The Catcher and the Lie

by Rita Oberlies

  It had been easy telling him what he wanted to hear.

  Not a problem. Stay in touch. Bring some warm weather when you do return.

  That had been the last time they had spoken. Dodging his calls, ignoring his messages turned into a full-time job when the local gossip columns began printing pictures of Nick with Alyssa. In a crazy twist, that had been her first step toward healing.

  Other than an anemic bank account, she was ready for the challenge of single parenthood. It wasn’t exactly how she dreamed she would bring new life into this world, but it wasn’t tragic. Even her mother had come around after hours of wailing and weeping. Surviving that family drama surely meant she could handle Nick.

  Tugging on her coat sleeve, she stole a quick look at her watch. Twenty minutes. Poor Bridget was probably jumping out of her skin. Turning right on Spruce Street, she circled back toward home. Daylight was fading, and soon her neighborhood would be aglow with holiday lights. With Christmas only weeks away, decorations adorned the front of almost every home. Including a rather lewd Mrs. Claus perched on Len Falcone’s front porch.

  She held her breath until she reached the bottom of her driveway. He was gone. If she still had feeling in her legs she would have jumped for joy. It wasn’t until her feet hit her front steps that she realized a major problem still loomed in her immediate future. How in the heck was she going to explain things to Bridget?

  Based on her cousin’s reaction the answer was not well.

  “I’m confused,” Bridget said, pouring herself a second glass of white merlot. “And, frankly more concerned than before. Half your family thinks that the reason you’re keeping the identity of the father a secret is because he’s a student at Norfolk.”

  Abby’s stomach rolled at that revelation. “That’s disgusting. Who said that? I swear if it was Tim or Sean I’m returning their Christmas gifts.” Frazzled nerves and a hungry belly sidetracked her. “I’m sorry about screwing up dinner. Is Kevin ticked?”

  “No, he’s worried about you.”

  With her energy flailing she pushed away from the table. “I’m going to whip up a batch of pancakes. Hungry?”

  “Sure. I’ll heat up the syrup.”

  They worked in silence. By the time Abby was ready to pour the blueberry-laden batter onto the griddle, she found her courage.

  “Up until last week I seriously thought about just packing up and leaving town for a while,” she said, rifling through a set of mismatched silver ware. “After seeing Nick I wish I had pulled a Houdini.”

  Hands wrapped around her shoulders. Familiar arms offered comfort without censure. A small bit of pressure around her heart eased. At least this relationship wasn’t irrevocably harmed.

  “You have to tell him.” Bridget loosened her hold, until she finally stepped back. “He deserves to know.”

  Abby shrugged, reached over and grabbed the spatula that hung on a rack beside the stove. One by one she flipped the pancakes lined up in a neat row. She wanted to argue that point but knew the effort would be fruitless. He did have a right to know.

  The smell of maple simmering on the stove rendered her hungry and nauseous. Not the best combination, although a familiar one these past few weeks. She finally stacked a platter, snagged the butter dish and plopped down at the table. The first few bites went down smooth, despite the pressure of watchful eyes. It wasn’t until she polished off her third pancake that she realized Bridget had yet to raise her fork.

  “Was he angry? I mean, I assume you guys talked in my absence.”

  “Confused,” Bridget said, toying with her napkin. “A little on edge and definitely concerned.”

  Abby pushed her plate away. Shoveling another pancake into her mouth would maximize her waistline without minimizing the problem at hand. The brittle laugh that escaped her lips surprised both of them.

  “Poor Nick. Since polygamy isn’t an option, he’s going to have to forego the whole chivalric offer of marriage crap.”

  “His marriage ended a long time ago.”

  “Yeah, well that didn’t seem to put a damper on their extracurricular activities.”

  Instead of responding, Bridget attacked her food. With her head dipped low she couldn’t see the growing curiosity on Abby’s face. When the silence stretched on she was ready to burst.

  “What are you not telling me?”

  “Nothing.” Bridget wiped a drop of syrup from the dimple in her chin. “At least nothing more than my own suspicions.”

  “Spill it.”

  Leaning forward she rested her elbows on the table. “I don’t think he slept with his ex-wife. Why would he?”

  “Sex,” she heaved out, frustrated at her cousin’s naiveté. “Men don’t search for a reason to yank down their zippers. It’s sort of a knee-jerk reaction, especially around a beautiful woman.”

  “Don’t shoot the messenger, but you sound dangerously close to being jealous.”

  Abby stood, grabbed her plate, and moved to the sink. “Sad, but probably true. I had absolutely no claim on him, but that doesn’t make the thought of him with Alyssa any easier to stomach.” Reaching down she ran her hands along her own stomach. “My baby is going to have a sibling only a few months older. How weird is that?”

  “Oh, that would be weird. But not likely.”

  Abby’s eyebrows shot straight up. “You think he’s not the father?”

  “Of Alyssa’s baby? No. I think it’s some kind of public front.”

  A strange burst of hope shot through her. “That makes no sense. Why would he go along with something like that?”

  Bridget shrugged. “I think you should ask Nick. Just don’t assume anything until you hear the real story, directly from the source.”

  “Well, he hasn’t exactly been a fount of information when it comes to his ex.”

  “What if she is a non-issue?”

  Abby turned away from her cousin’s direct gaze, rolled her shoulders and sucked in a sharp breath. “I don’t know. Right now I haven’t a clue.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The force of adrenaline pumping through his body threatened his control. For a moment Nick wondered if he was going into shock. Nothing in his life, not even the ninth inning of the World Series, had wreaked such havoc with his pulse. Resisting the urge to turn around, he returned home, showered, and threw a frozen pizza in the oven.

  Tomorrow. Cripes, he wasn’t sure his heart could hold out that long. Instinct told him his assumption was dead on. But his rational side desperately needed to hear the words. Too much was riding on it. He wanted to pray but couldn’t stop his brain from doing somersaults long enough to push the words out.

  His stomach revolted after two bites of pizza. Dumping the rest of the slice into the sink, he flicked the switch and listened to the garbage disposal swallow his dinner. The only real thing in this monstrosity of a kitchen was the plate in his hand. It didn’t take an hour in a psychiatrist’s office to know why.

  Next week he would put a fire under his real estate agent. It was definitely time to ditch this rental property. An image of an old red farmhouse a few miles east of Abby’s house skittered across his mind. It would need some work. A new fence. Extensive landscaping. Although partially obscured from the road, Nick was pretty sure the home had a built-in pool. That would be the first thing to go. No way would he feel comfortable raising a toddler around such a safety hazard.

  The only thing that saved him from planning a slush fund for college was the obnoxious peal of the doorbell. The chime of disco music somehow suited the tacky environment. It wasn’t until he reached the entryway that he realized the house was pitch black. Flipping on a purple lava lamp, Nick registered the late hour. Curiosity had him turning on the security camera to catch a glimpse of his visitor. The sight that greeted him stole his breath. Huddled under a bubblegum pink coat was a distressed figure, pacing like a panther. Running his hand across his jaw, he cursed the fact that he skipped a shave. The plastic smile that greeted him told him she
wouldn’t even notice.

  “This is a surprise,” he said, trying hard to read the mixed emotions in her eyes.

  “Yeah. That seems to be my specialty these days.” Abby stepped around him, avoiding the slightest contact, as she moved across the massive foyer. “I’m sorry about the late hour. I just couldn’t put this off until tomorrow.”

  Nick watched her, noting the uncertainty and anxiety in both her words and actions. He wanted to soothe, comfort her. Hell, he wanted to hold her. So not an option judging from her expression.

  “Why don’t I fix us something to drink?”

  A small smile cracked her lips. “My drinking days are over, Valente.”

  This time he did reach out to her, unzipping her coat, before she could formulate a protest. “I make a mean hot chocolate. The secret is replacing the marshmallows with a scoop of mint ice cream.”

  He draped her coat along the back of a chair then gently nudged her in the direction of the kitchen. The soft sway of her hips was a painful reminder of what he had been missing the past couple of months. Only it was much more than her body. He missed the smile on her face as she devoured a plate of french-fries, stopping only long enough to lament the calorie count. Or the fire in her eyes when she argued why Boston fans were ultimately happier when the team walked away without a World Series pennant flying over the green monster. The sad fact was he had been missing everything about the distraught woman in front of him.

  She stopped short. A solitary figure surrounded by stainless steel and cold granite. Neither one bridged the silence. Nick had a lot of things he wanted to say, but knew the ball was solidly in her court. Instead, he moved to the cabinet and began assembling ingredients for hot chocolate. He felt, rather than heard, her walk away from him. More distance. He relaxed when she finally settled on a stool at the breakfast bar. As he made quick work of combining the chocolate with milk, he silently waited for her to find her voice.

  “I had a feeling this was going to be difficult. Just didn’t figure it would be impossible.” She tilted her head away, but not before he noticed moisture pooling in the corner of her eyes. “I should have kept up with my soap operas.”

  He hadn’t a clue what she was talking about, but nodded anyway.

  “Of course,” she added, “I never thought my life would resemble a daytime drama. And I never imagined that I’d need help figuring out how to deliver unwelcome news.”

  He stiffened at the unintended blow. “Let me help you out. We’re having a baby.”

  Her head whipped around, her eyes immediately connecting with his face. “You knew? It wasn’t my intention to keep the truth…”

  “Stop.” He raised his hand up in the air. “You weren’t expecting me to show up on your doorstep. We both were caught off guard.”

  Her voice wavered. “I played it over in my mind forever and then when the moment arrived I just froze.”

  “Okay. What I don’t understand is why it took forever? How long have you known?”

  Abby turned her eyes toward the counter. “I think I’m going to need a double shot of ice cream in mine.”

  Grabbing both mugs with one hand, Nick snagged a pair of spoons before planting himself in the chair next to her. “Yeah, so tell me again how long you’ve known you’re carrying my baby?”

  “Um…not long. Five, maybe six weeks.”

  He struggled to tamp down the anger that simmered just below the surface. “That’s sounds like plenty of time to pick up a phone and share the good news.”

  She lowered her head, leaving him with a view of her now shoulder-length hair. The scent of vanilla had him inching closer, fighting back a fresh wave of desire.

  “Actually, I tried. I must have dialed your number at least a hundred times.”

  “So what stopped you?”

  Her hair flipped without warning, whipping tendrils across his cheek. “You stopped me, Nick. Every damn time you changed your mind about coming back to Boston.”

  He pushed his mug away, afraid his hands might shake with the force of frustration rolling through his body. “That was a cheap shot. My decision to stay in Tampa wasn’t about us and you know it. At least I was honest with you.”

  “Please.” She rolled her eyes. “Honest about what? That cleaning up business in Florida meant a few more booty calls with your ex-wife?”

  “Your faith in me is overwhelming.” He pushed away from the table, dropping his arms across his chest. “Let’s see. I’ve been divorced from Alyssa almost fourteen months. Tack on another eight months and you’ll have the last time I shared a pillow with her. Throw in another month and you’ll have a rough estimate of the last time she and I had sex.”

  She froze at his admission. Nick was too tired to even attempt to decipher the strange expression on her face.

  “But…she’s pregnant?”

  “Not with my DNA.”

  Abby put her mug down, swung her feet to the floor, and began to pace in front of him. “I’m confused. Why didn’t you demand that the media correct their mistake?”

  Cripes, he wanted to talk about the future. A future that suddenly seemed brighter after today’s revelation. But he knew Abby deserved to hear the truth about his past.

  “Paul Bradley, an ex-teammate, is the father.”

  “Okay…so why didn’t Alyssa just release that information to the press?”

  He swallowed hard. “Paul is married with two children. Not exactly an ideal situation.”

  The fire in her eyes extinguished in an instance, replaced by an odd look of discomfort. “Ah…I think I should have skipped the extra ice cream. My stomach’s a little wobbly.”

  He took her hand, leading her across the tiled floor into a powder room behind the kitchen. “Whoa, I’m having a flashback of a certain four-year-old and my favorite pair of shoes.”

  Her laugh was weak, but it was enough to bring a smile to his lips. “Would it help if I rubbed your back?”

  “Ah, that would be a NO. But thanks, I think.”

  Nick watched her slip behind the closed door. The sound of retching had him squelching his own gag reflexes. He hoped like hell she hadn’t been suffering from morning sickness all along. The thought of her alone these past weeks kicked his guilt up another notch. Since an audience was probably not high on her wish list, he returned to the kitchen.

  Abby briefly thought about climbing out the bathroom window. Mortification didn’t begin to describe her current state of mind. The possibility of landing face first in a snow pile was the only thing keeping her off of the toilet bowl. She lowered her hands across her stomach, willing her hormones to settle down. Fighting tears and nausea at the same time, she slid to the floor.

  Guilt and uncertainty magnified her misery. She had horribly misread the situation between Nick and his ex-wife. Despite the red flags, she should probably have worked harder at giving him the benefit of the doubt.

  But the fact remained that her current situation had not changed, in spite of his revelation. Avoiding Nick had allowed her the luxury of planning for her baby’s future without complication. Now that her secret was out, headaches were sure to follow. A selfish part of her didn’t want him to have a voice. What if he didn’t want her to continue with the pregnancy? It wouldn’t change her plans but it would take a big chunk out of her heart.

  It was time to talk to her brothers again. She was too close to the situation to analyze her legal options. Limited visitation seemed like a viable option. If she played her cards right, maybe Nick would sign over all rights to her baby.

  A gentle tap on the door signaled the end of her reprieve. “Are you okay?”

  “Just a minute, Nick. I need to clean up.” She cupped her hands under the spray of water and lowered her head. Cold drops splashed her cheeks and throat. Unable to avoid the face looking back at her, she studied the dark rims around her eyes. Not exactly her best look. Heck, it didn’t really matter anymore.

  She smiled weakly when she finally tracked Nick down in th
e living room.

  “I figured you might be more comfortable in here,” he said, motioning her to join him on the couch.

  She wanted to tell him that his presence ruined any hope she had of physical or mental relaxation. Other than a trace of dark stubble, his appearance hadn’t changed since summer. Faded jeans and an old polo shirt did little to mask his athletic frame. Take away the wary expression and he was the same Nick. Her claim on him may have been tenuous and short lived, but it hadn’t erased her hunger for the man.

  Forcing her legs to function, she claimed a spot on the opposite end of the couch. She willed her stomach to stop dancing and her brain synapses to start firing again.

  “Wow, this just gets more awkward by the minute,” she said, brushing a damp lock of hair out of her eyes. “I didn’t plan on any of this happening, but I feel like I should apologize anyway.”

  He leaned forward, dropping his head into his hands. “You don’t sound thrilled about bearing my child, so maybe I should be the one apologizing.”

  It took a moment for his words to penetrate her mental fog. “I want this baby. And regardless of your feelings, I’m going through with this pregnancy.”

  She couldn’t be sure but she thought she heard a string of alleluias from the hunched form beside her.

  “Bridget has been helping me figure out a plan. For the next few months I’m going to pick up some extra tutoring work. That should give me a little cushion when the baby arrives.”

  “You’ve lost me,” he said, rubbing his hand along the top of his head. “Money is not going to be a concern. I’ll cover everything you and the baby need.”

  Her reaction was immediate and fierce. “I’m not taking a dime of your money, Nick. I’m more than capable of supporting myself and my child. Bridget and Kevin have offered to step in if I need help. But that’s strictly worse-case scenario.”

  He turned back to face her, confusion clouding his dark eyes. “You’re kidding, right? You think I’m going to let someone else support my family. Not happening, Abby.”