Game On

by Collette West

  "It's my duty as a teammate to make sure that you're staying in shape during your rehab stint. Someone needs to make you sweat a little." A sardonic grin spreads across his face. "Since you're not getting any from that—"

  "Say one more word and I don't care what happens to my arm. I'll gladly bash your face in." I stare down at him, not afraid to risk everything when it comes to Hailey—even my job.

  "You know what? Maybe I won't sue your little bodice ripper after all." He smirks. "But I expect her to do something for me in return."

  "Oh yeah? Well, you can forget it." I get right up in his face. "I'd kill you before I'd let you touch her."

  He laughs and I feel like strangling him.

  "At least, you're not a complete pussy. You do have it in you somewhere, that 'attack dog' mentality," he replies like he's pleased with me. "I always wondered how you could be such a silent assassin on the mound and such a pushover in real life."

  "Do you think this is some kinda joke?" I seethe. "You're about to bring a shitload of legal and financial trouble down on—"

  "The love of your life? Yeah, I get it." Drake's eyes cloud over. "But you're jumping the gun, big guy. I don't want any sexual favors from her. I just want her to tell my story…the way she told yours."

  "What…?" I reel back as he finally lands the knockout blow.

  "What? Didn't you know?" Drake looks up at me, and for the first time, there's a trace of guilt hovering over his expression.

  "When?" I ask, lowering myself beside him and staring blankly ahead.

  "Yesterday. My attorney has been monitoring her online presence ever since Terry outed her. He notified me the minute her new book went on sale." Drake pushes himself up into a crouch. "I stayed up half the night reading it, and talk about a waste of time. It was so lovey-dovey. I wanted to hurl."

  "So you had it last night?" I question him, trying to pin down a timeline.

  "That's what I said," he snaps back.

  "How do these things work? Does she just push a button and it goes live or what?" I hate having to ask him, but right now, he's my only source of information.

  "My lawyer says it takes twelve hours or so. Why?" He looks at me curiously.

  So she most likely did it after she saw me with Sasha. That's what she must've been typing on her phone in my apartment. That's what she was doing in Central Park when Scott and I met up with her. She's been studying me this whole time, creating a running narrative of me in her head. After last night, I thought we'd gotten past the trust issues that have been holding us back, but now, I'm not so sure. Why didn't she tell me she published a new book about me…the very same day?

  "C'mon. You had to have known about it," Drake remarks snidely. "Everyone knew you were next."

  "Yeah, but I didn't know," I respond adamantly, jamming my finger into his chest.

  "Her timing couldn't be worse. I'll give you that. Even if I do decide to back off, it doesn't mean Terry will." Drake moves over, resting his back against the wall.

  "Then why do you want her to write about you?" I inquire, unable to grasp his reasoning.

  "Because these books are hot with women, man. Yeah, my salary is a guaranteed lock, but it doesn't mean there still aren't endorsements to be had," Drake replies, rubbing his thumb over his fingertips like he's already counting the money he intends to rake in. "But I need to make amends with the ladies first—or at least appear like I am—for them to take another look at me."

  "It really is all about the dollar signs with you, isn't it?" I berate him.

  "If you had to pay the alimony I have to dish out, you'd be thinking of expanding your reach too. Divorce doesn't come cheap." He glares at me like it's my fault. "That's why I'll never get married again."

  I couldn't care less about his love life right now. I have bigger problems I have to deal with.

  Like getting a copy of this book…and deciding what I'm going to do after I read it.

  I stand and march determinedly down the hallway.

  "You're welcome!" Drake shouts sarcastically at my back. "Have her call me once you get around to fucking her. You'd better get on it, big boy, and nail that fine piece of ass to the wall before somebody else does. That girl turned you into her own personal version of a cheesy Fabio cover and you still haven't hit that? Maybe you are a pussy after all."

  I raise my good arm and extend my middle finger as far as it will go, sending him a clear message that, no matter how conflicted I feel about Hailey right now, I have every intention of honoring my promise to beat the shit out of him if he ever talks about her like that again.

  Now I just have to make up my mind and decide if I'm going to stay in New York for a while and figure this out or go back home…to her.

  Chapter Thirty

  Jilly

  I cruise down street after street in Butesville, like there's an invisible force reeling me in.

  And I know it's my mom.

  It's sad, but I don't even remember her. She died in a car accident when I was six, coming home from the grocery store, just a mile from our house. I have a vague memory of her smile and that's about it. I've seen her face in photos and heard people talk fondly about her, but for me, she'll always remain a stranger. The female influence that should have dominated my life extinguished forever.

  There were no soft hands pressed against my forehead when I got sick. There were no open arms to run into when I got off the school bus. Instead, I came home all banged up after getting into yet another fight whenever I got picked on. Back then, I didn't know how to handle my emotions, so I used my fists because I didn't have anyone at home to teach me any differently.

  My dad never found the strength to get over my mom's death. It was like he relived it every single day. He never moved on with his life, preferring to dwell in the past, shutting out everyone else around him, including me. He worked the nightshift at the ammunition factory located in the industrial park off the highway. After work, he'd go to Lenny's and drown his sorrows before stumbling home wasted in the middle of the night. The only time he'd notice me was when I made too much noise getting ready in the morning. Then he'd raise holy hell for waking him up.

  I didn't exactly have an idyllic childhood.

  I continue driving, coasting down First Street then onto Main, the intersection where my mom lost her life. I say a silent prayer as I pass by, like I always do, telling her how much I miss her and trying hard not to think about how different things would've been if she had survived. It hurts to come back here, but it hurts just as much to stay away—because this is all I have left of her. This stupid four-way stop where the driver of a tractor trailer lost his brakes coming down the hill, taking her away from me. I feel her presence more here than I do gazing at her tombstone—maybe because this is where she met her true end.

  I keep going, not bothering to pull over like I did last night before I went over to Halpert's Pizza and Subs and sat across the street, staring at the front door until Hailey called me. I knew that, by coming back to Butesville to stay with Rick, I was approaching another crossroads in my life. Something was bound to happen; I just wasn't sure what. I wanted my mom then, more than I ever had, wondering what she would think of Hailey and what she'd say about our messed-up situation.

  I'm not one for getting close to people. I know how fast they can vanish from my life. Everyone I've ever depended on left me in one form or another. Sure, Hailey came back to me this time, but would she really turn out to be any different in the long run?

  Up until high school, Hailey always floated around the periphery of my life. But I remember, sitting behind her headful of curls all the way back in Miss Liza's first grade class. But she was a girl, and as a general rule, little boys don't play with little girls.

  So my next-door neighbor Rick became my ally on the playground. His parents were the ones who signed me up for T-ball when we were kids, taking me to every practice, every game, like I was their son, too. But it wasn't until Little League that they began to s
ee that I had a talent for pitching. They encouraged me to keep at it. Rick's mom even played catch with me in their backyard, and his father made sure to teach me the proper windup position so that I wouldn't hurt myself throwing so hard.

  But the big thing was—Rick was cool about sharing his parents with me. He knew what a terrible home life I had, and he didn't begrudge me the extra attention. That's why we grew up more like brothers than friends.

  Rick's parents weren't afraid to go toe to toe with my dad. I have vivid memories of them standing on our front porch, waiting until he scrawled his name across permission slips that required his signature, how they'd keep leaving messages on our answering machine until he'd shove a check in my hands to pay for the uniforms I was forever growing out of. Yet despite the Murphys' many attempts to get him to do his parental duty, my dad didn't care what I did as long as he didn't have to get involved in any of it.

  But I kept my eye on Hailey.

  We ended up with the same teachers all through school, thanks to our last names being so close together in the alphabet. I watched her from afar, knowing that she traveled with the popular crowd. Everyone got pizza from Halpert's on Friday nights, and that automatically made her cool when it came to getting invited to birthday parties and movie outings and nights at the mall. It seemed like she was always surrounded by other kids. So I kept my distance even though I couldn't stop thinking about her.

  It wasn't until the bank foreclosed on her parents' house that I reached out and took a chance.

  Her so-called friends dropped her. For girls like Beth Altell, being associated with Halpert's Pizza and Subs just wasn't cool anymore. What had made Haley special before suddenly made her the butt of their jokes. They talked about her behind her back, making fun of her for having a basement as a bedroom and fingernails stained with tomato sauce. She tried to put on a brave face, but she never got used to being on the outside looking in.

  Even though that's where she met me—the guy who knew nothing but being on the outside.

  After the intro to art class, where Mrs. Gellar paired us together, we were practically joined at the hip. I didn't make her talk to me if she didn't want to, and I think she appreciated that. I took things slow, hoping to gain her trust. I didn't force her to be my friend, and I was glad when she ended up choosing to hang out with me herself. We'd wander the halls together, waiting for each other after class, getting to know each other better, and things progressed naturally from there.

  After that, I didn't just have Rick and his folks. I had Hailey and her parents, too—a whole new set of people who took me in and watched out for me. My tiny family doubled in size while I indulged in my newfound passion for genealogy, trying to fill in the gaps in my life and create a sense of belonging for myself.

  But the love and support they all gave me allowed me to thrive. I put everything I had into baseball, knowing that it was my only way out of Butesville. My dad didn't have a college fund set up for me like Hailey's parents had for her. If I wanted to make something of myself, it was up to me. Back then, I was just shooting for a sports scholarship. I wasn't even thinking about the major leagues.

  Until the scouts started arriving in droves…

  I remember when I first started rising through the ranks of the Loftus Central High baseball team, I made varsity my freshman year, but my dad never came to see me pitch. Not once. He didn't give a shit about me because I reminded him too much of Mom, having inherited the same brown eyes that still haunted him day and night. He never allowed himself to get close to me, too afraid that he might have to learn how to live without her—something he never wanted to do.

  But with the spotlight centered firmly on me, I began to stand out to everyone else. It was pretty surreal. The big guy everyone ignored while he was trudging through the hallways suddenly became the one everybody was talking about. Yet it didn't take long for the stares of interest to turn into sneers of ridicule. The jocks on the football team started talking shit about me, jealous of the attention I was getting, making it sound like my accomplishments on the field meant nothing because I didn't play a contact sport like they did, saying I was too much of a pussy to withstand getting tackled. Girls, mostly of the cheerleader variety, showed some interest in me at first, but they quickly got fed up when I didn't flirt back with them. Comments like, "Who wants to date a freak like the Jilly Green Giant?" became all too common.

  If not for Hailey sitting in the stands, I would've had nobody. The scouts came with their stopwatches and checklists, but I didn't let their scrutiny faze me because the only place I felt at home was on the mound.

  If I'm not known for being talkative now, I was a virtual mute back in high school. I never raised my hand to speak in class. I always kept to myself in the locker room. With Rick being on a different schedule because of his vocational-technical courses, I ate lunch every day in the library with Hailey, where she'd hand me whatever her mom had packed for us to eat—usually two brown bags for me and one for her.

  After school, Hailey would watch me pitch, and when I was done, she'd bump my arm and tell me, "Great job," or "You looked really good out there today." Then we'd go our separate ways since her mom didn't want me giving her a ride home on my motorcycle, even with a helmet and the promise to drive slow.

  After that, I'd go to the shed behind Rick's house, before he had his own garage, and tinker around with something mechanical until it was time for dinner. Then I'd sit down and eat with his family. The Murphys were always looking out for me, being that they lived next door and all. I think I ate more meals in their house than I did my own.

  When the time came to make a decision about my future, I was torn. At least three different major league scouts told my coach that they were going to take me in the first round of the upcoming draft—my ticket to the big show—but my guidance counselor felt the need to remind me about the college offers I'd also received with free rides to nearly a dozen schools. She warned me that, if I got hurt before I made it to the majors, I wouldn't have anything to fall back on, but at least if I earned a degree, no one'd ever be able to take that away from me.

  I really needed my dad during this critical time, but he seemed to be avoiding me more than ever. I don't know if he was already anticipating my impending departure and trying to prepare himself for it or what, but he showed absolutely no interest in my future, leaving it all up to me. It was a lot for an eighteen-year-old kid to figure out by himself. It would have been nice to have had my dad step up and be the parent I needed him to be, at least at the very end of my childhood. But he hadn't been there before, so why would he have been there when it really counted?

  I knew in my heart that I wanted to take my chance in the draft since the Kings were one of the teams that wanted me. The only thing was the timing. Since they were a winning team, they'd pick last out of the three teams who were interested in me. There was a good chance I'd end up somewhere else, but my heart was set on New York. The Kings were the team I'd grown up with, the one I'd always rooted for. Plus, their stadium was only ninety minutes from home. Yeah, in the beginning, I knew I'd have to work my way through their minor league system, but I also knew I'd eventually make it to Kings Stadium in the Bronx and be close enough to visit Hailey.

  Because that's what was really holding me back from making a decision—I didn't want to leave her. She was the most important person in my life, and I couldn't bear the thought of losing her, too—just like I did my mom and, for all intents and purposes, my dad. I had a hard time convincing myself that a career in baseball would be worth it. I knew what it was like to be alone, and I didn't want to have to go through it again.

  It was around this time that my dad didn't just tune out—he got violent. One night when I came home with my bat bag slung over my shoulder, he slammed me up against the wall, screaming, "You think you're too good for me now? Well, the minute you graduate, you'd better clear outta here because this ain't gonna be your home anymore! I did my duty by you, boy, and I'm done,
because the minute you turn that tassel on that damn cap, you're on your own!"

  "She'd hate what you've become," I remember muttering at him before he struck me across the face, causing my bats to clatter to the floor.

  That turned out to be the last time we ever really spoke to each other.

  Yeah, I saw him after that whenever I'd stop by over the holidays. Sometimes, he'd let me in and proceed to sit on the couch and watch TV like I wasn't even there, and sometimes, he'd answer the door, see me standing there, and shut it in my face. I never knew what side of him I was going to encounter or what state of sobriety he'd be in, so I stopped trying.

  Later, whenever I'd come home to Butesville, I'd stay with Rick, spy on Hailey, and keep my distance from my father.

  Then, two years ago, he dropped dead on the job of an apparent heart attack.

  At the time of his death, I hadn't seen him in six months. When I looked into his casket, it was like seeing someone I barely recognized, his face bloated, his skin sallow. He didn't want a funeral of any kind, so after I signed the paperwork with the undertaker, they wheeled his body away to be cremated. It stung that he hadn't even wanted to be buried next to my mom. His death notice went in the paper without a picture or a write-up. I'm sure a lot of people missed it, not that anyone would've cared.

  It just goes to show that I didn't have to come back here today, but I did.

  Because I have to hear from Hailey why she published that book about me before inviting me into her bed last night, keeping it from me like I'd never find out.

  The lies between us have to stop, or this is it—the end of the road for us. If she can't find it in herself to be honest with me, I swear I'll never come back here again.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Hailey

  I check my phone for what seems like the millionth time, but there's still nothing from Jilly.

  I swipe a handful of potato chips and tuck them into the Styrofoam container next to the steak and cheese my mom just dished up. Running my hands over the front of my apron, I look at the order slips we still have to get to that are clipped to the rotating wheel. Thank goodness we've been slammed since we opened at eleven. Otherwise, I'd have too much time to think that Jilly's icing me out might mean something.