And for the first time since Friday night, I feel like maybe my life isn’t so pathetic after all.
Chapter Seven
Caden
“Sue is hot,” Brady says when the girls get up to use the bathroom.
I look in their direction. “I guess.”
“Dude. What is wrong with you? You’ve been acting strange all night. Wait, is this date number three? Are you trying to figure out how you’re going to cut bait?”
I take a sip of my beer. “No, this is number two, but I’m not sure she’s going to make it to three.”
“No good in the sack?” he asks, raising his brows at me.
I love Brady like a brother, but he can be a lot to take sometimes. What I was telling Murphy about some of the guys on my team having a girl in every city—that’s Brady. It’s not like he’s a bad person, I mean they all know the score. He doesn’t have a wife. He doesn’t have a girlfriend. He just has friends in every place we play.
Murphy.
I look at my phone again, wondering why she hasn’t texted me. It’s Thursday. Surely she knows by now when she’s going to have surgery. Maybe she just decided to go back to Iowa after all.
Murphy. That’s an unusual name. An intriguing name. It’s not boring like, say, Sue.
“Kess?” Brady asks, prodding me to give him an answer.
“Uh, no. I don’t know. Haven’t slept with her.”
“Shit, really?” He gives me a cocky smile. “Then would you mind if I do?”
I dunk my fingers in my water glass and flick them at him.
Sue and Abby return to the table, giggling. “I just got asked for my autograph,” Sue says.
“Is that so?” I ask.
“Yes. Some girl in the bathroom wanted to get the signature of Caden Kessler’s girlfriend.”
I roll my eyes at her.
“What?” she asks. “Like, I’m a celebrity now.”
Brady turns to Abby. “What about you, did you get asked for your autograph, too?”
Abby turns up her nose in disgust. “No, she was just obsessed with Caden.”
Brady raises his eyebrows. “This tool? But he’s just a catcher. I’m the pitcher. Everybody loves pitchers.”
I know he’s only teasing. It’s a long-standing joke between pitchers and catchers about who is the most important. Pitchers couldn’t do their job without us. We make them look good. We save their asses when their pitching sucks. And they get all the glory.
I peek at my phone again and scroll through some texts. None of them are ones I care to answer.
“You girls coming to the game tomorrow?” Brady asks.
“Of course,” they say in tandem.
“Thank you for the great seats, Brady,” Abby says. “We’ll be close enough to see your gorgeous eyes.”
“Yeah,” Sue says to me. “Like maybe you could give me a signal that lets me know you see me. You know, scratch your nose or click your heels or something.”
Brady and I share a look. “Uh, no,” I tell her in no uncertain terms.
“Aw, come on. I’ll make it worth your while,” she says with a sultry wink.
I take a long drink and stare her down. “Sue, you need to understand one thing. When I play, the only signals I’m sending are to my pitcher. I don’t care if the fucking President of the United States is in the stands, I’m not acknowledging anyone.”
She looks hurt. “Oh, okay.” She turns to Abby. “It’s just a silly little game. I don’t get what the big deal is.”
I blow out a long breath and down the rest of my one and only beer. “We should head back. Curfew, you know.”
“You have a curfew?” Sue asks.
“It’s more of a guideline than a rule,” Abby says. Then I think Brady must kick her under the table or something. “What? That’s what you always tell me, Brady.”
Brady and I throw some bills on the table and get up to leave. “Where can we drop you, Sue?”
Sue looks dejected. But at this point, I couldn’t give a shit. Any girl who thinks I will jeopardize my job to send her stupid fucking signals during a game is not worth my time. Especially when that girl gets off on being my celebrity girlfriend.
I should have gone with my gut and stayed home tonight.
I check my phone once more on the way out.
~ ~ ~
I’ve always been pretty good at tuning out the crowd. I get in the zone when I’m behind the plate, whether I’ve got a bat in my hand, or a glove on it. But today, thanks to Brady, Abby and Sue are sitting in seats right on the third-base line, feet from our dugout. And Sue keeps shouting things out when the crowd noise dies down. Things like how much fun she had last night. And how she loves me. Things like how I should give her my secret signal.
Man, that girl is needy. We had two dates and you’d think she already has a damn ring on her finger.
No way in hell will I give her my phone number. She’d probably blow up my phone with voicemails and texts. I learned that a long time ago. I had to change my number several times early in my career when I stupidly gave it out to someone who then stalked me, or publicized my number after I stopped dating them. I’ve been called a stupid prick more than once for not giving it out anymore. But my standard answer is, if they really need to reach me, they can do it through the organization.
Melanie stopped giving me messages last year. She basically screens my calls, and after eighteen months of my throwing the little pink slips of paper in the trash, she got the hint that if a woman was trying to reach me through the office, it wasn’t a woman I wanted to speak with.
When I come back in the dugout after a three-up-three-down inning, Sawyer nods to the stands. “Dude, who the hell is the lunatic?”
I take my chest protector off and throw it in the corner. “That would be Sue,” I say in disgust.
“Want me to send an usher over to shut her up?”
I shake my head. “It’s fine. You didn’t see it mess me up out there, did you?”
“Hell no. That was a great save you had on third strike.”
“Thanks.”
Conner steps up to the plate and hits a home run. His second of the San Diego series. Showoff. Sawyer and I watch the JumboTron to see where it lands. Like me, he always hopes a kid catches it, but they rarely do. Most of the time, a pushy adult will all but trample over a kid to catch a ball. It’s sad. And I’ve seen more than a few overzealous fans get booed out of the park for robbing a kid of the experience.
This time, however, Sawyer and I smile when the large screen shows us that it was in fact a kid who caught it.
“Hey, that reminds me, what happened to the guy you hit last week. He okay?”
I smile sadly. “The guy was actually a woman, and no, she’s not.”
“Shit, really?”
I nod, resting my forearms on the railing as we watch Hayden at bat. “It messed her up pretty bad, Sawyer. I feel terrible. She’s a model and is just starting her career. I was with her in the hospital when her agency called to drop her like a goddamn hot potato. Then her boyfriend dumped her. The girl is new to the city. She seriously has no one.”
“That’s fucked up,” he says. “It was nice of you to go see her in the hospital.”
“Every day until we left for Phoenix.”
“That explains why you skipped out on us Friday and Saturday night.”
“Yeah. And get this, she doesn’t even like baseball. She was only at the game to make her boyfriend happy. The same boyfriend who was cheating on her.”
“Wait.” He takes a step back from the railing. “She doesn’t fucking like baseball? What kind of chick is she?”
I laugh. “Exactly. I think I’ve made it my mission in life to bring her around.”
“She hot?”
I give him a sideways look. “I don’t know, man. I guess so. I mean she is a model and all. But she’s so genuine. Real. I kind of find it hard to believe she was trying to break into that business with all the cut-thr
oat shit that goes on. It’s not for her, I can tell.”
He pulls his eyes away from the game and studies me. “Oh, you can tell, can you?”
“Yeah. I can. And I gave her my phone number but she hasn’t called or texted once. What’s up with that? That’s never happened. Not one time. And I don’t even want to sleep with her. I really just want to help her out when she’s down, you know?”
“Maybe she’s playing you,” he says.
“What, like she got hit by my home run ball on purpose and now she’s playing hard to get so that I’ll go after her and she can trap me?”
He shrugs.
“Murphy isn’t like that,” I say. “Plus, that is such a stupid theory.”
“You’re the one who said it, not me. Wait. Her name is Murphy?”
“Yes.” I laugh. “Isn’t it great?”
“If you like old man names,” he says. “You gonna date her?”
“No, I told you, it’s not like that. I think we might be friends.”
“Friends with the hot model with the messed-up face,” he says, reaching over to put on his batting helmet. “Let me know how that goes.”
I watch him walk out on the field, then I go over to retrieve my own helmet. And although I never bring my phone with me into the dugout, I can’t help but wish I had so I could see if she’s tried to contact me.
Chapter Eight
Murphy
My skin crawls as I watch Kirsten drape herself over Tony for the hundredth time this week. Why must they always hang out here, in our tiny apartment that is overcrowded as it is?
I’m over him. I think I got over him the second I arrived home to find them cuddled up on the couch together. Tony belatedly made an effort to move away from her after it was obvious that I saw them together.
He never came back to the hospital after that first night. He never called either. When I saw them on the couch, I told him he could fuck whoever he wanted, including himself. And then I sarcastically thanked my roommates for coming to visit.
I make a sandwich and take it to my room—the room I share with my ex’s current girlfriend. The one who calls out after me before I shut the door, “Since when did you start eating carbs?”
I may have slammed the door a bit too hard after hearing her words.
A minute later, there is a knock on the door. Then Jamie walks in. She plops down on the bed next to me. “He’s a bottom-dwelling scum-sucker, I hope you know that.”
Jamie is the closest thing I have to a friend in New York, but even she didn’t visit me in the hospital, so I think that precludes her from earning the designation. But at least she’s nice to me.
“I know. And I’m glad to be rid of him, really I am. But do they have to flaunt it in front of me?”
She sighs and puts a hand on my arm. “Murphy, Tony has had something going with everyone in this apartment except me. And that’s only because I shot him down.”
My eyes bug out and I drop my sandwich. “What?”
“It’s true. You don’t know how badly I wanted to tell you. Everyone else here grew up in places like L.A. or Miami. But you came from Iowa. You were the innocent Midwestern girl who wouldn’t understand how the world really works. I guess we were all trying to protect you.”
“Protect me from what—a cheating, lying boyfriend?”
“What Tony is doing is nothing new,” she says. “He wants to date a model. Be on the arm of a beautiful woman when she makes her rise to fame. He doesn’t have the ego or the bank account to date a successful model, so he finds up-and-coming ones.”
My jaw practically hits my lap. “Are you kidding me? So, all this time …”
She nods. “He just wants to go along for the ride. He doesn’t care with whom.”
I look towards the door. “And they are okay with that? So, what, is Kirsten the new me, and if she doesn’t work out, he’ll go on to Tori or Pauline?”
“Pretty much. You should be flattered, you know. At least he thought he had the best shot with you.”
I laugh, but it’s not genuine, it’s a bitter, cold laugh. “The best shot with me?” I ask, incredulously. “As in, if I hadn’t been hit by that ball, he’d still be pretending he was in love with me so he could use me and my potential celebrity status to benefit himself? Yeah, Jamie, I’m really freaking flattered.”
She holds up her hands. “Geez. Sorry I even said anything.”
I sigh, and put a hand on possibly my only chance at a friend. “No, I’m sorry. I’m glad you told me. But it’s kind of strange, Tony dumping me was one of two good things that came out of my accident.”
She looks at my face, studying my now-yellow bruise that isn’t quite so swollen. “Good things?”
“I thought I was in love with him, Jamie. I never would have known he wasn’t in it for who I am instead of what I was. Or what I almost was.”
“Yeah, but he’s really hot,” she says. “I mean, does it really matter?”
“Yes, it matters. And if he’s that hot, why don’t you just sleep with him like all of our other roommates?”
She raises an eyebrow at me. “Because I’m a lesbian, Murphy.”
I cover my mouth in shock. “Oh, my gosh. Really?”
She nods, laughing. “Like I said, innocent Midwestern girl.” She gets up to leave. “Hey, what was the second good thing?”
“Second good thing?” I say, realizing my slip. “Oh, nothing.”
My phone chirps with a text, saving me from having to acknowledge Jamie’s curious stare. She leaves the room as I pull out my phone and smile.
It’s my second good thing.
#8: Are you still in NYC, or did you go back to Iowa?
My smile widens when I think that maybe I just might have someone else I can call a friend.
Me: Still in NYC, why?
#8: You haven’t texted me. I figured that meant you went home.
Me: Nope. Still here and still watching my ex drape himself across my roommate every chance he gets.
#8: He’s a stupid prick, Murph.
Me: You don’t even know the half of it.
#8: Oh, really?
Me: Never mind.
#8: I’m not dropping this, but I want to find out about your surgery. What did the doctor say?
Me: He scheduled the surgery for Monday.
#8: Good. I’ll be back in town. What time Monday?
Good? Why does he think that is good?
Me: 3:00
#8: Perfect. You’ll probably be coming out of it by the time I get there. That is unless your mom will be sitting with you in recovery.
Me: I haven’t told my mom yet. And you don’t have to come, Caden. I’m a big girl.
#8: Are you crazy, Old Man Murphy?
I laugh out loud. It’s the first time I’ve done that in over a week. It feels good. It feels very good.
#8: And you not wanting me to come is exactly why I will.
Me: What?
#8: Never mind. Did you call Jayden?
Me: Actually, I did. And she said the job is mine whenever I feel up to it. I can’t thank you enough. You are a lifesaver.
#8: Glad to hear it. How’s the living situation? I mean, other than the bastard boyfriend and the back-stabbing roommate?
Me: Torturous. As soon as I can afford it, I’m out of here.
#8: That will be our next project then. Finding you a new place.
Me: Caden, you’ve done enough. And DON’T YOU DARE SAY IT!
#8: Lol. I wouldn’t dream of it after you shouted at me. Goodnight. See you Monday. Good luck with the surgery.
Me: Thanks.
Me: Wait! I’m so selfish. I didn’t even ask you how your games were this week. Did you get another home run?
#8: No more home runs. But we did win most of our games. Thanks for asking. And, Murph, you are anything but selfish.
Me: Glad you won. Have a good weekend.
#8: You, too. Don’t throw anything across the room when I’m not there ;-)
/>
I finish my sandwich and go to bed, counting my lucky stars that I didn’t end up with a loser like Tony. Things are starting to look up. After all, I have a job to look forward to.
And just maybe, a friend.
Chapter Nine
Caden
Kyle is able to get me back into the surgical recovery area. They allow one family member to sit with patients as they come around. I’m far from family, but knowing she has no one, I didn’t want her to wake up alone.
“Thanks, bro,” I say, after he escorts me back.
He pulls up a rolling stool and puts it next to her bed. There are a lot of beds all in a row back here. Nobody has a private room. Kyle says it’s because people coming from surgery need constant monitoring. I look around and see patients in different stages of consciousness. Some are still sleeping, some are speaking incoherently, some look to be in pain.
I hope Murphy isn’t in any pain.
I look down at her still body. She has wires coming out from under her hospital gown that are attached to a machine by her head. She has something clipped onto the finger of her right hand. And there are what look to be inflatable boot things on each of her lower legs that deflate every now and then.
“She may be out of it for a few minutes after she comes around. Most patients are disoriented at first.” He leans down to whisper in my ear. “And since she doesn’t know you very well, she might not even remember you for a while.”
I look up at him with concern.
The Perfect Game: A Complete Sports Romance Series (3-Book Box Set) Page 4