The Perfect Catch

by Meghan Quinn

  Audrey studies me, the corners of her lips tilted up. “I heard there was a touch of blistering, but nothing he can’t muster through.”

  I bring my hand to my mouth. “Oh, dear God, I blistered him.”

  “It’s fine. He was upset but he knows it wasn’t your fault.”

  “He told you he was upset?”

  “There might have been a few choice words, maybe some suggestions about footwear so nothing gets caught in the flooring.”

  “Does he want me to wear flats? I’ll wear flats—that’s if I still have a job.” I wince. “Do I still have a job?”

  Audrey chuckles. “Yes, Kate, you still have a job.”

  I let out a long breath and relax into the chair. “Thank Jesus.” I motion some prayer hands up to the sky. “So, you’re not mad at me?”

  She shakes her head. “More concerned.” She picks up a pen and plays with it, flitting it through her fingers. “I feel as if you’ve been distracted lately.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, playing innocent.

  “You’re doing your job, but there have been little things I’ve noticed, like why aren’t you signing Penn up for any more events? He’s one of our more charismatic guys.”

  Because I don’t want to see him.

  Talk to him.

  Look him in his drunk eyes one more time.

  Clearing my throat, I say, “I thought I would give the players who have been struggling lately a chance to focus on their game and not so much on the extracurricular stuff.”

  Audrey taps her pen to her chin. “That actually makes a lot of sense.” She chuckles. “I didn’t think about that. I kind of thought it had to do with your friendship with him.”

  “You, uh . . . you know about that?” I ask, trying not to freak out.

  Tilting her head to the side and giving me a look, she says, “Penn personally wrote me a letter of recommendation for you. He was very adamant about giving you the job and that you’d be good at it, which you are.”

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “But I have a feeling the job isn’t what you thought it was going to be.”

  “What would make you think that?”

  She studies me again and answers, “At the beginning of the season, you were very much involved in what was happening. You were bound and determined to get to know these players and elevate their community presence. Now it seems like you’re maxing out at the bare minimum. I wanted to make sure there wasn’t a problem, there wasn’t something that was holding you back.”

  Well . . . maybe I’m holding back because I fell in love with one of the players and I wasn’t supposed to do that. Maybe because I found myself getting too close too fast with the players. Maybe it’s because I’m an idiot and ruined the best job I’ve ever had while going after the most affectionate and loving man that I can’t have.

  Yup, pretty sure that sums it all up.

  “I think I’m a little worn out from the season,” I answer. “I wasn’t expecting it to be so long, so many hours, and so mentally draining at times. First year conditioning problems, you know?”

  “Ahhh.” Audrey nods. “Welcome to the sports industry, where we barely get any sleep and we’re needed at all times. The first year is a doozy.”

  “I’m finding that out the hard way. I promise I’ll pick it up. I don’t want to let you down.”

  “How about this,” she says while folding her hands on top of her desk. “Take the next two days off, recharge, and then come back strong. The boys are in the playoffs and hopefully headed to the World Series against Phoenix if we have any luck. We need you charged up and ready to go.”

  “Oh, Audrey, that’s not necessary. I can handle everything, I just need to drink the coffee, not spill it.”

  She chuckles but then grows serious. “No, you need this time off. Take two days, and I’ll see you back here on Saturday. Okay?”

  I know she’s not going to take no for an answer, so I nod and stand from my chair. “Okay, but this is paid time off, right? I’m not being punished for the burnt crotch?”

  She smirks. “You’re not being punished, I promise. Now go give yourself a spa day, do something nice for yourself, and come back Saturday ready to work.”

  “Okay.” I fold my hands together. “I’m sorry again. I’ll write Coach Hopkins a letter apologizing one more time.”

  Audrey holds up her hand. “Not necessary . . . but maybe let someone else handle his coffee from now on.”

  “Done.” I chuckle and give her a quick wave before heading straight to Vivian’s office. I don’t even bother knocking, I just walk right in and shut the door behind me.

  Vivian’s eyes snap up to mine and she quickly asks, “Were you fired?”

  “No.” I shake my head and take a seat across from her. “But she did ask me to take two days off to recharge.”

  “Really?” Vivian crosses her legs and says, “Man, I need to start spilling coffee on people’s crotches.”

  I chuckle and relax into my chair. “God, Vivian, I really thought I was going to be fired, and do you know what I kept thinking about the whole time?”

  “What?”

  “Would it really be that bad?”

  “If you got fired?” Her eyes widen. “Yes, Kate, that would be bad.”

  “I know financially it would be devastating, but mentally, I’m not sure it would be such a bad thing.” I shrug wearily. “I’m not sure I can keep doing this. It’s taking a toll on me.”

  “Audrey is right, you need some time off. Collect yourself. Do something fun or relaxing, or . . . hell, just spend the day binging on food and movies. Lord knows you’ve lost weight and should probably eat a stick of butter.”

  “It’s not that bad.” I have lost quite a bit, though, my curves are barely curves anymore and my pencil skirts don’t fit the way they used to. I don’t feel sexy in them now that they don’t cling to me anymore, but rather, I feel frumpy from the way they hang off my body.

  “Seriously, though, do something for you. I know you haven’t in a while.”

  “Because I haven’t deserved it.”

  Vivian shakes her head. “There were two people who participated in that relationship. You and Walker. You both made mistakes. And he was the one who pushed the line first, you just fell along with him. You can’t take all the blame. Stop punishing yourself.”

  “I know, but I just can’t help it.” I bite the inside of my cheek and say, “Penn hasn’t pitched the same since.”

  “Penn is a big boy and his performance is none of your concern. You’re not responsible for that, you’re only responsible for yourself at this point. Now get out of here and stop sulking. I better get pictures of you spoiling yourself.”

  Grumbling, I stand and head to her door, but before walking out, I ask, “Do you think I even deserve this? I’m the one who caused the headache, why should I be the one who gets to relax?”

  “You didn’t cause a headache. You fell in love, there’s a difference.”

  “I never should’ve fallen in love.”

  Vivian shrugs. “It’s funny how people try to control their heart with their brain. It’s never going to work, no matter how hard you try.” She nods toward the door. “Get out of here, and don’t forget to send pictures.”

  Chapter Sixty-One

  KATE

  I stare into the mirror for the twentieth time today and sift my fingers through my new haircut. God, I don’t even look like the same person. Going from long, honey-colored locks to a short, blunt bob just above my shoulders with ice-blonde, ombré highlights, I look . . . different.

  I sent a picture to Vivian, and she freaked out and texted back with a ton of heart eye emojis followed by multiple eggplants. Her response gave me a small chuckle. But even at that, I couldn’t muster the happiness I’m looking for. Everything just seems so gray, even after a day of shopping and picking up some new outfits that fit better. I only got a few because I know me—once I kick this funk I’m in, I’ll be hea
ding back to my favorite bagel shop every morning.

  Sighing, I head into my bedroom, strip out of my clothes, and open up my drawer for a pair of pajamas. My eyes land on the blue T-shirt that has been folded in there for months, the shirt I took from Walker, the shirt I wore that entire day we were together.

  One day.

  One freaking day is all it took to solidify my feelings for the man.

  They came on strong. They hit me harder than expected, and now they’re sticking, and no matter what I do, I can’t shake them.

  I run my fingers over the worn fabric. I’ve yet to wear it again since that day, but every night when I open my drawer, I consider putting it on, though I always shy away, believing I don’t deserve to wear it. And I don’t. I don’t deserve to have him wrapped around me.

  I’m reaching for another shirt when I pause and stare at Walker’s shirt again.

  Maybe it’s what I need. To feel him again, just this once.

  Before I can second-guess myself, I pick up the shirt and shut the dresser drawer. With nothing else on besides a pair of underwear, I slip the extra-large shirt over my head, letting the fabric loosely hang over my body. I sit down on my bed and wrap my arms around my waist, as if I’m hugging the shirt, and take in the slightest scent of him that’s left in the fibers of the fabric. It’s very faint, but it’s there.

  I bring the shirt up to my nose and take a deep breath just as there’s a knock at my door.

  Knowing it’s probably Vivian with some sort of treat, I head toward my front door and fling it open, only to be stunned to see Penn on the other side.

  “Penn, wh-what are you doing here?”

  Leaning against the doorframe, he looks completely deflated. He barely squeaked out a win tonight, and the only reason I know that is because there were cheers outside of my apartment building around the time the game would’ve ended. I then, of course, checked the game stats and saw, once again, that Penn had another shit showing, and if it weren’t for Knox Gentry hitting a three-run bomb over the left field fence, there wouldn’t have been a W next to Penn’s name.

  Since the Firefighters Ball, Penn has been a disaster. He hasn’t cut his hair, his eyes are sunken, and I’m pretty sure if the Bobbies allowed beards, he’d have one. He barely meets the minimum of a shaved face that’s required by the goodie-two-shoes ball club.

  “Can I please come in?” When I go to tell him it’s not a good idea, his eyes plead with me and he adds, “Please, Kate, I need to talk to you.”

  Damn it.

  No matter what else, Penn was the one who helped me crawl out of the darkness when Jordy passed. He was once the friend I relied on the most. I push the door open and let him in. When he passes me, I take in a deep breath, checking to see if I can smell any alcohol on him so I know what I’m dealing with, but when I don’t smell anything, I shut the door, slightly shocked. He either hasn’t had enough for me to smell it, or he’s done a good job concealing it, because he doesn’t look sober right now. He looks beat up, ragged . . . busted.

  He makes his way to my kitchen, where he circles around for a second.

  “What are you looking for?” I ask.

  “A glass for some water.”

  I slip into the kitchen as well, the space small, and pull down a glass for him. I can feel his eyes on me as I fill it up with some water and turn to hand it to him.

  “You’re wearing his shirt.”

  “I also got my hair cut, but that’s what you choose to acknowledge?”

  His eyes flash up to my hair and he says, “You look beautiful, Katie.”

  I move past him and head into my living room, taking a seat on the couch. I spread a blanket over my lap to cover up the shortness of the shirt and wait for Penn to join me. It takes him a few seconds, but when he finally sits down, he decides not to face me, but instead, leans back on the couch and looks up toward the ceiling.

  “Are you going to speak or should I grab you a blanket so you can pass out on my couch?”

  He takes a sip of water. “I’m not drunk. I haven’t had a drink today.”

  “What about yesterday?”

  “Now that’s a different story,” he says. “Drank myself to sleep.”

  “So, you pitched hungover.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time,” he says, and then quietly adds, “I wish it were the last.”

  “You need help, Penn.”

  He turns his head to the side. “You really aren’t going to call me Dan?”

  I look away from his bloodshot eyes. “I can barely entertain being in the same room with you, let alone call you a nickname from college.”

  “I told you I was sorry.”

  “And sorry isn’t good enough,” I shout at him. “You can say sorry until you’re blue in the face, but until your actions speak for themselves, I’m done.” I will back the tears. “That night . . . it was embarrassing, Penn. Do you realize that? It was embarrassing for me, and it was so unprofessional I can’t even begin to talk about what might have happened if Audrey walked in to see you pinning me against the wall, to see the fight between you and Walker, to hear the words you said about me.”

  “But she didn’t.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I shout at him, one tear slipping down my face. “I stood there and, for some reason, I defended you when I should’ve seen right through what you were doing. You were trying to get a rise out of Walker. You were pushing his buttons and using me—your friend—at my expense. Me—someone who’s stuck by your side for years, who’s defended you, who’s turned a blind eye to your drinking. Well, that’s over. I told you, until you can fix your problem, I’m no longer going to be there for you.”

  “You can’t just cut me out of your life like that,” he shouts back, now sitting up and facing me. “I need you, Kate. Don’t you see that? I’m a goddamn wreck. I can’t pitch—”

  “That’s not on me.” I hold up my finger. “That’s on you. Whatever shit you’re going through, it’s all self-imposed. You could fix things, you could make it all better, but you choose not to. Instead, you walk around trying to throw pity parades for yourself, but haven’t you noticed? No one is jumping on board, no one is running the route with you, and do you know why? Because you’ve pushed them all away. That’s what happens, Penn, when you think you’re on top of the world and your actions have no consequences.”

  “What do you want me to do? Grovel?”

  “No, I want you to stop drinking,” I shout at him. “I want you to realize the life you have is worth something and that you’re wasting it away, one bottle at a time.” Walker was right. And he was right that I shouldn’t have defended him. What Penn has been doing is wrong. It’s wrong for himself, and it’s wrong for the Bobbies, who pay him millions a year to represent them.

  “You don’t get it.” He looks away. “You have no fucking clue what it’s like to live inside my head.”

  “There are plenty of professional athletes who deal with—”

  “That’s not it,” he says, while driving his hands through his hair. “I don’t give a fuck about my professional career. It’s just a distraction, something to occupy my time. To help these demons slow down for one goddamn second.”

  Confused, I ask, “What demons?”

  He hangs his head, fists curled into his hair, so I can hardly see his face. Quietly, just above a whisper, he says, “I killed her, Kate. I fucking killed her.”

  “Killed . . . who?” But the moment the question leaves my lips, I know exactly who he’s talking about. “Dawn.”

  He sits up, fear encompassing his expression. “He told you? Listen, I didn’t fucking know they were going to get in an accident. If I knew, I never would’ve encouraged Walker to send her home. I never wanted anything to happen to Dawn. She was a sister to me too, even though Walker never saw it that way. Dawn encouraged me when I was pitching. There are moments I remember where she’d sit on a bucket and toss me ball after ball to pitch into a net while Walker was working o
n his hand-eye coordination. I never wanted anything to ever happen to her.”

  “Penn . . .” I scoot close to him and put my hand in his. “No one could’ve known what was going to happen that night. Just like I told Walker, you can’t take the blame for something that’s out of your hands.”

  “He didn’t want her to go in the car. But I pushed him to do it. I told him it was going to be fine.” He shakes his head. “It’s fucking haunted me every day. Every fucking day I think about Dawn and the sad look on her face as Walker sent her away from the party. I think about how upset she was that we didn’t want her around, and I think about how scared she must have been right before the car hit her. It fucking eats away at me, Kate. To the point that I can’t do anything but drink. That if I don’t drink, I’ll remember, and I can’t fucking remember. I just can’t.”

  “Penn, you realize how unhealthy that is, right? Self-medicating with alcohol isn’t going to solve the problem.”

  “There is no solution to this,” he yells. “There’s no cure to the pain and the regret I feel every goddamn day. I can only try to forget it.”

  “There is a solution,” I say, keeping calm. “You can talk to someone—you can talk to Walker.”

  He scoffs. “Walker would never talk to me about that, not after everything we’ve been through, not after years of me masking the pain. There’s no way he’d ever believe me.”

  “You never know until you try. He might be tough on the outside, but he’s actually a very understanding and sweet human being. You just have to give him a chance to open up.”

  Penn studies me and says, “Walker wasn’t lying.”