tried to speak, to let her know he wasn’t leaving her, but his body throbbed with searing pain and he was so cold, he couldn’t tell whether he still had hands and feet. Logically, he knew he was going into shock. But he fought it, focusing on the kisses raining over his face like butterflies shivering to keep warm. It was no use. A dark force pulled him and his eyes grew heavy until numbness overwhelmed him.

Jeanine. I think I love you.
The words willed themselves to his lips, but he didn’t know where he was, or whether she was but a butterfly blown away in a whirling dust storm.

“
W
here am I
? Where’s Kirk?” Jeanine’s heart thudded as she fought under the blankets of fog holding her hostage. Why couldn’t she open her eyes? Where was she?

Was she also dead, like Kirk? And if so, where was he?

“Kirk, Kirk! Don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

“Easy there,” a man’s voice spoke close to her ear.

“Kirk?”

“No, It’s Brock.”

“I’m here, too.” Marcia said.

Jeanine turned to her friend’s voice and struggled with her eyelids. Had someone glued them shut?

“You’ve been sedated,” Marcia said.

She could feel someone rub her hair from her face, but she couldn’t move her arms and legs. Everything was so heavy, and something held her hands around her waist.

“W-why can’t I move? Where’s Kirk?”

“He’s okay,” Brock said. “You saved his life.”

Jeanine willed her eyelids to open. Her friends were blurry, shadows against the harsh light. “Where is he?”

“They’re operating on him to repair his artery.”

“Are you okay, honey?” Marcia stroked her face. “Want any water?”

“Why are my hands tied? Why?”

“You had a breakdown. You wanted to die in Kirk’s place, so Dr. Sparks thought it better to restrain you.”

The edges of the fog rolled back enough for her to remember the blood, the police, and George.

He’d yelled at her right before they marched him off in handcuffs.
I kept myself for you, but you betrayed me. You cheated on me. You played the whore.

“I’m not a whore,” Jeanine whispered through her dry mouth. “Kirk thinks I’m a treasure. He thinks I belong to him.”

“You are a treasure, a good, good friend,” Marcia said, her breath warming Jeanine’s cheek. “As soon as you get better, Kirk will come to see you.”

“Is George in jail? Will he go away?”

“Yes, he’ll go away for a long time,” Brock answered. “Attempted murder, a weapons charge. You won’t have to worry about him again.”

“Do you all know? Do you know what he did to me?” Jeanine’s eyes cracked open a little wider. “It’s so embarrassing. I don’t want anyone to know.”

“We don’t know the details,” Marcia hastened to reassure her. “We love you no matter what.”

Jeanine let her heavy eyelids drop. The weight and darkness pushed her down again, pulling her consciousness, submerging her into the maelstrom of the basement, the black velvet drapes, the bloody bedsheets, the blindfold, the ties and the whippings, the smell of linseed oil, the knife through the canvas, the flesh and sweat pressing her down, and the pain and pressure between her legs, always the same pain and pressure, thrusting and invading, plundering her to the skeleton of her soul.

A black veil covered her face, smothering her, and organ music droned, a macabre Wedding March, as she locked arms with a hard, metallic arm, walking like a toy soldier to a black altar. The blood red flowers disintegrated in her hands, leaving shiny white bones.

A man in a black hoodie stood at the end of the aisle, holding a large black book.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to marry George Simpson to Jeanine Jewell.” The man with the hoodie stood behind a lectern and banged an ebony gavel. “Does anyone object?”

The clock chimed. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong.

“I object,” Jeanine heard herself saying in a small voice.

“You promised to love only me,” the creature holding her arm spoke in her ear. “You promised it. Did you betray me?”

“No. I don’t love anyone.”

“Do you love Kirk?”

“No. I don’t love anyone.”

“You loved me. I have your letters.” Claws dug into her arm, shredding the muscles and blood vessels, sinews, and joints. “He will not love you, if he knew how much you loved me.”

“There are no letters. I threw them away. Every one of them.”

“I have them, my love. Now, be a good girl, and marry me.” He guided her to the altar which had turned into a headstone.

Her name was engraved on the stone as: Janine Jewell Simpson, beloved wife and mother.

They’d spelled her name wrong.

J
eanine stood
in front of the mirror and applied her makeup. A week had gone by, her mental fog had lifted, and she had her control back. Tina was also back, staying with her so she wouldn’t be alone. Apparently, Jeanine was right. Lennie was beating Tina, as she’d returned with bruises on her face.

Everything was back as it should be. Everything, except for Kirk. Despite what Marcia had said about him coming to see her, he hadn’t. She’d heard through Brock that he’d been put on the injured list and his position on the roster was in jeopardy. The bullet had torn an artery and damaged nerves in his thigh. He was in physical therapy, but unable to squat behind home plate.

She’d ruined his career, and she didn’t blame him for leaving her alone. He’d sacrificed too much, and being with her would rub in how he’d lost his dreams.

Right now, she had nothing left for herself in Phoenix. Marcia had ordered her to go on a leave of absence and threatened to sell her own share of The Hot Corner if Jeanine didn’t complete her treatment.

Add to that, the news had exposed her as Simpson’s victim—the teenager who’d sent him to jail. She was no longer a minor, protected from being named. But she was no shrinking violet, and she’d wear her reputation with her head held high. She was a survivor, not a victim.

She had weathered the police interviews and given as much evidence as she could. She’d walked into the courthouse and watched the monster be arraigned. The prosecutors had argued to have bail denied, and the judge had come through because Simpson was a danger to children and a flight risk.

Jeanine took a deep breath and painted lipstick over her lips. Today was the beginning of the rest of her life. Today, she’d take the first step toward true recovery. Alone, by herself. The best way to go.

“You almost ready?” Tina shouted through the doorway. She was driving Jeanine to the Trail’s End Recovery Ranch in northern Arizona, a specialized resort for those needing therapy and rehabilitation from their addictions. “You’re going to have so much fun.”

“I might as well go out in style,” Jeanine said out of the side of her mouth. “Look at me, so high on tranquilizers I can’t even drive. Do I look loopy to you?”

“You’ll be fine.” The smaller woman reached up and put her arm around her. “I can’t get over everything he did to you. I had no idea you were protecting me and Madge.”

“Better me than you.” Jeanine grabbed her rolling suitcase. “I’m going to pretend this is a long overdue vacation.”

“It is. I was looking through the online brochure.” Tina chirped merrily as she locked the door and jingled Jeanine’s car keys.

Oh, yeah. Tina was going to enjoy driving that BMW around with the top down.

“I’m not going horseback riding,” Jeanine said. “I can’t imagine getting my butt bounced on a hard saddle would be therapeutic.”

“But they said the horses are gentle and soothing,” Tina said. “Or you can do the meditation program or the sweat lodge.”

“I just want to get well.” Jeanine took one last look at her neighborhood and spotted him.

The stalker in the hoodie. What was his name? She’d forgotten. He came toward them, waving.

“What does he want?” Tina asked. “Is he a good guy or a bad guy? He’s kind of cute.”

“I don’t want to talk to him.” Jeanine turned around, but the man was faster.

“Don’t run off, miss,” he shouted. “I want to apologize.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Jeanine said, standing her ground. She reached into her purse. “How do you know I don’t have a concealed carry permit?”

“You wouldn’t shoot an innocent man.” The man grinned and put his hand out to shake. “Tyson Jewell.”

“Excuse me? What did you say your name was?” Jeanine’s hand closed around the pepper spray.

“Tyson Jewell. I should have introduced myself in the medical building, but I was under orders not to.”

“Who are you?” Jeanine’s mouth went dry and her heart lurched in her chest. Why were all these Jewells suddenly popping up? Two weeks ago, she’d gotten a letter forwarded to her for Janine Jewell, her name spelled wrong—and then there was the tombstone in her dream.

“I’m your brother,” Tyson said. “I should have been watching out for you when Simpson attacked. I failed. My other client had an emergency and I had to take her to the hospital.”

“My brother?” All the air left Jeanine’s body. Her stomach felt like someone had punched it hard, and her legs wobbled.

He reached out and steadied her. “Sorry for the shock, but as soon as Simpson got out of jail, I’ve been tracking you.”

“You aren’t the only guy stalking me. Were you aware of another one? He took pictures of me outside my friend’s house.”

“He’s Kirk Kennedy’s brother. That’s why I told you that Kirk had ulterior reasons for making contact with you. His family paid for Simpson’s attorney fees. Simpson was Kirk’s coach and the guy who helped him get into professional baseball.”

“You’re saying Kirk’s brother stalked me?”

“They ransacked your apartment looking for those love letters.” Tyson turned and leveled a glare at Tina. “And you purposely left the door unlocked and let them in.”

Tina’s face turned bright red and she quailed. “I did not. It was an accident.”

“No, it was an act. I wouldn’t trust this little waif as far as I can spit.” Tyson wedged his body between Jeanine and Tina. “In fact, if I were you, I’d throw her out of the apartment and change the locks.”

“But, why should I believe you? How do I even know you’re who you say you are?” Jeanine brought the can of pepper spray out of her purse. “No one ever told me I had a brother before. How old are you?”

“Twenty-eight. One year younger than you.”

“So, you’re saying our mother had you after abandoning me? Who is she? Where is she? Did she keep you and not me?”

“She kept me. Yes. We have a few other sisters she gave up for adoption.”

“So, she kept popping out babies, and gave them away? Is she still alive?”

“She is. Do you want to see her?”

“No!” Jeanine raised the spray can. “Never. She threw me out like a ragdoll and now she wants a reunion?”

“She cares about you.”

Jeanine’s hands shook and adrenaline surged through her veins. “You can tell her, if this isn’t all one big lie and joke, that she threw me away when I was two months old, and by now, she knows what kind of life I lived at the foster homes, so she can take her belated concern and shove it.”

She grabbed Tina by the arm, dragged her away from Tyson, and went back to her apartment.

“I’m sorry I left the door open,” Tina whined. “They gave me money and said it was a joke. They wanted your underwear.”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Jeanine glared at her foster sister. “You betrayed me. You let Simpson into my apartment. What if I’d been there?”

“That’s why I waited for you to go to Vegas,” Tina said, pulling on Jeanine’s sleeve.

“What kind of friend are you?” She unlocked the door and pushed Tina inside. “Why’d you come back? So you can set me up again? Pack your stuff and leave, or I’ll call the police.”

“But Lennie, he beat me,” Tina blubbered. “He took all the money they gave me.”

“I can’t keep helping you if you won’t help yourself. Report him to the police. Do something.”

“I can’t. I’m sorry I let them in, but I swear I won’t open the door to anyone. Simpson’s in jail. He won’t be coming back.”

Jeanine palmed her hands over her aching temple. “What did he say when you let him in?”

“He said he was looking for the letters. The ones you wrote to him. He seemed to think you had them.”

“I never wrote him anything he didn’t dictate, and I threw out all the letters the day he went to jail.”

But even as she said this, another memory intruded. Kirk had mentioned the letters. He’d even quoted phrases from them. How did he know unless George had told him?

Had it all been an act? And had George accidentally shot Kirk when he’d meant to shoot her? No wonder Kirk wasn’t looking her up and he was no longer a friend.

Jeanine watched as Tina grabbed a duffle bag and piled her things into it. Had she no friends other than Marcia and Brock? What if they, too, turned on her? What if she truly had no one?

Only the paranoid survive.

After Tina departed, Jeanine called the locksmith and had him rekey her front door, again. The psych meds took the edge off the pain in her heart, but nothing could fill the emptiness inside of her. Tina’s betrayal hurt, but Kirk’s loomed even larger. He’d known exactly when she’d be out of town and had tipped off his brother who was in league with Simpson, her violator, to go through her things.

How could he do that to her and kiss her like she meant something to him? Act like he’d cared? No wonder he wasn’t darkening her doorway. He knew the gig was up.