Inside Game

by Collette West

  "Where are you going?" he asks, when I get up to stretch my legs.

  "To brew you a fresh cup of green tea with ginger to ease that nausea of yours." I smile down at him, shaking the circulation back into my legs.

  "That stuff is awful," he groans, burying his face in the pillow.

  "But it's what's keeping you hydrated." I stifle a giggle when he shifts his head back toward me, his hair sticking up in every direction.

  It's the only thing he's been able to tolerate these last few days. I like to take a natural approach whenever I can. His body's trying to rid itself of enough chemicals. That's why he needs something that's going to build him up, no matter how yucky he thinks it tastes.

  "Eva?" he asks, just as I'm about to leave the room.

  My throat constricts when I hear the slight tremor in his voice. "Yeah?"

  "Life fuckin' sucks," is all he says, and I don't know if he's talking about my mother, my job, or having to take care of him.

  I don't know how to respond to that, so I just exit the room, trying not to think about how wasted and pale he's gotten since we've been here. He's a professional athlete. His body is his livelihood, something he takes great pride in maintaining in order to compete at that level.

  He's letting me see him when he's at his most vulnerable, and it has to be killing him. He doesn't show weakness to anyone, but he's like a helpless infant, needing me to take care of him. He's being forced to show me this side of him against his will, and I have nothing but respect for that. It's a privileged confidence that will stay between the two of us.

  What he's going through is extremely difficult. It's not for wimps or cowards or crybabies. No one would do this to themselves voluntarily. It's a sickness, one I'm going to rid him of. It's a sacred duty to take care of the afflicted, and this is one of those nights I intend to keep close to my heart.

  Chapter Nine

  Drake

  Step Four

  Take inventory.

  I feel like shit, but it's the first day I've been able to stand on my own two feet again. It feels like the walls are closing in on me. I have to get out of here before I go insane.

  "Where do you think you're going?" Eva spots me as soon as I amble out of the bedroom, the piece of bread in her hand hovering over the toaster.

  I should be annoyed that she's here, watching my every move, but I'm not. We've been through hell and back together these past two weeks. I know she's not badgering me; she's just concerned about me. Things have been less tense between us since she told me about her mom. When she talks to me about addiction now, I know that it's not just empty words. She's lived through what she's talking about. I know her secrets, and she knows mine. Well, some of mine.

  "I'm going to wash up before I try to stomach some food. Is that allowed?" I raise an eyebrow at her, daring her to say no.

  She mimics my expression, placing a hand on her hip. "Are you sure? You're usually pretty unsteady on your feet first thing in the morning." When she sees me continue to stubbornly trudge toward the bathroom, she mutters, "Well, you are kind of a mess, Schultz. You're starting to scare me with that wild man hair of yours."

  I grin at that, but I don't trust my balance, either. The last thing I want to do is slip and fall in the shower and give her something else to worry about. All I've been doing is sponging myself off over the sink, but it's gotten to the point where I can't stand myself anymore. Maybe if I take my time and brace myself against the shower rail…

  "Don't be too long. Breakfast is just about ready," she calls out while setting the table.

  There goes that idea…

  I stop, watching her bustle around the kitchen, and the thought hits me—this is the most domestic environment I've been in since my marriage ended. But, to be honest, Karolina never bothered to cook for me. Yet then again, I never bothered to cook for her, either.

  Eva must think I made it to the bathroom, because she tiptoes over to the counter, quickly putting one of the three mugs she had out back in the cupboard. Great. Was someone supposed to join us? Once she turns around, she jumps when she sees me still standing here. She hastily brushes her hands on her jeans, avoiding my stare.

  "You should probably start with some plain toast again. You've been able to keep that down fairly well, and maybe try some fresh fruit this time. Ch—" She stops, giving the most fake sneeze I ever heard.

  "Gesundheit," I mutter, glancing at her skeptically.

  "Thank you. Sorry. Umm…what was I saying?"

  Yep, something's definitely going on, and I think I figured out what, thanks to her unintentional blunder. I clench my fists as tight as I can, sharply digging my nails into my palms, because the very idea of what's going on behind my back is making my blood pressure rise.

  "Fruit. You were talking about fruit," I mumble, leaning my shoulder up against the wall.

  "Oh yeah. I had…uh, Diane…send someone to the Union Square Greenmarket to bring us a bunch of good things to eat, things I think you should be able to tolerate."

  But Eva's not fooling anybody. I heard her almost blurt Chase's name out. The third mug must've been for him, which means he was the one who brought the groceries. I know what a health nut he is. He never misses a chance to visit the farmers market every Monday after his morning bike ride along the East River. It's been his routine for as long as I can remember. He still raves about the organic produce he finds there to the guys in the locker room, telling them how his little girl's fingers are always sticky from the homemade blackberry jam he buys her.

  I step into the kitchen and nonchalantly glide my finger over the magnetized Kings' schedule on the side of the refrigerator. Yep, it's an off day for the team, which only confirms my suspicion that Chase is probably still lurking around somewhere close by. I saw the way Eva's eyes shifted toward the door after she almost said his name. Diane probably sent him over here to check up on me and report back to her, and I don't want that two-timing bastard anywhere near me. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing what a physical wreck I've become.

  My legs feel like mush as I shuffle forward to investigate my theory and fight through the dizziness. All the cardio and weight training I did all through the offseason and into spring training—gone in the blink of an eye. I've always been able to depend on my body, even when I was hurt. Now, it's like I have to learn how to use it all over again. I guess living on what seems like nothing but tea and toast will do that to a guy.

  I reach the door and rest against it for a moment, my breath coming out in shallow gasps. I kick the doorframe, and it's about all I can do to curb my frustration. I'm just using Chase as an excuse. He didn't do this to my body. I did. The only person I have the right to be angry with is me.

  I take a moment to steady my pulse and press my eye against the peephole. But that flicker of rage reignites when I see the perfect line of his fade haircut staring right back at me. A newfound surge of energy strums through my veins, and I throw the door open, ready for a fight.

  "What the hell are you doing here, asshole?" I yell, making the rawness in the back of my throat burn even more.

  "Helping Eva," Chase drawls lazily, his legs crossed in front of him.

  Inwardly, I'm furious, not liking the idea of Chase and Eva colluding together. "Oh yeah? Well, she doesn't need your help. So get the fuck out of here."

  "When it comes to you, she needs all the help she can get." He slowly stands up, stretching his back. "I'm just pulling my weight. Doing my part for the team."

  I can't control the tic in my jaw. All I want to do is wail on his face even though I don't have the strength to even raise my pinkie finger against him.

  "Go back upstairs to your friggin' penthouse, Whitfield. I don't want you anywhere near her."

  But he ignores me. "So, how's it been going? You doing okay?"

  I hate having to grip the side of the door when my knees get wobbly. "And why wouldn't I be?"

  "No reason," he says, scrutinizing my haggard appearance
.

  "Bullshit." I glower at him. "You can take your pity and shove it."

  "All right, fine. You want to know why I'm here? I'll tell you." He takes a step toward me. "You're taking a mighty drubbing in the press ever since the commissioner announced your suspension."

  I shrug. "So?"

  "So?" Chase shakes his head. "Can you imagine if word gets about your other…" But he can't bring himself to say it. Instead, he scratches the back of his head, cursing under his breath. "Diane's been covering for you, man. You're lucky she's not going to say anything."

  "Because I mean so much to her," I mutter sarcastically, sinking onto his vacated chair.

  "We're all worried about you. Karolina even called me and wanted to know how you were—" He stops when I start to laugh.

  "Did she now?" I cringe. Just hearing him say her name that old twinge of jealousy flares beneath the surface.

  "Don't even go there. That's not what I meant." He glowers at me. "There's nothing going on between Karolina and me. There never was."

  "Because you're such a happily married man." I run a hand across the stubble on my chin, hating how rough it feels against my skin. "That didn't stop you before."

  "I'd never cheat on my wife. I'm not like you," he growls, taking another step toward me.

  Our raised voices must have sent Eva running to the door, because she whips it open and peers out. "What in God's name is going on out here?"

  "Nothing," Chase replies, his voice clipped.

  "He was just leaving." I struggle to my feet and push past him, jabbing him in the stomach with my elbow. "His wife needs him."

  Eva scoots over, giving me enough room to stagger back into the suite. She rests a hand on the doorjamb, urging Chase, "You'd better go, then."

  "The security guard won't be back for another twenty minutes. I told him I was going to stay for coffee, but I guess the plans have changed." Chase hesitates, shooting me an annoyed look, clearly not wanting to leave her alone with me, especially since I'm not passed out in the back bedroom anymore like he thought I was.

  "We'll be fine," Eva assures him like she has all the confidence in the world in me. "Thanks anyway, Chase."

  He stands there and watches her close the door, a wary expression on his face.

  No one ever believes that Chase Whitfield can act like a total dick. But I know better. I'm just shocked that Eva took my side and actually drove him away.

  "You shouldn't be getting yourself all worked up like that." She drapes my arm over her shoulders, guiding me toward the kitchen. "What is it with you two anyway?"

  "The fucker had to bring up my ex-wife," I mutter, sliding into a seat at the table.

  Eva's face remains neutral, like she's not about to listen to me bad-mouth the mother of my children.

  "There are two sides to every story, Ms. Sloane. The woman's no saint." My temper's still hot, and I'm itching to start another fight. Karolina always seems to have that effect on me.

  "I didn't say she was," Eva grumbles, rolling her eyes while cutting my toast into triangles for me.

  I take the plate when she's done, deciding to cut her some slack. "You have to understand that, when I married her, Chase didn't like the idea of me getting ahead of him."

  Eva doesn't comment. She lets me clear the air while pouring some milk into her cereal bowl.

  "I always keep one eye open when it comes to my surroundings. I make it a point to know whose company I'm in, who's watching me. It's how I met the lovely Karolina Vargaro to begin with."

  I take a bite of dry toast and force it down. When I start to choke, Eva pushes my ever-present mug of green tea toward me.

  "Easy, now. Try not to talk and eat at the same time," she says, patting me on the back.

  I gulp the tea down, tossing the crust aside. I'd rather talk than eat anyway. "When I was playing in San Diego, I'd go to this gym sometimes. She was the head yoga instructor there. I watched her for months and she didn't even know it. She was already starring in a series of commercials for the place, and I overheard her saying to someone that she wanted to make her own fitness video someday. So, when I finally approached her, I told her I wanted to be the one to produce it."

  "Now that's quite a come-on." Eva whistles, sliding the plate back toward me, urging me to finish my toast.

  "I thought she was just what I needed, a diva to take the spotlight off me and shine it brightly on her." I muse, staring off into space. "She was always looking for attention, and I knew I'd enjoy making her a star. She ate it up. But her temper's another story. She was insanely jealous of how women would come on to me in public. Basically, our relationship was nothing but drama and fighting. I knew I had made a mistake. I wasn't ready to settle down, but then she got pregnant. She knew what she was getting into when she got involved with me. I was out partying and cheating on her, and she made my life a living hell. She didn't want to pretend like it wasn't happening, even though I was providing her with the lifestyle she'd always wanted. And I felt that, since I was supporting her, that gave me the right to do whatever I wanted."

  "So it was all a lie…" Eva trails off like she expected nothing less from me. "She provided you with the 'family man' cover you needed and you kept on living like you were still single. But what does all this have to do with Chase?"

  "Because Chase didn't like how I was using her, and he continually let me know it, even though he was using women left and right himself. I couldn't stand what a hypocrite he was being, so I took a swipe at him in the press, airing our dirty laundry for all to see."

  "Big mistake," Eva mutters.

  "After the rift with Chase, I wasn't the same guy who'd wooed my wife to marry me," I admit. "But then, when I signed with New York and Chase and I ended up on the same team…"

  "You went wild. Am I right?" she asks flat out.

  I shift in my seat. "After moving to New York, I was angry all the time. I felt trapped. So, after a game, I'd go to Rosewood to unwind instead of heading home to my wife and kid."

  "Rosewood… You mean the nightclub?"

  "Yeah."

  I should've never mentioned Rosewood. It's where I get my supply. Just hearing the name makes my mouth start watering for a hit. I need to put my mind on something else—fast. Or all I'm going to be thinking about is getting high. I can picture the white, rounded mounds waiting for me in the restroom of the VIP room of this fancy Manhattan loft. I can see myself using a credit card to cut them into lines, sniffing them deep up one side of my nose and then the other.

  I pick up my discarded piece of toast and take another bite to please her, needing her to keep talking in order to distract me.

  She starts to smile when she sees that I'm eating, but the twenty questions don't stop. "So, why not at least try to fix things with Chase?"

  Good. I got her to veer onto another topic, even if it has to do with my severed relationship with our nosy upstairs neighbor.

  "Honestly, I wasn't looking forward to playing with Chase on the Kings, not after our friendship fell apart. But I came to New York because I wanted to win—baseball's a whole lot more fun when you're winning. And win we did, even when he iced me out. I tried one lame-ass apology after another, but nothing worked. I had no clue how to get him to forgive me when he wouldn't even give me the time of day. You see, when Chase holds a grudge against someone, he holds it for life. He's as stubborn as they come."

  The truth is I didn't know how to tell him that I was sorry. I was brought up to never show weakness. So I swallowed a bitter pill of regret, allowing it to fuel my feelings of inadequacy and self-loathing. I punished myself—the only way I knew how, the only way I could feel good—by inhaling line after line of white powder up my nose.

  I fling the toast back onto the plate, unable to eat anymore. I sigh, gripping the edge of the table. Chase was someone I could always depend on until I betrayed him. And even if Eva does manage to get me clean, I'm going to have to go right back into the same situation. I never felt welcome at K
ings Stadium, and after getting rung up for PEDs, I'm only going to be treated as even more of an outsider than I already was.

  Eva places her hand over mine. "He's not as mad at you as you think he is."

  "What do you mean? Of course he is. You saw us out there."

  "It's just because you know each other too well. You fall into old habits whenever you're around each other. That's the problem. You know what to say to make it hurt."

  When I don't respond, she whispers, "He wants things to change. He told me so himself. But you have to want it, too."

  "Then I have to get out of New York."

  "But you can't—"

  "I have to get out of this negative head space, and I can't do that with friggin' Whitfield living above my head."

  I need her to go with me on this. I need to get out of here. Truth is I'm not strong enough to live in the city and resist its many temptations. When I get my strength back, I'll be out the door like a shot, and nothing will be able to stop me. Not even her. That's why I have to get as far away from New York as possible if this is going to work.

  "Eva, New York is the source of my problem. The place makes me paranoid. I feel like I'm never in control here…and I always have to be in control. Chase said the media is already on my back. I'll never get any peace as long as we stay here. I need to go somewhere to get my head on straight."

  Eva draws her eyebrows together. "But where are we going to go? Diane won't—"

  "Let me take you to the island I own down past the Florida Keys," I interrupt her, and her jaw drops. "I need to go somewhere quiet where I won't be tempted as much."

  "Drake, I don't know…"

  "You're really going to deny me the chance to get to see you in a bikini?" I let my eyes skim over her body.

  Her frown deepens, and I can tell I'm making her antsy.

  "Dream on, Drake. If we go, it's not going to be a vacation," she bristles.

  "The sun, the surf, the sand—maybe I can finally make this gig worth your while," I flirt, laying it on extra thick.