Sliding Into Home

by Joanne Rock

  Too bad that—after finding out—he’d turned his back on her, too.

  “So instead of resenting you for tying me down, you made me resent you for ditching me without so much as a face-to-face conversation.”

  He shook his head. “I never suggested it was a well thought out plan. If you haven’t noticed, I’ve got a habit of occasionally putting my foot in my mouth.”

  In the quiet moment that followed his response, she remembered the way he’d started the conversation. The bit about loving her so much he couldn’t have broken up with her in person. Why had he brought that up this morning when her emotions were so mixed up to start with?

  Unwilling and possibly unable to see straight where he was concerned, Naomi couldn’t think about it right now. Not with the scent of him on her sheets and her skin.

  “I’d better get dressed.” She scrambled out of bed before he could stop her, too confused to continue a conversation that shredded her insides. “I don’t want to keep the kids waiting. They’ve got a big game this week and really need the practice, so—”

  She hightailed toward the bathroom, needing a retreat.

  “I’m coming with you,” he called, his sexy, he-man voice easily penetrating the bathroom door. “I want to see you in action. Besides, I don’t know if I’ve got a job to show up for today anyhow.”

  Flipping on the handle for the shower, Naomi made a valiant effort to drown out the noisy hubbub of her feelings. She told herself Brody only wanted to hang out with her today because he might have been released from his contract after the fight with the ump and the manager yesterday. He’d showed up here last night because he’d been upset and for all she knew, that was the only thing keeping him in New Hampshire when the rest of his life was in Boston.

  Too bad no matter how much she scrubbed and rinsed, the voice in her head kept insisting there was a chance he had come back to his hometown for more than a respite from the media storm. After the amazing time they’d had together last night, a little part of her wanted to believe Brody had another reason for coming home: her.

  NAOMI WAS A HELL OF A COACH.

  Brody realized as much within the first fifteen minutes of her softball practice for eleven- and twelve-year-olds. He’d never had time to be in town during one of her practices before, something he realized now had been a sign of how scattered his attention had been during the months they’d dated.

  He hadn’t been surprised by her adeptness since she’d always had a sharp eye for sports. Plus, she could motivate anyone. Witness the way she’d encouraged him to follow a dream—starting way back in high school—that would have been easy to give up on so many times. No wonder the kids on the soggy field listened when she spoke and worked their hardest to gain her approval.

  He’d laid low while the parents had dropped off the kids, figuring he’d save the mob scene for later. The kids thought it was cool a baseball player had come to help them out with a practice—but not so cool that they didn’t return to flicking one another’s hats off or giggling about a sleepover they’d attended the week before.

  Brody had talked Naomi into giving him a lift since the two-seater convertible he’d been tooling around in lately was on the conspicuous side. Mostly, he just wanted more time to be with her and convince her to give him a second chance. His approach this morning had resulted in a stalemate, making him think he’d screwed up too badly last year for her to reconsider where he was concerned.

  “Heads up, Jess,” Naomi warned, shouting to the shortstop on one of her scrimmage teams after she’d split the group in two for game-style practice.

  A tall girl was in the box, waiting for her pitch and the shortstop tensed, eye on the batter. Brody had been watching the in-fielder during the warm-up drills and the kid was good for her age—athletic, coordinated, quick thinking.

  She was ready to make a play, knees bent, poised on the balls of her feet. From Naomi’s heads-up to the shortstop, Brody guessed that’s where the batter normally hit the ball. Another sign of good coaching—Naomi paid attention to the finer points of the game and kept her team on their toes.

  When the batter cracked a fastball, she hit a line drive right at the shortstop’s head. It would have been a tough play for anyone at that level, requiring quick thinking and deft reflexes. In fact, Brody figured the fielder would be damn fortunate just not to get hit. Instead, Jess made a beautiful, textbook-style backhand stab at the ball.

  And missed it.

  “Damn it!” Jess kicked the ground with a vengeance, the display of temper effectively halting the other team’s celebration as the runner passed first and sped toward second.

  Brody felt the fielder’s pain like he’d bet no one else on the diamond did. The few parents who’d stuck around to watch the practice appeared vaguely horrified that their eleven-year-olds were subject to the tantrum. The language that would have been mild on a professional field was surely off-limits for a grade-school team.

  For some reason, seeing the shortstop’s face twisted up in a snarl of anger—at herself, not at the batter—gave Brody a better look in the mirror than watching professional athletes lose their cool. That was how he’d looked to fifty thousand fans at the Aces ballpark yesterday. This was how he’d appeared on the jumbotron and on TV screens in a few million homes.

  Like a temperamental kid who couldn’t keep his cool.

  Naomi blew the whistle and called the teams in for a water break as she hurried over to the infield grass. Jess had thrown her glove on second base, clearly still pissed she’d missed a ball and not terribly wise to the upset she’d caused all around. Brody followed her, not to nose his way into her business, but because he didn’t like the idea of her talking to any ticked off person alone, even one who was eleven years old.

  “Hey, Jess.” She picked up the glove and handed it back to the player. “Tough break on the play, but let’s give credit where it’s due, okay? Tyra had an awesome hit. That kind of bat speed keeps us competitive, right?”

  Jess said nothing. Brody was surprised at Naomi’s approach, knowing most coaches of kids that age would have been all over the discipline of some sort. Was Naomi letting her off too easy?

  “Because if you can’t make that play, no other shortstops in this league are going to make it, either,” she continued, extending an ego stroke Brody didn’t think the girl necessarily deserved. Still, the kid picked up her hanging head.

  “Yeah.” The scrappy blonde had frustrated tears in her eyes. “But if Tyra can hit that, someone else on another team will be able to get one past me, too.”

  “So why don’t you work in the practice field with Brody? I need to put Carrie in while you cool off anyway.”

  Sure enough, she’d yanked Jess from the scrimmage. But instead of being upset, the girl appeared grateful for the out and for the opportunity to work on her skills.

  A true competitor.

  “I’m right behind you,” Brody told the kid as the pony-tailed blonde jogged by him and her teammates returned to the field. He lowered his voice as Naomi walked toward the third-base dugout near him. “Remind you of anyone?”

  He knew his worst traits well enough to see himself in the kid.

  “Yes. You’re both the best players on your teams.” She blew the whistle to start the next inning, clearing the bases to give the other team batting practice.

  Brody shook his head.

  “Come on. You know I’m talking about the temper problem.” He didn’t know where he’d picked up that explosiveness since none of his family members behaved that way, but it had gotten him in enough hot water in his life to know it wasn’t attractive.

  Hell, it could be his ticket to the unemployment line if his manager followed through on his promise to release him if he couldn’t rein it in.

  “Passionate on the field. Passionate off.” She shrugged. “You’re not the only person to get fired up about your game. If you ask me, you’ve got that fire to thank for where you are today.”

  “
Are you kidding me?” He shook his head, half expecting her to make a crack about his temper. His teammates had started calling him Mercury the last time he’d gotten into it with an ump, as in his mercury rose faster than any other guy’s in the line-up.

  “Absolutely not.” She pointed toward Jess. “She’s going to practice fielding line drives until sunset, just the same way you practiced like a fiend when a ball got past you at home plate. I’ll take Jess on my team any day.”

  She turned back toward the practice, shouting encouragement to a redhead at the plate who bit her lip in concentration every time the pitcher wound up.

  As he walked away from Naomi and toward his preteen doppelganger, Brody wasn’t really surprised at Naomi’s easy going attitude, her acute understanding of human nature. Those qualities were only a portion of many reasons he should have never let her go in the first place.

  With a woman like that at his side, maybe he wouldn’t be spinning his wheels letting his temper railroad his career. Maybe he’d be letting the positive aspect of that—passion, she’d called it—fuel his ass forward in life. To be a better player.

  Hell, maybe he could be a better person, too.

  Picking up speed, he jogged toward where Jess waited, tossing herself fly balls and catching them on the run. Oh, yeah, Brody would help this girl with her game.

  It was the least he could do since Jess had helped teach him a lesson he’d missed his whole adult life.

  And considering that new understanding might be his ticket to feeling worthy of Naomi, the knowledge was pretty much priceless.

  BRODY WAS MOBBED BY PARENTS after softball practice.

  Naomi watched him try to make his way across the field to where she waited, sitting on the tailgate of her SUV. He signed autographs on auto club maps and fast food napkins—whatever the players’ parents had handy when they picked up their kids. He’d also signed all the players’ hats, leaving words of wisdom about the game on the insides of their brims.

  Finally, he ambled over with his glove under his arm, his Aces ball cap jammed on his head backward.

  “It’s not quite like the crowd at the All-Star Game.” She’d seen footage from the All-Star break enough times to know it was a media circus. Ticket prices were high, making the event less of a family affair and more geared toward the hardcore fans. “But they sure seemed pleased to have you here.”

  Especially Jess. Naomi had been really touched to see the way Brody coached her, demonstrating the fluid mechanics of the most economical throws to first, second, third and home. Far from being over her head, the information had been quickly put to good use by the young player, taking her skills up several notches in the course of a few hours. Naomi knew the girl would never forget the lessons she’d received from a world-class player.

  “Your team is great.” He tossed his glove in the truck and sat beside her on the tailgate. “I hope they beat the Braves Wednesday.”

  She laughed, amused at the vehemence in his voice.

  “We’ll do our best. Heaven knows if there are any line drives to the shortstop, we’ve got a guaranteed out.”

  “Jess is a quick study.” He sat close to her so that his shoulder brushed hers. So that she couldn’t forget the potent effect he had on her despite her wishes to the contrary. “You’ve done a great job with the team.”

  The simple praise touched her the way no extravagant compliment ever could have.

  “Thank you.” She cleared her throat, aware of the emotion clogging it. “You know how much I’ve always liked sports. Softball’s my favorite, but I coach soccer, too.”

  “I’ve heard the kids in town all want to be on your teams.” He peered out over the fields where another team had just started practice. There were four fields with a playground in the middle and a snack bar they ran during games that raised money for uniforms and new balls.

  “You seem to hear a lot.” She couldn’t deny she was flattered about that.

  “In particular, I heard you have some cool training films.” He turned to her, one eyebrow lifted in question.

  Heat crawled over her cheeks.

  “I use game footage from the local colleges and the major leagues and put together a fun instructional video to get them pumped up.” She kept her eyes trained on the monkey bars to avoid his gaze.

  Unfortunately, he was having none of that. He cupped her cheek and turned her head toward him.

  “I hear I’ve made the cut a few times.”

  Her heartbeat accelerated at the heat of his stare.

  “Anybody who gets a play of the day in the nightly highlight reels is in the running for my video.” She was a little defensive about it since Ryan had accused her of using her videos as an excuse to keep tabs on Brody’s career. “Long before we dated, I was sneaking on my radio at night to listen to the late games when the Aces played on the West Coast. Mom still pitches in the women’s league. My dad runs the men’s. You must remember that we took a family vacation to Cuba once, just to see some games.”

  She took a breath, realizing she was rambling. Did she sound too defensive?

  But Brody didn’t look at her like she was trying to cover up some big, secret crush on him by taping a few of his best plays. Not like Ryan had. Brody watched her with something like admiration in his eyes.

  “You love baseball. Just like me.” He draped an arm around her shoulders, his thigh grazing hers. “You know how cool it is to talk to someone who understands the beauty of fielding a double play ball or the joy of fighting off impossible pitches to stay alive in the count when your team is down by a run in the last inning.”

  She smiled. “It’s kind of like recognizing the skill of a five-tool player when you see Brody Davis knock one into the stands. Other fans see a two-run homer. I see the way you read the pitches and were ready for the curveball.”

  His lips brushed her temple in a tender kiss. For a moment, she absorbed the closeness of the moment, allowing her mind to entertain the prospect of being with him again. Of talking about baseball. Touring around the major league stadiums with him or spending days here at the rec field, coaching kids. They’d always had fun together. And their amazing chemistry translated into the most spectacular sex of her life.

  All at once she realized what a fool she’d been to let him back into her life. She’d been kidding herself to think she’d be able to get him out of her system by spending the night with him. Instead of proving her memories of him were overrated, she’d only learned that being with him was better than she remembered.

  “Brody.” She eased away from him, needing to come back to reality before she got swept up in his world again, a world a long way from coastal New Hampshire.

  But before she could explain why she needed to protect her heart, a truck pulled into the parking lot beside them, kicking up enough mud to spatter her shoes.

  Incensed, she turned to tell the arriving parent to slow down. However, the silver Ford didn’t belong to any player’s family. She recognized the vehicle as the driver jammed the gearshift into Park and vaulted out of the cab.

  Her ex-boyfriend, Ryan Patnode, strode around his truck to confront her. Actually, he appeared more like he planned to confront Brody since his eyes were glued to the Aces’ catcher, his stare hostile.

  Confrontational.

  All at once, she realized how similar in temperament these two men were and she wondered for the first time if she’d gravitated toward Ryan for a very particular reason. Holy rebound man, they were even built similarly with tall, athletic bods.

  Ryan jabbed a finger in Brody’s chest and barked, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  4

  FOR A TEMPERAMENTAL GUY, Brody really hadn’t been in many fights in his life.

  He’d thrown a few punches back in Triple A when some redneck clown had threatened him with a broken beer bottle in retaliation for a flubbed play at the plate. And of course, there was the brawl seen around the world when he’d gotten into it with the Chicago
Flames third basemen a few weeks ago. But other than that, he’d managed to keep his nose clean.

  A feat he didn’t see lasting much longer unless he did some fast talking.

  The jerk pointing in his face was clearly looking for trouble.

  “Lower your voice, Ryan,” Naomi warned, peering past the newcomer toward the rec fields where a couple of young teams still ran their practices.

  “So this is Ryan?” Brody clarified, understanding better why the guy was in a bad mood. “I didn’t recognize you without your bicycle helmet.”

  He kept his arm around Naomi, figuring if his right hand was on her shoulder, he wouldn’t be tempted to knock the jerk’s accusatory finger into next year.

  “Well, I recognize you, pretty boy, and if you don’t get your hands off Naomi now I’m gonna show you how we settle disputes around here. And it doesn’t involve a temper tantrum on home plate, I’ll tell you that much.”

  Whoa. The guy wasn’t just pissed to see another man touching his ex. This man was livid to see Brody touching his ex.

  Apparently his style of baseball didn’t appeal to the bicycle dude.

  He was about to tell him to cool off when he realized Naomi had tensed beside him, her shoulders stiff as a board as she eased away from him.

  “Ryan, we need to talk.” She moved to slide off the tailgate.

  Brody held her back. “Wait a minute.” He looked at her, confused why she would take off with some angry jerk she’d already broken up with. “Do you see the vein ticking under this guy’s eye? You can’t go anywhere with someone this mad.”

  His request was reasonable. Hell, his request wasn’t optional. He wasn’t letting this woman—the woman he’d probably never stopped loving—spend time with a guy who went around threatening people.

  For all that Brody had a temper on the field, he’d never dream of bringing it into his personal relationships.

  “Don’t you see what he’s trying to do?” Naomi spoke quietly, eyes pleading for understanding as she met his gaze. “He wants to goad you into a fight for his fifteen minutes of fame. Or maybe so he can get you kicked out of baseball when the media hears about it.”