Batter Up: Up Series Book 2

by Robin Leaf

  “You always smell so good,” she purred in her sexy, almost whisper.

  She was killing me.

  She pulled back from me. I felt the absence of her warmth immediately. “And your back…” She ran her fingers across my shoulder blades again. “It’s so… gorgeous.”

  I lowered my head. “Please, Etta…” I whispered, afraid to move, fearing I would give in to my need to throw her down on the couch.

  She ran her hands down my sides to my waist and rested her chin on my shoulder.

  “Please what?” she husked in my ear.

  I pulled my knees up and rested my elbows on them, running my hands down my face. “Please… stop.”

  “Stop what, Nathaniel?”

  In one swift move, I turned and stood, pushed her back against the cushion and hovered over her on the couch, my arms on either side of her head, my face less than an inch from hers.

  “You need to stop touching me and smelling me and almost whispering to me and complimenting me. You. Need. To. Stop.”

  Her eyes widened as she looked innocently up at me. “But why?”

  I grabbed the back of her right knee and threw it around my waist. I eased my hips down, settling between her thighs, crushing my hardness into her core. Holy shit, it felt so good. “Because, this is what happens to me when you do.” She drew in a sharp inhale, placed her hands firmly on my chest, closed her eyes and threw her head back. It was incredibly sexy. I pushed against her again, and her hands gripped my shoulders, pulling me toward her. I bent down and trailed my lips against her neck and inhaled, still holding my arms rigid to keep her breasts from rubbing against me. I was so tempted to grind against her a third time, but instead, I stood up and began pacing. “Hell, it’s what happens to me whenever I’m close to you, Etta. Every day. All the time. But tonight with the touching and the whispers and your thighs rubbing against me,” I shook my head. “I can’t take it.” She sat up on her elbows and watched me pace, completely unreadable expression on her face. I ran both my hands over my head to the back of my neck. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t want me, but you’re killing me.” I turned and walked away.

  “But I’m not…”

  “Yes. You are.” I stormed into my room. “Goodnight, Etta.” I slammed my door.

  I sat on my bed with my head in my hands for I don’t know how long trying to figure out if I just ruined everything. How would I face her in the morning? What would I say? Would I lose her? Do I ignore it and act like nothing happened? This was worse than our time before because I couldn’t blame anything else. No other substances were involved. No drunkenness. No unintentional ingestion of drugs. Just her. Her and her intoxicating scent and voice and perfection. I was going to scare her away. She knew how I felt now, and there was no explaining it away.

  I was screwed.

  I stood and traveled to the bathroom. Once in there, I looked in the mirror at my back. It was obviously unfinished, but the artwork was amazing. I immediately wanted it gone. I honestly wanted no beautiful reminders of my screw up, but I couldn’t bring myself to turn on the shower and wash away anything she had done. The masochist in me needed it there.

  I realized I left my favorite shirt out there on the couch. Fearing the marker would smudge the clean sheets I just washed yesterday, I didn’t want to go shirtless and take that risk. I didn’t even consider that I had other shirts in my drawer; I wanted that one. Yes, I knew that was twisted. I knew it was my need to check the situation. I knew I would never be able to sleep unless I had some idea what I would face tomorrow.

  I opened the door and peeked. The lights were off, but the TV was on and muted. I saw no sign of Etta. In fact, her door was closed, so I assumed she had gone to bed. Quietly, I moved to the couch where I found her asleep on my side of it, covered with the couch blanket, and my shirt was wrapped around her hands next to her face. She looked like a little girl, sleeping peacefully with her security blanket. I watched her, evenly breathing and content.

  Carefully, I leaned down and smoothed her hair from her face. When she didn’t move, I kneeled and kissed her temple, like I had done so many times before, inhaling her Dreamsicle scent and falling deeper for this girl I would probably never have.

  “Don’t leave me, Nathaniel,” she murmured, her eyes still closed.

  I waited, holding my breath, heart squeezing in my chest, to see if she was really awake. She never moved, still breathing deep and even.

  “I can’t leave you, Etta,” I whispered as I caressed her face. I leaned in closer and kissed her cheek. “You own me,” I breathed in her ear, barely making any sound. I stood and walked slowly to the coffee table, stealing the paper on which she drew the design. I looked at the other papers, which looked a little more girly. I was glad she chose this one. I walked back to my room, studying the drawing for a few moments before securing the paper in one of my drawers.

  I found another shirt, fell into my bed, and didn’t sleep at all.

  Twenty Three

  December 28, last year

  Jackson called yesterday to inform me that he would now be taking over my therapy sessions at Etta’s request. I still didn’t want her to treat me, but I guess her professionalism wouldn’t allow me to continue at the snail’s pace her minions offered. It impressed me that she still looked out for me as a patient. I trusted Jackson, and he asked me to meet him at the clinic today, on a Saturday no less, to discuss a new treatment plan.

  I almost said no since Mom scheduled yet another big, blended-family get together for lunch today. I really liked my mother’s new husband (despite his age). I mean he was my investment guy, and we had hung out socially a time or two before my mother needed his assistance with Dad’s retirement roll over and fell for him. Plus, his daughters were pretty cool. Getting to know them better was a priority to me, but now that Jackson was on board, I knew that my knee situation would start moving in a positive direction. I felt bad for bailing on Mom’s plan; I expected her to throw a fit, but she wasn’t at all disappointed. She knew how much getting back on the field meant to me. She has always been so supportive. She agreed to make it a family dinner instead of lunch.

  All the other clinic workers were enjoying the time between Christmas and New Year’s Day with their families. Etta had always valued time with family, so she closed the clinic just like she did at Thanksgiving to allow everyone to spend the holiday with people they loved. Jackson wasn’t due to start at the clinic until January 2, but he offered to begin my therapy now since he understood the urgency of my situation. Since no one would be there at the clinic, he wanted to become familiar with the layout and the equipment, so he called me. He figured while he became acclimated, he could assess me, killing two birds with one stone. Additionally, he could use me as a resource to learn the layout of the clinic since I was familiar with the set-up.

  We went through the ritual of his assessment, which was similar to Etta’s first one with a few additional tricks he had me perform. He discussed other things I hadn’t tried yet, saying he really wanted to start pushing my limits so we could speed the process along.

  “I’m really surprised you aren’t further along than you are, Nate,” Jackson confessed. “I’m shocked Etta has allowed this.”

  I swallowed my cutting remark. “Yeah, I asked to be passed me off onto one of her minions, and I guessed she listened and hasn’t been policing them, I guess.”

  He stared at me for a minute before programming the special, high-tech treadmill. “Well that was kind of dumb. So the romantic apology didn’t go as planned?”

  “There were some unexpected complications,” I said without emotion. The look on my face must have told him that the topic of discussion was closed because he just nodded and gestured to the zero-gravity treadmill.

  “I want you to go for five minutes at a pretty brisk jog and tell me how you feel. If you feel okay, you’ll do ten more minutes.”

  I picked my seventies and eighties heavy metal playlist, put in my ear buds, hit
start, and settled into the rhythm. It really felt good to move like this again. The stationary bike and the elliptical were okay, but I liked to run. Just plain old running. I usually ran at least five miles almost every morning in the off season since I was in high school, and I ran every day we didn’t have a game while we were in season. It was part of my workout routine. Then I would go to the gym and work on a couple of muscle groups per day. I didn’t realize until this moment how much I missed my routine.

  Five minutes later, I nodded to Jackson. I really was fine, which gave me a glimmer of hope that my knee actually would be fine. I felt no twinges, no pain, no problems at all. He set the machine for nine more minutes at the same pace with a minute at a cool down pace.

  Many people who love to run say that it’s the time when they do their best thinking. Not me. It’s the time I allow my mind to go blank. No thinking necessary. It’s my escape – a time for me to get out of my own head for a little while. Over-thinking things always gets me in trouble. Running allows me to push pause on the cognitive activity so that I can come back to it afterward with a refreshed brain. I really missed it.

  The machine slowed and stopped, and when I stepped off, I felt rejuvenated yet a little disappointed it was over. Then I felt it. The energy in the room had changed. I pulled the ear buds out of my ears and turned around. She stood, leaning against the door frame, watching me, Giles happily sitting at her feet. She was dressed in a hoodie and sweats, her hair in a ponytail and no makeup on her face. She looked like home.

  I grabbed the towel and wiped my face. I took a long pull off my water bottle, all the while never taking my eyes off of her.

  “Why are you here, Etta?” I growled, earning a perked ear and tilted head from her dog.

  I put my hand down to call him over. He looked at her for confirmation, and when she nodded, he trotted over and sat, allowing me to bend over and scratch his ears and pat his head.

  “I…” she began, biting her lip. “I’m not sure.” She looked down at her feet and shifted her weight nervously. “I was going to take Giles to Hermann Park, but I ended up here. Jackson told me he was going to be here with you, and…” she trailed off.

  I continued to pet Giles, not looking up to see her face. “And what, Etta?”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her push off the wall and approach me slowly. I turned to face her, never taking my hand off the dog. She looked tired and sad. It took all I had not to pull her to me and hold her, forgetting momentarily that I was supposed to be getting over her. She moved tentatively closer, allowing me a whiff of her heavenly scent, until she was inches from me. She looked at Giles.

  “Can I…” she stuttered and cleared her throat. She turned her eyes up to meet mine. The stormy grey that always accompanies her sadness shined up at me. She reached up with her right hand to touch my chest, but let her hand fall at the last minute. “Please. Can I see it?”

  I stared into the eyes that haunted me for the past ten years. She was so heart-wrenchingly beautiful and vulnerable. I was supposed to be done with her. I was supposed to deny her attempt to rekindle whatever feeling I had for her. Yet here I was, my will power crumbling at her feet.

  I should tell her no.

  I should yell, scream, and curse at her.

  I should walk away.

  I shouldn’t stand here and let her pull me in again.

  I shouldn’t feel anything.

  But I do.

  She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Please, Nathaniel,” she breathed out, opening her pleading eyes. “I need to see it.”

  Fuck.

  I took another drink from my water bottle, just to give myself a second to think this through. I didn’t know if I wanted her to see the symbolic representation of just how stupid I had been. Who gets rejected numerous times by the same woman and doesn’t get the message? Who pines for her for ten years, eight of which she isn’t even around? Who tattoos all that pain permanently?

  Me.

  “Please?” she begged once more.

  I looked at her face again; her broken heart was evident. I had to remind myself that she did it to herself. And to me. I slammed the bottle down on the table and ripped off my shirt.

  Her eyes widened as she followed the pattern down my chest and to my side. I roughly moved my shorts down my hip to reveal the end, uncovering the newly scabbing part Tater just finished on Thursday. She made several passes with her eyes over the design, pausing every so often to take it all in. I couldn’t watch her. I looked past her and felt Giles nudge my right clenched fist at my side. I know he was telling me to calm down. I resumed petting him.

  “When did you…?” she asked in a hoarse whisper.

  I stared at the dog for a second before turning to see her focused on my chest. “I started it last December.”

  Etta raised her hand to touch my inked skin, but I grabbed her wrist before she made contact.

  “No,” I hissed, closing my eyes. I had to protect myself from her blazing touches. “You can’t touch me.”

  She looked up at me, tears already streaking her face, like I slapped her. I released her hand and she stepped back, shaking her head.

  “Oh, God, Nathaniel,” she sobbed and covered her mouth. “I’m so sorry.” She turned and ran out the door.

  The last tiny bit of my in-tact heart shattered at that moment. I felt a sting in my eyes, so I blinked and grabbed my water bottle, downing the rest of its contents.

  Giles stared at me questioningly. “I don’t know, Buddy.” He whined, huffed and laid down. “Yeah, me, too.”

  Jackson reappeared in the doorway, eying Giles. “Etta left?”

  “Yeah, thanks for that,” I snarled. I grabbed my things. “We’re done for today, Jackson. I’ll see you next week. You can text me my appointment schedule.” I pushed past him and stopped, looking him dead in the eye. “Please stop trying to play matchmaker.”

  He grabbed my arm. “You’re going to leave him here?” Jackson asked, pointing to Giles.

  I looked at Giles, who was watching us curiously. “She’ll come back for him.” I turned to walk away.

  “I’m allergic to dogs, Nate.” I stopped and turned around. Jackson looked at me desperately, no hint of deception on his face. “I can’t stay here with him, so you’re going to have to either take him or stay here.”

  I ran my hand over my head. “Ugh. Fine.” I walked back to the doorway. “Come on, Giles.” He trotted to my side, followed me to my car and hopped in the back seat. “No drooling on the leather, got it?”

  He didn’t listen. Bad dog.

  Twenty Four

  February 6, seven years ago

  I rushed in the apartment, unable to contain my excitement. “Eddie! Eddie where are you?” I heard her in the kitchen turn off the blender, no doubt making one of her smoothies for breakfast.

  She ran out of the kitchen, drying off her hands. “What, what’s wrong?”

  I grabbed her shoulders, badly wanting to grab her hands and jump up and down like some giddy little girl. “I got the call. I had to come tell you first.”

  “What do you mean? Who called you?”

  I looked into her eyes, and the confusion on her face almost made me laugh. She was so friggin cute. “THE call. The Sox. They want me.”

  She still looked confused for a minute until understanding dawned on her, then a plethora of emotions played on her face. One of them looked like disappointment. Friggin disappointment? Finally, a skeptical look graced her eyes and she cocked her head to the side. “Is this a joke?”

  I dropped my arms to my sides and laughed. “No, I’m not fucking joking. They want me next week.”

  “Next week?” She turned away and her eyes darted around the room searching for something. Then she looked back at me. “But what about…” she closed her eyes and swallowed, rubbing her hand across her right hip, “…school?”

  I felt my face get hot. The first person I wanted tell, the one I knew would be happiest fo
r me, was not sharing my joy at all. I felt more than a little annoyed. Try total buzz kill. “School?” My voice rose an octave on the word. “The biggest break in the whole entire world, one that every serious baseball player hopes for, just came for me and your first thought is school?” I threw my arms up and slapped them back at my sides. She looked away again. “This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, Eddie, one I’ve been dreaming about forever, and you think I care about school?”

  She whipped her face toward mine and anger flashed in her eyes. “Well, yeah. It’s a valid question. People don’t just throw away free rides to Rice University, Nathaniel.”

  “People don’t throw away a chance to play professional ball, Etta!” I shouted, mimicking her. “And this free ride? I got it for playing baseball.” I took a deep breath and tried to steady my anger.

  “Yeah, but what about…” she stopped and shook her head quickly, as if shaking a thought from her head. Closing her eyes tightly, she continued, softening her tone. “What happens when you don’t get past the minors or if you get hurt? You’ve thrown all of this,” she waved her hands around the apartment, “away. Nothing to fall back on then.”

  “Fuck,” I said under my breath and started pacing. “I’ll figure it out then. People don’t just turn a chance like this down.”

  Her voice lowered. “I’m not telling you to turn it down, just wait. If you just finish out the year, Nathaniel, then you will have your degree, a degree from Rice, by the way. One semester. You’re telling me you can’t wait one frigging semester?”

  I shook my head. “No.” I stopped my pacing and looked in her eyes, my anger melting a little. It was just like her to worry about things like this. I shouldn’t be so angry with her. I thought maybe she’d be happy first, and the questions would come later. She was just doing what she thought was in my best interest as always. But… still. Damn. “I may never get another call. Turning down ‘the call’ doesn’t go unnoticed.” I grabbed her hands. “I can’t pass this up. I am doing this. Why aren’t you excited?”