Forced Play for Libby (Men of Baseball #3)

by Hayley Faiman

  “I’m sorry, Maggie. I’m just mad,” I say gently as she opens the door in front of her building.

  “I know, Victoria, but please, don’t judge Libby for the decision she makes if she decides to stay with him. We should just support her either way.”

  Maggie closes the door and I watch her step inside of her building before Amalie eases back into traffic. I feel horrible. I am judgmental and it isn’t a pretty look on anybody, especially me. I turn to Amalie but before I can say a word, she opens her mouth and speaks.

  “We are all looking at their marriage from different perspectives. You’ve never had to worry about Carlos. I’ve never had to worry about Jarrod, either. Eric was a different story. Maggie has had hell to deal with when it came to Sammy. She and I know how it feels to be in a situation where you feel helpless and lost with no seemingly clear way out, or an answer on what to do. You don’t have the tolerance for it because you never needed it,” she says, far too intelligently for my angry taste, as she pulls up in front of my own building.

  “Carlos and I aren’t perfect. Never have been,” I say defensively.

  “Has he ever cheated on you or given you reason to doubt his fidelity? Has he abused you, ever? Have you felt stuck, lost, or scared?”

  “No,” I choke on my words and she just looks at me for a beat before turning to face her windshield. I realize that my life, though Carlos and I struggled in the beginning, financially, has been a fucking fairytale compared to my friends’.

  “I’m a bitch,” I admit.

  “You aren’t at all. You’re blessed,” Amalie says softly. I open my door but look over to her.

  “Thank you for making me take another look at the situation,” I say, stepping out of her car.

  “Victoria,” she calls. I turn my head. “You’re blessed and you’re lucky, but we all have our own burdens and struggles, some worse than others. We all feel them, so don’t be hard on yourself. We’ll help Libby no matter what her decision is. Being there for her without judging is the only thing she needs from us.”

  I don’t say a word. I smile and I walk inside of my building, taking the elevator to the top where my husband and two beautiful children are waiting for me. I have a gorgeous life now. I haven’t always, but I have unfailingly had a husband who loves me more than life itself.

  Carlos is sitting on the sofa, rocking our new baby boy in his arms. When he sees me, he smiles before getting up and taking the baby to his room. I kick my high heels off and walk toward the sofa before slowly lowering myself down, letting the stress leave my body with a long sigh from my lips.

  “Do you think they’ll ever be happy?” Carlos asks, his eyes dark as he walks back into the room.

  I look into his face, my husband the man I fell for instantly, the man who holds my heart and would never use or abuse it. I didn’t know that Libby didn’t have this feeling with Pete. How could she live for seven years in that shell of a body with nobody to feed her soul and hold her heart?

  “I hope so, Los. I hope so,” I say softly.

  “We’ll help them get back to good. He loves her, Vic,” Carlos says as he wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into his side.

  “He doesn’t deserve my beautiful friend,” I say, meaning every damn word.

  “No, he doesn’t, but he’s miserable without her. I think people can change, Vic,” he murmurs, placing a kiss to the crown of my head. I’m not convinced Pete is a suddenly changed man, but I am going to try and hold my judgments inside—for now.

  I need to get out of this apartment. Thank fuck I have practice today. Walking toward the entrance, I notice a news van out front. Fuck, I hate that shit. My adrenaline spikes when it dawns on me that maybe the photo has been leaked and the world knows what a dirt bag I am. Paul Rodriguez, the most obnoxious sports tabloid reporter in New York, is waiting with a huge grin on his face. I already know he’s going to piss me off.

  “Pete, how’s the wife? I heard she took off faster than a prom dress when she saw a photo of some slut wrapped in your arms,” he yells out. My whole body stops with a jolt. I glare at the bastard.

  “What did you just say to me?” I ask, grinding my jaw. He smirks his fucked up smirk. I ball my fists to keep from pummeling the fucking bastard in the face, because if I got a hold of him, I wouldn’t stop. He would be a corpse.

  “Heard from a source your wife went nuts-o, took her shit, and is holed up in some suite at The Plaza,” he explains. I take a deep breath in and exhale. Libby’s father would go insane if I confirmed this shit. Even though he already knows there are rumors circulating that all is not well in paradise between us, this would send him over the edge. I wouldn’t care, but this is Libby and I don’t want backlash on her.

  “My wife is perfectly fine and healthy, Paul,” I say, lying through my teeth. He’ll never know. He cocks his head to the side and grins again.

  “What about the other woman?”

  I know the photo is bought and buried so I wonder where in the fuck this guy got his creepy accurate information.

  “No other woman. I am devoted to Libby,” I say. He shakes his head.

  “You wouldn’t be the first pro-athlete to stray, man,” he points out. I nod, since he is right, but I’m not giving him a damn thing.

  “See ya later,” I say, walking away from him. He is baiting me and I’m not falling for it. I know I could say something completely innocent and he could cut and paste my words to make them look really bad. If I hurt Libby again, I’ll die inside. I will do everything to protect her.

  I practice hard, letting all of my frustration and irritation guide me and fuel me. I spend an hour working out in the gym afterward. I’m fucking beat to shit, but I can’t go home to that empty apartment.

  “Give her a few days, brother,” Jarrod says, slapping my back as he leaves the locker room. I lift my chin, unable to speak.

  “You want her, you work for it. You prove yourself and it’ll happen,” Jackson says, his voice low but his words hitting me straight in my chest. He worked his ass off for Maggie and he didn’t fuck up nearly as bad as I have.

  “I’ll never stop working hard for her,” I admit. The fucker smiles.

  I decide to take a chance, maybe a stupid chance, but a chance nonetheless. I slide into my car and I point it toward The Plaza. I need to at least see that she is all right with my own eyes. Jarrod reported that Amalie and the girls were with her most of last night and she was in decently good spirits. I won’t believe a word until I see for myself. At this point, I can’t go another minute without at least seeing her beautiful face.

  “Pete,” she rasps as the door opens and I take a step inside of her room, thanking Jarrod for giving me her room number.

  Before uttering a word, I cup her cheek with my hand. Her skin is still so fucking soft. I close my eyes, feeling her breathing. She’s my wife. Mine. I’ll never let her go.

  “I’m so fuckin’ sorry Libby Baby,” I whisper, pressing my lips to her cool forehead. She’s just gotten out of the shower. Her skin is cool and her hair is still wet. There’s no makeup on her face and she’s never looked more beautiful to me.

  “Please don’t,” her voice is so soft that I barely hear her. Wrapping my arms around her frail body, I pull her closer to me, forcing her head to rest on my chest.

  “Don’t what?” I whisper in her ear, her cool wet hair tickling my face.

  “Don’t pretend to care. You hate me.”

  I shake a bit with anger—not at her, but at myself. How could I ever say those words to her? I felt angry, trapped, duped, and fucking stupid, but I never truly hated her. Nobody could hate Libby.

  I take a step back but wrap my hand around the side of her neck and look over her svelte body. She’s wearing black, skin tight leggings with just a tiny top that shows off her too-thin stomach and barely covers her braless tits. Fuck, she’s so pretty, even if she needs a burger, or five, on her waist and hips.

  “I was angry with you, Libby
. I admit that but I don’t hate you, I never did, and I never could. We can talk all about it when you’re feeling better. You need to rest,” I say, looking into her eyes. They are set deep with black circles underneath; too pronounced on her makeup free face.

  I pick her up with one arm around her waist and carry her tiny body over to the bed where I gently release her, lying her body against the soft pillows. She narrows her eyes at me and I almost laugh. She’s going to give me the business and I can’t fucking wait.

  “What the hell, Pete? I saw you in the arms of that whore and I know you screwed her. Who else have you been fucking? You won’t come anywhere near me but you’ll fuck some cheap ass wanna be look alike?” She practically yells and I can’t help myself, I throw my head back unable to keep the laughter at bay. I love it when Libby gets mouthy. It usually only comes out around her friends, but I like that she’s using it on me right now.

  “I was stupid. It all changes right now, Libby. No other women, no other men, just you and me.”

  I climb into the bed beside her and wrap my arm around her waist, my hand aching to cup that bare breast beneath her tiny shirt. I fucking ache for those tits. She presses her beautiful pouty lips together and I can’t help but wonder what they would look like wrapped around my cock. It’s been so long, I can hardly remember the sensation. I do remember everything we did felt fucking epic though. My cock twitches with anticipation.

  “What made things change so suddenly?” She asks, her eyes starting to water. I can tell she’s about to cry. I shake my head and look directly into those bright blue eyes that captivated me at first glance.

  “The truth. I found out the truth and, honestly, I can’t fight it anymore, Libby. I love you. I always have, but I was too pissed off and too fucking stubborn to recognize it,” I admit truthfully. She growls quietly, making me smirk at her reaction.

  “It’s too late, Pete,” she mutters, turning her head. I catch her cheek with my palm and redirect her movement toward me, holding her with my stare. I want her to know that I’m dead fucking serious right now.

  “It isn’t, sweetheart. It’s never too late when love is on the table, and I’ll show you. I’ll prove to you that I have changed and that I do love you, so much. We’ll work us out and then we’ll work on that family you want,” I finish softly. She gasps, but she doesn’t smile like I anticipated. Instead, she scowls.

  “You’re an asshole, Pete. How dare you dangle that in front of me,” she practically shouts. I’m taken aback by her anger.

  “I’m telling you, Libby, that I want this, I want us, and I want a future.”

  “I’ve wanted that for seven years and you’ve been screwing other women while I sit around here and stress myself out trying to be good enough for you. All of a sudden, you want me, want us, want a family, and I’m supposed to, what? Worship you for it? Forgive me if I don’t give a flying fuck what you want anymore. I think you need to leave,” she says coolly.

  I want to be angry. I want to punch something, but I can’t because she’s right. I thought just a few sweet words would bring her back to me and all would be good, but obviously I’m going to really have to work for it, just like Jackson said.

  Libby is worth whatever hell she’s about to put me through. She’s mine. Always has been, always will be.

  “You got a right to feel that way Libby Baby. I’m sorry. I’m not leavin’, though. I’m going to stay right by your side, whether it’s here or our apartment. But I’m staying right next to your little ass and I’m going to prove to you that shit has just changed between us.”

  “Maybe I hate you, Pete. Maybe I don’t want you anymore. Have you thought about that?”

  “No, baby, because you don’t hate me. Even if you think you do, I love you enough to bring you back around.”

  I try to let myself relax and close my eyes, just relishing her slim body pressing against mine. Pissed off or not, she’s fucking perfect and I’ll never risk losing her again. I’m staking a claim I should have done about seven years ago.

  I refuse to believe I could be too late.

  This is love.

  There is no timestamp.

  I’m going to prove it to her.

  PETE DIDN’T KNOW THAT I had taken a few sleeping pills right before he came over. That was the only reason I passed out next to him before I could kick his ass out of my room. I shouldn’t have even let him pass through the door, but his green eyes slay me. They always have. Last night, they looked haunted and sad. I had the urge to comfort him—how pathetic am I?

  Once my drug induced haze lifts a bit, I realize exactly what Pete actually told me. I’m convinced he’s the one who has officially lost his damn mind. Maybe he’s the crazy one and I’m the sane one? Hell if I know. My heart breaks all over again thinking about the photo of him with that cheap knockoff version of me.

  Now he’s trying to tell me he wants us to be together, really be together? I can’t take that kind of rejection again. What if he flips his switch and goes back to the way he was before? I wouldn’t be able to handle it; I wouldn’t survive it. I am so freaking pathetic.

  Pete is just sleeping next to me on the bed, completely unaware of the battle raging in my head. His arm is wrapped around me, warm and solid. I want to shove him off and beat the hell out of him, but I’m weak and it feels so nice to have him so close to me.

  “You’re thinking woke me up,” he mumbles against my shoulder. I try to suppress the shudder that rolls through me when his lips touch my bare skin, but I can’t. His voice is deep, rumbly, and fucking perfect.

  “I’m going to order in some calzones for dinner, if you’re hungry,” Pete says

  Jesus, I love calzones and he damn well knows it.

  Shit.

  “I might be able to try a calzone,” I admit. He smiles, showing off his white teeth, which also irritates me. He looks so damn handsome.

  “Canadian bacon, cheese, black olive, and mushroom?” He asks, quirking his eyebrow.

  It pisses me off even more that he knows my order. How he knows my order, I have no clue; especially since he’s actually never ordered a meal for me, or gone to a restaurant with me alone since we’ve been married. He sits up and I practically whimper at the sight of his disheveled hair; the fact that he’s shirtless leaves my mouth dry.

  Why does he have to look so damn good?

  “Yes,” I grind out. He chuckles as he stands, leaving the room.

  I lie back on the fluffy pillows of the bed. The past few days have been a blur, but I miss my home. I miss my bed and, even if I don’t want to admit it, I miss Pete’s presence. I know he says that he’s had some kind of revelation and wants to start working on an us, but I’m terrified of that failing. I’m terrified of being cheated on. What would that mean? If he was sleeping with me and then also went to another woman’s bed? I don’t think I could walk away from that a whole person.

  “Vic, hey. Yeah, she’s awake and talking. Seems like it. I think she would like that. I’ll be at practice, then the gym, and then I’m coming straight home. She’s pissed as hell,” he chuckles and I narrow my eyes at the empty doorway. “I know. All right, girl. Tell Los hey. Bye.”

  A few minutes later, he walks into the bedroom with a beer for himself and an orange soda for me. I can’t believe he remembered my orange soda addiction, too. I watch in shock as he sets it down on my nightstand and then he settles himself in my bed next to me. He then clicks the television on, like this is some normal routine.

  “You want to watch a movie, baby?” He asks sweetly. My head spins. I’m not sure I have even heard him right.

  “Uh…”

  “Steel Magnolias is on,” he offers. I suck in a breath.

  Damn, that’s my favorite movie too. Of course he would find that one.

  “Sure,” I’m not an idiot. I love this movie and I am not about to tell him to not turn it on.

  In the middle of the Christmas scene, where Shelby is telling her mother that she’s pregna
nt, the buzzer rings, alerting us to the fact that the calzones have arrived. My stomach rumbles at the thought of all of that delicious cheese.

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll feed you,” Pete whispers before he stands up and strolls off toward the door.

  I watch from my bed as Pete takes the food from the butler and wheels the little cart into the bedroom. He goes about adding red pepper flakes and opens a container of marinara sauce, setting it on the edge of my plate. It’s like he’s studied me before, like he knows exactly how I take my food. It warms my heart a bit to realize that he has taken notice of me these past years. Maybe he hasn’t been as indifferent as he’s made it seem.

  Again, I stare in shock at my husband. What in the ever loving hell is going on around here? He hasn’t called me sweetheart since the night we met, and now he’s throwing it around like it’s a normal everyday occurrence.

  We eat next to each other in bed and I inwardly cringe at how my parents would die inside at seeing me eating in bed. This was surely not taught at my White Gloves and Party Manners classes when I was a child. Somehow, lying next to Pete, watching my favorite movie, I can’t seem to care about what is deemed proper. I’m too fucking happy, and how crazy is that in and of itself?

  The rest of the evening is just as awkward for me, but Pete seems just happy as can be. He’s acting like this is all a normal evening. I heard him say that he had practice in the morning, so hopefully he’ll go home any minute. However, as the movie ends and I find myself exhausted and ready for more sleep, he seems happy to sit next to me. I tell him goodnight to try and get him to leave.

  “Goodnight, Libby,” he murmurs as he slides into bed behind me. My whole body goes stiff when he wraps his arm underneath my breasts and pulls me into his hard chest.