Caught by You

by Jennifer Bernard

  And yet when she tried to tug away, he wouldn’t let her. “You busy tonight? I want to see you. Tell me I can see you.”

  Oh, hell yes. “I’m all yours, Hottie McCatcher.”

  That evening, Mike knocked on the door of the address Donna had given him, a tiny guesthouse on the estate of the Shark’s parents. He’d spent the rest of his busy last day in Kilby remembering every sizzling moment in that closet. He couldn’t wait to spend an entire wild night in a real bed with her. He wanted to see that curvy body naked, feel more of her satiny skin, whisper jokes into her ear . . .

  She cracked open the door, and right away, he knew something was wrong. No smile. No color in her face. Her eyes looked swollen. “What happened? Are you okay?”

  She looked right through him, as if she’d never seen him before. “Solo. What are you doing here?”

  What the hell was going on? “I . . . uh . . . We had plans.”

  “Sorry. I can’t.” She tried to shut the door on him, but he held it open. If something was wrong, he wanted to help.

  “What’s going on, Donna?”

  “I just . . . I can’t see you. That’s all.” She pushed a tangle of copper-­red hair away from her face, which showed definite traces of tears.

  “You don’t have to see me. Just close your eyes, let me in, and tell me what’s wrong.”

  She didn’t even crack a smile at his admittedly lame joke. “I can’t let you in.”

  Did she mean that metaphorically? It almost sounded that way. “Okay. Let’s go for a walk and—­”

  “This is Texas. We don’t walk here. It’s too hot.”

  Well, she had a point there.

  “Look, Solo, I’m sorry I didn’t call you to cancel. I’ve had some stuff come up that I have to deal with. If you really want to help, it’s better if you leave me alone. Please.”

  And she closed the door in his face.

  What the hell. He blinked at the blank wooden barrier between him and Donna. What had just happened? Then she opened it a crack, and he glimpsed the old Donna, the vivid, funny, laughing girl he knew. “I don’t think I ever really thanked you for protecting me from the Wades that night at the Roadhouse. You were like . . . some kind of superhero. I know you’re going to do great in the majors.”

  This time when the door closed, a deadbolt slid into place with a firm click.

  It stung. Mike had no problem admitting that. He didn’t usually get carried away over a girl, at least not since Angela. He didn’t lose control in random public places. But Donna . . .

  Forget Donna.

  He was still repeating that phrase as he got off the plane at O’Hare Airport and strode toward the baggage claim, where his brother, Joey, was picking him up.

  Forget Donna. Obviously she didn’t want him—­well, obviously she did, based on what happened at the library. But it hadn’t meant anything to her. She wanted him gone.

  Forget Donna. He had other things to worry about—­Joey’s health being at the top of the list. And then there was his mission to reach the majors and prove everyone wrong, his family, Angela’s family, everyone. That required single-­minded focus and no distractions. Especially from the sexy redhead who’d blown his mind in Kilby.

  Didn’t matter. Even if he ended up back in Kilby next season, so would his best friend—­the Vow of Celibacy. Beat that, Donna MacIntyre.

  Chapter 2

  The day before Spring Training

  BEHIND THE SCREEN of the confessional at St. Mary Margaret’s Holy Church on the South Side of Chicago, Father Kowalski blew his nose. Everyone in town seemed to have the flu. “My son, I will pray for a good season, of course. But a Vow of Celibacy isn’t going to win you a call-­up to the Friars. You have a better chance of becoming my kind of friar.”

  “That’s funny, Father Kowalski.” Mike knelt on the cushioned bench, eager to take his vow and get on with the season. He’d spent the winter adding six pounds of solid muscle. He planned to wow them in Arizona, maybe even make the Friars’ Opening Day roster. “Don’t worry, I never mention my baseball career when I take the vow.”

  “I heard the Friars just picked up that lefty, Yazmer Perez.” Father Kowalski loved to talk baseball and always knew the latest trades and rumors.

  “Yup, I heard that too. You know, my brother’s waiting outside, and . . .” Wrong thing to say, Mike realized immediately. Father Kowalski also loved gossip.

  “How is Joseph?” the priest asked.

  Mike shifted on the bench. He couldn’t lie; it was a confessional. “Up and down.”

  The priest aimed another trumpet blast of a sneeze into his handkerchief. “Your father never mentions him.”

  “That’s because he’s still gay and my father is . . .” Mike snapped his mouth before he said something inappropriate in a confessional.

  “I’m familiar with the situation,” the priest said dryly. Of course he was. The melodramatic Solo family was probably in here every other day with their dramas. “How is Joseph’s health?”

  The kindness in Father Kowalski’s voice made Mike blurt out the truth. “He gets a lot of infections. His immune system is shot from the anti-­rejection drugs.” Five years ago, his brother had contracted E coli while doing research in Africa and the infection had destroyed his kidney. As the only sibling who met all the requirements for living organ donation, and the closest blood match, Mike had immediately donated one of his, but he couldn’t do anything to help his brother’s shattered immune system.

  “I will pray for him,” murmured the priest.

  “Thank you, Father. Now do you think that we could—­”

  “How’s Angela?”

  Angela? Was Father Kowalski trying to torture him? “I don’t have a clue, to be honest. But I really should get—­”

  “I believe she misses you.”

  Oh, for fu—­no swearing in a confessional. “Isn’t that kind of thing supposed to be confidential?”

  “Uh . . . atchoo.”

  Suspiciously timed sneeze, if you asked Mike. “So, Father, my flight’s in a ­couple of hours and I wonder if we could, um . . .” How, exactly, did you get a priest to move things along?

  “Fine, son, fine.” Father Kowalski waved for him to proceed, and Mike spoke the familiar words that would cut him off from sex until September, maybe October if he was really lucky. This time, Father Kowalski added a twist. “Unless, of course, you decide to marry before the end of the baseball season.”

  Mike burst into laughter, the sound carrying out of the confessional into the cavernous shadows of the church. “Nice try, Father. Did my mother put you up to that?” She still hadn’t accepted the loss of Angela.

  “We’d all like to see you happy again.” Father Kowalski made a sign of the cross, and Mike bowed his head. “Speaking only for myself, not for Our Lord, may you have a successful season in all ways.”

  “Thank you, Father.”

  Mike strode out of the church before he got roped into any more baseball or dysfunctional family conversation. As always, he felt refreshed and uplifted by taking the vow. It helped him put all his focus onto baseball. Well, nearly all. The image of fiery hair and cream-­silk skin crossed his mind. Donna MacIntyre kept stealing into his mind like a pesky base runner.

  Outside St. Mary Margaret’s, Joey was waiting in his MINI Cooper to drive him to O’Hare. He had Mike’s black hair and height, but added a wickedly mobile mouth and dreamy gray eyes to the picture. “Chastity belt all buckled up tight?”

  “Ah, sexual frustration, my old friend, it’s good to see you.” He hopped into the MINI and Joey pulled away from the curb. Even though Mike had gotten him on a weight-­lifting program over the winter, his favorite brother was still too thin, his cheekbones jutting out, giving him a monkish appearance. He shouldn’t be out, but by tradition he always drove Mike to the airport at the sta
rt of the season. Nothing would make him miss that.

  “Promise you’ll go straight home after this, Joey. Or at least put on a biohazard suit. There’s too many germs in this damn city right now.”

  “Absolutely. I have midterms waiting in my study, along with a bottle of Sam Adams.”

  “Glad to know you’re putting my kidney to good use.”

  “Actually, I think the kidney might be calling the shots. I never used to want alcohol before the surgery.”

  Mike chuckled. “My kidney’s such a bad influence. Figures.”

  They hit the Loop, cars streaming past at breakneck speed. Mike soaked it in, since his immediate future held sleepy, slow-­moving towns in Arizona and Texas.

  “You’re going to have a great season, Mike,” Joey said in his serious, big-­brother voice. “I really think this will be your year. I want you to do me a favor. Focus on baseball and don’t worry about me.”

  Yeah, right. “Get through flu season and we’ll talk.”

  “Look, it’s out of our hands. Whatever God intends, that’s what will be.”

  “Sounds like something Dad would say,” Mike said bitterly. Their hard-­ass, stubborn father still hadn’t forgiven Joey for being gay, or Mike for sacrificing his brilliant Navy career for his gay brother.

  “Dad isn’t wrong about everything,” said Joey softly.

  “He’s wrong about enough.” Mike would never regret his choice to give up his kidney. How could he, when he still had his brother around? “Look, never mind Dad. You’re going to be fine, so I’m not worried. And you know what—­I am going to make the bigs this year. Didn’t I make a vow back when I gave you the kidney?”

  “Do you ever think you might be overdoing it with the vows?”

  Mike snorted. “Only if one of them is a wedding vow.”

  Joey laughed and changed lanes.

  “Father Kowalski said Angela misses me.” For a moment, he allowed himself to think about her. Angela DiMatteo, the girl he’d loved since second grade, had dumped him when he’d left the Navy. Her ultra-­conservative family wouldn’t allow her to marry a man who would choose his gay brother over his military career. And no one thought he had a chance of making it in baseball. Just like that, he’d become a nonprospect—­a hell of a blow to his pride. It still rankled. He still wanted to prove them all wrong, show them what he was made of.

  “Of course she misses you,” said Joey. “She’s still trapped at home with her parents. You were the only man brave enough to step inside their house. It was some kind of superpower.”

  “You’re no help,” Mike grumbled past his smile. He could always, always count on Joey to lift his spirits. Only one other person had a knack for that . . .

  Donna MacIntyre.

  Would he see her in Kilby? Run into her at the Roadhouse? Would he ever find out why she’d shut him down like that? And why, for the love of St. Mary Margaret, couldn’t he get her out of his mind?

  Donna surreptitiously wiped a smudge of oatmeal off the sleeve of her navy blazer as she pulled the apartment lease across the desk. Navy blazer. Those two words encapsulated her new life in a nutshell. This new Donna never went out, never drank alcohol, never crossed the street against the light, and had a lifestyle suited to a nun.

  “Sign here?”

  “Yes, right where it says ‘sign here,’ ” the snotty bleached-­blond property manager said. Donna ruthlessly suppressed the urge to whip out a put-­down. Something like, “Oops, I was blinded by the color of your hair. What do you use on it, Crest Whitestrips?”

  But New Donna never, ever sassed snippy real estate agents. She clenched her jaw tight and signed the lease.

  “Well, congratulations. You’re now the proud tenant of a tiny apartment overlooking the sewage plant,” purred the blonde.

  Sewage plant. Peachy. Donna held tight to the keys as she left the real estate office.

  Her own apartment. She’d been working toward this moment ever since the fateful phone call from Harvey that had interrupted her interlude with Mike in the library and shattered her world. “We’re going for full custody of Zack,” her ex had informed her casually, as if he was ordering a pizza. It sure wasn’t casual for Donna. Stunned, reeling, she’d managed to locate a lawyer, Karen Griswold, who had guided her to this point.

  First came a new job that offered health benefits. It had nearly broken her heart to leave the Shark and the rest of the Gilbert family, but Ms. Griswold said it was best. Her new position as a blazer-­clad receptionist at Dental Miracles offered full benefits and a lot less entertainment. Ms. Griswold insisted that if she wanted to win back custody of Zack, she couldn’t live in a guesthouse. She needed her own apartment with suitable space for Zack. She’d done everything else Ms. Griswold suggested—­transformed her wardrobe, cut out drinking, eliminated the partying. She’d even pinned a Texas A&M pin on her lapel, since Judge Quinn, who’d be hearing the case, was a rabid college football fan. Whatever Ms. Griswold said to do, she’d do.

  Except one thing. Ms. Griswold had advised her not to talk to Harvey alone. But she wanted to give the cooperative approach one more try, so she’d asked him to meet her for coffee before work.

  Outside the real estate office, she checked her watch—­it had a gorilla face because Zack loved anything related to the jungle. Five minutes late. She hopped into her red Kia, also known as the littlest car in Texas, and drove to a Denny’s located in the grungiest part of town, an area where Harvey’s new fiancée, Bonita, would never set foot. If Bonita saw them together, she’d freak out.

  Surprise, Harvey was already seated in a booth, slouched over a plate of onion rings. He used to be late for everything, but Bonita sure had whipped him into shape. In the old days, he’d worn black leather and chains and called himself Harley, after his motorcycle. Now he wore a suede jacket over a vintage Cuban shirt, his butterscotch hair in a tousled hipster cut.

  She slid into the booth opposite him. “Hey, Harv. Thanks for coming.”

  “Bonita would kill me if she knew,” he muttered, dipping an onion ring into tartar sauce.

  “About me or about that plate of deep-­fried junk?”

  “Both,” he admitted.

  Bonita Wade Castillo equaled “bitchy control freak,” as far as Donna could tell.

  “Harvey, listen. We can work this out. We’re grown-­ups now. It doesn’t help Zack if we’re fighting with each other.”

  Harvey glanced up, dark blue eyes meeting hers, then sliding away, as if he was too lazy to maintain eye contact. “You know me. Not a fighter, never have been.”

  That might be part of the problem. Once Bonita set her mind to something, she was a freight train. Harvey probably couldn’t stop her if he wanted to. But it was worth a try. “We’re Zack’s parents, Harvey. You and me. We need to do the right thing for him. That’s our job.”

  That’s why she’d agreed to let Harvey’s parents, the Hannigans, raise Zack until she could get her life together. It had seemed like the best thing for him at the time. But now . . . now . . .

  “Would it be so bad if we took him, Donna?” Harvey asked. “Bonita would be an awesome mom. She just knows stuff, you know? How to do things right. The way they should be.”

  Donna absorbed that blow in the deepest part of her soul, the part that doubted herself even more than others doubted her. “You’re saying I don’t?”

  “Aw, come on, Donna. Look at yourself. You mess around, you make everything into a joke.”

  “Maybe some things, but not this. Not Zack.” She took a sip of the Coke the waitress had set down in front of her. “You know how hard I’ve been working to get my act together.”

  “I know you have a lame-­ass new wardrobe.” He snickered. “What are you, a flight attendant?”

  “Dental receptionist. And before that, I was a nanny. Know why I was a nanny? So I could learn e
verything I needed to know to be a good mother. And so I could save up for a decent place. And so I could buy every child psychology book in creation. I have boxes of them, Harv. And I’ve read them all. Everything I’ve been doing for the last four years has been for Zack.”

  “Oh yeah? How ’bout that brawl at the Roadhouse? When you got up on the bar and yelled at the Wade boys. Got all the Catfish players in trouble.”

  “That was last year! I don’t even know why ­people are still talking about that.” She gritted her teeth. Stay on track. “Harvey, do I have to remind you that you didn’t want me to have Zack? You dumped me as soon as you saw that freaking plus sign on the test.”

  “I was young when you got knocked up. I didn’t know shit about babies.” Harvey shrugged. “Zack’s a lot more fun than he used to be. I wouldn’t mind having him around.”

  Wouldn’t mind having him around. Donna felt everything slipping away, the slick seat under her butt, the table in front of her, the entire Denny’s sliding out from under her. “This is wrong, Harvey. Zack belongs with me. Your parents agree, or at least they did before you suddenly decided you want him. I mean, until Bonita did.”

  “Don’t know about that. They’re pretty stoked at how Bonita’s shaped me up. She could do the same with Zack.”

  “You think Zack needs shaping up?”

  “He’s a pretty good kid, but Bonita could make him even better. Why don’t you just step back and let her do her thing?”

  Make Zack even better? Did Harvey know his own son? Did he appreciate him? To her, Zack was perfect, a gonzo little goofball who loved to make ­people laugh. He had the funniest little dances, shaking his skinny little butt around, pulling goofy expressions. Of course he had fits of temper and didn’t always do what he was told and had to wear pull-­ups at night in case he wet the bed. But he was only four, after all.

  What would Bonita want to change about Zack? Would she turn him into a stick-­up-­the-­ass like her? While Harvey tinkered with his motorcycle and ignored him?

  No. She couldn’t let Bonita and Harvey take Zack. Every instinct, body and soul, told her that.