Strike Out: Mustangs Baseball #6

by Roz Lee

  She moved to the other leg where she sketched a couple of lines. “Concentrate on these two spots and only these two.” After placing the flat of her tongue smack in the center of the two triangles she’d drawn, a reminder of the night before, she stood. “Pull your pants up and get back out there. Trust me. This will work.”

  He watched her sweet round ass disappear down the hallway while he righted his uniform. They might as well commit them to the same asylum because they were both insane. She’d taken a huge risk coming down to the clubhouse, and there weren’t enough lawyers on the planet to help them if they’d been caught.

  ***

  Taking the mound in the bottom of the second, Royce was surprised at how relaxed he felt. At the end of the previous inning he’d been ready to admit his career was over, but after talking with Tricia, he realized his performance in the first inning hadn’t been as bad as he’d thought. He hadn’t struck anyone out, but other than the one pitch Woodburn had hit out of the park, his other throws had been decent.

  Reviewing the previous inning, he knew something had been different about his mechanics. They’d felt familiar. Comfortable. Perhaps all the work they’d done on muscle control had been worth it after all.

  Thanks to some good hitting, the Mustangs had tied the game in the top of the second inning. In Royce’s mind, he had a clean slate to work with. If he could prevent the Anglers from scoring, his team had a chance of winning. The Anglers’ pitcher was good, but he was known to tire early, forcing the team to go to their bullpen, and everyone knew the Anglers’ bullpen was the worst in the league.

  Jason Holder took his position behind the plate. It didn’t take much for Royce to imagine the two triangles drawn on his legs. Hell, he’d never forget how the lines came to be there or the feel of Tricia’s tongue on his skin marking him in her own way. Concentrating on those muscle groups, he threw his first warm-up pitch.

  Fuck! He knew it was good before the ball left his hand. The pitch landed in Jason’s mitt with a solid thud that was music to Royce’s ears. The two men locked gazes. From ninety feet away, he could see the surprise in the catcher’s eyes. Tamping down the elation coursing through his body, Royce caught the returned ball and went through the routine again.

  Imagine.

  Set.

  Pitch.

  Once again, the ball went exactly where he wanted it to go.

  Instead of throwing the ball back to him, Jason walked out to the mound. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but keep doing it.” With a big smile, he dropped the ball into Royce’s glove and returned to his place behind home plate.

  He finished his final warm-up throws, gaining confidence with each one. The first opponent stepped into the batter’s box.

  “Strike.”

  “Strike.”

  “Strike.”

  Nine perfect pitches in a row. He retired the side without a single batter putting lumber to leather. Royce smiled inside, but it was too soon to believe he’d made a complete comeback. He would face the top of the Anglers’ batting order in the next inning. If he could get past them, he’d allow his elation to show on the outside.

  He was aware of the quiet around him on the bench. Baseball players were a superstitious lot. His teammates would have plenty to say after the game, but they weren’t about to risk breaking the spell he was under by congratulating him. It was just as well. His head spun from an adrenaline high, the likes of which he hadn’t experienced in nearly a year. He couldn’t wait to celebrate with Tricia.

  He’d take her out some place nice for dinner then take her back to his hotel room and make love to her until he had to be back at the ballpark the next day. God, he couldn’t wait to have her beneath him, to hear her call his name as she came.

  “Royce! You’re up.” Shit. It was times like these he wished he was in the American League where pitchers didn’t bat. He plunked his helmet on his head and grabbed his bat from the rack. Stepping into the on-deck circle, he checked out the situation. At bat, batting eighth in the order, Bentley Randolph swung at the first pitch and missed. The second pitch went wide for ball one, but the left fielder connected with the third pitch for a single.

  Base runners were a good thing, and with no outs, no one would be disappointed if he didn’t hit a homerun, at least not this early in the game. Moving Bentley into scoring position would be enough, especially with the top of the batting order coming up behind Royce. He was perfectly happy to let them do the heavy lifting.

  He glanced to the dugout, received the go ahead to swing away then stepped into the box. While he found a good toehold in the dirt, he checked out the defense. Like most opponents, they didn’t expect much from him. He’d never been a power hitter, and the Anglers knew it. The infielders were playing up, ready for a bunt, or an infield ground ball of some sort. If he could power the ball past the infield, preferably on the right side of the field, he’d avoid a double play and, if not get on base himself, at least move Bent one base closer to scoring.

  Pitchers in the National League often made the mistake of underestimating their own kind, and the Anglers’ hurler was no exception. Though Royce didn’t connect with the first pitch, he recognized it for what it was—a half-hearted attempt. The man didn’t expect Royce to hit, so he wasn’t being as cautious as he would if he faced a more formidable opponent. He’d made the mistake a few times himself and learned a successful pitcher couldn’t afford to be complacent. Every batter, no matter what the statisticians said about the man’s abilities, could be dangerous. As Royce dug his toe of his lead foot into the dirt a second time, he hoped he would be the one to teach this pitcher that valuable lesson.

  He fouled off two pitches before he found the one he’d been waiting for—a fast ball just over the outside edge of the plate. The hit wasn’t pretty—it looped over the heads of the infielders but fell short of the outfielders who had been expecting a lazy fly ball. While the Anglers scrambled to field the ball, Bentley, running like the devil was on his heels, slid into third base. Royce made his best attempt to reach first, but running had never been his thing, and the center fielder’s throw beat him to the bag.

  His teammates clapped him on the shoulder as he walked through the dugout to stow his batting gear. With the short stop, Tanner Haversford up to bat, there was little doubt the Mustangs would at least score one run this inning.

  Leaving the scoring in the hands of the men who did it best, Royce filled a cup with cold water from the insulated cooler in the corner then resumed his place on the bench. Once again in pitcher mode, the men surrounding him left him alone. Peace and satisfaction settled into his bones. The feeling had eluded him for months, making him feel like an outsider in a place he had always felt at home, and among people who were as much family as they were friends. It was good to be back.

  ***

  He was still riding high after more interviews than he could count and accepting congratulations from his teammates when he was informed Hannah was waiting in the guest lounge. He rushed through his shower, dressing in record time. He couldn’t imagine why she was here, unless something had happened to one of his family members. They all loved his ex-wife and kept in touch with her. If there was bad news to be delivered, and they couldn’t come themselves, they’d send her. The knot of fear in his stomach turned to confusion when she greeted him with an exuberant smile.

  Before he could stop her, she launched herself at him. “Royce!”

  Her body pressed up against his was familiar, and at the same time felt all wrong. As gently as possible, he removed her arms from around his neck.

  “Hannah.” He set her on her feet. “What are you doing here?”

  “I needed to see you.” Once, those words would have been enough for him, but she hadn’t needed to see him in over a year.

  “I’ll be back in Dallas in a couple of days. Couldn’t you have waited until then?”

  “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

  “When have I not been happy to see you
?” He was being truthful, but he’d hoped to spend tonight with the woman who’d made his comeback possible. There was no hope for it, though. Hannah had come all this way for a reason. Her elation ebbed, replaced by a serious expression he’d seen too many times in the months leading up to their divorce.

  “Can we go somewhere and talk?”

  “I’ve got to go back to the hotel with the team.”

  “Can’t you come with me? I have a rental car.”

  He didn’t really want to be alone with his ex, but he sensed what she wanted from him was something he no longer wanted to give. A discussion away from the hotel where the team was staying would probably be for the best. “Let me tell Doyle I have a ride.”

  When had she become so clingy? Because she practically wrapped herself around him as they walked, he had little choice but to swing his arm around her waist as they made their way to the parking lot. Once they were on the road, he directed her to a family-style restaurant in the opposite direction from his downtown hotel.

  “We could just go to your room and order room service if you’re hungry.”

  “I have a connecting room this time,” he countered. “No privacy to speak of, even with the doors closed between us.” Not to mention, he had no intention of being in a room with Hannah and a bed. Rumors flew faster than fighter jets, and since he had his game back, he didn’t need the media speculating it was due to him getting back together with his ex.

  “My hotel, then.”

  Any question as to why she had come all this way to see him fled. In Dallas, she’d have no way to corner him in a room with a bed. He wasn’t going to go to her place, and she couldn’t get past the gate at his. He hated to play hardball with her, but she’d left him no choice. “No. Whatever you have to say to me will be said in a public place.”

  A few minutes later, she pulled into the parking lot and cut the engine. Royce unfastened his seat belt and reached for the door latch, but her hand on his left arm stayed him.

  “I don’t want to go inside.” Once upon a time, the pout on her face would have swayed him to do anything to make her smile again, but now, it only made him angry.

  Resigned to having it out with her in the car, he sat back in his seat. “What do you want?”

  “I made a huge mistake, Royce. I never should have asked for a divorce.”

  Hope flared bright for a split second, the flame dying as quickly as it had sparked. A month ago—no, two weeks ago, he would have given just about anything to hear those words from Hannah’s lips. But not now. It had taken a brainy scientist with a dream to show him what had really been wrong in his marriage. He and Hannah weren’t suited to each other. The woman had no ambition. He’d convinced himself they’d grown apart, but the reality was, they’d never been all that great together in the first place. As far back as high school, he recalled always being in charge of their relationship. He’d been the one coaxing her to make good grades so she could go to college with him, but when he’d won an athletic scholarship, she’d gone along with him, only she never registered for classes.

  He faced a truth he’d been unwilling to see in all the years they’d been together. Hannah was lazy. “Are you still taking classes?”

  Her brows knitted as she processed the change of subject. “No. I couldn’t decide what I wanted to major in.”

  There was no way he could suppress the sigh that carried over a year of guilt with it. His career hadn’t held hers back. She’d never had any intention of having a career of her own.

  “I see.” And he did—with startling clarity. Hannah was a taker. She’d taken nearly ten years of his life and a chunk of cash he’d given out of guilt during the divorce. “How bad is it?”

  “How bad is what?”

  “Never mind.” He opened the door. The overhead light came on, casting Hannah’s face in harsh shadow. She wasn’t happy with him, but he’d grown used to the sentiment. “Your financial mess is no longer my problem.”

  He leaned back in before shutting the door. “We’re through, Hannah. The divorce was final months ago.” Giving the door a shove to close it, he strode to the front door of the restaurant. He’d have a cup of coffee while he waited for a cab to pick him up. With a little luck, Tricia would still be awake when he got back to the hotel. If not…. He smiled, thinking of ways he could wake her body and her mind.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Tricia squirmed in her seat. In the early innings, she’d been all nerves and barely able to sit still long enough to follow the data streaming in. Only her belief that today was the day Royce would find the groove he’d lost months ago kept her in her seat. He’d been so close in the first inning. Like planets aligning, she saw the graphs merge one by one until only two were left. He hadn’t been maximizing his thigh muscles.

  Now into the seventh inning, he had eight strikeouts and a total of two hits for the game. Knowing he was done and the manager would go to the bullpen for the final two innings, his teammates mobbed him as he returned to the dugout. While her laptop was powering down, she took the opportunity to wipe tears from her eyes as she bent to retrieve the old canvas tote she used as a computer bag.

  The special pass hanging around her neck would allow her access to the lounge where family and invited friends gathered to wait for the players, but since Royce hadn’t issued an invitation, she decided to wait for him near the staff exit. There was no need to hurry. After the game he’d just had, there were bound to be reporters lined up to interview him.

  Realizing she hadn’t eaten since early morning, Tricia stopped at one of the snack bars. The vendors had just quit serving beer a few minutes before she got in line, so she ordered a soda to go with her hot dog. Royce would probably want to celebrate with champagne anyway, so forgoing the beer was probably for the best. She found a high-top table where she could watch the remainder of the game on an overhead monitor. She wanted to smile, but kept her expression neutral as hometown fans began to stream out of the stadium after the Mustangs added two runs to their total in the top of the eighth inning, virtually assuring a win.

  Almost giddy with excitement, she ordered popcorn and nibbled on it until the game ended. Only then did she make her way to the heart of the stadium to wait for Royce.

  Tricia chose a spot off to the side of the player exit, close enough to make out the faces of the people leaving, but not so close Security would wonder who she was or why she was standing there. Fans weren’t a problem as long as they kept their distance. One by one the Mustangs’ players filed onto the bus waiting for them. When it pulled away, her heart sank. She’d missed him somehow. She was about to head to her rental she’d left in the adjacent parking lot when a familiar silhouette moved into the light.

  Royce. Only he wasn’t alone. He had his arm around the waist of a petite, dark-haired woman. Too young to be his mother, and from the way she clung to him, not a sister either. Tricia stepped back into the shadows so he wouldn’t see her. The couple seemed oblivious to their surroundings. Nothing could have brought home the fact she’d meant nothing to Royce more than watching him give his undivided attention to another woman.

  He had every right to celebrate with anyone he wanted. She told herself she was happy for Royce, and she was, but deep down inside, she felt as if he’d ripped her heart out and stomped on it.

  He didn’t need her anymore. It didn’t take a neuroscientist to figure out what that meant. She knew getting involved with any of her test subjects was wrong, but when it came to Royce Stryker, her body had overruled her brain.

  She had no one to blame but herself. Everything that had happened between them was her fault, from the first blow job to the nights she’d spent in his bed. It wasn’t his fault she’d given more than her body and asked nothing in return. He’d never offered more than physical release, and she’d been too weak to say no.

  Tomorrow, she would be back in Dallas, reassessing her project, trying to find a reason to continue. She couldn’t tell anyone about her success with Ro
yce. Doing so would invite questions neither of them wanted to answer. No self-respecting researcher took advantage of a test subject the way she had, and Royce certainly didn’t want to tell team management he’d been fucking her.

  Fucking. The word was like a hammer, shattering her heart into a million pieces. She’d been nothing more than a willing body for his pleasure while she’d gone and fallen in love with him.

  Tricia returned to the hotel, packed her things. She needed to put as much distance between her and Royce as possible, and do it quick.

  The trip home seemed to take a lifetime. She watched reruns of the post-game interviews on the television in the airport. Royce’s comeback was big news, even for the local reporters who lamented about it happening in their town, against their team. The national news outlets speculated on the Mustangs’ chances at winning the pennant this season, one even going so far as to predict a trip to the World Series now that Strikeout was back in action.

  Every time she saw his smiling face on the screen another piece of her shattered heart broke off. But as painful as it was to watch the coverage, she couldn’t tear her eyes away. In a perfect world, she would have celebrated with him, and he would have told the world how her ground-breaking research saved his career. But this wasn’t a perfect world.

  She used to imagine what it would be like to have the eyes of the world on her, to be acclaimed as a shining star in the world of neuromuscular research. She’d wanted to rise to the top of her profession, but more importantly, she had wanted to help people.

  Now, all she wanted was for Royce to hold her in his arms, to tell her she meant something to him. Something beyond a means to an end.

  But that’s all she was to him. He got what he wanted from her. He had his career back. He’d moved on, and so would she. It was time to see what, if anything, she could salvage from the data she’d gathered.