I'm just about to refuse his offer of hospitality when a beat-up old Honda squeals to the curb, a Russo's Pizza light affixed crookedly to the top of the roof.
Luke stands and rubs his stomach. "Hmmm, I've been waiting for this all day. If you're ever gonna be a true Stocktonite, remember one thing: Russo's is the best." He nudges my arm while hustling past me down the steps. "C'mon, stay. Who doesn't love pepperoni?"
The driver hops out of the car and starts removing a large pizza box from one of the warming cases. "Don't worry, Single, my man. I wasn't gonna ring the bell. No need to stand guard outside Casa Singleton."
Luke digs into his pocket and hands him the twenty. "Thanks, Billy. My kitchen's getting remodeled…so you'll probably be hearing from me a lot this week."
Billy throws a quick glance at me. "But, dude, who's that?"
Luke takes the box from him. "Just a friend."
Like I haven't heard that line uttered by a lying, cheating baseball player before. If Luke's girlfriend doesn't come out here soon—or worse yet, I'm starting to think she's not even home—the last thing I want is for tongues to start wagging all over Stockton. God, I didn't even want to cross paths with Luke Singleton once I found out he was on the Beavers, and now he wants us to have dinner together?
Luke is already heading back toward the house when Billy calls out, "Hey, do you want your change?"
Luke smiles but just keeps walking. "Do I ever?"
"Thanks, Single!" He kisses the bill in his hand. "My money's on you and the Beavers tomorrow!" he says, jumping back behind the wheel.
Luke groans, "Billy, please don't go betting on sports again, not with those bookies down at the—"
But Billy's not even listening. Instead, he guns the engine and tears off into the night—causing Luke to stop and stare up at one of the second-floor windows, just as a light turns on.
He hurries onto the porch and shoves the pizza box into my hands.
I stare at him quizzically. "What's wrong?"
But all he does is hold a finger to his lips, his hand already on the doorknob.
"Fine, if you don't want your girlfriend to know I'm out here, then I'm just gonna have to let her know myself!"
"Girlfriend? What…? I don't have a girlfriend," he whispers, stepping back inside. "Just sit tight for a minute. I'll be right back."
But I jam the pizza box through the door. "Like hell, I will. Where is she?"
"Excuse me?"
"Don't even try to deny it. I heard you. You said, 'I just got her to sleep.'"
He stands there, stricken, and I take the opportunity to push past him and into the house.
But I don't get very far when he steps in front of me, blocking my view. "I'm sorry, but you can't come in."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, because the kitchen's being remodeled, right?"
I'm in the middle of jabbing him in the chest with the pizza box when I nearly drop it on the floor.
"Luuuuukey? Where's my little Lukey?"
"Coming!" he shouts, before pleading with me with his eyes. "You have to leave now."
"Luke, who was that?"
The voice was definitely childlike, yet it had a gravelly quality to it, similar to that of a smoker. In fact, the whole house smells like smoke. I squint, my eyes riveted to the top of the stairs, but it's too dark to make anything out. All I see are moving shadows, coming from up above.
"Please," he begs. "The pizza's all yours. My treat. But you really have to go."
"But what are you going to eat?" I protest, still trying to catch a glimpse of who's up there as he backs me toward the door. "You said your kitchen—"
"Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."
"Lukey, quick!" There's a soft moaning sound that's soon accompanied by a pitiful sob. "I think…I think…I wet the bed again…"
"Ma, I'll be right there!"
Luke's eyes widen, realizing his mistake, just as my foot drops down onto the porch.
"Luke!" I gasp. "Is that your mother up there?"
His face goes stark white.
"Luke, is it?"
He still doesn't answer me. But he's forgetting that as a caregiver, my one and only concern is for someone's well-being. That always comes first—it has to. But at the same time, all I want to do is wrap him in my arms, give him a big hug, and tell him everything's going to be okay.
"What's wrong with her?" I whisper gently, pleading with him to open up to me.
He hesitates, his eyes reflecting so much pain.
So I try again, keeping my voice light. "Is it dementia or…?"
However, it's clear it's something he doesn't want to talk about, at least not with me, when he lowers his head and flexes his jaw.
I understand why he doesn't trust me. I'm a virtual stranger to him. But this is too important. I can't just let it go. Think, Bobbie Jo. What can I do to ease his fears? How can I help him understand where I'm coming from? I'm not trying to pry into his personal life. I'm only doing it because I care.
"It's okay, Luke. I'm not judging you," I begin, attempting to put him at ease. "But I need to know, is she receiving the proper care? Do you have someone who comes in and helps you with her?" I pause, staring down at his bent head, when a horrible thought runs through my mind. "Please tell me you're not trying to do this all on your own."
He finally looks up, giving me such a beseeching look.
"Oh my God, you are, aren't you?" I utter before I can stop myself, my heart stuck in my throat, and he turns away. "Luke, please listen to me. I've worked on a ward with Alzheimer's and dementia patients before. I know how hard it can be, even with a fully trained staff. I can't imagine how you've been doing it all by yourself. You can't. No one can." When he still doesn't respond, I'm forced to drive my point home, needing him to face facts. "Luke, she's only going to get worse, and then what are you going to do?"
He shakes his head helplessly. "I don't know, but I'm not going to lose her. Roberta, I'm all that she has."
I blink, overcome by the emotion on his face.
"Lukey!" his mom wails again.
"I'm sorry. I know you mean well. But please…just go."
Before I can stop him, he shuts the door and I bang on it with my fist. "Luke, let me in! Luke!"
But he just turns out the light.
I don't need an official diagnosis to see what's going on. His mom needs round-the-clock care, and he thinks he can give it to her. But based on my past experience with other families facing the same situation, he's only setting himself up to fail. Most likely heading toward a tragic outcome, one that I may be able to prevent.
I have a responsibility here that I just can't ignore. He came to Landry's office to tell him that he couldn't play, and I stopped him. He was trying to bow out gracefully, and I wouldn't let him. Whether I like it or not, I'm involved now.
Yet if Luke only knew who I really am…who I was… God, he'd have every right to slam the door in my face.
Right now, the easiest thing would be for me to stay out of it. Tell Landry. Let him handle it. But now that I've seen what Luke's coping with, can I really do that? Can I just walk away and convince myself that it's not my problem, that I'm not the one who can help him?
Chapter Five
Luke
"Dude, you look like you got run over by a Mack truck," Danny says the next day as he leans forward and spits over the rail of the dugout.
"Rough night," I groan, failing to stifle a yawn.
But the truth is, it's become my nightly routine. Run Mom a second bath. Take a clean nightgown out of her drawer. Change her sheets while she's in the tub. Sit by her bed until she falls asleep.
However, last night was different, so I texted Danny.
ME: Roberta was just here.
DANNY: What???
ME: Yeah, stupid me asked Landry for some comped tickets and he had her bring them over. Mom freaked and Roberta heard her.
DANNY: Is she gonna tell Landry?
ME: I don't know.
<
br /> We texted back and forth, but it's not like it helped or anything. I tossed and turned all night, afraid of what Roberta's going to do. I want to keep talking to Danny about it, but based on the amount of muttering that's coming from behind us, it's clear that our catcher Eddie "Hoff" Hoffman isn't too thrilled about having to sit on the bench.
But Danny's smart. He knows how to keep the conversation going on the down low. In case Hoff, or any of the other guys, happen to be listening to us, they'll think we're just talking about some girl.
Danny leads with, "Was she…?"
"Yeah." I tug on the brim of my cap. "It was pretty bad."
Danny turns and rests his back against the rail, giving Hoff a quick nod before scoping out where Mom and Mrs. Jenkins are sitting. "Well, she looks none the worse for wear."
I sigh. "She slept like a baby."
Danny plays with the end of his beard thoughtfully. "So you're saying, after today, you're putting an end to…it." He pats the front of his jersey to indicate his meaning. "It's only ever gonna be a one-time thing?"
I shrug. "How can it not be? There's no way I'm letting her boyfriend find out about it." I grip the rail and duck my head between my outstretched arms. "That is…if he doesn't already know."
Hoff grunts. "You two are talkin' 'bout Landry's little side dish, aren't you?"
"No, we're not," Danny says a little too quickly.
Hoff leers at us. "She sure didn't waste any time before wading into the shallow end of the Beaver pond."
I push away from the rail and stand in front of him. "Don't talk about her like that, Hoff."
"Quit griping, little man. I saw the two of you go into Landry's office yesterday…alone."
"And how do you know Landry wasn't in there with them? What, do you have X-ray vision now?" Danny challenges him.
Only to be put soundly in his place. "Maybe because I'd just left him, taking a leak in the men's room."
At age thirty-two, Hoff's a wily veteran. He's been around a long time, and his voice carries a certain amount of weight in the clubhouse. Dad was in a similar position back in the day, but he took his leadership role very seriously, choosing to go out of his way to mentor the younger guys who were coming up behind him. But Hoff takes a much different approach, feeling the need to keep us in line through pure intimidation tactics.
"Just what exactly were you doing in there with her all that time, huh, Single?" he needles me. "It sure sounds like something I need to tell our new boss about, since whatever you two started in his office seemed to continue well on into the wee hours of the night."
He gets up off the bench and snickers when I have to raise my chin in order to glare up at him. "Watch yourself, Single. If she's already checked you off her scorecard, the little minx isn't gonna wanna have anything more to do with you."
He bumps into my shoulder, chuckling under his breath as he walks away.
"Forget about him, man," Danny urges. "He just has his panties in a wad because Landry cut him out, choosing for whatever reason to throw to Roberta instead of him. But Hoff has to realize that Landry's not one of us anymore. He's our boss. He has the right to make any decision he wants." He deliberates. "But I guess if I were a catcher, and I couldn't catch Landry, I'd be devastated too. Landry's the greatest. He's—"
"Please, Danny, not another Landry lovefest, not now."
The majority of the team is crowding around the Gatorade cooler, getting hydrated before the start of the game. I nonchalantly scan the field. Despite everything, I'm still eager to snag a glimpse of her. And there she is—with another one of Hoff's masks over her face. And my heart starts to throb painfully, knowing that she knows about Mom.
Danny follows my gaze. "She's pretty badass if she can get Hoff all rattled like that. Don't tell him, but I think she's gunning for his job," he jokes, managing to get a reluctant smile out of me. "Don't sweat it, Single. Are you forgetting what your dad always told you?"
"Danny, don't start."
He grins while repeating the message that was instilled in me throughout my childhood, "Never let anybody tell you that you can't do something."
I groan in response, "C'mon, Danny. You know how it is."
He turns to me. "Nope, how is it?"
I peer back at Mom just to reassure myself that Mrs. Jenkins is keeping an eye on her. She has a tendency to wander off in crowds, which is why, until Roberta conned me into it, I had zero intention of bringing her to Beaver Field today. I don't even take her with me to the grocery store anymore—not after the time she got away from me and ended up setting off every car alarm in the parking lot when she couldn't remember which one was mine.
"I shouldn't even be here, man."
But based on the way Danny's looking at me, he's not buying it.
"What?"
"You're hoping she didn't tell Landry, because then maybe, just maybe, she might be thinking about helping you."
I can't let Danny go putting these ideas in my head. It's crazy. Why would she even consider helping me after I told her to get lost?
"Yeah, well. That's not gonna happen."
"Single, wake up. She's the answer to all your problems."
I narrow my eyes at him. "So what do you want me to do? Come right out and ask her if she'd be willing to take care of Mom so I can keep playing?"
Danny cuffs me on the back of the uniform. "Either that, or ask her if she's capable of holding on to my wicked split. Tell me, Single. How soft are her hands?"
I give him a shove. "And what are you still doing up here anyway, southpaw? Aren't bullpen pitchers supposed to be in the bullpen?"
He muscles his way back to the rail. "Are you kidding? Not when I can see Landry up close and personal. Look at him out there. You gotta love how seriously he's taking a ceremonial first pitch."
My eyes follow Landry as he takes the mound in full uniform. There's no doubt about it, he's a stud, a thoroughbred. By his stance alone, it's clear his competitive mind-set is still there, burning beneath the surface. With enough World Series rings to adorn every finger on his pitching hand, he's a man who goes after what he wants—and gets it. There's no chance he's going to accept my resignation after the game. If I go up against him, plain and simple, I'm going to lose. He'll just strong-arm me until I agree to put Mom in some facility.
If Roberta hasn't said anything, hiring her may be my only way out of this mess.
She dusts off home plate with her foot before squaring off in front of it, ready for Landry to set, wind, and deliver.
Danny laughs when she puts down a sign. "Now that's what I call one sweet battery mate. Only Landry could pull off throwing to his smokin' hot girlfriend. He must have balls of steel. Man, I wouldn't be able to concentrate, having a catcher out there with me who looks as good as she does."
But if she's Landry's girlfriend, how long is she going to be able to keep this from him? Will she even want to?
Landry fires in his signature cutter, and she doesn't even flinch; she just closes her mitt around it. Flipping up the catcher's mask, she casually jogs out to Landry with the ball. Once she arrives, he reaches out to give her a congratulatory thump on top of the helmet, but she just steps aside, not wanting any part of it. And I take heart in her willful display of independence.
Sliding my glove off the bench, I stretch the leather over my fingers, needing confirmation of what I just saw. "Danny, do you think there's anything going on between them…really?"
"I don't know. You had the perfect opportunity to ask her yesterday when she was kissing your elbow and making it feel all better," he taunts. "Just so I'm not mistaken, you are the resident sympathy case around here, right?"
I smirk at him. "Thanks, man. Keep on pumping me up."
"Yeah," he chides. "Your knees will start knocking soon enough, once it's your turn to hit."
He smacks my butt with his glove before climbing the dugout steps, not realizing the full effect his parting comment has on me. Ballplayers talk smack all the time. It'
s how we show we care about each other. But up until now, it's like I'd pushed to the back of my mind the real reason why I'm here.
Dropping down onto the bench, I lower my head between my knees and breathe. I take off my glove and lace my hands behind my back, doing anything I can to remove the tension from my body. I'm playing today. I'm actually playing today. And I have to stay loose. Yet, underneath my uniform, I'm already breaking out in a cold sweat. The doctors said if I ever sustain another injury like the one I suffered before, it could very well be lights-out for me. And then who's going to be there for Mom?
If I didn't let Danny talk me into coming yesterday, then Roberta never would have found out about her. It was selfish, reckless, risking everything just to feel normal again, to be back on a baseball field, back where I belong.
But today, I came back for a different reason, for a chance to see her. Last night, for a brief moment, I saw something in her eyes, a connection, like maybe I wasn't all alone in this anymore.
And the hope that stirred within my lonely heart scared me more than getting hit again. She holds my fate in her hands. The question is: what's she going to do with it?
Chapter Six
Roberta
A drop of rain hits my arm, and then another. I grimace at the sky as storm clouds converge above Beaver Field.
It's only the top of the fourth, and Landry's going to kill me for leaving. But last inning, Luke kept tripping over his feet to get away from the ball, going down on three strikes without even taking a swing. And I knew I was a fool to believe I could help him.
Which is why I'm getting in my car and taking off. I'll meet Landry at the airport. Go back to Texas with him. Figure out what I'm going to do from there because I'm not staying in Stockton. Not now.
I ignore the stab of guilt that's pricking my conscience. Why stick myself where I don't belong? Luke looked terrified at the plate. He's too shaken up. He can't play.
All because David had to go and mess with his head. Just like he did with mine…
As the smattering of rain turns into a full-on deluge, I turn the key in the ignition and flick on the windshield wipers. Stockton would've been a nice change of pace for me—not like Arnold's snooty Westchester enclave or Landry's sprawling acres out in the sticks. It feels homey, a small, blue-collar town like the one I grew up in. I liked Luke's neighborhood. It reminds me of the hopes and dreams I had when I was younger, the kind of life I'd pictured myself living someday—a husband, kids, a big backyard with a dog.
Single (Stockton Beavers #1) Page 4