by Natalie Wrye
When I see myself there on the home plate, hands raised up.
The feel of the baseball bat’s wood between my fingers is like finally coming home, and with every second the crowd roars, with every moment of eye contact between the pitcher and myself—a silent battle witnessed by a hundred thousand faces—I become free.
A man at peace.
It’s the only place in my life where I have complete control.
And I use those twenty minutes before my first at-bat to remember that.
But not today.
Today I can’t remember a thing.
Because the only thing I can think about is the woman I keep telling myself I don’t want…and the little girl I’m convincing myself can’t be mine.
I push my headphones farther into my ear.
The sounds of Jim Morrison and The Doors can’t even help me now, my normal concentration shattered.
Out of my element, I don’t even notice the brunette waiting for me in the stadium’s visiting team tunnel.
Until she places a hand on my skin.
I nearly jump out of my uniform, my voice a growl. I drop the headphones.
“Jesus. Fuck.” I turn. I notice the huge eyeglasses first. “Naomi?”
“Surprise, asshole.” My first ‘asshole’ of the day, and she smiles, a wide one I can admit I missed. She reaches in for a hug. “D’ya miss me?”
“You mean have I missed being harassed and called every damn name in the book?” I hug her back. “Hell yeah. What took you so long? I thought you were coming in an hour ago.”
“I was. But the snow still hadn’t let up. There was a delay.” She shrugs in a casual colored t-shirt and jeans, looking less worried than ever.
I’m used to the practical Naomi. The punctual Naomi. The pushy Naomi.
But this version, fresh out of New York, is more laid back than ever before, her brown eyes smiling behind her bifocals as she gazes up at me. Meanwhile, I’m a mess.
I try hard to pretend that I’m not. “You seem different.”
“Do I?” She hides a smile. “Maybe it’s because I have good news. Maybe it’s that Stephan called and reported that The Firm found Deborah Jett.”
My heart separates from my body, its beating stopped. “The Firm found what?”
“They found her, Sev. We found her.” Naomi grins, tilting those dark frames up her nose. “She’s staying in a hotel in New York. Under her own name, no less.”
“A hotel?” My heart falls flat. “Which one?”
“You’re never going to believe this.”
“Give me a try.”
“I’d tell you to guess…”
“But you know I’m not going to. Nome,” I can barely keep myself in check. “Which hotel is she staying at?”
Naomi starts to pick at that red nail, and I know I’m not going to like the news. She sighs. “The Waldorf Astoria?”
My poor heart. It’s forgotten how to work at this point. And I nearly can’t breathe. I take a step forward, seeing red. “The Wal-goddamned-dorf Astoria?” I close my eyes. “How can she afford it?”
“I don’t know.”
“And why would she need a million dollars from me if she can?”
“Makes you think, doesn’t it?”
“Alright.” I manage to open my eyes. “Let’s get Kayla on it. She’s been doing a great job so far.”
Naomi nods. “She’s already all over it. Stephan’s sending her to New York to retrieve her. And make sure she doesn’t slip out of sight again.”
“Great. That’s great.” I nod, feeling numb, my body unmoving.
Naomi squints at my face. “Wait, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head, trying to clear it. “Nothing at all.”
Naomi’s long lashes flutter behind her blocky frames. “I thought you’d love this kind of news. Sev,” she stresses. “This is pretty much proof, isn’t it? Proof that she’s lying? This basically shows that this whole blackmail ordeal is a lie.”
A lie.
If Naomi’s right—and she does sound right—then I should feel great.
I should feel on top of the world that I can stay in the existence I’ve built for myself. Loyal to no one. Not Charlie and this case or the woman who’s come into my life because of the former two—Emily.
Loyal, faithful and devoted to nothing but baseball.
So why the hell do I feel so damn shitty?
I didn’t let many people into my life.
Sawyer. Lenny. Those two lugheads were always there.
My friendship and bar co-ownership with Deacon Cross and Kayla, his fiancée.
Anything more was left back in my college years. When I’d almost fell over an emotional cliff.
I’d long ago pushed my ex-girlfriend Kimmy and ex-roommate Finley’s betrayal to the back of my mind. Or so it seemed.
But had Emily been right? Was my solitary life bullshit?
No wives. No fiancée’s. No girlfriends.
I lived my life in the limelight, and lately, it was as if there was no room for anyone but me.
The lights are still bright in the Scottsdale baseball stadium. They always are.
But tonight?
Tonight, they are full on-blazing, blue-white fluorescent beams of eye-frying radiation, and I consider, for the first time in my life, if living my life this way—married to my career—is actually what I want.
After a few minutes of finishing up with Naomi, I head towards the field, stuffing Jim Morrison back into my ears, feeling lonelier under the spotlight than ever before.
EMILY
I’m not a baseball girl. Far from it.
I don’t like the smell of beer in the air. I don’t like the loud horns. Or the foam fingers.
Or the phony attempts at doing the wave.
I don’t like any of it.
But what I do like is the eight-year old beside me, having the time of her life. Little Charlie hops in her sneakered feet, taking it all in.
The excitement of the stadium is radiating through her bright eyes, and with every announcement from the loudspeakers, with every hard-thump beat through the loud surround sound, I can feel her elation amp up, a contagious energy emanating from her as she turns to me for the fortieth time, green gaze wide and full of wonder.
She pulls on my jersey like a tug on the string. “When’s Sevin coming out?”
“Soon.” I assure her. Again. “He’s coming out soon, I promise.”
But that’s all I can promise.
Tonight? Tonight is for her enjoyment.
But who knows what tomorrow holds?
Maybe her mom will come back. Maybe not.
Maybe this entire blackmailing scheme will be exposed as the sham it is, and maybe this case will end in complete flames, with Sevin’s career going with it.
Or maybe Sevin will step up. Prove himself to be the man he’s showed glimpses of.
Maybe there’s a different man, one capable of caring more than he lets on—buried beneath the singular focus and striped uniform. A man I could fall for.
Trouble is: Whatever man Sevin Smith is, someone else has definitely already fallen for him: A now rambunctious eight-year old with similar eyes.
Charlie’s cheers grow to earsplitting level as the announcer chimes back in over the intercom, introducing the Chicago Cougars players one-by-one.
Starting with the league’s last MVP.
Sevin himself.
He emerges from the stadium tunnel, dark cap on, stubbled jaw set on his handsome face.
But there’s nothing smiling about this version of him, and I take my first glance at Sevin, the serious athlete, scared to death of what I will see.
I sit down as the first inning kicks off, the Cougars filing into their defensive positions as the Milwaukee Bruisers ready to take their at-bats.
I can barely breathe.
With my new Chicago Cougars baseball cap and jersey on, I feel like a new woman standing here watching him. Watchin
g them all.
Denim shorts have replaced the Armani skirt suit for once, and with my ponytail slipped through the back of the cap, I barely recognize myself, catching a glimpse of my reflection in Charlie’s shiny sunglasses.
I don’t recognize the look on my face.
It’s fun sitting there. And I’d forgotten what fun looked like.
The last Bruiser at bat is out after three strikes, and with only one run in the first inning, the team trails by the end of the second as Sevin saddles up to the batter’s box to hit.
Even from this distance, he is an Adonis among men.
Dark cap on over his darker hair, broader shoulders fitted into the black and white striped uniform, he fills out the fabric as if born into it.
His strong jaw is visible from our front row seats, and through the darkened stubble, I can make out the angle of his razor-sharp jaw, remembering what the sharp dark hair there felt like between my fingers.
Against my neck. Over my collar.
He fits his helmet over his cap and I hold my breath.
The catcher gets into position as the pitcher sets up, and a pitch faster than a blink comes flying in Sevin’s direction.
I barely see the swing of his bat, but I do see the baseball that comes careening off it. Over left field and halfway center, Sevin sends the white ball of yarn soaring towards the crowd.
In an arc that crashes over the fence, it lands among the crowded bleachers to a horde of screaming fans, and the billboards light up all around us, drawing a scream from my throat I didn’t know I could give.
Two words. Flashed everywhere.
Home run.
He circles the bases, a smile finally back on his face, and my eyes follow him, my heart swelling to twice its size inside my chest.
Charlie tugs on my jersey. Tug tug tug.
“Did you see Sevin?” Charlie exclaims on the edge of her seat. “He sent that ball flying, didn’t he?”
“He certainly did!” I grin back, barely hearing her over the cheers. I hug her close.
“Mommy always said he was the best player in all of baseball. Daddy used to say it, too.”
The eight-year old’s words are muffled against me as she clings to my side. But I hear those sentences loud and clear, glancing down at her, scarcely hiding the surprise on my face.
“Your mommy and…daddy, Charlie?”
“Yeah,” she repeats, “my mommy and daddy. Sometimes when we’re back at home, mommy lets me watch Sevin’s games. Well, when daddy’s not around.” Her eyes dim. “He’s not around much anymore.”
“He’s not?” My heart beats even harder than when I was cheering. “Why not?”
“They fight a lot nowadays. He doesn’t stay much at our house anymore.” A small frown imprints itself across her face, but she doesn’t stop. Her face lights up again, eyes excited. “Mommy’s lawyer is there a lot now. Sevin says you’re a lawyer.”
I nod. “I am.”
“Mommy says lawyers help families out. She says when families are in trouble, they help them figure things out. That’s why I want to be a lawyer. Just like you. So I can help families like mine. So I can help daddy.”
The notion of this ‘daddy’ of hers draws me near. My negotiation skills aren’t the sharpest these days, but I try them on Charlie anyway, hoping she’ll tell me the truth.
Hoping she’ll help me figure out her family.
Sevin’s career depends on it.
“If you don’t mind, Charlie,” I bend towards the little human, straining to hear her, “what’s your daddy’s name?”
“His real name?” She thinks. “It’s Finley. My dad’s name is Finley.”
Chapter 13
EMILY
Friday night
Arms full of foam fingers, my coat pockets full of peanuts, I land on the hired driver’s black leather back seat after the Cougars beat the Bruisers 5-4, jumping in beside Charlie who sports a grin so large it takes up all the space on her pretty face.
Sevin lands last, jumping towards the large truck’s passenger-side seat, his breath emitting in heavy huffs as he shuts the door behind us, directing the driver to go.
If it weren’t for potential onlookers who might connect Charlie and Sevin in any way, we might have stayed.
Part of me wants to.
But with Kayla missing in action, taking off to track down Charlie’s mom, Charlie and Sevin are now my charges.
But tonight is the most fun I’ve had…hell, since I can remember. I can’t recall a single day that work wasn’t on my mind.
And even with Charlie’s little revelation during the game, I find myself enjoying the night, putting off the thought of Sevin’s case until tomorrow.
Even the thought of all that I have to do for The Firm is like a flicker in the back of my subconscious. Because the second Sevin stares at me across the seat, he snuffs that flicker out with a disarming smile, giving me that glimpse of his silly side—a side I love seeing.
I roll my eyes with a grin and the incorrigible athlete laughs softly, his full lips widening beneath his dark baseball cap, his warm voice a rumble inside the truck.
He directs his attention back to the windshield without looking at me.
“Well, at least we know how much Charlie likes baseball. So, what about you, Emily?”
I hug my elbows, still rubbing away the cold from my skin. “What about me?”
“Did you enjoy the game?”
“I did. And I usually don’t like anything that requires balls flying at my face.”
He laughs again, making Charlie giggle, the truck warming with their melodic sounds. I can’t help but join in.
“The balls wouldn’t be flying at your face, if you actually used your hands to catch the fly balls instead of your nose…” Sevin trails off, humor shining from his half-hooded eyes. “Isn’t that right, Charlie?”
“That’s right!” She chimes in beside me.
“See, even the grasshopper agrees.”
Charlie sneers, tucking one side of her sandy hair behind her ear. She squirms in the seat. “Yuck. I don’t want to be a grasshopper. I want to be a lawyer. Like Emily. When I grow up.”
I wink in her direction. “But if I’m an animal, I want to be something else. Something cuter…” She ponders, tapping her chin with one finger. “Like Felix.”
“You mean that demonic hallway cat?” Sevin shoots a glance at us while we laugh. “Oh no, unh unh, anything but that. You gotta have another animal you’d rather be, Charlie. Pick any other.”
“Mmmm,” the little girl hums beside me, adorable as ever. Glancing over her shoulder out the rearview window, she bounces back down in the car’s back seat, inspiration making her green eyes go wide.
“How about an ant?”
Sevin’s head whirls around. “An ant?”
“Yeah, an ant,” she reaffirms. “They always work on a team. Like a baseball team. Or like us. Me, you and Emily. We’re like a team…” She glances up at Sevin. “Aren’t we?”
I glance up to notice a rare sight: Sevin—stunned. With Charlie, he’s no longer the franchise player on the field, Mr. Baseball Royalty, or Mr. Flirty MyNeighbor App, the arrogant player living upstairs or the demanding client.
He’s someone different.
He’s the same someone he was when we were alone in his hotel suite: A walking dichotomy. The best of two worlds.
Hard and soft. Tender and tough.
And somehow Charlie brings out every bit of both. His stare softens on his face, his jaw growing slack. He lifts his chin.
“Of course we’re a team. The best team.” He glances at me. “Emily?”
I nod, emotion making the words heavy in my mouth. “Yes, we definitely are.”
Our gazes clash and for a second, the business-like defenses Sevin and I regularly raise against each other fall.
For just a second.
Charlie breaks the moment when she chimes in again.
“Plus, ants are really good at
knowing how to play ‘Follow the Leader.’” She juts a tiny thumb over her shoulder. “Just like that silver car behind us is following.”
I glance back, feeling a chill down my spine when my eyes land on a silver sedan trailing twenty feet behind, its windows tinted. I don’t remember seeing the silver car when we left the game…or maybe I wasn’t looking.
Either way, in the next few seconds, I realize that she may be right. When we turn a corner through the rapidly falling darkness of night, there the car is again.
Behind us. Like a little ant.
Following the trail of bread crumbs.
I place a hand over my heart, finding it beating hard. I turn back around to face the car’s front.
“Sevin…” I start.
But he’s already looking at me, his brow furrowed. “I see him. What the hell does he think he’s doing?”
“From the looks of it,” I murmur, peeking behind us, “‘Following the Leader.’” I swallow around a knot in my throat. “Got any idea who this guy in the sedan might be?”
He shakes his head underneath his baseball cap. “None.” His voice lowers, a menacing hint underlying its tone. His stare tightens out the rearview window. “And I’m not exactly trying to find out.” He glances at the driver. “Think you can go any faster? We’re in a bit of a hurry.”
The driver simply nods.
Stepping on the gas, the silent driver accelerates, sending the large truck speeding forward. And still the silver sedan remains behind us, no longer keeping a safe distance.
The night sky twinkle teasingly over the horizon as we sail through Scottsdale’s orange-dusted streets, and still the hired driver pushes the speed limits…and some of my own limits.
I check Charlie’s seatbelt making sure it’s secure, and as the truck’s tires screech slowly around another corner, I feel the bottom of my stomach drop out, my heart climbing up into my throat.
I croak out loud. “Are we sure we want to go this fast?”
Sevin’s stare sears me. “Just until we lose the sedan. I’m not having whoever this creep is catch up to us.”
I listen to the truck continue to accelerate, my pulse pounding a dangerous rhythm. “He won’t have to do much to catch up to us…” I hiss, leaning forward to face him. “If we’re corpses. It’s dark out now, and the winds are picking up. It’s not safe.”