Center Stage: A Hot Baseball Romance (Diamond Brides Book 8)

by Mindy Klasky

  CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  BATTER UP!

  THANK YOU!

  ALSO BY MINDY KLASKY

  ABOUT MINDY KLASKY

  ABOUT BOOK VIEW CAFÉ

  CENTER STAGE

  Mindy Klasky

  Center Stage

  Copyright © 2014 Mindy Klasky

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portion thereof, in any form.

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published by Book View Café Publishing Cooperative

  Cover design by Reece Notley

  Book View Café Publishing Cooperative

  P.O. Box 1624, Cedar Crest, NM 87008-1624

  http://bookviewcafe.com

  ISBN 978-1-61138-442-0

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the author’s work. Discover other titles by Mindy Klasky at http://www.mindyklasky.com

  CHAPTER 1

  Marry in haste, repent at leisure…

  Ryan Green looked at his watch again. At least the bride and groom weren’t in danger of repenting any time soon. It seemed like this wedding was never going to happen—and the sweltering church had just reached a temperature that felt a lot closer to Hell than to Heaven. The ceremony should have started an hour earlier, and there was still no sign of the groom. For that matter, the best man, the matron of honor, and Brother Mike had made themselves pretty scarce for the past thirty minutes.

  Figuring he’d make the most of the delay, Ryan stood up from the rock-hard pew on the left side of the church. After spending the last twelve days on the Raleigh Rockets’ disabled list, Ryan barely felt the lingering tightness in his strained right hamstring, but there was no reason to let the muscle seize up by spending extra time on the unyielding wooden bench.

  That was his story anyway, and he was sticking with it.

  As he reached the back of the church, Ryan realized he wasn’t the only ballplayer with the same idea. Braden Hart, one of the Rockets’ pitchers, nodded a greeting, automatically shifting over like he was making room for the center fielder in the dugout. But this little gathering was woefully short on sunflower seeds and Gatorade, and they didn’t have a fistful of bubble gum between them.

  Hart nodded toward the pews. “Hell of a night off, isn’t it? If we have to spend hours on a wooden bench, we might as well get a game out of it.”

  Ryan shrugged. “There aren’t any women in a dugout.”

  As if in response, a tide of feminine voices rose. Ryan had caught sight of the women when he’d first arrived at the church, right before an usher asked him, “Friend of the bride or friend of the groom?” He’d almost said “groom” just so he’d have a chance with one of them. During the long delay, he’d learned that they’d all gone to college with the groom. Each was prettier than the last, with her hair done up and her fingernails painted and a tight little dress that showed off a hell of a lot more than it covered up. Ryan couldn’t have told one from another, not if he’d been offered a five-year contract and a roster with every one of their names.

  Hart followed Ryan’s gaze, but he shook his head in disgust. “Never f—” He seemed to remember he was standing in the back of a church, because he caught himself and started over again. “Never pick up a girl at a wedding. They put out easy enough, but they want a ring on their finger in the morning.”

  Ryan shook his head. “Spoken like a real poet, man.”

  “Hey, I call ’em like I see ’em. It’s a social disease, this getting married thing. Look around the clubhouse tomorrow night, buddy. You know I’m right. Guys are dropping like flies.”

  Hart had a point. Half the guys on the team had proposed to their girlfriends before the end of last season.

  Hart went on. “We shower with those guys, man. If it’s contagious, you know we’re coming down with it. And I, for one, have no plans on settling down any time soon.”

  Ryan rolled his eyes. “Keep talking about women like they’re served up on some buffet, and you won’t be settling down ever.”

  Hart looked real serious. “What do you think that would be like?” he asked. “Getting one of those debutantes in the middle of a buffet table? Play my cards right, I could have a beer in one hand, a roast beef sandwich in the other, and dessert spread out in front of me, ready and willing.” He flicked his tongue like a lizard, just in case Ryan didn’t get the joke.

  “You’re disgusting,” Ryan said, but he was laughing.

  “Come on,” Hart said. “We single guys have to say it, because those whipped dudes sure won’t.”

  Ryan mockingly bumped fists with the pitcher. “Long live the single man,” he intoned. “Someone’s got to do what’s right—treat weddings like the excuse they are for warm beer, bad food, and good men lost forever.”

  Hart winced before the words were out of Ryan’s mouth. Without turning around, Ryan knew someone was standing behind him. And from the way Hart was shaking his head, it wasn’t just any old teammate.

  Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Ryan pasted on a smile and turned around. “Zach,” he said, holding out a hand, like he hadn’t just taken first place in the competition for Asshole of the Week.

  Zach Ormond was the Rockets’ former catcher. More to the point in this little church where the air conditioner was obviously on the fritz and the temperature was nudging eighty-five degrees, Ormond was the brother of the bride-to-be, Lindsey. He’d been Ryan’s closest friend on the team for years.

  That had all changed, though, last season, when a string of craziness led to Zach’s hanging up his spikes and his getting engaged—to none other than the granddaughter of the Rockets’ owner. Zach had left playing the sport he loved, taking up a job in the Rockets’ front office. The whole time that crap was happening, Ormond had kept to himself, never once confiding in Ryan. The gulf between them had carried through the rest of the season, but Ryan had thought—had hoped— that the wedding invitation had been a sign that he and Zach were past their differences.

  Fat chance of that, with Ryan cracking stupid jokes.

  “You got a problem with weddings?” Zach’s question was deceptively mild.

  “None,” Ryan said, forcing himself to meet his friend’s eyes. “Not for the right guy.”

  Shit. Why did Ormond have to catch him being a jackass? And here, Ryan had been fooling himself that Lindsey’s wedding would be a perfect chance to talk to the guy about some front office business. Ryan had thought the whole thing through as he knotted his tie that afternoon. Show up at the wedding. Shake hands with the groom, kiss the bride in the receiving line. Wait until the reception, after the toasts. Then, when Zach was looking for a break from champagne and photographs and everyone telling him his sister made a beautiful bride, Ryan could talk to him, man to man.

  There’d never be a perfect time to ask Zach Ormond for the biggest favor of Ryan’s professional career. But the wedding should have put Zach in a decent mood, and Ryan couldn’t wait much longer. Not when he’d promised his mother he’d take care of Dad. N
ot when his father was getting crazier every day, spending more and more time in front of his television, watching reruns of reality shows after the baseball games ended each night, watching infomercials when the reality shows ran out. Truth be told, Dad was halfway to batshit crazy in the little house he’d lived in for thirty-five years, lost like a little kid now that Mom was gone.

  Ryan could drive down to Chester Beach during the offseason. He could call the old man every couple of days. But Dad needed a hell of a lot more than that—he needed a job. A reason to get up in the morning. And for an old baseball guy like Dad, the best possible job would be working for the Satellites, the Rockets’ farm team based right there in Chester Beach.

  But that was never going to happen if Ormond thought Ryan was crapping all over his sister’s wedding—old friendship or no old friendship. As the guests’ murmuring rose another notch, Ryan cleared his throat and pretended he was innocent. “Hey,” he said. “What’s up?”

  “What’s up,” Zach spat, “is that the groom must be caught in traffic, the A/C in this place died yesterday, and I’m pretty sure we’re going to have people collapsing from heatstroke in the next five minutes.”

  Hart, the coward, shrank away. But Ryan said, “Dinner’s set up downstairs, right?”

  Ormond nodded. “The caterers have been ready for a while. We’re supposed to be eating by now.”

  “No problem, then. They have to have water.” Ryan jutted his chin toward the pitcher. “Come on, Hart. Let’s do something useful.” He headed toward the vestibule and stairs that had to lead down to the reception hall.

  Ormond barked out an order. “Hold up, Green.” Ryan turned back. “I don’t want you going up and down those stairs. Not with that bad hammie.”

  “My leg’s fine.” It felt strange for Ryan to hear commands coming out of Zach’s mouth. They were buddies. Teammates. Friends.

  Nevertheless, Ormond shook his head. “Hart can get it.”

  The pitcher shrugged and hit the stairs while Ryan stood there, feeling like an invalid. He was tempted to say something to Ormond, to explain that he hadn’t meant to say anything bad about all weddings, that he obviously hadn’t been talking about this wedding, that…

  Yeah. He’d already stepped in it. No reason to smear the shit around.

  Before Ryan could think of something else to say, Ormond took out his phone, but he scowled at the screen instead of placing a call.

  “No signal?” Ryan asked.

  “No battery. I’ve been trying to reach Will for the last three hours.”

  Three hours. That sounded like more than crappy Raleigh traffic on a Monday evening. Ryan dug out his own phone and passed it over. “Go ahead,” he said. “It’s got a full charge.”

  Ormond thanked him and stalked over to the church’s front doors. Ryan waited until some of the caterers came upstairs with cases of water, and then he ducked back into the church to help distribute the bottles. As he stared at the sweaty, bored, impatient guests, he asked himself again why anyone would ever want to get married.

  ~~~

  In the church’s stifling coatroom, Lindsey Ormond watched bleakly as her brother managed the disaster. “Thank you, Brother Mike,” Zach said as the kindly man headed toward the door. “We’re just fine.” Once the preacher was gone, Zach turned back to her. “Come on, Linds. Drink some of that water.”

  But Lindsey didn’t want to drink any water. She was pretty sure she’d be on her knees in front of the toilet in the tiny bathroom off the vestibule if she drank any water. If she drank any water, or if she ate one of the tiny sandwiches Grace had brought her, or if she took a single step away from the folding chair where she sat with her arms folded tight around her belly.

  “Come on, Sweetie,” Grace said. “Zach’s right. Everything’s fine, but you need to drink something.” Lindsey could read the lies on her sister’s face. She could hear them as loudly as if her matron of honor was shouting from the church’s steeple.

  Swallowing thick acid at the back of her throat, Lindsey reminded herself that she was a trained actor. She could pretend to be anything from Alice in Wonderland to the Velveteen Rabbit. She made a career out of acting every night of her life and twice on Sundays, and she wasn’t about to let all that practice go to waste. “You know what, Grace?” she said, finding the perfect tone of surprised wonder. “I would kill for a Popsicle right now.”

  Grace laughed, but then she asked, “You’re serious?”

  Lindsey nodded, letting the idea grow with the confidence she layered into her voice. “I know the caterers won’t have any. But there’s a 7-11 just down Martin Street…”

  Grace looked down at her pink dress, at her matching peau de soie shoes and her wristlet of sweetheart roses. “I guess I could go.”

  Lindsey made herself laugh, bright and easy, just like she was reciting lines from the very back of the stage. “Tell them it’s for Bridezilla. Maybe you can get Rachel to drive you? Or Beth?” She didn’t care which of her sisters drove. She just wanted all of them out of the church, away from her, away from the disaster that was unfolding in horrifying slow motion.

  Zach smiled his thanks to Grace as he fished in his pocket for his wallet and handed over a twenty-dollar bill. Lindsey barely waited until her sister was out of the room before she dropped the character of Brave Bride, opting instead for Doomed Lindsey. “It’s happening again,” she said, every syllable trembling.

  At least Zach didn’t pretend to misunderstand her. “It’s a Monday night. Traffic is terrible. There’s a reason most people get married on weekends.”

  Lindsey shook her head, biting her lip to keep from screaming. When the bride was an actor and the brother who was supposed to give her away played professional baseball, Monday night was the logical choice for a wedding. Only when she was certain her words could come out sounding remotely sane did she try to respond. “Give me some credit here, Zach. If I had to get jilted two years ago, at least I learned something from the experience. I can tell when it’s happening again. Will Braden Templeton isn’t coming to this church tonight.”

  Zach protested automatically. “Don’t say that, honey. Jilted makes it sound like it was your fault.”

  “It’s the truth!” Lindsey shouted. From the look on Zach’s face, he was every bit as surprised as she was by her volume. She hurried on, though, before he could offer her more pat words, more false comfort. “It’s the truth,” she repeated. “Two years ago, Doug jilted me. He let me stand there in my wedding dress, with two hundred of our family’s closest friends in the Claibourne ballroom, with a sit-down dinner and a band and a wedding cake waiting in the next room!” She was appalled by the words spilling out of her mouth, by the flood of ugly memories. But she couldn’t stop herself, couldn’t keep from saying, “He did all that because he was too afraid to tell me about his affairs, about three other women who I only found out about online, after the fact, after the most embarrassing night of my life.”

  “Lindsey—”

  “Don’t Lindsey me!” She felt terrible, cutting him off. She knew she was being rude, acting like a spoiled brat. But she had to finish. She had to say what she was thinking. She had to get all the words out, all the disgusting confessions, all the admissions she’d never had the guts to say out loud.

  Because she’d worked hard at doing things right, every single day after Doug left her at the altar. She’d been a good girl, followed the rules, done everything she was supposed to do, whenever she was supposed to do it. She was the youngest of the Ormond girls, and she’d learned from the disaster with Doug. Just like she’d learned from watching her sisters.

  Grace did everything right, and she ended up in a perfect fairy-tale marriage. Rachel used her kindness and strength and fortitude to recover from the worst thing life could throw at her, from being widowed by a drunk driver one year into her own storybook romance.

  And Beth did everything wrong. Beth messed up everything she touched—school and friendships and family. Be
th had dated bad boys from the first day she got a training bra. Beth got pregnant by the end of junior year in high school. She failed out senior year. And now, ten years later, she was only beginning to pull her life together.

  Lindsey wasn’t going to be like Beth. She could still remember the screaming matches between Beth and their parents, the terrible night when Beth ran away and Daddy went to the emergency room with a heart attack, the constant, endless crises brought on by her sister’s bad judgment and worse behavior.

  Lindsey could never do that to her family. Not to her sisters and definitely not to her brothers. Hell, Zach and Dane both, they expected her to be perfect. She was the baby. She had the benefit of watching and learning from everything her siblings did.

  So she told the truth now.

  “Even when I was standing there waiting for Doug, and you were making all your phone calls, and his best man was texting, and everyone was asking, and waiting, and confused…” She met Zach’s eyes. “I knew. I knew, in the pit of my stomach. I knew in that part of my brain, you know the one I mean. The one that tells the truth when you’re about to fall asleep, when you’re floating right on the edge of a dream. The one that wakes you up in the middle of the night, reminding you about phone calls and text messages and changes of plan that you never connected at the time, that you never realized had one thing in common. I knew the truth about Doug. I knew it even before I could say it out loud.”

  Zach looked miserable. She understood how much that first disastrous wedding had cost him, and she wasn’t talking about money. The oldest of the Ormond siblings, Zach wanted to protect her. He wanted her life to be perfect, as perfect as he could make it, now that Momma and Daddy were both gone.

  Zach was there for her. He might be twelve years older than she was. He might have resisted stepping into the strange role of not-quite-parent, all those years back. But for all of Lindsey’s life, she’d been certain Zach could pick up the pieces.