I find myself getting nervous when we reach the front of the suite. Strangely enough though, I’m not nervous about getting hit, I’m nervous about Caden being up at bat. I look down at the tens of thousands of fans in the stadium and I wonder how anyone could stand up at the plate and hit a ball with all those people screaming and cheering.
He whacks the ball and I find myself yelling and clapping. Then I realize I’m the only one in the suite doing it. I turn to Lexi, embarrassed. “He hit the ball, didn’t he?”
“It was a foul ball,” she says, pointing over to left field. “That counts as a strike.”
I shrug. “Sorry,” I say to the people sitting next to me. They chuckle as if they know it’s my first time watching a game.
Caden swings and misses, giving him a second strike. Then he swings and hits the ball again. Before I embarrass myself by cheering a second time, I look around. Again, nobody is cheering. “Another foul? Does that mean he’s out? Third strike?”
She shakes her head. “Nope. You can’t get out on a foul ball. You can hit them all day long and not get out. Well, unless somebody on the other team catches one of them.”
He fouls off another and I find myself tensing up as I watch the guy in left field dash over to try and catch it. Caden does it again, hitting the ball straight up in the air, and I grab Lexi’s arm waiting to see if the catcher will get a hold of it.
Lexi laughs. “Pretty intense, huh?”
Then he swings and misses and gets called out. “Oh, no,” I say, feeling bad about his strike out.
“It’s okay,” Lexi says. “They get out more than they get a hit.”
“They do?”
“Yup. If they only get a hit a third of the time, they are doing well.”
“I have a lot to learn,” I say.
Someone taps my shoulder. I turn around to see Melanie. She hands me another box. “Mr. Kessler has invited you and Mrs. Stone to wait for him outside the clubhouse after the game.”
“Oh, okay, thank you.” I turn to Lexi. “That’s the locker room,” I say, proudly. “Bet you didn’t think I knew that.”
She laughs and points to the box. “What’s in this one?”
I open it and pull out a giant foam finger with the Nighthawks logo and a large #8. I put the box aside and roll my eyes. “A little over the top, isn’t he?”
“I think he just wants everyone to love baseball as much as he does,” Lexi says.
I can’t help myself as I watch intensely every time Caden is behind the plate as catcher. I worry he will get hit with the ball and get hurt like I did. I know he wears that pad thing and a face mask, but I heard some guys in the suite discussing how the pitcher throws close to one hundred miles per hour. That is crazy. I wonder if Caden has ever gotten hurt. He seems to expertly know where the pitcher will throw the ball.
By the time Caden gets up to bat again, I’m really getting into the game. I don’t know if it’s Lexi and her encouragement, or the fans that surround me, but my heart pumps wildly when he steps up to the plate.
He swings twice and misses twice. I find myself getting bummed out. Then, on the third swing, I hear a crack and everyone in the stadium stands up and yells.
Lexi grabs me and hugs me in a tight embrace while jumping up and down. Everyone in the room is high-fiving everyone else. I’m caught up in the excitement as I cheer and even wave my foam finger around in the air. Then I walk up to the glass and watch Caden as he runs around third base. We’re pretty far away up here, but I think I can see a smile on his face. Then, right before he touches home plate, I could swear he glances up at the suite.
Lexi comes and stands next to me. When I look over at her, she’s studying me.
“What?” I ask.
She looks back down at the field where her brother is joining his team in the dugout. “Oh, nothing,” she says, a huge smile overtaking her face.
Chapter Fifteen
Caden
As usual, when we emerge from the clubhouse, there is a large crowd of friends, family and fans who have waited around to see the players. Security does their best to keep any overeager fans from getting to us, but it seems there are always one or two of them, mostly women, who end up breaking through the crowd to get to the target of their obsession.
I used to think it was funny and flattering. But I’ve since found out some of those women are downright scary. How could someone I don’t even know possibly think I’d just drop everything and go out with them? Sleep with them? Marry them? They can be delusional. So I’ve learned to be approachable without being too nice. Because too nice can get you into trouble. Too nice can be misconstrued by irrational fans.
Sawyer, Brady and I all walk out together. As we always do, we stop to sign autographs, pose for pictures, and shake hands.
“I love you, Caden!” a woman screams from behind the crowd.
I point in the direction the voice came from. “Back at ya!” I shout, making the ASL sign for ‘I love you’ with my right hand.
As more and more players come out of the clubhouse and leave, the crowd thins. I say goodbye to Sawyer and Brady knowing I’ll see them on the plane tomorrow when we head down south to Tampa.
Suddenly, I find myself being thrown back into the wall as a woman hurls herself at me. I have no choice but to catch her so she doesn’t hurt me, or herself.
“Sorry,” Drew says as he runs over and peels the fan off me. “I didn’t mean to let her get past, Mr. Kessler.”
“But he loves me!” the woman screams as Drew pulls her away. “You saw it. Everyone saw it. He said he loves me.”
Shit. Really?
I hang my head, realizing once again how literally these deranged fans take things. I intentionally never say ‘I love you’ back, because I refuse to minimize the meaning of those three words the way some fans do. I will only say those words to one person—if at all.
I scan the crowd until I find familiar faces. Safe faces. And I smile when I find them.
Lexi and Murphy are leaning up against the far wall, waiting patiently for me to finish up. I walk away from the crowd earlier than I usually do, still stunned by the overzealous fan. When I make my way to the girls, I feel my smile grow larger when I see Murphy wearing the shirt I had sent to her. Not only that, she’s still carrying the large foam finger.
I give my sister a kiss on the cheek and then I do the same to Murphy. Then I hear a few screams behind me, from women asking me to kiss them, too.
“Are you okay?” Murphy asks.
I look back to where Drew was dragging that woman away. “I’m fine.”
“She jumped on you, Caden,” she says, concern etched into her face.
Lexi laughs. “Good thing my little brother is a top-notch catcher.”
Murphy doesn’t find her joke funny. “Does that happen a lot?”
I shrug.
“Oh, my gosh, really? You should have a bodyguard or something.”
“It’s fine. I’m fine.”
When I’m looking at Murphy, it dawns on me that she’s had her hairline stitches removed and that she looks great. But then I realize her cheeks are pink. Pink from the sun. I narrow my eyes at her. “Murph, you look sunburned. How in the hell did that happen? Weren’t you in the suite?”
“It’s a nice day,” she says. “Lexi and I walked here.”
I take the hat off my head and fit it onto hers. “You have to protect your face from the sun. It’ll help reduce the scarring.”
“Who’s the lucky girl?” someone behind me shouts.
“Are you his girlfriend?” shouts another.
“Caden, can I have a hat?” yet another asks.
Girls are freaking out over me giving Murphy my hat. What the hell is the big deal? It’s a hat, not an engagement ring.
I ignore the comments, but I can tell Murphy is bothered by them. However, she doesn’t acknowledge any of the incessant questions. “It’s going to be dark soon,” she says, going to remove the hat. “I don’t thi
nk I’ll need it.”
I stop the movement of her hand. “Keep it. Wear it. Doctor’s orders.”
“I wouldn’t argue with my brother if I were you,” Lexi says. “Believe me, it won’t end well. He’s as stubborn as a mule. Plus, I’m pretty sure Kyle would tell you the same thing. You need to protect your face from the sun while it heals.”
I laugh when Murphy rolls her eyes and fake pouts.
“Whatever, Doc,” she says.
“Doc?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Just trying out nicknames.”
“Keep trying, Old Man Murphy.”
Lexi laughs at our exchange. “Oh my gosh! I get it now. The box. Old Man Murphy.” She smacks me playfully on the arm. “You are terrible. I thought maybe Melanie had been hitting the booze.” She gestures to Murphy. “And I’ve never seen so many shades of red on a face before.”
She asks Murphy, “You need a nickname for him? I have a few from our childhood. Rat, Bug, Tool, Squirt, Homer, take your pick.”
I roll my eyes at my big sister as the girls share a giggle.
“Oh, how could I have forgotten?” Murphy says. “Congratulations on your home run.”
“Thanks. I’m just glad it didn’t hit anyone this time.”
“Me, too. And the guy who caught it gave it to a kid,” she says, smiling.
“I know. Sawyer told me.”
“Did you sign it for him?” Lexi asks.
“Yeah. Hey, speaking of my home run,” I say to Murphy. “I think you need to come to all my games. You seem to be a good luck charm. And you have to wear that shirt and the finger.”
She looks down at her shirt and then at the finger she must have forgotten she was ‘wearing.’
Lexi leans over to her and explains, “Baseball is a superstitious sport. When something goes well, you have to do the same thing in hopes that it will be repeated. That was number twenty-seven, right, Caden?”
“Lucky twenty-seven,” I say, sharing a nostalgic smile with Lexi. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I’ll buy you girls a drink and then I’ll get you home.”
As we make our way out of the stadium, I notice a guy lurking at the entrance. He looks familiar. He’s staring right at me. At us.
Although I know he’s probably just a fan wanting an autograph, I go into protective mode since I’m with Lex and Murphy. I keep looking over at him to see if he’s going to follow us. I even pull out my phone, ready to summon Drew or his security team in case we need assistance.
I can’t shake the feeling that I know him from somewhere.
“How about Klingmans?” Lexi asks. “They make good margaritas there.”
Oh, shit. I know why he looks familiar. Klingmans was the restaurant Sawyer, Rob and I went to on our triple date. And the guy standing over by the entrance, staring at me, is the same guy who was sitting at the bar there last night—staring at me.
Great. Looks like I have another goddamn stalker. I send a quick text to Drew, hoping he can scare the guy into backing off. But when I look up from my phone, he’s gone.
So much for unwinding after the double-header. I ruin my time with the girls because I spend the next few hours looking over my shoulder.
Chapter Sixteen
Murphy
“You seem to be getting the hang of things around here,” Trick says, giving me her schedule for next week.
Trick is one of the full-time personal trainers at the gym. She’s funny, smart, and super strong. And I’m not exactly sure if she’s a she. But I don’t know her well enough to ask.
The past few weeks working at the gym have been a lot of fun. Much more fun than modeling. Okay, so the pay is considerably lower, but if I’m being honest, having a steady paycheck is more exciting to me than living off ramen noodles ninety percent of the time and living like a queen the other ten percent.
I mean, who knows what would have happened if I’d been able to take the job with that high-end clothing line. I keep thinking back to what Caden said about living on borrowed time. In model years, twenty-three is over-the-hill. I might’ve gotten in a few good years, but at the end of it all, what would I really have had?
It’s only taken me two weeks to realize I want more out of life than getting on the cover of a magazine and then being remembered as a has-been. And it’s only taken that same two weeks for the owners of the gym to take notice of me.
The other day, Jayden, the manager, asked me to help with some paperwork since the membership coordinator is on maternity leave. I think she was impressed with how organized and detail-oriented I was. I told her I had taken some business courses at the community college back in Iowa, and then the next day, I was informed the owners wanted me trained as an assistant to the coordinator. It doesn’t mean any more money. Not yet anyway. But who knows what could happen. This is the biggest gym in the city. The staff is huge and business is booming.
“I’ve been trying hard to keep up with all your schedules. With fourteen trainers, that’s practically a full-time job in itself,” I tell her.
“Well, you’re doing a great job,” she says. “You are so organized. I’ll bet your apartment is always neat and clean, isn’t it?”
“Ha! Hardly. I live in a two-bedroom apartment with four other girls, all of them models. That equals a lot of clothes and makeup lying around. Not to mention the fact that getting any quality bathroom time is just unheard of.”
Her jaw drops. “You live with four models? You must be one tough chick.”
“You don’t know the half of it. My cheating ex is always hanging around because he’s now dating the girl I share a room with.”
“No fucking way.”
“Way.” I nod.
“I have a cheating ex, too. In fact, she just moved her lying cheating ass out of my apartment last week.” She studies me for a second, drawing her brows together. “You know, I have a spare room. It may not be much, but it beats sharing a bedroom with a model.” She sticks her finger down her throat to let me know just how highly she regards those in my former profession. “And it takes me all of five minutes to get ready in the morning. No makeup and other crap you’d have to weed through to use the bathroom.”
“I don’t know,” I say, hesitant about moving right in with another person I barely know, considering how well it went the last time.
She sees her next client walk through the door. “Just think about it. Joan paid me rent through October, so I have more than a month before I’m in dire straits on my mortgage, and I won’t even make you pay rent until November, you know, in case you have to give some kind of notice to your other roommates.”
“Okay. I’ll think about it,” I say as she walks away with someone who I now know is an Olympic skater.
There are a lot of sports stars who come here. Probably because one of the owners is the starting quarterback for the Giants.
My phone vibrates in my pocket so I pull it out to check the text.
#8: Ready for your next lesson? I want to take you to a game.
Me: Isn’t your season over?
#8: Thanks for reminding me that we didn’t make the playoffs.
Me: Sorry.
#8: I’m joking, Old Man Murphy. You aren’t working Saturday afternoon, are you?
Me: What did you have in mind?
#8: I’m taking you to a Yankees game.
Before I can answer him, an attractive woman who has blonde hair with inky-black tips approaches the counter. “I’m looking for Murphy Brown,” she says.
I roll my eyes, but I’m also grateful she didn’t ask for Old Man Murphy. “Let me guess. Caden sent you?”
“Kind of, I mean he told me about you, but I didn’t think he knew I’d come in,” she says. “I’m Piper Lawrence. Did he tell you to expect me?”
“He didn’t tell me anything, but he’s the only one who calls me Murphy Brown. I think he has some obsession with an old TV show or something.”
“Your name isn’t Murphy Brown?” she asks.
I hold my hand out to her. “Murphy Cavenaugh. Are you by chance related to one of my bosses?”
She leans in close and whispers, “I’m married to the best boss. But don’t let my sisters hear you repeat that since they are married to the other two.”
Just like when I met Lexi, I feel an instant connection with Piper.
As if reading my mind, Piper says, “You know, I’m friends with Lexi Stone. Between her and her sisters-in-law, and me and my sisters, we can throw some pretty fun girls’ nights. You should definitely join us.”
I smile thinking of how completely different that would be from when I was hanging out with my pretentious roommates. “I’d really like that. Thank you.”
“I have to run and get my daughter from school,” she says, pulling a piece of paper from the printer and writing on it. “But here is my number. Text me so I can have yours. We’ll set something up.”
Before she turns to leave, she stares at my face and I think maybe she’s looking at my scars. They’re starting to fade, but I’m still self-conscious about them.
“Caden’s right,” she says. “You are gorgeous.”
She spins around and walks out the front door, leaving my jaw slightly agape.
Chapter Seventeen
Caden
We play one hundred and sixty-two games in one hundred and eighty days—and that’s if you don’t make the playoffs. It’s grueling. We rarely get a full day off during the season. Then, the day after the season ends … nothing. We go from Mach Two to zero overnight.
It’s hard on some of the guys, especially the ones who are married with kids. They go home to wives who are used to taking care of everything. For eight months, their wives paid the bills, took the kids to school, and managed the household. Then baseball season ends and their husbands come back, and for lack of anything better to do, they jump right into being the head of the family.
Catching Caden (The Perfect Game Series) Page 8