Remembering the conversation I’d overheard in the outfield made me more than a little nervous, but in the end I’d convinced myself they were talking about someone else on my team. Denial and deflection were two ways I handled attention.
I planned to watch Ryan carefully to see who’d caught his eye. After I received quick introductions from several of the other players, Kevin Reynolds approached me. We talked longer than he had with my friends and without realizing it, we had moved to a quiet corner under one of the emergency entrances.
“You’re quite a unique lady, Ms. Young,” he had a mysterious smile. “I'm sure you've been told."
"Oh, dozens of times," I laughed nervously.
"Congratulations on your cheer team idea. Groundbreaking I must say." He shook my hand. "Whelp, good luck this year.”
Does he know I was listening when he was talking about sex and women a few weeks ago? That smile says so.
“Thank you.” I wondered if I blushed as I remembered the things he’d said. "And thank you for coming out to meet us."
As Kevin left the area, he whispered something to Ryan. They both glanced at me and smiled.
I was barely seventeen, about to finish my junior year of high school when Ryan Tilton walked my way.
He took my hand in his and kissed it.
Everything seemed to change.
“Enchante', Mademoiselle. Nice to meet you, Ms. Young."
You know my name? Did your lips linger on my hand? Oh God, what a look. I can see it in his eyes—he knows I heard him and Kevin talking that night.
“Very nice to make your acquaintance as well, Mr. Tilton. I don't know how to speak French. What's the word for a boy in French, anyway? You know, like Mademoiselle? Oh! Probably Monsieur, right? Ha! I remembered!" I sped up. "You know, I didn’t think you knew our names because you took so long to come out here. You may not understand, but your introduction means a lot. At least, to me, but I think for my friends, too." I waved my hand, gesturing to where the rest of my teammates stood. The last man left on the baseball team I've rooted for as a little girl is introducing himself. This is surreal. “I’m a big fan. Did you know that?"
"Of the team . . . or of me?" A sly grin appeared, slowly taking possession of his face . . . and capturing my attention.
"Both." I appeared unaffected and answered with a clipped response. Inside, everything was at attention. "You wouldn't know it, but I have been for years. The first time my dad took me to a game? I was only six! How come you guys took so long to introduce yourselves? Did you already say? I thought you might have told Colleen. Did you talk with her yet?” I stopped just long enough to let him get in a few words.
“Yes.” He scanned my face. “I talked with her.”
“Everyone else has been out here,” I pressed on. “I didn’t think you gave a crap.” Oh damn, did I just insult him? Hurry up and apologize! “So anyway,” I cleared my throat. “I . . . I um, I talk fast when I’m nervous and I didn’t mean to be rude with what I said before. I have a sarcastic sense of humor and can come off as insensitive. No offense to anybody, well, or to you. I didn't mean to offend you.”
“No offense taken. You’re right, Ms. Young. We should’ve come out sooner. We didn’t realize we were the only ones left. I guess . . . better late than never? Oh, by the way, I don’t know the names of your teammates, but I know yours.” His eyes showed a hint of mischief. “And you know mine. Coincidence?”
“I follow all of you,” I said. “I love baseball! I know individual stats, averages, pitcher’s win and loss records, and all that stuff. Like, your E.R.A."
"What is it?" he challenged.
"2.54 and you’ve got fifteen saves this year. How’s that for being a fan?” I walked away from the exit and toward the rest of my team.
"Nervous?"
"No." I lied. He was dazzling. "Why?"
"The way you moved away from our private corner." His grin took me to places I hadn't dared to imagine.
"Oh, I just . . . I want to make sure we're not called. You know, I need to keep track of time, I mean."
"Uh-huh. Well, you're certainly impressive, Ms. Young."
"What?" What does he mean?
"Your knowledge of the game. You said you and your dad come to the games? I haven’t seen either of your parents yet. Do they sit in the upper deck or is it just your father who likes baseball?”
How do I explain?
I quickly reached in my invisible bag of excuses, the one I'd filled for many years. I felt Ryan’s big hand on my shoulder.
“That was too personal. I apologize.”
“No, that's okay. I guess they’re too busy. My dad works hard, and he’s put enough away so my sister and I can go to college. She’s going to SF State, and next year it’ll be my turn.”
That’s how you do it, Nick, change the subject—fast.
“Speaking of something you might need for college, I wonder if you need another activity for your resume to . . . Stanford if I remember correctly.”
“You know I’m trying to get into Stanford?” I raised my eyebrows.
“The entire team was asked to read and approve your business plan.” He nodded to a teammate who'd called his name.
Oh, that’s right.
“Yeah, I have openings." I looked up at him, fascinated by his deep blue eyes. "What do you have in mind?”
Ryan laughed a low, masculine, one-syllable laugh. It was mysterious, confusing, and exciting.
Ooh, that low, sexy, laugh. It’s so . . . God it’s . . .
“Nicky, do you mind if I call you Nicky?”
“No.”
“I wonder if you’d like to get involved with the Veterans’ Hospital in Yountville,” he took a folded brochure from his pants pocket and handed it to me. “It’s my favorite charity. I’m sure you’re already aware that some of our returning vets are suffering. Their burden . . ." He looked away quickly, and then refocused. "It's so heavy for them and their families. Among other things, depression too often takes them down.
“Some never get a visit,” Ryan explained. “Even their friends and their own families abandon them because of changes in the person they used to know. At least they can hear from us they're not taken for granted or forgotten.”
“That sounds great.” My mind was already spinning, thinking of the ways we could rotate and take turns each week. “I’ll ask my teammates, too.”
He looked at me without speaking.
He wouldn’t break his stare.
I felt like I was sucked inside of his essence.
Holy God, focus, Nicky.
“What is it?” Why are you pausing? Tell me more about Yountville. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No. You’ve said nothing wrong—nothing wrong at all. It’s just that I was hoping you might take the lead on this with me. Sy and Jose have other ideas for your teammates. They want each of you to try a different charity and then decide which ones you'd like to tackle as a group."
"That sounds good," I concurred.
"I’d like to go with you the first time so I can introduce you to the staff as well as some of the vets.”
“Okay. I'd like that.” Great! Having an in because a Goliath player introduced me . . . sweet! Why is he getting my attention in a way no one ever has? “Just give me a couple days’ notice when you plan to take me out.” Shoot, I made it sound like a date. Hurry up and correct that. “Up there. I meant take me up there.” That smile he has, oh damn! “Did you know I’m trained in First Aid and CPR?” Come on talk intelligently, Nick. “And my father was in the service.”
“So if I ever need to be rescued, you’re the woman?” He looked at me bashfully from under his eyelashes.
“That would be me.” Although I think I’m the one who needs rescuing.
“Good to know. I’ll file that away.” He tucked an invisible note into his pocket. “Where was he stationed?”
“Stationed? Who?”
“Your dad. Where was his tour of
duty?”
“Oh. Hawaii and the Philippines. He served during peacetime, studying mechanics. His superiors said he should’ve been assigned to work on airplanes because he’s a genius, literally, but they made a mistake in his paperwork. I guess it all turned out okay because he supervises about twenty mechanics with Municipality here in San Francisco and . . . I'm sorry. There I go monetizing the conversation. I’m just nervous, you know, so, anyway, just raise your hand when you want me to stop.”
He laughed, and his tone got my attention, once again.
Wow that laugh—it’s sublime and so subtle . . . it's as if there’s a low rumble beginning to move in my belly.
He put his hand on my shoulder. “I talk fast when I’m nervous, too. We have that in common.”
Wow, his hands are big.
“Yeah, thanks, but you’re, well, you’re who you are.” I tightened the rubber band on my ponytail.
“From what I understand you’re a genius yourself,” he leaned in close. “Your resume lists your GPA as 4.25, is that right?”
“I’ve never had my IQ measured to know if I'm a genius, but I study all the time.” I took a breath. “All the time,” I repeated.
“My dad was in the service too—the Middle East." He looked away, as if he were still trying to grasp the pain. "He was killed when I was fourteen.”
“Oh, Mr. Tilton,” I put my hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry.”
The power underneath his skin startled me. His muscles were hard and well defined. Feeling them sent a surge through my body. It was as if they were moving in there and touching him brought a different sensation . . . a burst in my chest—like a big beat—rolled with an ache into my stomach and then softly tingled down my legs.
“Ooh!” It was as if my hand burned and I quickly lifted it off him. Oh damn! Did he feel it too? Wasn’t that a ripple that went through his arm?
“What’s the matter, Nicky?”
His expression suggested things.
I looked away.
“Nothing, Mr. Tilton,” I played with my hair.
“Ryan. Just call me Ryan. Thank you for your sweet thoughts. It was a tough time for me. It’s why I feel so deeply for the vets in Yountville.”
“I get it.”
“Then if it’s all right with you, I’ll clear it with management to make sure they know I’m, uh, taking you out.” He had a look that made me question . . . things.
“I know you’re making fun of me.” My throat is so dry. “I corrected my earlier mistake, you know.”
“Was it a mistake?”
“I um, no, but yes, I mean, yes, it mistake.” I fumbled. “Damn it, I mean yes, it was.”
“I’m just teasing you." His eyes twinkled. "You’re so easy to tease.”
“Don't worry. I know I give everyone plenty of ammunition.”
“I’m sure the front office will have something for you to sign,” he laughed. “They always do. After our visit you can analyze for yourself whether or not you want to continue going with me." He paused in a way that seemed planned. “I’ll let you know when I have everything lined up. Sound like a plan?”
“Yountville sounds great. I appreciate you giving us an opportunity like this. Good luck in your game today.”
“You’re welcome and good luck with your cheers. Seems the fans love your routines." He nodded to the bleacher seats.
"Thanks, I think so too."
"Well then, I look forward to going with you.” He kissed my hand again. “You’re a lovely, young woman.”
“Same to you, Ryan.” Hurry up and correct that. “You know, I mean good luck, not that you’re a lovely, young woman—obviously.”
As he turned away, he shook his head. His shoulders moved up and down as he walked back to the clubhouse of manly men. A sweet feeling stayed with me the rest of the afternoon.
“I saw you and Ryan Tilton talking,” Colleen said.
There’d always been a friendly competition between us, but with the acceptance of my business entertainment plan by the Goliaths, our relationship had become somewhat strained.
“So?” What’s your point?
“Soooo," her voice dipped in a taunting melody. "I saw him kiss your hand, that’s what. And he spent so much time talking with you, I think he’s got a crush.”
“A crush? Are you saying he’s got a crush on me?” I pointed to myself.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Oh, come on. He’s twenty-four. Didn’t he kiss your hand, too?” I was certain I hadn't been treated any differently than she had been.
“No. He. Did. Not.” She said the words slowly and enunciated each of them.
“That's because I’m the lead contact." No? That was just for me? "My name is on the paperwork, that’s all.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what. I see that look in my boyfriend’s eyes, and I know it’s more than you think, Nicky. That look says I wanna play with you.”
“You’re imagining things,” I brushed her off. “He asked me about volunteering at the Veteran’s Hospital in Yountville. I told him I’d speak with you guys about it.”
“I’d keep an eye on him,” she warned. “There’s fire there for you.”
“No way.”
“We’ll see,” she countered.
Maybe we will at that.
Chapter 7
Ready for Yountville
“Nicky!” Ryan shouted.
When he caught my attention, I was waiting behind the outfield fence, getting ready for our first performance of the game. It had been five days since our introduction.
Holy God! Just look at him walking over here.
“Hey there, Mr. Relief Pitcher.” I shook his hand. “Short road trip, huh? It's always great to have the team back in town so soon. You did well, by the way.”
“Thank you, Ms. Young. I appreciate you noticing me.”
Who wouldn’t notice you?
“I’ve cleared our Yountville date with management. If Monday works for you, we’re all set. We don’t have a game that night so we can take our time.”
“Sure, that’s fine,” I confirmed. Yes, that would be so fine, Mr. Tilton.
“Jose has a form for you to sign in his office. He'll need you to return it before Monday. Should I pick you up?”
“You don't need to go out of your way. I'll meet you at your place, or the ballpark . . . wherever you want,” I was ready to take off and shifted into rapid mode. "I can take the streetcar here or wherever; the stop is only a few blocks from my house.”
“I’ll pick you up. Let's say 9:30. What’s your cell number?” I told him and he entered it in his phone. “I’ll call you Monday morning for your address.”
Good thing we’re leaving on a weekday, my dad will be at work. I won’t have to worry about his condition.
The term we'd used for years—his "condition"—struck me suddenly as an odd denial. Instead of saying out loud, “he’s drunk,” we’d say: he’s plastered, smashed, not feeling good, off the wagon, inebriated. The words were a kind of hiding place.
“Okay I'll talk to you Monday. Have a good game, Ryan.”
“Hey Nicky?” He started to walk back to his dugout, but turned around. I’ll never forget how he looked or what he said when he walked back to me. He talked so low and close I was sure I wouldn’t be able to hear him. “I don’t mind going out of my way for you.”
“Oh . . . okay, well, um thank you, I appreciate it. Have a good game.” You already said that. “Yeah, I said that, what I mean is, if you get in the game, have a good one. Thanks for your offer. Actually, what I’m trying to say is, I hope you guys get a win.” Damn it.
“Thanks.” He walked away with a mischievous smile.
My number is in his phone—how weird. Look at his pants! Wow they're tight. They show the outline of his—wow—his butt. Why didn’t I notice that before?
I watched him walk all the way back to the dugout and was surprised when I found Colleen looking at me.
“What I said before.” She shrugged her shoulders.
* * * * *
Monday morning, my cell phone rang around 8:30.
“Hi, Nicky, it's Ryan.”
As if I can’t tell. Who else do I know with a deep voice like yours?
“Can you be ready in thirty?" A horn honked somewhere near him. "I’m running ahead of schedule.”
“I was just getting some cereal.”
“Why don’t we grab something on the ride up? We can spend more time together that way. Where do you live?”
More time together!
I gave him my address and asked him if he needed directions.
“I have GPS. See you soon.”
When he hung up I felt as if I was going on a first date with my high school crush. I was nervous and excited and couldn’t sit still. I put my hair up, took it down, pulled it in a ponytail and let it hang loose. I put on a little blush, then took it off and decided on a little lip-gloss.
After I dressed in jeans and my cheer jersey, I went bounding down the stairs and found my mother at the kitchen table. For whatever reason, on that morning her round body and face surrounded by her dark, curly dyed hair, seemed smaller.
I didn’t realize how my life was changing. Those people and surroundings that seemed so large when I was younger were now just ordinary. Even as I resisted, my boundaries were being redefined. I was making new friends and the things I was involved in were more sophisticated.
The importance of my parents was diminishing.
As I looked at Mom sitting there, I felt bad she was sitting alone. For years she had worked at Juvenile Hall, where she’d supervised girls who were runaways, in gangs, were underage prostitutes, molested, raped, or considered out of control. Most were from abusive homes or had been abandoned.
She said they came through like a chain gang, one after the other. In my mother’s mind, their complaints were all the same: either misunderstood, didn’t get a fair shake, was bullied, and hated their parents.
Mom offered this advice: “Get used to it. That’s life and nothing’s fair about it. No one is going to pick you up and hold you in their arms, and it’s up to you to make your own way.”
Shadow Heart (Broken Bottle Series Book 1) Page 4