All of Me

by Jennifer Bernard

  The thought of Caleb brought a stab of pain so deep, she actually clutched her stomach and bent over, resting her forehead on the table. She took quick, shallow breaths, because that’s all her suddenly tight chest would allow. In, out, in, out. The clock over the stove clicked to the next hour. A tiny red ant crawled over the rim of the table. The refrigerator hummed. In, out. In, out.

  Caleb had delivered a blow so much deeper than anything Hamilton had. Ham had shamed her, humiliated her—but he hadn’t broken her heart.

  Caleb had.

  Now she had to put the pieces together and figure out how to live.

  Streeerike! Caleb savored the umpire’s call and the satisfying pop of his fastball into the glove of Juan Patron, the Friar catcher. He caught the ball from Juan and paced around the mound, waiting for the next batter.

  So far his first game as number 27 on the San Diego Friars was light-years from his first start as a Catfish. Strangely, he hadn’t even been nervous when he took the mound. He’d been on fire since the first pitch, throwing with a sense of purpose and freedom that he hadn’t experienced since he turned pro. The crowd was loving it. Big placards with giant K’s—six of them—lined the railing to the right, but he tried to ignore them. One batter at a time. One pitch at a time.

  The next batter came to the plate, a big right-handed slugger named Trask Brown. He crouched over the plate like an assassin, and for the first time Caleb faltered. The guy’s stance reminded him of Trevor’s, the way he crowded the plate, practically begging for a brushback. And his last name . . . Brown . . . just like the reporter back in Kilby.

  Ball one went so high Patron had to jump for it. The catcher flashed him a “keep ’em down” sign before tossing the ball back.

  Yeah. Keep it down. Genius advice.

  Block it out. The guy wasn’t Trevor, and this wasn’t Kilby. He took a moment to scan Friar Stadium with its three-tier grandstands and massive scoreboards. Forty-two thousand people had come to the game tonight. Forty-two thousand people were watching him.

  He couldn’t afford to think about Kilby right now. Because Kilby equaled Sadie. And Sadie equaled . . .

  Patron called for a curveball. Caleb reared back and delivered, but the batter swatted it like a mosquito and it bounced foul. Strike one.

  The batter resumed his stance and twisted his cleats into the dirt, ready to wheel on his next pitch. Caleb saw his name, Brown, march across his wide shoulders. Brown. Why’d he have to be named that?

  Patron called for a fastball, and he felt for the seams, placing his index and third finger on the stitches. Burwell Brown’s article had cleared him of all suspicion of gambling. And Brown had based his article on exclusive information provided by “someone close to the Wade family.”

  Sadie.

  The fastball spun past Brown, who swung so hard he nearly rotated in a complete circle. The crowd roared.

  Caleb felt nothing. A sort of numbness came over him every time he thought about Sadie. None of it made any sense. He knew her, and yet maybe he didn’t. Maybe they’d gotten involved too quickly. Maybe he’d fallen too fast. Was no one what they seemed? Was Bingo right, and everyone was a cheater? He still couldn’t bring himself to think about that tape. He’d wanted to ask Mike to check into it, to get the full story. Maybe if he knew exactly what was on the tape, it wouldn’t make him so crazy. But he’d been on a plane to San Diego before he got the chance. In less than a day he’d been on the mound, pitching in his all-important first start as a Friar.

  Besides, Sadie had sounded proud of that tape. What was he supposed to do with that?

  Even though Patron called for a curveball, Caleb ignored him—a big no-no because a catcher could get seriously hurt if he set up for the wrong pitch, and if the pitch went wild a base runner could easily score. But Caleb needed the speed, needed the release. He went for the heat, a sizzling fastball that Brown crushed into left field.

  All eyes tracked the ball as it soared high above the third base line. Then it slowly descended, down, down . . . toward the bleachers . . . no, toward the field. Fans stood, craned their necks. The players watched, except for Brown, who was already racing past first. The left fielder practically climbed the wall, stuck out his glove, and made the play of the game by stabbing it out of the air. The entire ballpark erupted. Brown cursed loudly and stalked off the field.

  The Friars jogged back to the dugout; Caleb felt a pat on the butt, heard an angry, “What the fuck?” from Patron, but absolutely none of it meant anything.

  He felt nothing.

  After the game, which the Friars won, he showered quickly and headed out of the clubhouse to meet up with Tessa and the twins. He’d flown them in to watch the game; they were going to stay overnight in his hotel. Even though every damn player on the team, every coach and assistant manager, offered congratulations and words of welcome, he still felt nothing.

  He didn’t feel anything until he’d run the gauntlet of fans wanting autographs and saw the boys and Tessa waiting at the back of the crowd outside the players’ exit. The twins flew to him with high fives, but Tessa held back. When he was done goofing off with the boys, he turned to her.

  “No congratulations?”

  “Sure.” She gave him a quick, hard hug, then surprised him with a whack across the side of his head. “Congratulations for being an asshole.”

  “What?”

  “Boys, go get someone’s autograph or something.”

  “Caleb, can we have your autograph?”

  “Someone else’s.”

  The twins raced off, leaving Tessa and Caleb alone. “Mike Solo called me. He says Trevor’s telling everyone Sadie made a sex tape and you’re not denying it.”

  He took a step backward. His shoulder throbbed from the effects of a hundred and two pitches. “The sex tape has nothing to do with me. It was someone else.”

  She looked like she wanted to whack him again, but instead she stomped her foot. “Do you really think Sadie would do something like that? Are you out of your mind?”

  He stared at his sister, her short blond hair ruffled by the breeze coasting through the parking lot. Players were still exiting the stadium, to the pleas of “Will you sign my baseball card?” from the waiting kids. The rumble of cars leaving the lot mingled with the chatter and laughter of happy fans: the atmosphere of a major league ballpark. Kilby felt a million miles away. “I saw it. Stark had it on his phone.”

  “You’re getting your information from that jerk? Without double-checking? I called Mike, and Mike talked to Sadie’s friend Donna. That tape is old news. It’s from when she was with her old boyfriend. He recorded it secretly, then started sending it to people after she broke up with him. According to Donna, Sadie was trying to give him his birthday wish. A silly striptease, which he taped because he’s a jackass. It’s one of the ways he tried to get revenge after she dumped him.”

  A horrible feeling settled in his gut. He remembered Sadie whispering in the gazebo at Crush Taylor’s—something about a “really embarrassing tape.” They’d never talked about it again, and quite frankly, he’d forgotten all about it.

  But no, that couldn’t be right. “No, Tessa. She admitted it. She told me she made a tape to get Hamilton’s confession.”

  This time, Tessa gave him a little shove. “Yes, she made a tape. An audiotape. Did you even read the news coverage?”

  “No. There wasn’t time, I was on a plane that night.”

  “It says clear as day that it was a conversation held in a public park, recorded on a pocket recorder. Did you even give Sadie a chance to tell you all that?”

  Sadie’s face formed in his mind, the way she looked when he told her to get the hell out. Stricken, shocked, bewildered. White as the chalk on the infield lines. What had he done?

  “Oh my God. I fucked up.” He leaned over, hands on his knees, suddenly sick to the very pit of his stomach.

  “I’ll say.”

  “No, you don’t understand.” He’d fucked up.
He’d done exactly the same thing to Sadie that everyone else had. Jumped to conclusions, judged harshly, condemned without giving her a chance. “She’s never going to forgive me.”

  “Well, you’d better do something. Because I like Sadie. Right now I like her more than I like you.”

  Right now, he felt the same way. “I have to call her. Where’s your rental car? I’ll meet you there. Just give me a few minutes.”

  She waved toward a vehicle, but he didn’t even notice which one. He was already dialing Sadie’s number. All he got was a busy signal. He paced around the lot for a few moments, kicking away a beer can and a carefully filled-out scorecard. Whatever that scorecard said, it was wrong.

  The real score was Caleb Hart, big fat zero.

  After a minute, he tried Sadie again. Busy signal. Two minutes later the same thing. Finally it sank in. She’d blocked his number.

  He spotted the twins climbing into a Ford Taurus and ran to his family. “Tessa, I need your phone.”

  With a frown, she handed it over. This time he didn’t get the busy signal, but he got Sadie’s voice message, in her soft, husky voice. “Please leave me a message.” The sound of her voice made his stomach go tight. How badly had he hurt her? “Sadie, it’s Caleb. Call me back, please. I have to talk to you. Please. This is Tessa’s phone. You can call her or me. Just please call. I’m sorry.”

  I’m sorry. That wasn’t nearly enough. He should say more. A lot more. But he had to get this right. He couldn’t do it on voice mail. Even doing it on the phone would be tough. He wanted to see her, touch her, throw himself at her feet.

  He tossed the phone back to Tessa.

  “Get in,” she said, with the first glimmer of a smile. “You promised us dinner.”

  Numbly, he got in the passenger seat, but even that made him think of Sadie, and the time he’d crammed himself into her Corolla and they’d gone to the swimming hole to see the slugs’ habitat.

  Images steamrolled through his head. The shy way Sadie had stripped off her top and skipped into the water before he could fully appreciate her long, lanky form. The two of them kissing while his toes sank into the soft bottom of the lake. The way she’d huddled behind his legs, only her head above the surface, then trudged through the mud to retrieve her bra.

  What about the way her lips had parted in shock when he pulled out the blindfold? The willing but naïve way she followed his sexual lead? A birthday striptease made sense. Deliberately making a sex tape behind his back—hell no. What had he been thinking? Tessa was right. The thought was ridiculous.

  He groaned aloud.

  “It’s finally sinking in, isn’t it?” Tessa jammed on the brakes just inches from an SUV with a bumper sticker that read: I HAVE NO LIFE. MY KIDS PLAY BASEBALL.

  “I’m such an asshole.”

  In the backseat, the twins cracked up. For once, Tessa didn’t scold him for the inappropriate language. Probably because at the moment it was completely appropriate.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Keep calling. She has to talk to me eventually.”

  “No, she doesn’t.”

  He shifted, trying to get his long legs to fit more comfortably into the Taurus. “What do you think I should do? I can’t just fly back to Kilby. I’m with the Friars now. I have to work my butt off and show them I belong.”

  Tessa didn’t answer while she maneuvered around the long line of vehicles exiting the stadium parking lot. The Friars had booked him a room at the nearby Millenium Hotel, just one difference between the major league lifestyle and what he was used to in the minors. In a few days they’d be getting on a charter jet to Atlanta for a three game series against the Braves.

  But right now he couldn’t care less about five-star hotels and fancy planes. The only thing that mattered was what Tessa would tell him to do about Sadie.

  “It’s up to you,” she finally said as she pulled onto the freeway. “I know what this means to you, and to us. You deserve this shot. And now Bingo can’t screw it up. I’m happy for you. You’re going to do great. You’ll get your contract, I don’t have any doubts. This is your destiny, Caleb.”

  He waited for something more, something that would explain how he could make things right with Sadie. “That’s it? You don’t have anything else to say, any little lecture or piece of advice?”

  “Nope. You got yourself into this mess. Good luck.”

  Chapter 27

  “YOU’D BETTER GET your butt over to the Roadhouse, this band is rocking!” Donna yelled over the phone, a thumping bass line nearly drowning her out.

  “I’m in my pj’s, Donna. Forget it.” Sadie was peacefully stretched out on her bed, wearing sleep shorts and a tank top. She’d spent the day checking out law school applications online, scheduling her LSATs and pinching her left arm whenever she thought about Caleb. A painful method, but it was all she had. “Anyway, why all the partying lately? What’s going on with you?”

  A short silence, then, “Okay, there is something I’ve been wanting to tell you. Something important. Will you come to the Roadhouse?”

  So there was something, and if she didn’t jump on Donna’s offer, she might miss her chance to get the story. “Fine. But why there? It’s too loud.”

  “Because this is going to take some courage. The liquid kind.”

  “All right. Don’t go anywhere. I’m on my way.”

  Sadie hung up, watched the hypnotic rotations of the ceiling fan for a moment, then sprang out of bed. A broken heart didn’t mean death, after all. She was a strong, invincible woman. Take that, Caleb Hart.

  It took more than ten minutes, but she finally walked into the Roadhouse in a killer outfit that included a ruffly Victorian-style top, a pair of lacy short shorts, and her favorite red cowboy boots, which always gave her confidence. Take that, Caleb Hart.

  She paused at the entrance so the bouncer could stamp her hand. His appreciative wink gave her another shot of courage. Take that, hotshot pitcher. She sauntered inside, enjoying, for once, the glances that came her way. Just because she was going to be a highly successful lawyer didn’t mean she couldn’t have a little fun. After the year she’d had, and the crap she’d put up with, she deserved some fun. As soon as she saw someone halfway cute, she’d get out there on the dance floor and let loose. The band, a sort of ska-swing group with a killer brass section, was cranking. The beat pounded through her body, calling to her.

  But first she scanned the bar for Donna. When she finally caught a glimpse of her friend’s red hair gleaming under the lights, her heart plummeted. A familiar figure leaned over Donna, close enough to be menacing. Hamilton’s cousin, Jared. On Donna’s other side loomed another Wade cousin whose name she couldn’t remember at the moment. She quickly surveyed the rest of the small knot of men surrounding Donna. All Wades, or “friends of Wade.” Hamilton himself lurked at the edge of the group. And not a single one of them was smiling.

  She hurried toward Donna, who caught sight of her and shook her head in warning, which she ignored. She wasn’t going to let Donna face off with the Wades without any support. When Sadie didn’t stop, Donna gave her a panicked Go away gesture. Jared noticed and swung toward Sadie. A sly grin crossed his face.

  “Well, if it isn’t Slutty Sadie all ready to par-tay.”

  The rest of the gang looked her way, a blur of hostile faces. She took a deep breath. This was a crowded bar. If they did anything too aggressive, someone would call the police. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Todd was on duty. He wouldn’t let things get out of hand.

  “Hi guys,” she said in voice that, miraculously, didn’t shake. “What are you all doing here?”

  “We saw Donna drinking alone. Couldn’t let that happen.”

  Sadie addressed Donna. “Everything okay?”

  “Sure,” she said tensely, fiddling with the label on her Shiner. “It’s a little Wade family gathering. All in good fun, right, guys?”

  One of the other cousins spoke. “We have no
problem with Donna, y’all, right? Too bad she hangs out with such a ho.”

  “Ain’t it the truth.” One of the hangers-on snorted. “You should pick your friends better, Donna.” Typical lack of originality, Sadie thought. The hangers-on always just repeated whatever the Wades said.

  “I could say the same for Hamilton,” Donna answered tartly. “I don’t know what he sees in you guys. All you do is follow him around like little serving boys.”

  Sadie cringed. She mouthed Shut up to Donna, who ignored her.

  “You know, I’m kind of glad you came over here, boys,” Donna said, tossing her hair down her back. “It gives me a chance to say something that’s been on my mind for a while.”

  “Donna!” Sadie hissed fiercely.

  “This oughta be good.” Jared smiled without an ounce of humor. “Go ahead. Let it fly.”

  Donna, who definitely looked a little tipsy, heaved herself onto the bar, so she sat on the edge with her feet propped on the bar stool. “I’ve been waitin’ a long time for this opportunity, so bear with me, y’all.” She lifted her beer bottle and tapped a fork against it.

  “Donna!” Sadie hissed, completely horrified. The atmosphere in the bar had taken on a wild, unpredictable edge. More of the Wades’ friends had joined the group, and other people were craning their necks to check out the scene. “Get down from there.”

  “I’m not getting down. I’m going to say my piece and then these losers are going to leave you in peace.”

  Sadie clutched her head in despair. “I don’t want this. Donna, I don’t.”

  “Well, too bad. It’s got to be said. All righty now, you guys got your listening caps on?” She tapped the bottle again. But before she could start, Todd the bartender leaned across the bar and tugged at her elbow.

  “We don’t really allow folks to sit on—” She aimed the business end of the fork at him. “Never mind. Carry on.”

  “As I was about to say, I’ve had enough of you Wades running your mouths off about my friend. Sadie didn’t deserve to be treated like that just because she had the good sense to dump Hamilton.”