Winning Streak

by Alice Ward

  “Hungry?” he asked.

  My belly growled on cue, and we both laughed.

  He held out a hand. “Let’s get out of here. A large pizza at our old place sound good?”

  I did need out of there, so I agreed.

  It felt better in the old torn red booths of the pizza place we used to love. It was just a couple blocks from his old apartment, a place I wished he had kept instead of buying that ridiculous playboy mansion. I began to calm as I shoved the greasy pepperoni slice into my mouth. It was as good as I remembered, and as I sat there with Calvin, we were good.

  He told me about the team, replayed some of the great moments he’d had while I was gone. I knew about them already, his no-hitters and his amazing comebacks from horrible games. Rhett had kept me up to date on his progress, mainly the bad stuff, while Sports Center kept me updated on his victories.

  This was the man I fell in love with, the one sitting across from me at a dirty diner eating greasy pizza talking about baseball with a sparkle in his eye. I reached across the table and touched his hand. He stopped talking and stared into my eyes.

  “I love you too,” I whispered.

  His smile was so beautiful it hurt my heart to witness it. Our fingers tightened as we stuffed more pizza into our mouths.

  When we went back to his house, he kissed my cheek at the door of my bedroom. Walking into that room alone was one of the hardest and bravest things I’d ever done.

  ***

  The next few days were just like that, easy and good. I gave up my anger over his new place, deciding that nothing mattered. I had left. We were broken up. He was free to do what he wanted.

  We took long walks, went sight-seeing, did plenty of shopping and now we were testing out the fireplace in his master suite. I was glad to find out he had never used it before, so that would be a first in that house we could share.

  It was still warm at night, so Calvin turned the air conditioning way up to chill the place so the fire would offer the warmth it was meant for. He made me laugh, and as he stood in front of the stone fireplace in his basketball shorts with the metal poker, I don’t think I could’ve loved him more.

  He grinned and jumped onto the bed where I had comfortably situated myself with pillows all around me. I snuggled under his arm when he lifted it, a question mark in his eye. He’d been a perfect gentleman, not pressuring me in any way for sex. I wasn’t ready. That was something I was saving for the moment I knew for sure we would be fine.

  My hand slowly traced circles on his belly. The tiny hairs that were just above the waist of his pants were my main focus as my fingers delicately played with their curls. My body began to ache for his touch.

  His heart thudded harder under my ear, and I knew he was feeling the same thing.

  Fear and desire warred inside me as I breathed in his familiar scent.

  Over the past months, I’d thought a lot about our separation and everything that led up to our breaking up. At first, I wanted to place all of the blame solely at his feet. Or Ace’s. Or anyone’s! I wanted to be the victim. The wounded one. The good girl who had been wronged.

  But our breaking up was as much my fault as his.

  When we first moved to New York, neither one of us had been our best selves.

  It was time to be our best selves now.

  “Kiss me.”

  He stiffened, then became a flurry of movement as he sat up and turned until we were face to face, his eyes wide.

  I laughed.

  “You’re sure?” His beautiful eyes were so earnest.

  I moved an inch closer. “Absolutely sure.”

  He moved an inch closer. “Sure sure?”

  I closed the gap, pressing our lips together, moaning as they melted into one. It was so right. So perfect. We knew each other so well. When our mouths opened, and our tongues slid across each other’s in a perfectly coordinated dance, I smiled.

  I opened my eyes. He was smiling too.

  “I love you,” he said, rubbing the tip of my nose with his.

  Running my hand through his shaggy crop of hair, I knew it was true.

  “I love you too, so much.”

  Then we laughed. Then we cried. Then we kissed for hours and hours.

  I fell asleep in his arms, our lips still touching, our breathing flowing in and out in perfect rhythm. As if we were one.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Calvin

  The last three days were three of the best I’d ever experienced. Having Whitney back in my arms gave me a new motivation, a new sense of being that changed how I looked at everything. I kept looking at the stands, waiting for her to get to the stadium. She was excited to watch a real game in person, having only experienced it from the small TV at her parents’ house. I knew having her there would give me the confidence to throw an amazing game, maybe even another no hitter.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” I said when she finally appeared and walked down to the fence to greet me.

  I’d been at the field for hours for normal pre-game practice and stretching, holding my breath the entire time, hoping she’d actually come.

  She wore a pair of cut off jean shorts, a Beasts jersey, and a matching ball cap. Her hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, and her face natural. No makeup needed for that beauty. I was a lucky man. The luckiest man in the world.

  “Me too,” she smiled.

  We touched fingers through the mesh of the safety net, and she leaned down to kiss me through it like she used to do. The netting was between us, but that was okay.

  “I love you,” she whispered against my lips.

  I smiled at her. “I love you too.”

  Then I watched her sexy ass as she walked back up the steps to her seat behind home plate where I would have the best view of her smiling face from the pitcher’s mound.

  Nothing could make this day any better, nothing!

  “Malone!” Coach Griffin yelled as I walked into the locker room.

  I turned to find him hunched over his desk, his shoulders pushed forward and that vein in his forehead raised to new heights. What was wrong now?

  “Yes, Coach.”

  “Malone, I thought you said you were cleaning up your act.” His voice was low and deadly as he spoke through clenched teeth.

  “Yes, I am,” I agreed, confused about his tirade.

  He slammed a paper down in his desk, and for a minute, I didn’t want to look down. I just stared into his angry and disappointed eyes, then took a deep breath and picked up the paper.

  And there it was. A tabloid featuring me with my hand over my dick, and the two girls in my bed. Everything around me faded, the locker room noise turning into a low buzz as all the good in my life turned back into a nightmare.

  That bitch!

  “Sit down,” Coach said, placing a hand on my shoulder and forcing me into a chair.

  I shook my head, hoping to wake up and everything be alright again. But the pictures were still there for the entire world — and Whitney — to see.

  “Coach, that happened before we talked.”

  “It doesn’t matter when it was,” he barked, on the verge of yelling, “it’s on the newsstands today!”

  My good day just turned ugly, and my heart felt as though it would break in two at the thought of Whitney seeing this. “I’m sorry, Coach,” I stammered.

  “I didn’t want you to see this before the game, but you didn’t need some paparazzi springing it on you either.”

  I nodded my understanding, still in shock.

  “Calvin, shake this off or use it to your advantage. Get pissed and show the world what you’re made of. You hear me?”

  I nodded again and stood up to stumble to my locker.

  I sat in my leather chair, stared at the beautiful wood of my locker, and wondered how hard I would have to slam my head into it to be put in a coma. Whitney certainly wouldn’t leave me if I was in a coma.

  “I saw the paper today.”

  It was Ace and his vo
ice carried that same cocky, boastful edge it usually did. It grated on my last, very frayed nerve. He slung an arm over my shoulder and it felt like a weight. “I’m proud of ya. Taught you well.”

  I shrugged and pushed his arm away. “Leave me alone,” I grunted.

  He shot me a glare, then smirked and slowly walked away. He was loving every minute of this. Holly probably told him Whitney was back, so what better way to celebrate than with a front page article displaying what a fucking douche I had been.

  I dressed and walked onto the field. Whitney sat in her seat and waved with a smile. She was sitting beside an angry looking Holly, whose eyes were shooting daggers at me. Shit! Holly knows, but hasn’t told Whitney. I had to get through this game, and then I could talk to her. There would be no way for her to see it as long as she stayed seated, and then I could talk to her face to face.

  The first couple innings were rough, but I managed to stay focused and keep the opposing team from scoring. In the second inning, Rhett sat down in the empty seat next to Whitney and my focus became even cloudier, allowing two runs in a row. Rhett kept leaning in, whispering something to Whitney. Holly just glared at me.

  Then it happened.

  Whitney’s head tilted as she was looking down, then she leaned forward to pick something up. Holly’s face changed, going from angry to mortified in an instant. I watched her mouth form the word, “No!” as she grabbed for whatever was in Whitney’s hand.

  A newspaper.

  I stood there on the mound, the ball in my hand, the batter at the plate, ready for my throw. But all I could see was Whitney’s face as she looked at the paper then up at me.

  “Malone!”

  A hand slammed down on my shoulder, but I barely felt it, barely felt anything. Except the cracking of my already fractured heart as a single tear slid down Whitney’s cheek.

  “You’re out,” Coach said beside me, taking the ball from my hand and waving for the relief pitcher to come onto the field. He grabbed my arm, steering me from where I’d been rooted. He was saying something to me, but I couldn’t make out the words over the roaring of the blood in my ears. He took me into the dugout, then through it and into the locker room, pushing me into a chair.

  “Officially, you’re sick. Got it!”

  I nodded. It was true. I was sick.

  He stomped out, heading back to the game while I sat there, trying to force air in and out of my lungs.

  I had to do something.

  Then I was on my feet and was out the door, going through the maze of hallways. I exploded through the door of the stands, heading toward the home plate section.

  But I was too late… Whitney was gone.

  So were Holly and Rhett.

  I looked around and saw them walking up to the skybox, Rhett’s arm around Whitney’s shoulders. I wanted to roar out my frustration.

  “Look, it’s Calvin Malone!”

  It was a kid’s voice, so I forced my face to relax and gave him a high five as I passed him. But soon, I was surrounded by a throng of people thrusting balls and pens at me, getting in my way, stopping me from getting to Whitney.

  “Way to fuck it up, fuck face,” some dude shouted.

  I ignored that comment as I pushed my way through the crowd, telling everyone that I was sick, and would come back to sign balls as soon as I could.

  When I finally managed to get through the crowd, the door was closing to the skybox. I took the steps three at a time, finally making it to the door. It was locked. I pounded and pounded, then stopped to peer through the glass.

  Whitney was in Rhett’s arms, and his hands were moving up and down her back. I could see her shoulders shake with her sobs. Then Holly moved in front of her, blocking my view, facing me with hate in her eyes. Slowly, she lifted a hand and shot me the bird.

  ***

  I sat at my house for hours, waiting for Whitney to come and, at the very least, collect her things. I was afraid to leave. Afraid I’d miss that opportunity to talk to her, beg her to forgive me. Again.

  The Beasts won the game. I know because I stared at the TV, hoping for some glimpse of Whitney in the background. I’d called her phone over and over. Then Holly’s. Then Rhett’s.

  Voicemail. Voicemail. Voicemail.

  I was in electronic purgatory.

  Which was fitting because I was in hell.

  As I sat waiting, I knew it was truly over this time. There was no way I could convince her all that was behind me, or being with those girls was what triggered me to call her. That nothing, no fantasy or dream, could live up to the reality of having her in my life.

  She’d never believe me.

  Hell, I barely believed it myself.

  This was like being in some horrible conspiracy movie.

  Conspiracy.

  Marty’s word came floating back to me. He thought he’d been set up. I certainly knew how he felt. Yeah, I’d been well and thoroughly set up.

  By Caroline. But who else?

  Ace?

  Rhett?

  Holly?

  Others?

  I shook my head. I didn’t know, and it all sounded way too crazy. But now that the thought was planted, it tried to take root, playing scenario after scenario in my mind.

  My heart raced, my mind was reeling, and now everything that Marty had said started to make more sense. Maybe there was a conspiracy. But why?

  You’re being ridiculous, Calvin. Marty was a loon; don’t you start too!

  Picking up my phone, I dialed again.

  “Hello, Calvin.”

  My heart sank. It was Holly.

  “Holly, I need to talk to Whitney,” I said, knowing I sounded frantic.

  “She doesn’t want to talk you,” she hissed and then the line went dead.

  Fuck!

  We’d had such an amazing three days together. Everything was fine; better than fine. It had been like old times, when it was only me and her. Why did this have to happen now?

  I grabbed my keys and jumped in the truck. If Holly was with her, they were probably at Ace’s.

  My foot slammed on the gas pedal and pushed my large SUV as fast as it could go to Ace’s place. I made it to his house in record time, even faster than when in my old Porsche.

  My fists hurt as they pounded on the door for over two minutes straight. Finally, Ace answered. He leaned against the door frame, no shirt, already looking drunk.

  “What’s up, kid?” he asked sarcastically.

  “I need to speak to Whitney,” I insisted.

  “No can do,” he said, his tongue gliding across his teeth.

  “Is she here?”

  He opened the door wide enough for me to see both Holly and Whitney sitting on the couch. It was obvious he wasn’t going to move out of the way for me to come inside, and he wasn’t going to let me talk to Whitney.

  “Whitney!” I yelled through the door.

  She looked at me; her eyes red and puffy, and it was like a punch in the gut. I felt so bad for hurting her. I was the biggest asshole in the history of assholes.

  Ace closed the door just enough to block my view. I continued to try and look past him, calling out her name.

  “Look, hot shot, you need to go.”

  I quit shouting and looked straight in his eye. “Ace, let me through this fucking door or so help me…” I threatened.

  He laughed. “So help you what?” he taunted.

  I growled low in my chest. “I have to talk to her,” I demanded.

  “You come to my house, beat on my door, scream and yell, then threaten me?” He was still smiling even though his tone was cocky and arrogant. “I’m afraid that’s a big mistake.”

  I took a deep breath and looked at the man who once was my idol. “Ace, man to man here. Let me in so I can clear this up.”

  “There’s nothing to clear up,” he spouted. “The paper put it in black and white.”

  I lunged, pushing past him, realizing he wouldn’t be reasonable. He pushed me back, and I stumbled of
f the top step, almost losing my balance. His eyes were dark and cold as his lips curled into a crooked smile.

  “I told ya to settle down, kid, but you wanted to outdo me,” he taunted. ‘Well, you proved you’re a stud, but you lost your lady in the process.”

  I lunged forward again, this time with my arm cocked back. I swung as hard as I could at his smug face. The connection was solid, and he fell back into the door, opening it enough for me to see Whitney again.

  “Whitney!” I yelled out, then felt Ace’s knuckles slam into my jaw. I fell back, this time not catching myself, landing on my ass at the bottom of his three concrete steps.

  “I told you I’d take you down, hot shot,” he smirked, then slammed the door.

  I wiped myself off and climbed into my SUV. I drove home slowly, almost stopping at Home Plate for a drink, but talked myself out of it. I knew if I could just talk to her things would be okay. If I could get close enough to her to explain.

  I dialed Rhett’s number and got his voicemail. “That was a real dick move today, Rhett, not even giving me a chance to talk to her. Whose side are you on? The skirt you’re chasing or the man you paid millions for?”

  Next, I dialed Marty, and when he answered, I asked him to meet me at my house. He kept asking if I was okay, and I kept telling him I was fine, to just meet me. I wasn’t fine. None of this was fine.

  I sat on the white chair in my living room and stared out the window. When I saw Marty’s red truck pull up, I rushed to the door and held it open while he jogged up the walk.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  I pulled him inside, shut the door, and motioned for him to sit down. He listened intently as I told him about Whitney, and how everyone seemed to be keeping her away from me. “They don’t want her to know the truth,” I said. I knew I sounded crazy, just like Marty had that night at the bar, but I couldn’t come up with an explanation. Nothing made sense.

  “Why would Rhett want to destroy one of his most valuable players?” Marty asked. Great, now I sound like a lunatic to Marty!

  “I don’t know,” I said. “But, why wouldn’t he let her talk to me?”

  When I got to the part about Ace, explaining why my lip was bleeding, and my jaw was red — something I kept pushing off answering when Marty first arrived — I noticed his eyes grow darker.