by Devney Perry
“What’s that sound supposed to mean?”
“Just disappointed is all.”
There’s that word again.
“So what? You’re going to hang up on me now? Not talk to me until late October to see if I get the contract?” Sarcasm laces my tone but everything else is one hundred percent anger. And hurt. I’m so sick of the mind games. So over feeling guilty. So tired of always not feeling good enough.
“You didn’t fight hard enough.”
My temper snaps.
“Fight hard enough?” I screech. “I just made a deal with the devil, Dad. You’ll get your wish. No worries there. You’ll get your contract, but when you’re gone, I’m the one who will have to live with it. Not you. I’m the one who’ll have to work for a total prick who seems to dirty every decision. So you may win, but I’m the one getting screwed.”
“Ahh, so this does come back to the player after all.”
“You’re damn right it does. And his name is Easton, not the player. How is it he got screwed over twice in the same situation?”
“He’s a big boy, Scout. He can take care of himself. Besides, trades are a part of baseball.”
“A part of baseball?” I shout, throwing my free hand in the air as if he could see it. “That’s the line you’re going to take when it interferes with your damn contract? Because this isn’t the baseball I know. Trading franchise players because they didn’t recover in time isn’t right. It’s shady. And that isn’t the game you taught me. It’s nasty and unfair. It’s—”
“You know what they say about life and it being fair.” His chuckle rumbles over the line but all I hear is condescension. All I feel is his mockery.
“This is a person we’re talking about. Someone’s life. It’s not some game.”
“But it is a game. Clear mind. Hard heart, Scouty-girl.”
And there’s something about the mantra I’ve heard my whole life—the one repeated to toughen me up, the little girl without a mom in a world full of boys—that doesn’t sit well with me for the first time in as long as I can remember.
“What if I don’t want a hard heart, Dad? What if I want a full one?” I let my question hang on the line with the rattle of his breathing the only sound. “That may have worked for you. And it may have worked for me growing up to help deal with not having a mom and then again when Ford died, but now . . . now, I want to feel. I want to love. So you can have your hard heart. You can shove your daughter away so you don’t have to see her upset over the fact that you’re dying and you’re all she has left, but that’s crap. You’re denying us both time and moments and memories and laughter. It’s complete bullshit. It’s so selfish on your part that I can’t keep my mouth shut about it any longer.” My voice breaks as I try to catch my breath.
“That’s not what I’m—”
“No. You don’t get to disagree with me,” I shout over him like I never have before. My hands tremble and I walk from one side of the room to the other, asking myself what the hell I’m doing, but the hurt is real and raw and I can’t hold it back anymore. “You’re the one robbing me of more so that you don’t have to feel. So that you don’t feel guilty. Screw that. I won’t accept that from you anymore. Death is selfish. And you’re being selfish too. I love you with all my heart. Everything I have is because of you. Everything I am, I owe to you . . . but you know what? Screw you.”
“Scout.” It’s a guarded warning I don’t heed.
What’s he going to do? Hang up on me? Probably. So I fight the urge to rein it in and leave the damage where it is. It’s too much, too fast, too out of control, and so when I suck in a deep breath and tell myself to apologize and leave well enough alone, I do the exact opposite.
“I don’t understand what is going on with you. You’ve never had a selfish bone in your body, and yet now when I need you the most, you’re being selfish. So who do you want to be, Dad? The guy I remember or the one I resent because you were too busy caring about your empire and damn legacy that you didn’t once stop to think that I am your legacy. Me. Your blood. I’m the goddamn one who matters. So maybe you should think about that before you tell me what I did wasn’t good enough or that I didn’t put my family first. I’m only one person, and I’m so damn exhausted trying to make everyone happy. I need to step back and think about what will make me happy for once. Me! The only one who will be left.”
I end the call and throw my phone onto the kitchen counter without a second thought. I’m so angry, so hurt, so overwhelmed that before I know it, the tears sliding down my cheeks turn into huge, heaving sobs I can’t control. It’s as if everything I’ve been holding in has been let go and the floodgates have opened.
The worst part? I feel guilty for saying what I said but won’t take any of it back because it’s true. And doesn’t that make me selfish just like I accused him of being? For needing to get that all out so I can make myself feel better?
I want Easton. The admission makes me cry even harder because I’ve never needed anyone, and now that I do, I don’t know how to get it back. Get him back. What if I can’t make us right again?
So I cry harder and let all the suppressed emotion slowly slip out with each and every tear. Time passes. The tears slow but don’t stop.
“Open up, Scout!”
Easton’s voice rumbles through the closed door and even though every part of me jolts to life at the sound of his voice, it only manages to make the sobs resurface.
He pounds harder, and I hesitantly make my way to the door. I don’t want him to see me like this and at the same time all I want to do is see him.
When I swing the door open and see him standing there, I all but break. He looks so weary, so worn out, and the sheer sadness I see in his eyes probably rivals mine.
“Ea-Ea-ston, I’m-so-sorry,” I hiccup out in an attempt to make this better. I know I can’t, the die has already been cast.
“No,” he says. I don’t understand why, but I don’t have to because within a heartbeat, he has his arms wrapped around me and is pulling me against him. “No. No. No,” he continues to murmur as the tears come harder.
I can’t stop them. I try, I really do. I snuggle deeper into him. Memorize the feel of his arms, the rumble of his voice through his chest, the heat of his breath on the top of my head, the sound of his heartbeat beneath my ear, and the scent of his soap. And knowing I somehow had a hand in pushing those everyday things I’ve become used to further away just keeps the anguish coming.
“I’m so sorry.” I repeat it over and over as he just holds me tighter and keeps telling me no.
When the heaving sobs have finally subsided some, Easton steps back and frames my face with his hands. Shaking his head ever so subtly, he looks at me with deeply saddened eyes and rubs his thumbs back and forth on my cheeks. The muscle pulses in his jaw. His lips part and then shut as if he’s trying to figure out how to say what he needs to say. Instead of saying anything at all, he leans forward and presses his lips to mine.
He kisses me with a passion I’ve never felt before. It’s soft and sweet but there’s so much more to it.
It’s a hello.
It’s a goodbye.
It’s an apology.
It’s a declaration.
And I do the only thing I’ve ever been able to do when it comes to Easton. I acquiesce. I give him everything I have. Every piece of me. Every part of my heart.
But this time there’s no panic. There’s no fear he’ll go away because we both know he will, but I’m beginning to feel secure that he’ll come back.
It’s like in this sudden madness, I’ve found calm.
I’ve found him.
I kiss him back as tears slide steadily down my cheeks, the reasons behind them slowly transitioning from sadness over everything with my dad to acceptance and want for more with Easton.
Our hands slide over each other’s bodies as our tongues dance. The pads of my fingers over his skin reassure. The brush of his thumb along my jawline comforts. The
heat of his body against mine calms. The taste of his kiss soothes. It’s like every kiss we’ve ever shared before and nothing like it simultaneously.
And as if we’re not close enough, Easton wraps his good arm around my waist and tries to lift me so I’m the same height as him without breaking our kiss. I slide my legs around his hips and revel in the feeling of this. Of him. Of the moment where we’re pouring everything we’ve been through over the past few days into this kiss instead of words that can hurt and scar and wound.
When the kiss ends, he rests his forehead against mine and we stay like this—connected but silent—with my legs around him and my exhale his next breath.
“East—”
“No. Shh.” He shakes his head, his forehead moving ever so slightly against mine. “No apologies. No talking. I need you, Scout. Right now, I just need you.”
I answer the only way I can, by leaning forward and pressing my lips to his. And I’m not sure why I expected there to be urgency between us, but there isn’t. Not when he walks me to my bed and lays me down. Not when we lazily remove our clothes while the sweet seduction of our lips on each other’s continues without pause. Not when he parts my thighs and slips into me.
The room fills with soft moans and sweet praise as our bodies join and our hearts connect. My hands slide down the hard lines of his torso so I can feel the muscles in his backside as he moves in and out of me.
No. There is no urgency. I let him take what he needs from me. Pleasure. Satisfaction. A claim. A tether to his life here to reassure himself he has a place to come back to. A home. Something of permanence.
So we ride that crest, where pleasure burns into ecstasy and lust gives way to love. And with one arm braced on the side of me, Easton leans back and looks me in the eyes for the second time since I opened the door.
“I need to watch you,” he murmurs and then grinds into me in a way that feels so good my gasp turns into a moan. His eyes, hazy with lust darken even further. “Come for me, Scout.” Another drive of his hips. Another swell of pleasure. “I need to see what I do to you.” On this thrust he pushes as deep as he can go and pulses so the head of his cock rubs right where I need it the most.
My hand on his ass digs into the flesh while my other grips tight on his forearm. My orgasm builds slowly, softly, teasing and taunting until there’s no way I can hold it off. So with his eyes on mine, and my body surrendered to his, I come in waves. One after another until all that’s left is the ripple effect of tingling to my fingers and toes.
When he follows soon after, there is no wild groan I’ve become accustomed to. There is no crazy jerking of his hips. He keeps his eyes on mine as long as he can until he can’t fight it. His eyes close. His face pulls tight. My name is a shuddered moan on his lips.
And as his orgasm subsides and he rolls onto his back pulling me and gathering me into him, all I can think of is while he may be taking what he needs from me, he has no idea that he’s just given me more than he could ever imagine. I needed this.
Him.
Security.
Love.
The prospect of having a future with someone.
We lie there, our heartbeats slowing down, while I try to figure out how to address the elephant in the room that the sex didn’t erase.
“I saw your comments to the reporters,” I finally say to ease us into the conversation we need to have but don’t want to.
“And . . .”
“I think it was smart. You set the tone and even though Cory held his press conference, it is your words that will be heard the loudest. You’ll negate any rumors by coming off as a complete professional who is in love with the city he’s always called home.”
He chuckles. “Well, I’m glad you think I had that much forethought, but I was only reacting to the question. This city means a lot to me, and it’s going to be weird not wearing an Aces uniform anymore.”
And of course there’s that silent dagger to my heart. “I can’t say I’m sorry enough, Easton. I shouldn’t have—”
“Don’t apologize. You did what you thought was best.”
He doesn’t say anything more but my attention hangs on those words because he never says he thought it was the best decision. “Yeah, but you’re still traded.”
He scrubs his hands over his face, the chafing against his stubble filling the room. “Apologizing isn’t something I’m good at, but when I mess up, I say it. I said some mean shit to you last night. Stuff you didn’t deserve regardless of whether you were put in a position to make a decision or not . . . so I’m sorry, Scout. For blaming you. For accusing you. For being a dick.”
“Thank you,” I murmur as his hand pulls me in closer to him even though we’re already skin to skin. “I don’t understand though . . . how did this happen? How could Finn advise you to sign that agreement?”
“There’s so much more to it than that. I can’t . . .” His voice fades off but his distress is more than evident. “I signed it after I was injured and . . . after ten years together, I sign wherever he says to sign.”
“How can you trust him with anything else, Easton? New contracts? Negotiations? Anything? I mean he singlehandedly—”
“I’m handling it,” he says curtly followed by a heavy sigh that oppresses everything in the atmosphere. “Christ . . . just . . . I’m already addressing it, okay?”
“Mm-hmm,” I murmur still unsatisfied with the answer, but drop the subject because I know he has a lot on his plate.
“My flight leaves in the morning.”
Those words make my chest constrict. “I assumed.” I lift his hand and press a kiss to the center of his palm as tears threaten but for a completely different reason.
Don’t go.
Stay here.
With me.
I don’t say anything to him though. I can’t make him feel guilty for leaving when I was the catalyst behind it, so I clear my throat and try to suck it up. Clear mind. Full heart.
“There’s so much I need to do and not enough time to do it in.” His voice is quiet, resigned, and all I want to do is fix it, fix this.
“What can I do to help you?”
“If I had my way, I’d stay right here. With you. Like this.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head between words, and as ridiculous as it sounds, it causes butterflies to flitter about in my stomach. He doesn’t hate me. I didn’t realize how much I feared that until this very moment. “But I have to go see my mom.”
As much as I’d love to be selfish and keep him all to myself, I know I can’t. I’d never interfere with his need to take care of his mother just as I know he’d never do the same when it comes to my father.
“Would you like me to go with you?”
Scout
“I should warn you that sometimes when I show up, she’s . . .” he starts as he slides out of the driver’s side of the truck, pulling my curiosity from the gravel lot and mobile homes around us.
“No need to,” I say quietly as I meet his eyes, noting he hasn’t moved. His hand’s still on the driver’s side door as if he can’t decide whether he wants to shut it or climb back in and drive away. He’s uncomfortable. Uncertain. Now that we’re here, he’s not sure if it was a good idea to introduce me to this side of his life. It’s in the way he chews the inside of his cheek and the hesitancy in his actions when he is usually so sure of himself.
So I do it for him.
Instead of waiting for him to open the door for me as he typically does, I open it, climb out, and meet him where he’s moved to the front of the truck.
He glances to the front door and then back to me. “I just need to see her before I leave,” he says, resignation in his tone, and I can’t tell if it’s because he doesn’t want me here or doesn’t know what he’s going to walk into.
“I’m looking forward to meeting her.” I reach out and link my fingers with his in silent reassurance. He’s already prepared me for his mom and her illness and this connection is my reminder to him that I’m n
ot here to judge her or how he handles her.
Besides, I want to soak up every minute I have left with him. He’s crazy if he thought he was going to leave me behind.
He presses a kiss to my temple, his lips lingering a few moments longer than normal before sighing and walking down the path to the front of the house. Hanging plants adorn the front area by the railing with colorful garden knickknacks adding character that makes me smile.
And even funnier as we climb the three steps to one of the better-kept homes in the park, is that I’m suddenly a tad nervous. I’m meeting his mom. And I actually want her to like me because I know how much she means to him.
Easton knocks on the door and squeezes my hand as a woman’s voice calls out, “Coming.” When the door opens, the woman on the other side emits the sweetest gasp. “Easton!” She’s over the threshold and in his arms in seconds, clinging tightly to him and him to her. “You came to see me.” Her voice is muffled from being pressed against his chest, but the love overflowing from it is undeniable.
“Hi, Momma.” The affection in his is just as endearing.
“Look at you.” She leans back and looks up at him, her smile wide, her hands reaching up to touch the sides of his cheeks, and her eyes only for him. “So handsome. Are you okay? I was so angry when I saw the press conference this morning. I was down at the bar and—”
“At eight thirty in the morning?”
“Don’t give me that. I was only stopping in to have a Bloody Mary or two and say hi to everyone is all.” She pats his cheek as I quietly watch him grit his teeth and hold back his chastisement. “But what if I need you when you’re gone? What if—”
“I brought someone I want you to meet.”
She startles back, her hands immediately going to pat at her hair in true feminine fashion. “But I’m not made up . . . ” Her voice fades off when she notices me standing there, no doubt looking worse for wear with eyes rimmed red from my crying jag.
She turns my way and for the first time I get a full view of Easton’s mother. The resemblance between the two is uncanny: dark eyes in the same almond shape, same cheekbone structure, same smile with the little bit of crooked to it. Her eyes look tired, the lines etched in her face tell a story all of their own, but her smile is kind and welcoming.