Night Games (12 page)

“Shouldn’t you be on your way there now?”

“Why are you still in Stockton?”

My head is pounding, and I don’t know if it’s because of the heat or whatever shit Terry’s trying to pull. He’s not happy that it got out that I was apparently at a strip club last night, and he’s reprimanding me by not giving me a heads-up about the early end to my rehab assignment. He could have called. He could have sent me a text. But no, he let me get blindsided by the media, maneuvering behind my back. He’s going to pay for this. Now how am I going to make things right with Grey when I have to fucking get in a car and get my ass back to New York? I can’t lose this girl. Yeah, I fucked things up, but I have to let her know I didn’t mean it. I was just too childish to admit I was wrong when I had the chance.

Maybe she’ll reach out to me. If not, I’m going to have to take some drastic action to get her back. There’s no way I’m letting her out of my life. I can’t let her slip away, not after experiencing what it was like to feel her skin beneath my fingertips.

She’s mine, and the whole world is going to know it soon enough.

Chapter Fifteen

Grey

“Was that who I think it was?” Jack, my landlord, asks as he rolls up alongside of me in his SUV, the gravel popping beneath his all-terrain tires.

He’s on his way down the mountain and I’m on my way up. He must have been checking out his tree stands or cutting down some brush. No doubt he saw Chase fly out of here like a bat out of hell. There’s no denying it now.

“Yeah, can you believe it?” I respond, feigning enthusiasm.

“Do I even want to know why one of the greatest shortstops of all time was racing off my property?

“Probably not.”

“Jesus, girl.” Jack removes his scuffed Kings cap, wiping his brow in consternation.

Jack and I always talk about the Kings whenever we see each other. It’s our thing. We discuss stuff like who’s up next in the pitching rotation and where they are in the standings. We relive the jaw-dropping plays when they’re winning and groan over everything from the batting order to the bullpen when they’re losing. When it comes to the Kings, we analyze everything. So how am I ever going to explain to him what Chase was doing here?

“Would you believe he’s my long-lost cousin?”

“Not a chance.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

“Listen, Grey. If you don’t wanna tell me, it’s none of my business. Even though I would have really liked to have gotten his autograph.”

“Man, you too?”

“What? Don’t tell me you didn’t get one off him.”

“Nope, can’t say that I did.”

“Grey, if you give a guy like that the milk without making him buy the cow, how does that benefit you?”

“Shit, Jack. I didn’t sleep with him, if that’s what you’re implying.”

His face reddens in embarrassment and I’m sort of glad. What? Does everyone jump to the conclusion that Chase bangs every woman he comes in contact with?

“Nah, darling. I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m sorry, but you’re too smart a girl to let yourself be used like that.”

I sidestep the issue and try to diffuse his curiosity. “I was just hiding him out for a friend when things got a little dicey at Buster’s Crab Shack last night. He got swarmed by a bunch of fans and he needed to make a run for it. So I brought him here.”

“Uh huh, so that’s why the Kings are claiming he was at a strip club all night. Sounds more like they’re covering for his time with you.”

Jack doesn’t know anything about my stint at The Blue Room, and I want to keep it that way. He has no clue how close to the truth he really is. I don’t know what he’d think of me if he found out I was employed there not too long ago.

***

When I wanted to quit The Blue Room, Stanley Larson, the owner, wasn’t exactly pleased. He thought he had me locked up for the next several years. I was young. I was new. I was a commodity to be bartered and sold. Sure, I was klutzy, but he detected that I was starting to attract a following. Guys were waiting for the finale, staying longer and buying more rounds at the bar. He dangled me like bait, making me take center stage for the last number, not letting me hide in the background anymore.

At first, my costume resembled a skimpy bikini, but by the time I left, it was nothing but a thong with two tassel-adorned pasties over my nipples. I couldn’t do it anymore, and I refused to go onstage, especially when Stanley started letting the customers get a little too hands-on with me. Security stood back as they slapped my ass and tucked dollar bills into the jeweled strap of my spiked heel. I knew the longer I stayed, the deeper I’d get mired in that quagmire. I had to get out while I still could.

When I didn’t show up for my Friday shift, Stanley called me nonstop, blowing up my phone with threatening voice mails and text messages. The next night he sent a bouncer to my trailer to scare some sense into me, and that’s when I purchased a gun. The guy didn’t force his way in, but he did shove his fist through my screen door. It was then that I realized what sort of scumbags I was dealing with.

I called Stanley and demanded that he call off the dogs. I was done. I wasn’t coming back, and he was just going to have face it. He needed to find someone else to close the show. I never intended to make a career out of stripping. I was just looking to blow off some steam, but now I was done—for good.

Stanley told me that if I wanted my last paycheck, I’d have to come down and get it in person, so we could say goodbye to each other properly. I knew it was a trap, but with the startup expenses of moving into the trailer, I needed the money. I had to give Jack a month’s rent plus a security deposit, and it required way more cash than I had in the bank. With my credit cards maxed out, I knew I was in over my head.

I had just started working at the department store, and I was making a lot less than what I was used to earning at The Blue Room. What I raked in stripping weekends at the club was about what I was pulling in for a solid month working behind a cash register at the mall. I was probably crazy to give it up, but I didn’t want to degrade myself anymore. I was on a slippery slope that probably would have ended in prostitution, porn, or worse. Stanley was known to put his girls on a fast track if they were bringing in a lot of dough. He had his hands in all kinds of shady business endeavors. I should have known there was no such thing as easy money.

When I arrived to pick up my check, it was still daylight out and the club wasn’t open yet. My stomach lurched when I saw Stanley’s Harley sitting in the lot. He was there. I tucked a spray bottle of mace in the hip pocket of my jeans and knocked three times on the unmarked door in the side alley. There were used condoms on the ground near the overflowing dumpster, and bits of broken glass from cracked beer bottles littered the sidewalk. I held my breath as the door opened. A big, strapping dude was guarding the entrance, so I ducked under his arm and slipped into the darkened bar area.

But the security guy immediately grabbed my elbow, dragging me toward Stanley’s smoke-filled office in the back. I tried to fight him off, but he was too strong. I knew I was in trouble when I saw Stanley, cigar in hand, with his feet propped up on the desk, waiting for me. My burly escort hurled me into the room, quickly closing the door behind him. I was alone with Stanley as he started stroking his straggly beard, sizing me up.

I wish I could say that what I did next was something I regret, but knowing that it bought me my freedom, I don’t feel all that shitty about it. Stanley’s request was not one I expected, and I kind of thought he was letting me off the hook. I didn’t have to suck his dick or give him a hand job. What he wanted was completely out of left field, but it was something I was willing to deliver.

***

“Well, I guess I won’t have to worry about Chase Whitfield trespassing on my land anymore. He’s supposedly starting tonight in New York.”

Jack’s announcement hits me like a fastball to the head. Chase left Stockton? When did this happen? He wasn’t supposed to get called up this soon. He only played one game with the Beavers. He couldn’t even get a ball out of the infield and they expect him to turn things around overnight? He’s going to come out of the gate looking weak. They need to give him more time to get back up to speed. The fans won’t be patient if his long-awaited return is a dud. The media will eat him alive if his comeback fails. His psyche is so fragile right now. By rushing him back, the Kings might be doing him more harm than good, and they shouldn’t need a sports psychologist to tell them that.

“That’s ridiculous.” I try to play if off, but I’m worried about Chase. Things ended badly between us. The last thing I want is to throw off his game. No matter what we said to each other, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I’m one of the contributing factors to him going down in flames. I’ll always be a Chase Whitfield fan, no matter what. I can’t help it.

“Yeah. I thought he might have told you about it.”

“No. I don’t think he knew this was happening.”

“It’s most likely management stirring the pot, getting him back in line. Whit is paying the price for all of Drake’s nonsense.”

And boy, does Drake Schultz have a track record. He’s the highest-paid player in the majors after scoring a record-setting contract from the Kings two years ago. Before that, he’d bounced around from team to team but always yearned to play for the Kings with all their history and tradition…and winning. Problem was, he always played shortstop, and there was no way the Kings would ever replace Chase at that position. He was their franchise player, the one they built an entire dynasty around. Drake eventually caved, saying he’d move over to third, and the Kings jumped all over him.

What’s sad is that Chase and Drake used to get along. They came up as rookies together, albeit on different teams. When they played against each other, they’d stay at each other’s apartments, and they hung out together during All-Star games. It was a friendship made in baseball heaven—until things turned ugly. One winter, Drake made an off-hand remark that people only thought Chase was good because he was on a successful team and that he was riding the coattails of his more experienced teammates.

Despite having the stats to dispute Drake’s jealous claim, Chase didn’t fight back in the press. Instead, he cut all ties with Drake, viewing him as a traitor. Chase didn’t even attend Drake’s wedding, where he was supposed to be the best man. The only follow-up comment Chase ever made about their fallout was that he was disappointed that Drake had to make statements like that to the media when he should have told him off the record to his face.

Drake tried several times to apologize, saying that his remarks had been taken out of context, even though the AP reporter stood by his story, claiming that he had Drake making his bogus statements on tape. The bad blood between the two came to a boil when Drake ended up joining the Kings, making more money than Chase. Some time had passed since their heated exchange, and they both smiled for the cameras during Drake’s signing ceremony in New York. But once the season got underway, they kept their distance in the dugout, only bumping fists and tapping helmets when they absolutely had to. They were professionals and knew what type of behavior the Kings expected of them. They didn’t let their ongoing feud interfere with the game, even if they ate in different restaurants on the road and barely acknowledged each other in the locker room.

And Drake let the thrill of playing in a big market corrupt him. New York is the city that never sleeps, and neither did Drake. He rarely made it home to his mansion in the Connecticut suburbs, preferring to live it up in his bachelor pad in Manhattan. His wife soon got tired of his lies, catching him in a full-on orgy when she was nine months pregnant with their second child. Needless to say, she filed for divorce, and Drake went completely off the rails, dating celebrity after celebrity, giving outrageous interviews, and making a habit of turning up late to the ballpark.

His batting average dipped below three hundred. His home run production tanked. His on-base percentage was pathetic. Fans started to taunt him when he came to the plate, only to have him strike out more often than not. The Kings’ front office knew they had made a mistake, but it was too late. They were locked in. Drake signed a multi-year contract whereby he would most likely end his career as a member of the New York Kings. No one was going to pick up his bloated salary with subpar production numbers like that. For better or for worse, the Kings were stuck with him.

And now that Chase’s contract is up for renewal at the end of the season, the Kings are probably looking to cut costs. They’re afraid that Chase is going to want as much as or more than Drake. So they’re out to lower his value any chance they can get. His injury. His absence. His reputation. It’s all going to come under the microscope when they open up negotiations. If the Kings think they can shave a million or two off and blame it on his bad behavior in Stockton, they’ll do it. Noah’s excuse for Chase’s whereabouts played right into their hands.

I break out into a cold sweat. Thank God I told Chase the truth before it was too late. I don’t think I could’ve lived with myself if he’d heralded our engagement and then had to suffer the blowback from it. People aren’t allowed to take pictures or record video inside The Blue Room, but it doesn’t mean they don’t do it anyway. I’m sure there’s some sort of evidence out there of me grinding on the catwalk. It’s only a matter of time until it surfaces. And God only knows what kind of security footage Stanley has. He could’ve easily conned Chase for some hush money. It makes my head spin to think just how much I could’ve cost Chase in terms dollars and cents as well as damaging his clean-cut image. I’m his worst nightmare come true, even if I happened to be the girl he was willing to marry. I bet he’s congratulating himself on his narrow escape.

“You all right, Grey? You seem a little dazed.” The rasp of Jack’s two-pack-a-day voice brings me back to the here and now. I really wish Jack would stop smoking. Look what it did to my mom.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Still a bit star-struck. That’s all. Chase Whitfield was here and just like that he’s gone. It’s hard to comprehend.” Now he’ll be back on my TV screen where he belongs, not a part of my actual life, where things get sticky and complicated. “Jack, you can’t tell anyone he was here. It has to remain between us, okay?”

“All right. All right. Your secret’s safe with me, even though you know I’m dying to tell everyone.” Jack is already pulling away as he shouts out the window. “You gonna watch the game tonight?”

“You know it.” I fake my level of excitement, giving him a big smile, like I can’t wait.

“Well, if he ever stops by again, make sure to get his autograph for me.”

“Will do.” I wave halfheartedly as Jack makes his descent down the mountain. I don’t let my shoulders slump until his SUV is completely out of view, holding back my tears until I’m able to stumble back inside my trailer.

Throwing myself on the bed, I give into my grief, curling up in the crevice his body made in my mattress. But the mental image of him lying here is too much to bear. So like an idiot, I get up and rush into the bathroom, only to see the towel he used hanging over the shower rod, and that’s when I lose it. I don’t want to let him go. Not yet. For one night in the course of his life, he was mine and no one else’s. I want to cling to that memory as long as I can while it’s still fresh, while there’s some piece of him still here with me.