I lick my lips, tasting the sourness of the memories he’s dredged up. “How is that possible?”
His smile sends goose bumps up my spine. “There’s something about the contest I haven’t told you yet. Another perk that goes with winning.”
“Which is?”
“The winning team gets to call one inning of an Arizona Diamondbacks game.”
I clean cheese off my fingers while my heart beats faster. “Regular season?”
“The real deal.”
“At the stadium? In the booth?”
He nods. “If we were to win this, you’d make it to the big leagues ahead of your dad.”
The napkin crumples in my fist. My breath comes short. I know it isn’t healthy to hate your dad. It isn’t healthy to want him to hurt.
That doesn’t change the way I feel.
There’s heat behind my eyes, but I won’t cry. I’m not the needy kid I used to be. It’s the one thing that haunts me: the memory of how pathetic I was. I thought we were a team when my father never cared about me.
But he cared about baseball.
Making it to the major leagues was the one defining dream of his entire life. Would it break him to see me in the broadcast booth of a major league game? To know I made it when he never did?
No. Of course not.
But would it hurt? Would it sting a little?
Yeah, it might.
Garrett smiles. “I found your why.”
I nod because there’s no denying it. “You found my why.”
Chapter Nine
“I love being right.” Garrett leans back. “You’d think I’d be used to it by now; it happens all the time.”
I toss my napkin at him.
He laughs, catching it with a deft flick of his wrist and tossing it back. “Everyone has a why, even if they don’t know it.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I drop the napkin in my basket. “Are you done gloating?”
Laughter seems to lighten the color of his eyes. “I will never be done gloating.”
I’m distracted from replying by the sound of plastic wrap. I blink and point to my brownie, which is now unwrapped and in his hand. “Hey. You stole my brownie.”
“We’re partners now, Walters. We share everything. Even chocolate.”
The word “partner” gives me pause, but I break off a corner when he holds out the brownie. “I’m still not saying yes. I don’t have time for revenge.”
“There’s always time for revenge.” He sets the brownie on a napkin between us where I can reach for more. “Is it your job? Because I only need you for two home games a week, usually Tuesdays and Thursdays.”
“It’s not that,” I admit. “Brandi is flexible with my schedule and my main shifts are Wednesday Book Club and Saturday Storytime.”
“Then what?”
“I run a business with my mom. AromaTher skin care.”
“Oh,” he says, as if he’s solved a puzzle. “That’s why you smell good.”
I roll my eyes but still feel an unwelcome spike of pleasure at the compliment. “You only think I smell good because you spent all that time in the booth with Nathan.”
“Possibly.” He splits the last piece of brownie and hands me half. “So can’t she give you six weeks off?”
“I’m not an employee. I’m a partner.”
“A partner?”
“It’ll be official when I turn eighteen in May.”
“Really? Is that your idea?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
A tick beats at the corner of his jaw. “I’ve got a father who wants me to go into business with him. And it’s definitely not my idea.”
“What kind of business?”
“Accounting. He has room for another tax guy.”
“And you’re a tax guy?”
“I’m good at math.”
“Is that the same thing?”
“No,” he says flatly. “And I hate accounting. But that’s a minor detail for my dad.”
I can feel his tension across the table, and I’m curious in spite of myself. “So you have a better plan?”
“I did.” He shakes the ice cubes in his cup, but I have the feeling he’d really like to launch them.
“Let me guess. Plan A was baseball.”
“And Plan B and Plan C. But now I’m supposed to embrace Plan Never-Going-to-Happen and move to Dallas.”
“Your dad lives in Dallas?”
He nods. “My parents are divorced.”
“So what are you going to do? You can’t pitch—not with a bad arm.”
“There are other things I can do to stay in the game.”
“Like broadcasting?”
“Broadcasting would be one option.” His eyes lower, shuttering his expression. I wonder if this broadcasting contest is about more than winning. If it’s a way for him to show his dad it’s a better career path for him. No wonder he’s been working this so hard.
Still. You have to know when to say when. Dreams are opportunities for disappointment—I’m an expert at that. I’m doing him a favor, even if he doesn’t realize it. I open my mouth, but he speaks before I do.
“Please, Josie.” His voice comes low, almost pleading.
My words dry up. My dad never once said please.
His eyes snag mine, holding me in the beam of his need. I feel myself waver. Beneath the Teflon charm, Garrett is actually afraid. He needs this.
Maybe I need this, too.
If I do it, maybe I can finally put my dad in the past. I can let it go once I show him his daughter is a winner, even if he never was.
My hands are sweaty as I clasp them together under the table. “All right. I’ll do it.”
A slow smile spreads across his face, showcasing perfect bone structure and a mouth that makes me think of kissing. He really is gorgeous, damn him. And he’s looking at me with so much warmth, I want to melt.
Nope. No way.
Instead, I stiffen my spine and focus on his nose. It’s an extremely average nose. “There are going to be rules,” I blurt out.
“Sure,” he says easily. “What rules?”
I pause. What rules? “Well. For starters, no extra games, no tournaments, no weekend showcases.”
“No problem. You don’t even have to call the playoff games. The contest entries are due May first at the end of the regular season so no team has an unfair advantage. You can be done once we turn in our tape. You won’t have to see me again until June twenty-sixth.”
“What’s June twenty-sixth?”
“The Diamondbacks game where you and I will broadcast an inning.” He blasts two finger guns at me. “What else?”
“We treat this like a business partnership. That’s it. I don’t like baseball players and I’m not making an exception for you.”
That brings another smile to his face. “We don’t have to be friends, Walters. We just have to kick ass on-air. So do we have a deal or not?”
I sigh. “We have a deal.”
He smacks a hand on the table in victory. Of course he’s happy—he got what he wanted. Me, I’m not sure how I feel. I want revenge, yes, but this deal forces me closer to a fire that already burned me once.
“We start tomorrow,” he says. “We have a home game at three o’clock.”
His gaze suddenly shifts toward the door and sticks. His expression turns serious. I follow his gaze and watch a man move toward the line to order. I recognize the logo on his shirt, but obviously Garrett recognizes more than that. He stands, giving me a quick, “One second.” He approaches the guy and they shake hands and exchange a few words. When Garrett steps back, I hear him say, “See you Saturday.”
Then he’s back at the table, his face set with determination.
Determined about what?
“You ready?” he asks, gathering our trash.
I can tell his mind is already somewhere else from the distant look in his eyes. I’m just not sure where.
“So who was that?” I ask a
s we head for the car.
“Kyle Masters.”
“He had a Saguaro High shirt on. Isn’t that Cholla’s biggest rival?”
He nods. “He’s a teacher there.”
“That was a baseball shirt.”
He clicks his key fob and his car squeaks twice. “He’s an assistant coach, too. Also runs a training program for kids on the weekends.”
“So what’s Saturday?”
“Plan E.”
“You have a lot of plans.”
He opens his door. “I don’t give up.”
We listen to music on the way back, and though Garrett taps his thumb on the wheel, I can tell he’s still far away. Plan E maybe? What exactly is he doing with an assistant baseball coach? Is he thinking about coaching as another way back into the game? I know he likes kids. Or is he still thinking that somehow he can make a comeback as a pitcher? I knew guys who tried it. Changed their delivery motions and ended up ruining their arms even more.
Doesn’t matter what he’s thinking, I remind myself. It’s none of my business. We’re partners and the only thing I want from Garrett Reeves is revenge.
Chapter Ten
“Seven facials,” Mom says, punctuating her words with a sigh. She drops her purse and briefcase on the counter and sets down the heavy case of AromaTher samples.
“You’re the one who wanted me to stay home tonight and work on the website.”
Thursdays are always Party Night. Mom and I meet with various women’s groups and demonstrate the AromaTher line of essential oils and skin care. But Mom was stressing, so I stayed home. Secretly, I’m happy. I knew tonight was going to be a lot of facials. I hate touching skin.
“Did you get a lot done?”
I stretch my arms and yawn. My eyes hurt from staring at the computer so it feels like I did, but I know it’s not as much as Mom was hoping. “I researched other sites and made a list of everything we need.”
“I thought you already had a list?” She pulls a stack of order forms from her briefcase.
“It’s a better list.”
I know I sound defensive, but it took forever to find sites I like, bookmark elements we need, and sketch ideas for the home page. I’m also feeling guilty for offering to do this in the first place when now I’m not sure I can. It made sense at the time. Part of my job when I become a partner will be running the website—I should be the one to update it. Plus, we’d save money. But I didn’t know I was going to be starting from scratch and I didn’t know how hard it would be. I still haven’t looked at my homework, plus I’ve got tomorrow hanging over my head. Another baseball game.
Mai is beyond excited about the whole thing. For the first time ever, she texted me two pics of tomorrow’s outfit: sleeves rolled up, sleeves buttoned at the wrists.
MAI: Which one?
ME: What have you done with my best friend? This doesn’t sound like her but those look like her bony wrists.
MAI: Sleeves down it is. See you in the AM.
“How was the party?” I ask. “Lots of sales?”
“Yes,” Mom says, brightening. She sets the full kettle on the burner and turns on the heat. “Which reminds me. One of the ladies asked if we could make an exception and do her gardening group next Tuesday afternoon.”
The Cholla Wildcat baseball schedule flashes in front of my eyes. “You can do it without me, right?”
“I’d rather not. It’s too many ladies for one person. We wouldn’t start until four. You’d still have time to get home and have something to eat.” She pauses with two mugs in her hands, her eyebrows raised in question.
I shake my head, and she puts one of the mugs away while my mind races. I don’t want to tell her about baseball, but I don’t see how I can avoid it. It’s going to last for six weeks. At least Mom has been breathing in lavender for the past hour. She’s as calm as she’s going to get.
“I kind of started this thing at school. I’m helping broadcast baseball games.”
“Baseball?” Her voice is a roller coaster climbing to a peak. “Since when do you go to baseball games?”
“I don’t. Ever. Except once this past week because of Mai.”
She fills a metal infuser with loose-leaf tea. “What does Mai have to do with baseball?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Give me the synopsis.”
I draw in a breath. “Mai has a crush so we went to the game, and the color guy was awful. Didn’t know baseball at all. I couldn’t help myself—I stepped in. And next thing you know…”
“You’re broadcasting the games?”
“Home games only.”
“Josie, what in the world.” She rubs her hands over her face even though she’s told me never to rub my face because it creates more wrinkles. “Why would you agree to this?”
“Because there’s a contest sponsored by the broadcasting school at ASU. If our team wins, we get to call an inning of a Diamondbacks game.”
“So?”
I realize I’ve twisted my hair in my hands and I’m holding on to it like a rope…or a lifeline. I let go. “If we win, I’ll make it to the Bigs.”
Her eyes darken as I repeat the words my dad used to say. “You’re doing this because of him? Honey, you have nothing to prove.”
“I know that.”
“Then why?”
I have to wet my lips before I can get the words out. “Because sometimes knowing something and feeling it are two different things.”
She covers my hand with hers. Her skin is so much softer than mine. Smoother. I feel hard, full of rough edges. “But if you do this…at what cost to yourself?”
“It’s not that bad. Without Dad there, it’s just a game. A game I happen to know really well.”
“But you’ll have to be around those people. That world.” Something flickers in her eyes. “Wait. You said color commentary. Who’s doing the play-by-play?” The kettle whistles, startling us both. She turns off the burner, barely taking her eyes from my face. “Josie?”
“His name is Garrett Reeves.” I feel my cheeks heating and from Mom’s narrowed gaze she sees it, too. “It’s not like that,” I say quickly.
“Not like what? Is he a baseball player?”
“He was. He’s hurt.”
“For heaven’s sake, Josie. Please tell me this isn’t about a baseball player?”
“Mom, please. I would never. It’s not like that.”
“Not yet,” she murmurs.
“Not ever. He wants a life in baseball. Even if I liked him, I could never trust him. He’s too much like Dad. And no way would I go back to that world.”
There’s a sadness in her eyes I haven’t seen in a while. “I know how it is, Josie. I lived it. High school sports—athletes—they live a charmed life and you feel charmed just being a part of it. It can suck you in if you’re not careful.”
“I’m always careful, Mom.”
“Keep it that way. I don’t want to see your heart broken again.” She runs her fingers down my cheek, her gaze far away. “Don’t fall in love with the wrong guy. Once you do, you’re never really over it.”
Chapter Eleven
I get to the game a little early, but Garrett is already there, setting up the equipment. Mai is in the stands, her chem book open on her lap, but she says she’ll look up at all the Anthony parts. I’ve thought about teaching her baseball, but her head is filled with things that will actually improve the world, so I decide not to.
“Anything I can do to help?”
“All done,” Garrett says. “I’m just checking the site to make sure the video is coming through.”
Sure enough, I can see the field on his laptop screen.
I set my backpack next to his on the floor and drag my stool forward so I have a clear view of the field. Today we’re playing the Arredondo Warriors.
“It’s a big game,” Garrett tells me. “The Warriors are always in the playoff hunt.” He pulls his key chain from his pack and I watch as he rubs the M t
wice before setting it on the counter.
“What was that?” I ask.
Pink creeps up his ears. “Nothing. Habit.”
I grin. “Garrett Reeves is superstitious?”
“Superstitions have been proven to build confidence and improve performance.”
He can’t quite meet my eyes, which is, well, kind of endearing. “They’re also sweet,” I say. “Like believing in unicorns.”
“Who doesn’t believe in unicorns?” He’s full-on blushing now, but he rubs the M again, kissing it for good measure. “Don’t disrespect the power of M.”
“The power of M? That’s a new one.” My chest rumbles with a laugh. “I’d forgotten about the superstitions.”
He hands me my headset. “But you like them?”
Faces flash in my mind—grown men who wouldn’t wash their socks after a win or shave their faces when they were on a streak. Even my dad had to have a blue Gatorade before every game he played or managed. “Superstitions have a way of turning huge egos into humans.”
Garrett’s smile is somehow both pompous and sweet. “I knew there was something.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Something you loved about the game.”
I slip on my headset. “One thing. And it hardly counts.”
“One thing now.” He winks. “But we’re just getting started.”
He cues up “The Star Spangled Banner” and we both stand as it plays over the speakers. Then the umpire gestures the start of the game and Garrett turns up the volume on our mics.
“Welcome to Wildcat baseball,” he says. “This is Garrett Reeves with Josie Walters. We’ll be bringing you the game today between Cholla and Arredondo. Cholla comes in to today’s game with a five and two record. The Warriors have the same winning record, which means we should be in for a good one.” He reads through the line-ups of both teams and then the game begins.
Garrett’s got an easy delivery. As the innings fly by, he calls the action clearly and without a lot of fuss. He’s also ridiculously positive, spinning a strikeout as a good at-bat, and ignoring a wild throw by our pitcher to focus on our catcher’s dive for it. Then Anthony is caught stealing in the fifth.
Announcing Trouble Page 5