Grand Slam

by Heidi McLaughlin

  When his hand reaches out, I lean forward and allow him to stroke my cheek. I find myself pushing into the softness of his fingers until he’s cupping my face. My skin tingles while my heart picks up speed. I step forward, placing my hand on his wrist where I can feel his pulse beating rapidly.

  Behind us, the door slams, and we jump apart. The voice mumbles an apology before disappearing.

  “Saylor.”

  I hold my hand up and shake my head. “Don’t. That was a mistake.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “But it was.” Wasn’t it? I don’t know, because I can’t look him in the eye and say those words. I don’t want him to see right through me, to see that I’d give anything to not need this job, and give into the longing that I feel for him.

  “I don’t know why you always shut me out.”

  “Because I could lose my job, Travis, and I have a daughter to take care of.”

  “So quit,” he says, as if it’s that easy.

  “And do what? Another night with you isn’t worth quitting my job. I’m sorry, but someone has to be the responsible one, and that’s me.”

  “We’d be good together,” he tells me as he steps forward and places his hand on my hip. We were good together, but sadly, as much as I want to, I don’t see a future with us.

  I step away, adding some much needed distance between us. “Is there a place we can sit down and talk before we meet with Stone and Wilson? I want to go over your schedule and make sure you’re in agreement with the events I’ve chosen. Plus, there are a few things we need to discuss.”

  “Discuss what, exactly?”

  I swallow hard and ready myself for the explosive temper that I know is going to rear its ugly head. “More women are coming forward, claiming you raped them, too.” I say the words so fast that they seem jumbled, but he catches every single one. I take another step back, and his baby blues turn almost black, his jaw clenches, and his fist flies into the wall.

  Seven

  Travis

  Saylor steps in front of me as my arm cocks back in preparation to pummel the wall again with my fist. She looks at me with fear in her eyes, scared that I’m going to hit her, which is something that I’d never do. My clenched hand hangs suspended in the air, my pulse beating rapidly and my breathing out of control. My chest heaves, and my heart races as her fingers ghost over my skin, her hand wrapping around my bloodied knuckles. The tension eases slightly, but the anger still lingers. I don’t think that will ever go away. It’s one thing to be accused of something that I’ve done. Being an asshole in the batter’s box, a prick in the clubhouse, the prankster with the team, but to have these inflammatory accusations being spread about me is ridiculous, and more importantly, they’re hurtful. Not only to my self-esteem, but also to my career.

  “Please stop. You’re going to hurt yourself.” Her voice is demanding, authoritative. She wants me to stop because it’s her job, not because she cares. When that’s all I want her to do, care about me.

  “All I am is a paycheck to you. Move out of my way, Saylor.”

  “Travis, please. You’re scaring me.” Gone is the boss, and in her place is the soft, sensitive woman who hasn’t given me the time of day since she left me at my house, pleading with her not to leave. To stay the night, in my arms, and have breakfast with me the next morning. That wasn’t the first time I’ve been rejected, but it was the first time I had longed for a woman so deeply that my heart hurt when she left.

  The grip of her hand on mine tightens, and even though it’s not enough to stop the force of my arm, she is. The fact that she’s standing in front of me, in the path of my fury, is enough for me to drop my arm. Saylor doesn’t let go of my hand, but her grip lessens.

  “We’ll get through this.”

  I want to ask her how, because I don’t see a way out. My reputation is tarnished, whether I committed the act or not. Everyone will remember that Travis Kidd was accused of rape, and my credibility with my teammates and the organization will be nil. It’s not going to matter what my performance is like next season, because this will always loom over my head and will be at the forefront of management’s mind when my contract comes up for renewal. No, it doesn’t matter what happens—I’m done, while the victim that I didn’t hurt gets to go on with her life.

  I step forward, placing my body within inches of Saylor’s. She breathes in, her chest rising and almost brushing against mine. When she lets go of my hand, I keep it at my side while my other hand finds a comfortable resting spot on her hip. I expect her to move, to push me away, but she doesn’t. She gazes up at me, and her tongue gently grazes her lips.

  In one swift motion, I pull her to me. Our bodies crash together as my lips press against hers. My heart tells me to go slow, to savor the moment, but my body is telling me to kiss her with reckless abandon, to show her how I feel. She whimpers and opens her mouth to me, giving me the access I so desperately need in order to kiss her the way I want, with urgency and determination. To show her that we belong together, despite everything that stands between us. Memories of the night we shared come rushing back, showing me how perfect and amazing we were together, taunting me, reminding me that I can’t have her, that she feels like I’m not worth the risk. But I am, and I want to show her that I’d be everything she needs in a man, and more.

  Stepping forward until she’s flat against the wall, I bend slightly to lift her up, never breaking away from her sweet mouth. She pulls her skirt up over her hips and wraps her legs around my waist, leaving me centered perfectly to take her, to rekindle the desire that I know we both share.

  Her fingers are in my hair while I grind against her. She pushes down on me, and I moan. When she whimpers, I thrust my hips, dry humping the fuck out of her so she doesn’t forget about me when she’s sleeping tonight.

  “Fuck, Saylor, I want you so bad.” She tightens her legs around my hips, using her crossed ankles to push me harder into her. Her head falls back, giving me access to her neck. With each bite and kiss I place, she mewls louder, and her hips buck. She needs this as much as I do.

  The slamming of the door has her squirming out of my hold and both of us in a panic. I turn, angling my body to protect her as I face the newest visitor. It’s the off-season, and hardly any of the players are in town, which is why I came here today. I wanted to be alone and not have to answer questions from my peers.

  “Kidd,” Wes Wilson, the manager of the Renegades, says as he comes around the corner. I hide my bloodied hand behind me and use it to continue to touch Saylor.

  “Hey, Skipper. Didn’t expect to see you here today.”

  Wilson came on last year, about midseason, after our manager suddenly retired. I’ve never had any issues with him, but I have a feeling that is about to change. He’s angling his body, trying to see past my shoulder to find out who is hiding behind me. Thing is, if he wants to know that bad, he’s going to have to come and force me to move. Embarrassing Saylor isn’t high on my priority list. She may be willing to fight the pull that we have toward each other, but I’m not.

  “Vacation was cut short.”

  I nod, understanding exactly what he means. He’s here because of me. I open my mouth to tell him I’m sorry, but I don’t want it to be an invitation to stay and talk. He takes my silence as his cue to leave.

  “We have a meeting in thirty. Make sure your plaything is gone.”

  My blood boils at his comment calling Saylor a plaything. She’s anything but, except she won’t see it like that. Not now. If I made any progress with her, it’s disappeared. I wait until the door closes again before walking around the corner to make sure he’s gone.

  “The coast is clear,” I tell her, coming back around the corner. She’s fixing her hair, even though she didn’t need to. That’s a part of her that I hadn’t gotten to yet because I was too consumed with kissing her and feeling her rub against my dick to even put my hands in her hair. Next time, though.

  Saylor brushes past me without
making eye contact; I reach for her, grabbing her wrist as she walks by. She stops, keeping her back to me.

  “Saylor.”

  “That was a mistake.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” I counter, trying to keep my voice from carrying. “Look at me, please.”

  She shakes her head and pulls her arm from my grasp. “I came here to tell you that we were meeting with Wilson and Stone. What we did—”

  “What we did was perfect. I don’t know why you keep fighting it.”

  Saylor turns and looks at me, her eyes cold and her stance rigid. “There’s nothing to fight. I won’t lie and tell you that I’m not attracted to you. I am, but I shouldn’t act on it. It’s unprofessional, and you’re…” She takes a deep breath. “You’re Travis Kidd, and that is enough to make me run the other way.”

  Before I can rebut anything she’s said, she’s gone, and the door is slamming, leaving me alone with my thoughts, with a bloodied hand and a hole in the wall.

  Defeated, I hang my head and ask myself what the fuck is going on with my life. Up until the other day, my biggest worry was finding a place to eat dinner while my housekeeper is on vacation. And now? Maybe I should run off to Florida and bask in the sun. Live like a bum on the beach and hide from everyone. I’m not under arrest, so technically I can leave, but what does that do? It makes me look guilty as fuck, and I’m not.

  After a quick shower, a shitty hand job to ease the tension left over from my make-out session with Saylor, and a half-assed wrapped bandage on my hand, I find myself sitting at a long table with the Renegades general manager Ryan Stone, Wilson, Saylor, and Irvin. I have a team of legal beavers, all meant to protect me from people who want to take advantage, and yet here I am.

  “Now that Travis is here, we can get started,” Saylor says. I’m hoping that she’ll look at me, but she doesn’t. Her eyes are focused on Stone and Wilson. “We think it’s best that Travis make some special appearances. I’ve gone through a few of the events coming up in the area and am confident that I’ll be able to secure him an invite.”

  “Even with the news that more women are coming forward?” Wilson asks. I liked him up until now, and now I want to smash his smug face into the table.

  “Mr. Wilson—”

  “Hold up,” I say, interrupting Irvin. I adjust in my seat to face Wilson, making sure he knows I’m speaking to him. “This accusation is only that. A made-up fucking story because I didn’t want to take her home the other night. I never touched her in any inappropriate manner whatsoever. I rebuffed her, and she got pissed. And suddenly there are all these other women supposedly coming forward? Why now? I’ve never had to beg for sex.” Everything I’ve said is true, minus the begging part. I’d get down on my knees and crawl if that’s what it took to get Saylor back into bed with me.

  The room grows quiet, and I like that I’ve stunned everyone. I fiddle with the pen in front of me, pushing the top up and down. The clicking is annoying, but I don’t care. Right now it’s soothing.

  “Saylor, you were saying?” Stone says, breaking the silence.

  She clears her throat. “Obviously, my plan will change if the DNA test comes back positive, but I don’t believe it will.”

  I glance up immediately and find her looking at me. I try to smile but fear it’s more like a grimace than anything. She believes me, and I wonder if she’ll ever know how much that means to me.

  “Anyway, I’d like to get Travis out in public. Continue his charity work and make sure that he’s mingling with people who will support him.”

  Irvin sighs and leans forward. “It’s an election year. With these other women coming forward, the district attorney is going to have a field day.”

  “I didn’t do anything to them either,” I say, defending myself.

  “You don’t even know their names,” Irvin adds, but that doesn’t make a difference.

  “Well, the way I see it, it’s her word against mine. Witnesses in the bar will see that I left without her. Besides, I didn’t give the police a DNA sample, so they’ll have to arrest me before I give that up.”

  I push away from the table and walk out the door. I can’t take any more of this shit. This bitch is fucking up my life, and there isn’t anything I can do about it.

  The bad news keeps piling up for Travis Kidd. It’s being reported that more women have come forward with similar allegations. Our attempts to reach Kidd or Irvin Abbott, his lawyer, have been unsuccessful.

  Under the condition of anonymity, an employee of the police department has said an arrest is imminent as the evidence against Kidd continues to pile up.

  After a call to the BoRe Organization, we were told that everyone was on vacation and to call back later.

  We’ll update you when we have more information.

  The BoRe Blogger

  Eight

  Saylor

  The articles about Travis are getting worse, and now the blog that covers the Renegades exclusively is reporting that an arrest is coming, which will make it almost impossible for me to do my job. Deep down, I know he didn’t do this, but I’m not certain that he didn’t do something to the others. I’m so torn on what to do, but coming forward with what I know isn’t worth the risks that I face.

  My apartment isn’t big by any means, but it’s warm and homey, and as I look at the Christmas tree with its lights twinkling against the rain-pelted window and the fire as it emits a soft glow over my living room, it shows me everything that I’ve worked hard to build. And I’m not willing to lose it because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The urge to even go into the bar was stupid. I should’ve walked past and kept going until I was home, but the letter from Lucy’s father really threw me for a loop.

  That letter sits on my coffee table next to my glass of hot apple cider, taunting me. I’ve read it over and over again, and each time it breaks my heart a little bit more. I know that I have to let him see her, to allow him to be a part of her life, but why now? How come the prior years weren’t enough for him to want to see her?

  I pick it up again and read Dear Saylor only to put it back down and grab my cider. It’s warm and somewhat satisfying but not strong enough to numb the pain and anxiety I feel. This week, I want a redo.

  The knock on my door is soft and sends my heart racing. I look over my shoulder and swallow hard before getting up and tiptoeing toward it. I’m not expecting anyone, and it’s far too late for company. My breath catches when I look through the peephole and see Travis standing on the other side. He’s wet from the rain and looks like he’s shivering. I rest my hand on the doorknob and pray that he goes away. Part of me wants to open the door and let him in, to let him finish what he started today, but I can’t. It’s unprofessional and against my contract. Fraternizing with the athletes will get me fired. I knew this when I slept with him the first time, and yet I risked it. But never again.

  He knocks again. It’s quiet and soft but enough for me to gasp and jump.

  “Saylor,” he says, his voice muffled by the door. “I know you’re there. I can see the shadow of your feet. Please, I have nowhere else to go.”

  I rest my forehead against the door while my hand moves slowly over the locks. First the chain, followed by the dead bolt, and finally the knob as I have an internal battle between right and wrong. I crack the door open, and the muted hallway light provides a path into my apartment. He’s been here before, a few nights after we got together. I refused to let him in, didn’t want him to see the damage that I had done to myself when I crashed my car. I didn’t want him to know that I regretted ever going home with him.

  He steps in and closes the door behind him softly. Is he being conscientious of Lucy, knowing that she’s sleeping, or is this how he is all the time?

  “Thank you,” he says, even though I haven’t done anything. Since he walked out of our meeting earlier today, I haven’t heard from him. My call to him went unanswered, and the message I sent, never replied to. I figured he needed time to decompress
and I didn’t want to bombard him. The business we have to tend to can wait.

  “For what?”

  “For letting me in. I know you don’t want me here.” His voice breaks, and his head hangs. This man’s world is falling apart, and I could fix it, but I’d lose mine in the process. I reach behind him and lock the door, not because I plan on letting him stay, but because if any fans or members of the press followed him up here, I don’t want them trying to get into my place.

  “It’s not that, Travis. Let me get you a towel.” I leave him standing by the door while droplets of water start to pool at his feet. When I return, he’s taking off his hat, jacket, and shoes. “Here ya go,” I say, handing him the towel. “I’d offer you a change of clothes, but I don’t think you’d appreciate wearing yoga pants and a sweatshirt that would barely cover you.”

  He laughs. It’s the first time in a couple of days that I’ve heard it. Usually, Travis is cracking jokes and making my eyes roll with his one-liners and classic schoolboy antics. There have been many rumors that he’s the jokester in the clubhouse, which I have no doubt are true.

  “Let me take your stuff.” He hands everything to me, and I hang the clothes in my bathroom to let them dry and turn my heat lamp on. He’s still standing by the door when I come back into the room.

  “Do you mind if I take off my pants?”

  “Travis.”

  “It’s not like that, Saylor. I’m cold and…” He shakes his head, and that’s when I see him shiver.

  I nod quickly. “Let me grab you a blanket.” I run to my room and pull the quilt off my bed. When I return, he’s on my couch with his arms extended, one to hand me his jeans and the other to take the blanket from me.

  “Thank you.”

  “What are you doing here?” I ask as I curl up at the end of my sofa, leaving a full cushion between us.