“Okay, thanks.” Mark squeezed Dylan’s shoulder before leaving them alone.
“Let me get you both something to drink,” Vanessa offered. “We’ll be sitting down in a minute. What can I get you?”
“White wine for me,” Ava said.
“Water’s fine,” Dylan smiled.
As Vanessa walked away, Ava turned to Dylan. “I wonder if Ray will make an appearance tonight. Do you know if they invited him?”
“They did. Vanessa called me to give me advance warning. And who cares? I have to see him sometime,” Dylan shrugged.
“Yeah, but this is where the mole is,” Ava said, referring to the leaks to the press that had revealed that Pedro’s party was where Dylan and Ray first met.
“I don’t care,” Dylan shrugged. “They can say whatever they want about me at this point.”
And she meant it. Since learning that she was pregnant, everything else seemed trivial all of a sudden. She still hadn’t told Mark because her doctor told her she was only ten weeks or so along. But more importantly, if he knew she was pregnant, it might be a lot harder to justify spending as much time apart as they had been. She never went to games, and scarcely even left the house with him anymore. His game and travel schedule lately had made that much easier to pull off than she expected. Only when he had appearances in New York did Mark notice that she had pulled back somewhat.
And best of all, it seemed as though Corey may have been correct in his analysis after all. The press was softening their attitude toward Mark, giving him strong coverage for his charity work and being much more complimentary of his performance on the field, even on his rare off-days. “Wine,” Vanessa said, handing a glass to Ava when she returned. “And water.”
“So Ava’s not met everyone,” Dylan said. She was feeling another wave of nausea and knew a quick run to the bathroom might be in the offing. “Vanessa, maybe you’d like to introduce her?”
“Of course.”
As she walked off with Vanessa, Ava shot Dylan a quick look and winked reassuringly at her friend. Taking a sip of her water, Dylan nodded her greetings to a few of the other women and turned to head for the powder room.
“Hey there, lady,” Lauren approached, a generous glass or red wine in hand.
Dylan tried not to judge but Lauren was visibly pregnant after all.
“Holding it for someone else,” Lauren laughed, reading her expression. “Or at least that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”
Dylan gave her a little smile back. Lauren’s relentless cheer was difficult to take sometimes. What used to seem like a fun, upbeat personality now came across as superficial. Would she even have been friends with someone like Lauren, had they not been in the same peculiar circumstance, married to men who played a professional sport?
“Have you seen Ray yet?” Lauren asked, her eyes bright. “I just saw him greet Mark outside. They seem to have put their differences behind them.”
Dylan shrugged. “It was all a big misunderstanding to begin with,” she said vaguely.
A bitter taste in her mouth had her taking a sip of water and looking desperately in the direction of the powder room.
“More than a misunderstanding I would say,” Lauren said, a thin smile on her face. “There was no misunderstanding the fact that he did actually seem to be attracted to you.”
Dylan studied her face, remembering what Cindy had told her about Lauren having an on-again, off-again affair with Ray. Maybe for Lauren it was more than an affair.
“Whatever it may have been for him, it was nothing to me,” Dylan said pointedly. “Excuse me a second, Lauren . . .”
She turned and found a place to set her water glass and headed toward the powder room. Trying the door, she found it locked and took a deep breath, turning to head for the other one. She had to walk through the rear where the men were gathered to get to it, and noticed out of the corner of her eye that Mark seemed to be comfortably in conversation with Pedro. And Ray was there as well, standing nearby, handsome as always, wearing a suit jacket and white shirt over jeans.
In the bathroom, Dylan checked her make-up and rinsed her mouth with cold water. She had stopped straightening her hair, and it was in that in-between stage where the roots were thicker than the ends. She’d taken to wearing it back now, no longer favoring the high-maintenance pin-straight style that had so offended Mark when she first got it. As her pregnancy progressed she might cut it, getting all the relaxer out once and for all.
Her pregnancy. Dylan ran a hand across her abdomen, smiling. It was still so new, thinking of herself as pregnant. Apart from the illness, it seemed unreal. She and Mark were going to be parents. It was much, much sooner than they intended, but she had no doubt he would over the moon at the news. She was too, when she permitted herself to be excited about it.
She had stopped the frenzied workouts and begun eating a little differently lately. Even though it was difficult, she forced herself to have eggs, milk, other things that were essential for a healthy pregnancy. And she had a prescription for prenatal vitamins that Ava had gotten filled for her. Dylan couldn’t wait until she began to show, until the baby began to kick.
It had been almost impossible keeping the news from Mark. So many times she’d forced herself not to say anything, feeling the words on the tip of her tongue. When he’d gotten back from an away game the evening before and she watched him walking into the master suite toward her, Dylan pictured him carrying an infant, holding a baby bottle, bringing their son or daughter to their bed so she could do a feeding.
What’re you smiling like that about? he’d asked, grinning back at her.
Girl’s gotta have her secrets, she said.
Still smiling at the memory, Dylan opened the powder room door and stopped in her tracks when she came face to face with Ray Hernandez. Not too long ago she might have been giddy or uncomfortable, but now all she felt was exasperated.
“Ray,” she said, her voice flat.
“Dylan,” he said. “I’ve been hoping for a chance to talk to you.”
“What about?” she asked, brushing by him.
As she headed out to the party, he followed and it was only when they were in full view of everyone else that she stopped and turned to face him. There was no way she would give anyone— especially not Mark—ammunition to say that she’d done anything inappropriate.
“I owe you an apology,” Ray began.
“What for?” she blinked, uninterested.
“A lot of what was being said. I could have . . .”
“All of those things are still being said,” Dylan pointed out. “And your silence about it has been less than helpful. As you probably know.”
“A lot of other things are going on,” Ray said, not meeting her eyes. “Cindy . . .”
“Yes, I spoke to Cindy. She and I had lunch awhile back,” Dylan said.
Ray looked surprised, but before he could respond, Mark approached. Dylan reached out and took his hand, holding it in both of hers. She could feel a coiled tension in him, a readiness to switch from inquisitiveness to aggression if the situation warranted.
“Anyway, Ray it was great talking to you,” she said dismissively.
She leaned into her husband and looked expectantly at Ray so he would know that it was time for him to take his leave; and when he had, she looked up at Mark and smiled.
“I hope they serve dinner soon,” she said. “I’m starved.”
Dylan was in the kitchen when Mark came in from his run, still breathless and perspiring, looking like the cover model of a men’s health magazine. She looked away, wondering how long it would take before she stopped panting after her husband. Probably not until they were octogenarians, if then.
“Hey,” he said, kissing her on the forehead and then heading to the refrigerator for a bottle of water.
He took a long swig and leaned against the counter watching her as she worked on her laptop. “How come you never want to go running anymore?”
�
��As I recall, it didn’t work out too well for me last time,” she said looking up at him for a moment. “That was a fluke,” Mark said. “Are you afraid of falling again? Is that what’s going on?” Only in part. She definitely didn’t want to risk a fall because she had so much more at stake now
with the baby, but there was also the fact that her tagging along had been about desperation before, not exercise. He hadn’t been talking to her then, or connecting with her outside of the bedroom so she’d felt the need to force herself on him. Now things were so much better.
“You were right when you said that the trail’s a little too challenging for me,” she said. “You did okay,” Mark said quietly. “I was being an asshole.”
Dylan looked up at him and something occurred to her. “Do you miss me running with you?” she
asked.
Mark smiled at her, that almost shy smile that she recalled from when they first met; the smile of the guy who still didn’t get just how amazing he was, and that she was the lucky one to have him, not the other way around.
“You never really talked to me at all,” she pointed out.
“Yeah, but I liked knowing you were there,” he said, his voice quiet.
For a moment, those words just hung there, bringing them both just a little closer to each other
than they had been just moments before. Then Mark was coming to stand behind her, looking over her shoulder to see what she was working on.
“Law school stuff,” she explained a little shyly. “I might be able to start in the spring.”
Mark placed a hand on her shoulder and leaned in, looking at the monitor but not commenting. Dylan knew he probably didn’t want to pressure her, remembering all too well as she did, that the last time she’d made a big deal out of school but not followed through.
“I’m about to take a shower,” he said, and then added, “there’s room for two.”
“No thanks. I think I’ll stay here and finish this up before I have to leave to pick up Miri at the train station. If I get in the shower with you . . .”
“True,” Mark said as he left the room. “You can’t seem to keep your hands off me.”
For whatever reason, her self-enforced exile seemed to be working for them. Mark was the one seeking her out now, made curious, intrigued, and maybe even a little insecure by her new willingness to just let him be.
Not too long ago when he had a free weekend and suggested they go out to dinner, she’d turned him down and been floored by the look of raw disappointment on his face, something bordering on hurt. Dylan had made herself sound uninterested in the suggestion, but that was only because she wanted it so much.
Rare had been the times in their relationship when they’d just had a night out together, just the two of them. They’d never dated in the traditional sense; there had always been family around, and fans or his agent, always someone looking for him, and somewhere else for him to be. Dylan could tell when he suggested dinner, he had something romantic in mind. He’d played well while he was away and probably felt like celebrating; celebrating with her. Just knowing that touched her.
Her husband wanted to woo her, she realized, and it broke her heart to have to turn him down. But she couldn’t chance it. Corey’s strategy was working and except for passing references, the sports media seemed to have moved on from the scandal with Ray. But it was too soon to be sure, so she would wait until the end of the season before reasserting herself.
Checking the time she got up and grabbed the keys, heading out the door to go meet her sister-inlaw’s train. The drive was only a few minutes long and when she got there, Miri was already waiting for her, wearing jeans and a backpack, looking every much like the college student she was about to become. She got in the truck and gave Dylan a quick kiss on the cheek, taking off her iPod and reaching for the USB port to instead play her music through the Range Rover’s speakers.
“So I’m about to pass out, I’m so hungry,” Miri said. “You think you could stop at MacDonald’s on the way?”
“Sure,” Dylan said, maneuvering away from the curb. “But your brother may want to take you out to dinner or something.”
“Nope. My only plan is to veg out and enjoy the quiet,” Miri said.
She was beginning to yearn for more alone time than her parents’ house in the Bronx offered and more often was inviting herself up to Westchester to spend a couple days here and there with Dylan. Maybe UVa would have been the best choice for university for her after all. It was going to be difficult for her to convince her folks that she should get her own place when she started at Columbia.
Dylan looked at her and smiled, resisting the urge to reach out and move a lock of Miri’s hair from her cheek and treat her like a little girl. Maybe her maternal instincts were kicking in early.
As soon as they pulled up at the drive-through, Dylan could smell the odor of cooking oil and salt. Her damned sense of smell was so acute these days that she’d switched out all of her and Mark’s bath products for unscented varieties. It was so bad that if a banana sitting on the kitchen counter was more than a day old, she thought she might start retching at the scent of it.
“D’you know what you want?” Dylan asked Miri, swallowing the saliva that seemed to rise to her lips out of nowhere.
“Maybe . . .” Miri perused the menu, taking her time about deciding and took deep breaths, trying to channel her thoughts in the direction of something that would soothe her stomach. The only thing that didn’t make her ill these days was lemon flavored Italian ices.
“Miri,” she said, feeling herself grow dangerously closer to vomiting. “C’mon, what do you want?”
Miri looked at her strangely. “A number three with a Coke would be . . . Dylan, are you alright?”
“No . . .” Dylan barely managed to slide the gear into park and get out of the truck before running over to a nearby bush and upheaving into it.
She retched a few times more until it was clear that she had completely emptied the contents of her stomach and stood there, grasping her abdomen, feeling the muscles ache. She had been throwing up more lately, not just feeling nauseous, and it was no picnic, that was for sure.
In a moment, she felt Miri’s hand on her back and she took a napkin that was offered to her.
“Could you move the truck?” she asked her sister-in-law. “I’m going to run inside to the bathroom. Come inside and order your food.”
Dylan avoided her eyes and ran inside, finding the bathroom thankfully unoccupied. She tried to ignore the filthy floor and concentrated instead on the flowing cool water which she used to pat on her face, and rinse her mouth, then she got out of there as quickly as she could, lest another wave of nausea hit her, this time from the faint smell of urine.
She didn’t linger in the restaurant, but instead went to wait outside where the air was fresher. Soon, Miri emerged with her MacDonald’s bag, but looked reluctant to get in the truck with it.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “Was it the fast food smell that got you?”
“Yeah,” Dylan said weakly. “Maybe you should eat it out here?” She indicated the picnic seating.
Miri nodded her agreement and they sat down, Miri on one side, and Dylan directly across from her. As she ate her fries, one by one, Miri studied her and Dylan wondered whether she should have ordered lemonade to take the metallic taste out of her mouth.
“You’re pregnant aren’t you?” Miri said after a moment.
Dylan didn’t know why she should be surprised. Her sister-in-law had always been so perceptive, and not to mention that there were very few other reasons women spontaneously vomited.
“Yes,” Dylan said, her voice quiet. “But . . .”
“Oh my god,” Miri said, a smile spreading across her face. “Mark must be . . .”
“He doesn’t know,” Dylan said hastily.
Miri looked confused.
“I can’t tell him right now,” Dylan said.
“Why not?”
&nbs
p; There was no choice but to pour out the entire story, reminding Miri about that awful day at the ballpark during Mark’s first game back, telling her about the lunch with Corey and everything he’d said, pointing out how much better things had been for Mark since she’d decided to “lay low” as Corey put it; and finally, having her admit that if Mark knew she was pregnant he would never be able to act like anything other than a proud father-to-be and would at every possible opportunity want to take Dylan with him wherever he went, to games, charity events and all the appearances arranged for him by the Mets and his agent.
But when she was done, Miri looked far from convinced.
“But you’re robbing him,” she said shoving aside her burger, seemingly without an appetite all of a sudden.
“Robbing him?”
“Dylan, this is the only time in his life he’ll have a first kid. The only time. He doesn’t even get the privilege of knowing it the moment you know it? How is that not robbing him?”
“The alternative might be to rob him of his career.”
Miri rolled her eyes. “You don’t really believe that, do you? The public has such a short memory. They could loathe him today and consider him a hero tomorrow. He can get his popularity back, but this, once it’s gone? It’s gone for good.”
Dylan said nothing.
“How could you have let Corey convince you to do this thing?”
“I didn’t know I was pregnant then . . .”
“So tell Mark tonight. As soon as we get back, tell him.”
Dylan shook her head. “I can’t. The season is almost over. I’ll tell him then.”
“How far along are you?”
“Just thirteen weeks now.”
Miri closed her eyes, shaking her head. “He is going to be so angry with you, Dylan.” “When I explain . . .”
“No,” Miri said adamantly. “I know my brother. He is going to be pissed.”
Dylan shrugged. “I’ll take that chance. I caused enough damage to his baseball career . . .” Miri shook her head and stood, tossing the remains of her meal into a nearby trash can. “I don’t understand why we’re even talking about baseball,” she said.
The Seduction of Dylan Acosta Page 31