The Cleanup_a Washington Rampage Sports Romance

by Megan Green

  “You’re gonna be a mommy!” she squeals in my ear. “I can’t believe it!”

  I can’t help but get caught up in her enthusiasm. I laugh with her, happy tears springing to my eyes as I return the hug. “I can’t really believe it myself. I never in a million years pictured myself having a kid.”

  “You’re going to be the best mom ever,” she tells me, pulling back and looking me square in the eye. Her hands remain on my shoulders, and she gives them a gentle squeeze. “This is going to be the luckiest baby on the planet. You as a mom and Brandon as a dad? He or she will never want for anything.”

  I look away from her again, talk of Brandon once again throwing a wrench in my mood. Lexi immediately picks up on my sudden shift in mood though.

  “Liv, what did Brandon say about the baby?”

  I don’t meet her gaze as I answer, “I haven’t…I haven’t exactly told him yet.”

  I make the mistake of looking up at her when she doesn’t answer, and I instantly wish I hadn’t. The disappointment I expected when I first told her is there now, mixed with a tinge of sadness.

  “I can do this on my own, Lex. I don’t need a rich baby daddy to take care of me.”

  Her voice is soft when she speaks, “But don’t you think he at least has a right to know? To make the decision for himself?”

  I shake my head. “Lexi, I don’t want to be that person. I don’t want to be the woman who traps a man with a kid. I don’t need his help. He doesn’t want a baby. He doesn’t want a relationship. The only thing him knowing would do is cause a world of drama for the both of us. I’d rather not have to deal with that on top of taking over this place. Oh, and you know, giving birth and raising a freaking human being.” My tone is light as I try to make Lexi smile with my brand of sarcastic humor. It’s never failed me before.

  But the corners of her lips don’t even rise in the slightest hint of amusement.

  “I think you’re making a mistake, Liv. Brandon has a right to know you’re having his kid. He has a right to decide if he wants to be a part of his or her life.”

  “I disagree,” I say, resolute in my decision. “Because I already know how he’ll react. You think he’s suddenly going to drop everything and want to play house with me and a baby? That’s not who he is.”

  Lexi shoots me a pointed look. “You spent all of twelve hours with him, and you think that makes you an expert on who he is?”

  I shrug. “I know his type. I saw dozens of them growing up. They’re after a good time. With him, that was fine with me, because that was all I wanted. I never expected anything else. Least of all this.”

  “Brandon might be a bit of a player—”

  “You mean, man-whore.”

  She rolls her eyes at my interruption. “Yes, well, you could probably think of a dozen other things to call him. And you’d be right. But, in the few months I’ve been traveling between Maple Lake and Seattle, I’ve really gotten to know him. He’s Ian’s best friend, so it was kind of hard not to. But, as I said, he might be a player, but he’s a damn good guy. One of the most loyal people I’ve ever met.”

  Now, it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Right. A loyal player. Do you hear yourself right now, Lexi?”

  “I know; I know. It sounds crazy. But, honestly, he really is a good guy. He might go through women like tacos on Tuesday, but you’ve never seen him around his teammates. His friends. There isn’t a damn thing he wouldn’t do for those guys. And I think, given the opportunity, he could show you the same sort of devotion.”

  I reach over and place my hand over hers. “Lexi, you know I love you. In the year I’ve known you, you’ve become like the sister I never had. So, to say you’re a little biased is an understatement. I am not the woman who’s going to tame the wild beast. I’m nobody special, and I’m certainly not worth giving up everything he has. You found Ian, and I’m happy as hell that you did. But I think, because of that, you’re sort of living in a fairy-tale world where everybody gets their own happily ever after. Brandon Jeffers is not the one for me. And I’m okay with that. Please let me be.”

  She shakes her head, her eyes falling down to the floor. “For a woman with so much determination and pride, you sure as hell sell yourself short. You are special, Liv. More than special. You were the first person to make me feel welcome in this town. You’re my best friend. And I just want you to be happy.”

  I smile softly. “I am happy. Really. I’m going to take over the bookstore, and I’m going to give this baby everything it could ever want. Including the most kick-ass godmother it could ever ask for.”

  Lexi’s face breaks into a grin. “You’d better be talking about me, or I’m going to kick your ass.”

  I give her a panicked look. “Oh, shit, you want to be a godmother, too? I’m not sure how Margie will feel about sharing that duty,” I say, referencing the older woman who lives next door to Lexi’s lake house.

  She gives me a playful shove in the shoulder. “Shut up. Even if that were true, you know Margie would have no problem with it. She loves me.”

  She really does. Lexi moved to town last year after some sad shit went down in her hometown of Chicago. And, somehow, she managed to win over the entire town in a matter of weeks. Not exactly an easy feat in a tiny place like Maple Lake.

  Her face grows serious after a few moments, her eyes once again coming to rest on mine. “Will you at least consider telling Brandon?”

  I’m tired of this discussion, so I sigh and agree. “Fine, I’ll think about it. But, Lexi, until I decide, you don’t breathe a word of this. To anyone. Not even Ian.”

  Her mouth drops open. “I can’t keep something like this from him. I don’t keep secrets from him anymore. Not after everything that happened.”

  “But, if you tell Ian, he’s sure to tell Brandon. Please, Lex. Just promise me, okay? Let me figure this out first.”

  She reluctantly agrees, telling me to call her the minute I make up my mind on whether or not I’m going to tell Brandon.

  She doesn’t need to know that my mind is already made up.

  Two hours later, Lexi gathers her things and gives me a giant hug before walking out the front door of Turn the Page. I know she’s going to be back in just a few weeks, but I still hate seeing her leave.

  Especially now, when I feel like I need her the most.

  Knock it off, Liv. You can do this on your own. You’re strong and independent, and you are totally going to rock this mom thing.

  Maybe, if I repeat those words enough, they might come true.

  My cell phone rings from the table between the chairs Lexi and I were sitting in. I walk over to it, not even bothering to look at the screen before answering. Lexi is notorious for leaving something behind at the bookstore.

  “What’d you forget this time, Lex?” I say by way of greeting.

  “Olivia?” The deep voice of a woman comes over the line. It’s gravelly and gruff, sounding as if the speaker smokes at least three packs a day.

  Definitely not Lexi.

  No, but it is a voice I’m familiar with. One I hoped I’d never hear again.

  “You there, baby?” The voice comes again.

  I clench my jaw, my teeth grinding together at the use of the pet name. “Don’t call me that. What do you need, Linda?”

  “Linda?” She tsks. “What happened to good old-fashioned Mom?”

  “Wouldn’t know. Never had much of one of those.”

  The words are harsh, but I can’t bring myself to regret them, not even after I hear the sharp intake of air on the other end of the line.

  Any good mood I was feeling when Lexi walked out the door is gone, and I’m not in the mood to try to placate the woman who gave birth to me.

  “What do you need?”

  “I just wanted to talk to my daughter.”

  “Bullshit. You never call unless you need something. And, if I recall, you told me the last time would be the last time.”

  She sighs heavily. “I know. And, th
is time, I mean it. I’ve just fallen on a bit of hard times, Livvy, and I—”

  “Don’t call me that either. Just tell me how much you want.”

  “Three should do it.”

  Three. Thousand. Dollars.

  I have enough in my account but just barely. I’ve sunk almost every bit of my savings into restoring this place and trying to turn it into the amazing store I know it can be. If I give her the money, it’ll set me back at least a month.

  But, if I don’t, I run the risk of her coming back.

  “Fine. Tell me where to wire it, and I’ll do it tomorrow.”

  She rattles off an account number at a financial institution near where she’s staying—which is far away from Maple Lake, thank God.

  I disconnect the call before she can say anything else, the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach already building as I toss my phone back on the table.

  I know I shouldn’t keep giving in to her. Each time she calls, it’s more and more money. And I know it just gets spent on booze, drugs, and whatever the hell she thinks she needs to help dull the sting of her loneliness. Because, even after all these years, my mother still hasn’t learned to live her own life. I might not have seen her in almost a decade, but I know she’s still waiting for Prince Charming to swoop in and save the day.

  As if Prince Charming wants a tweaked-out meth head with pockmarked skin and saggy tits.

  I collapse into one of the chairs, the sick feeling in my stomach worsening at the knowledge that I’m basically just throwing three thousand dollars down the drain. I want to scream at the thought of how much this hurts my plans for the store.

  But it’s better than the alternative.

  My mom left Maple Lake when I was sixteen, rode out of town without so much as a good-bye. Luckily, Charlie was there to pick up the pieces of her tattered life. Namely, me.

  If she were to show up now, it would ruin everything I’ve built here. She would destroy the life I’ve made for myself in Maple Lake. And she would completely dismantle the years it took me to finally accept that I was better off without her.

  My mother returning to Maple Lake cannot happen.

  First thing in the morning, I’ll send her the money and hope like hell this is well and truly the last time.

  Money can always be replaced.

  My sanity, on the other hand, cannot.

  Chapter 6

  Brandon

  This is what I live for.

  Pulling my helmet down on my head, I grab my bat and step out of the dugout. The crowd roars when they see me emerge. By the time I reach the plate, almost everyone in attendance is on their feet, my name a chant on their lips as they wait for what they know is coming.

  It’s our first home game of the season, and to say I’ve missed these people would be putting it lightly. I might not know them individually, and the people in the seats might change from game to game, but they each have one thing in common.

  They fucking love the Rampage. And I fucking love them for it.

  I take a few practice swings before I step into the batter’s box, tapping the bat against the heel of my left cleat, as I always do. The crowd goes wild at my signature move, and I can’t help the feeling of pride that fills my chest, knowing it’s all for me.

  Tag often gets the bill of top player on the team. And my buddy is damn good. Defensively, there’s nobody better.

  But, as far as offense goes…

  I run the show.

  I can see the nerves on the opposing pitcher’s face as he watches his catcher for the signal. Doesn’t matter what it is though. I can hit it.

  They always pitch me a curve ball to start. Like, somehow, even after all these years, they’ll be the one who finally fools me into swinging, only to change it up at the last second.

  Fucking amateurs.

  I watch as the ball leaves the pitcher’s hand, my eye following it all the way to the catcher’s mitt.

  “Strike one.” The umpire’s voice surprises me, and it takes a second for me to catch up to what just happened.

  This son of a bitch just threw me one right down the middle.

  On the first pitch.

  I lift my gaze back to his, my eyes narrowing as I take him in. He’s new. Or at least, newer. I don’t think I’ve ever played against him before. He looks too old to be a rookie, but then again, I’ve never been the best at placing people’s ages. But the smooth confidence that’s replaced the nerves I saw earlier tells me this isn’t his first rodeo.

  Who the hell is he?

  I step back out of the box and take a few more swings, never dropping my eyes from his as I do so. He might have gotten the drop on me once. But it definitely won’t be happening again.

  He nods at the catcher almost as soon as I step back up to the plate, giving me just enough time to square my shoulders before the ball leaves his grip.

  It starts off outside, but I know it’s going to turn. Just before it reaches the plate, I step into it and swing like hell, waiting for the satisfying crack of the bat as it belts that sucker right out of the park.

  “Strike two!” the ump bellows.

  My head swings around to stare at both him and the catcher.

  Are you fucking kidding me?

  I’m pretty sure I haven’t had two strikes in a row since my second season in the league.

  This fucker is going down.

  I can feel the tension and apprehension rolling off the crowd behind me. We’re down one, and there are still two more outs, so it’s not like this will necessarily make or break this game for us.

  But it does for me. I’ve never let these people down before. And I don’t intend to start now.

  I smack the bat against my cleat again, spitting down at the dirt surrounding my feet before leveling my glare on the pitcher once more.

  Give it your best shot, you son of a bitch.

  The determination in my face must be evident because I see a brief flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, and I know I have him right where I want him.

  Another nod to the catcher, another windup, and…

  CRACK.

  The crowd erupts as my bat connects, and their collective gasp of air as they wait to see if it’s gone makes me smile. I take off at a slow jog for first base, not bothering to follow the path of my ball. That hit was solid. There’s no way in hell it will end up on the inside of the wall.

  Sure enough, just as I reach first, the fans go crazy, and Singer – my teammate on second – shouts my name as he takes off for third. I raise my hand as I run, pumping my fist in the air as Singer crosses home plate and jumps into the rushing crowd of our teammates spilling out onto the field. They all wait together as I round third, and as soon as my foot hits home, I’m enveloped by a sweaty mess of grown-ass men as they lift me up over their shoulders in celebration.

  It isn’t the first time it’s happened.

  But I can tell you one thing; it’s a feeling that will never get old.

  We spend a few minutes celebrating our first home win of the year before getting down to business and greeting our opponents.

  I head toward the pitcher, extending my hand to him as I approach.

  Up close, he looks a lot younger than he did when I was across the field.

  Hmm, might be a rookie after all.

  The kid slowly places his hand in mine, all traces of the cocky arrogance I saw earlier gone completely.

  “What’s your name, kid?” I ask, realizing too late it’s probably the wrong thing to say. I should know all the names of my opponents.

  But, like I said, I’ve never seen this kid before. It’s not often you see a rookie as a starting pitcher—our rookie, Carter, being the only exception I’ve seen in all my years on the field. So, I didn’t bother to even look at the roster, stupidly assuming I’d know everyone I saw out on the diamond today.

  Lucky for me, the kid doesn’t seem offended. If anything, he seems a little starstruck to be talking to me.

  Maybe I like
this kid after all.

  “J-Johnson, sir. Miles Johnson.”

  I quirk a brow at him. “You’re pretty good, Johnson.”

  He gives me a crooked smile. “Yes, sir.”

  “Cut it with the sir shit. I know I’m old, but I’m not that old.”

  Truth is, I’m only twenty-eight. But, in the life of a professional athlete, that pretty much equates to fifty. I’ve watched friend after friend blow out their knees or shoulders and have to give up the game before the age of twenty-five. Making it to thirty in this biz is hard work.

  And I intend to last much, much longer than that.

  “Why don’t you and your buddies come out with us tonight?” I ask the kid, knowing I’m breaking an unspoken rule.

  We always go out as a team after a home victory and have a drink to celebrate. But we don’t invite the enemy.

  The kid intrigues me though. Like I said, it’s not often you see a rook come up this early in his career. I wonder if Carter has met him yet. They might hit it off, being the two youngest guys in the league and starting pitchers at that.

  As if sensing my thought process, Johnson’s eyes flick from mine over to where Carter is standing with the rest of my team.

  “I appreciate the offer,” he says, his eyes falling down to the ground below him, “but I think I’ll have to take a rain check on that.”

  I look over to Carter, finding his gaze narrowed in on where Johnson and I are standing. I’m surprised to see his lips pulled back in a sneer.

  Huh. Seems as if my normally calm, cool, and collected Carter knows my new friend after all. And, from the looks of it, I’d say there’s no love lost between them.

  “Another time then,” I say, giving Johnson another brief handshake before jogging over to my team.

  I immediately seek Carter out, throwing my arm around his shoulders and pulling him down to my height. I’m not short by any means, but Carter is a fucking giant. Dude should’ve played basketball, I’m telling you.