by Kate Stewart
It wasn’t about revenge; it was about living with the feeling that, for all that time, I’d been wrong about her. And I fucking hated it. Opening the door, I shoved the paper into my pocket and paused when I saw her waiting for me on the other side of the hall.
The thrill of seeing her after so much time was cut short when she spoke to the floor between us.
“Ren,” she said softly. “I’m asking you—no, I’m begging you, not to bring us or our past up again in front of anyone. I’ve worked so damn hard to get to where I am, and I don’t want anything circulating.”
“Ashamed of me?” I asked with a chuckle as I stood in the doorway, my arms on the frame. She may as well have shot me in the chest as she brought her dusky gaze to mine with a “Yes.”
“Don’t give it a second thought,” I assured.
She closed her eyes as if it pained her to look at me. I was hoping that was the case as my gut churned. I kept my voice level despite the need to confront her, ignoring the fire brewing in my chest. “Tell me something. If you hate me so much, what are you doing here?”
She opened her eyes with steely resolve. “I have a job to do. I didn’t come by choice. You have a job to do as well. So, can we at least just keep this civil?”
Ignoring her plea to keep the peace—though I had every intention of playing along with her tactics to better my image—I took a step forward, closing the space between us. I was enjoying her discomfort far too much to let her off the hook so easily.
“Suddenly you’re worried about the state of our relationship? That’s rich. You know, I haven’t changed my number. A phone call would have been nice. ‘Hey, Ren, how are you doing?’ or something to that effect.”
She shook her head. “I won’t do it. I won’t rehash our past.”
“It’s funny you say that,” I said with a slow exhale, commanding her eyes.
She let out a breath of her own and threw her shoulders back, nothing but fight in her stance. “Oh?”
I nodded. “I think you’re right.”
Relief covered her features as she spoke. “You do? That’s good because—”
“Yeah, it was a long time ago, Erica. There’s no sense bringing up the past.” But it was all I could see when I looked at her: a curious brown gaze, a beautiful smile the first time we locked eyes, my name whispered in prayer from her lips as she clutched me to her, her head thrown back the first time I fucked her, her tears the first time she told me she loved me, our late-night talks in the dark, naked and wasted on each other, the fit of her in my arms when she needed me, the feeling of her when I needed her, the sweet catch of her breath the first time I told her I loved her. It was all there, on replay and circulating in the air between us. I hadn’t imagined her love for me. I knew it, and she did, too. And then it was gone, and so was she, like we never happened. No trace but the ache that I tried to kill with every swig of liquor, every thrust of my cock, or punch I threw. I’d acted out of hurt at first, and it had spiraled into something I never wanted. But the more I woke up and hated myself, the more the pattern grew. Staring at her, still fucking hurt, brought out anger I didn’t realize I was still holding onto.
With Erica in Arizona, I wasn’t sure I could handle letting that door swing open again. It was just a matter of a season before she walked away again, and this time I could keep myself from being ripped apart when she did it.
But I would have to keep my distance. Even as the thought crossed my mind, I took a step toward her.
She surveyed my face for any sign of a catch for my earnest cooperation. She knew me too well.
“Okay, then. That’s—” she swallowed. “That’s great, Ren. I just . . . want to get along and get you out of this mess.”
I inched forward as she plastered herself to the wall. Her eyes dilated as I leaned in. Undeniably responsive. She always had been, and my cock twitched in recognition.
“I’m all yours, Wild. Do what you will.”
Steadfast, she pushed at my chest before she crossed her arms defensively. “Don’t come at me like that. Don’t be a pig.”
“I’m just being sincere, Erica,” I taunted. “Maybe that’s a foreign concept to you. To say something and mean it.” I couldn’t help it. It made me look like a whiny, jilted bitch, but then again, I’d never got the chance to state my grievances when she fled my apartment in Atlanta. She deserted me in the most cold-hearted fucking way imaginable.
She searched my eyes as the anger brewed. “What happened to you?”
“Me?” I taunted innocently, taking a step back before I forgot myself and did something fucking stupid. Because I was done with stupid. “Can’t say much has changed.”
“The headlines indicate otherwise.”
“You know better than to believe everything you read,” I said absently.
Arms still crossed, she raised a brow. “So, you’re not the biggest douche bag in Major League Baseball?”
I clicked my tongue at her. “Not a nice way to start our friendship by insulting me.”
Her shoulders slumped. “Sorry, you’re right. I apologize.”
Crowding her again, I dug in, my eyes masked. “For what exactly?”
She hesitated. “For insulting you.”
“Oh, is that all?”
“Ren, I—”
“You left. I guess that’s all I need to know,” I said, giving her space back and shoving my hands in my pockets. I was burning hot and throwing cold. Space from her is exactly what I needed. “It’s going to be a good season. Let’s focus on that.”
“I don’t follow ball anymore.”
“No?” I shrugged. “A traitor to all things, I guess.”
Narrowing her eyes, she tilted her chin toward me. “Traitor? Hardly. I think I’ve done enough time.”
“Jail sentence, huh?” I leaned in again, my arm above her head, my lips an inch from hers. I could feel the same vibrations between us. “So now it’s my turn to ask. What happened to you?”
She opened her plump lips, and I placed my finger on them. “On second thought, I don’t give a shit.” Her eyes widened as I pushed off the wall and started to walk away. I spoke over my shoulder. “Let’s not get this twisted; you work for me now until I say otherwise. My nights are my fucking own. Make me look good, but don’t get in my way.”
She was on my heels in an instant. “So that’s how you’re going to play this?”
I stopped, and she ran into my back with a thud. I stood with her breath on my neck and closed my eyes. “I’m not playing anything, Erica. I don’t have an angle. I’m done making headlines for anything other than ball. But you can bet your sweet ass that I’m not yours to handle. It’s my image you’ll manage, not me.
“Ren, you just said—”
I turned to face her again, stifling the jilted bitch inside me to bring the brutal bastard forward. “It’s about ball. I’ll play along. Paint any picture you want, just remember you don’t know a damn thing about me anymore. So, don’t pretend to.”
I was a few steps down the hall when she called after me. “Oh, I know you, Ren Makavoy! I’m betting there’s a deck of cards in the front pocket of your jeans. Oh, and I’m positive you still take off your shirt and sanitize the toilet seat before you take a shit!”
Not my finest moment. Not at all. Especially when Rafe Hembrey caught the ass-end of my outburst and began laughing hysterically at Ren’s retreating back before he squinted his eyes at me curiously.
Rafe was a tall drink of water, and if I weren’t so damn high from being in Ren’s proximity, I would’ve appreciated the sight of him more. But it just so happened that Ren was the only man who had dazed me to the point of being manic, and it was only partially due to his beauty. It was what was between us, the connection that’d sent me into a head-first spiral. And it was still there because I was shaking.
Rafe spoke up as I glared at Ren’s retreating back. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. He’s just a little hellbent on ruining himself. I’m sure it’s not
hing personal. You can do better.”
“Thanks for the pep talk, but I’m not his latest conquest. I’m his new publicist.”
“Oh, well then,” he said, taking a step forward extending his hand. “Rafe Hembrey.”
“I’m aware,” I said, managing a sincere smile and shaking his hand.
He was a gentleman, unlike the jerk who just walked away from me. “Erica Wild. I’m a fan.”
“Always nice to have those,” he said with a panty-melting smile. Rafe was the opposite of Ren; he had a stellar reputation for being both a family man and an outstanding team player. He was the best pitcher in the League.
He had that cocky assurance thing going on, but he was as humble as a player could be. I was sure he didn’t go walking around with Ren’s newly-acquired God complex. Rafe simply was the best. So was Ren. He just wasn’t good at being the best.
Thinking on my feet, I addressed Rafe. “I could use your help this season. We need him acting a little less like him and more like you. Do you have a minute?”
He ushered me out of the hall and into the lobby, where we both took a seat at one of the comfortable couches. Without looking back, Ren made his way out of the sliding glass doors of the hotel, full-on badass swagger in tow. I ignored the sting of his brush off. Because, in truth, I deserved it more than I cared to admit.
“I’m all for helping the sad bastard. I’ve been telling him for years he needs to wipe his nose.”
I sighed as I leaned back on the couch. “Can I buy you a beer?”
“No thanks, I’m set,” he said, leaning back in his own seat. “I’ve got meetings to get to.”
“I won’t take much of your time. I have sort of a game plan in mind for the season, and I was hoping I could run a few strategies by you.”
He gave me a devilish grin. “If you’re going to speak in sports metaphors, you get my full attention.”
I shrugged. “When in Rome, right?”
“I’m open to any suggestions you have, but I should warn you now, he won’t make it easy for you.”
“I’m aware,” I sighed. “We’re sort of acquainted.”
“Apparently, since you are aware of his bathroom habits,” he said with a knowing smirk. “Being on the road with him is a nightmare. He’s got serious issues. This one time—” he chuckled “—at the airport, I had to snatch off some freaky face mask he ordered on the internet because he was scaring children. Is he your ex?”
I bit my lip and nodded as I sank into the couch. That admission of our past relationship was solely on me and my outburst.
“We dated a few years ago.”
“Interesting. And you’re in PR.” Rafe chewed on that a minute. “Bullseye,” he whispered to himself.
“Pardon?”
Rafe moved forward bracing his clasped hands between his knees. “I just find it ironic that he hates the spotlight and he’s been in it quite a bit lately.”
“He’s a different man than he was when we were together,” I replied, trying to hide the disappointment in my voice. Still, I knew what I was getting into when I walked into the situation.
“That’s just the thing though, Erica. Why is he so hellbent on making headlines?” He widened his eyes as he looked me over carefully.
It wasn’t in the way a man appreciated a woman; it was as if he was trying to tell me—
“Wait,” I asked incredulously. “You don’t think that shit show was for me?”
Rafe shrugged. “Can you think of a better reason? How close were you?”
Close enough to have hurt us both so badly that there was no way to come back from it.
Even when I realized it was a mistake to leave.
Even when I realized it wasn’t a mistake because of the womanizing pig he became. And still, I loved him anyway. Every minute of every day for years. But I finally got myself together, and I’d hoped the same for him.
“We were close. But if he thinks screwing everyone with two legs and acting like an idiot off the field is the way to go, he’s mistaken.”
“You’re here,” Rafe pointed out.
“It wasn’t his doing,” I said confidently.
Rafe slowly nodded as if he didn’t believe a word I was saying.
“Do you really want to know this story?” I asked sheepishly.
Rafe nodded. “I’ve known that man two seasons and never once seen him with a woman more than a few hours. So, color me curious.”
“We dated exclusively for a year and then things started to go in a direction . . . I didn’t want.” I kept my eyes low with my admission. “I left him while he was in spring training. We were living together at the time and I took a job in New York. I made sure he couldn’t come after me because of ball.”
Rafe paused. “Ouch.”
“At the time, I thought I was doing the right thing, and when I realized I screwed up, it was too late.”
Rafe leaned in. “What happened?”
“He made his first headline.”
His first headline was being caught in the back of a limo with two well-known reality TV stars. Naked reality TV stars. Since then, he’d moved his way up to Oscar-winning actresses. And I’d lost every piece of myself to every word, every picture, and had no choice but to follow because it was my job. Realization dawned as Rafe cupped his chin. “So, he lashed out to hurt you. Looks like he got what he wanted.”
I guffawed. “Hardly,” I said, staring in the direction Ren left. But that was a lie. And maybe it was time to start telling the truth. Maybe I could finally try to explain it to Ren to make him understand why I left the way I did. He didn’t deserve it, even if he had hurt me back just as badly.
I looked over to Rafe. “Yeah, he got what he wanted.”
I couldn’t believe the best pitcher in the MLB was talking to me about my failed relationship. But Ren had made it impossible to avoid. If Ren was still pissed at me for old hurts, he was dragging his reputation and his team down with him. Rafe and Ren were a team within the team, so if one was off, it threw them both off.
Rafe read my thoughts. “I need him sharp. This could do more harm than good.”
“I need my job. My boss gave me an ultimatum. I worked extremely hard to get here. I had no idea which way that meeting would go.”
“From the looks of it, it didn’t go well.”
I bit my lip and shook my head.
“I’m going to ask you a question that’s none of my business.”
“Okay,” I said carefully.
“Is he alone in the way he feels?”
I swallowed and crossed my arms over my chest. “I can’t be with him the way he is. And it’s more complicated than that. So much more complicated.”
Rafe picked at a piece of leather on the corner of the couch.
“Looks like we’re fucked.”
“Rafe, this is what I do. You keep his head in the game. And I’ll keep his nose clean off the field.”
“And what about your predicament?”
“Let me handle it,” I assured, on shaky ground. “You have a series to claim.”
Rafe gave me an award-winning smile. “Damn right I do.”
“We need all hands on deck this season. He has no family, no real support system.”
Rafe nodded. “I’m aware.”
“If there’s anything you can think of, I’ll make it happen. You have anyone in mind who could help?”
A slow budding smile spread across Rafe’s face. “Fuckin’ A, I do.”
“You plan on joining us in warm-up, Makavoy?” Hamlin called as I started another set of reps on the bench.
I had more than enough aggression to get out due to an early breakfast with Erica. We were staying in the same damned hotel and I didn’t know how to feel about it. Before the meeting in the conference room, the last time I saw her, she was wrapped around me against my front door, clinging for life as I drove into her like a crazed man, desperate to make sure she knew she had me in both body and heart.
N
o matter how hard I baited her that morning, she stayed on topic, not straying from the plans she had for me.
“Are you fucking serious?” I said as I shoveled in the last bite of my wheat banana pancakes.
“There is nothing wrong with being a big brother, Ren. Except don’t say fuck when you’re around him.” She kept her eyes on her tablet, while her long lashes danced along her cheekbones. Erica surpassed beautiful and was the most stunning woman I’d ever met. Her beauty was all natural. And it wasn’t just her silky black hair, deep-set brown eyes, or smooth, olive skin. She had a glow about her, a deeply-nestled charisma that made her loveable before she even spoke a word. It was the first thing I noticed about her. It’s what drew me to her. That and her sense of humor, which seemed to have vanished. The woman I knew had jokes; this woman had an agenda, and I hated it.
“It’s the most obvious publicity stunt ever,” I argued. “The media won’t buy that I’m trying to be a positive role model.”
She widened her eyes as she twisted her hair into a bun on top of her head. “How about this novel idea. You actually try to make an effort to mentor a kid who needs your help.”
She knew I hated her hair up when we were together. I ignored it as I also tried to ignore the sight of her perfect tits in a sports bra, flimsy T-shirt, and yoga pants. Fuck me, she looked perfect.
“Not a good move,” I dismissed. “What’s next?”
“It’s happening. He’ll be at the field tomorrow after school for an introduction. His name is Malcolm Bruce, and he’s thirteen. You’re his idol, and he’s been in and out of foster care for years.” Realization struck as I pushed my plate away and glared at her.
“What are you trying to do, dredge up the sympathy card?”
“I’m trying to remind you of where you came from,” she said in a whisper. “You’re a twenty-seven-year-old millionaire with the world at your fingertips. It wouldn’t hurt him to see a future is possible no matter the circumstances he’s in now.”
“I’m a fucking lottery winner,” I said. “This won’t change anything for him.”
“He’s varsity potential and an all-around catcher at thirteen years old. So, I’m going to disagree with you on that,” she said, popping a piece of melon ball into her mouth. “And you worked your way up to the MLB. You didn’t win anything. You earned it.”