Throwing Heat: A New Adult Sports Romance (The Baymont Bombers Book 1)

by McKayla Box

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “She shouldn’t be calling you. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Houston, I can talk to a reporter at your school paper,” she says. “Trust me.”

  “It’s not you that I don’t trust, Mom,” I say. “It’s her. And this feels…out of bounds. I’ll talk to her.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “Yes. I do.”

  She eyes me over the table. “You promised me you wouldn’t lose your mind over this. I’m telling you she called because you brought it up the other day, not because I want you to start a fight.”

  “I’m not going to start a fight,” I tell her.

  “I can also just not call her back and we can leave it at that,” she says.

  But I know Lila now. I know that if she has the guts to call my mom, she’ll keep calling. And then she’ll show up at the front door.

  “Don’t call her back,” I say. “I’ll talk to her.”

  “But you won’t do anything stupid?” My mom gives me a worried look. “Correct?”

  I don’t say anything.

  “Houston, look at me.”

  I look at my mother.

  “This isn’t worth getting upset over,” she says. “I still think it makes the most sense if I just tell—”

  “No,” I practically bark. “No.”

  Her eyes narrow. “Let me finish,” she snaps.

  I sigh. “Sorry.”

  She waits for a second before continuing. “I still think it makes the most sense if I just tell her what happened. But I won’t if you don’t want me to. I’ll let you decide how to handle it.” She stares at me. “But you have to promise me that you won’t go find this girl and let her have it.”

  I take a drink of water and try to calm myself. I take a deep breath, then slowly exhale, feeling my lungs completely deflate.

  It does nothing to calm the rage burning inside of me.

  Then I look at my mom and lie right to her face. “I won’t.”

  Chapter 30

  LILA

  It’s about midnight on Thursday. Shea’s out with I have no idea who, and I’ve been staring at the computer for several hours, trying to shape what I have on Houston into something resembling a story when someone with fists like King Kong pounds on my front door.

  I shriek and manage to catch the laptop before it hits the floor.

  “Lila!” King Kong yells from the other side of the door. “Lila!”

  But it’s not King Kong.

  The voice belongs to Houston Cade.

  I’m in shorts and a tank top, what I normally wear to bed. I wrap a blanket around me and walk to the door.

  “Lila!”

  “I’m right here,” I say through the door. “You don’t have to yell.”

  “Open the fucking door.”

  “Oh, okay. How about no?”

  “I wanna talk.”

  I peer through the peephole. Even through the hole he looks huge.

  And angry.

  “I’m not opening the door,” I tell him.

  “Open the fucking door.”

  “So you can yell and scream at me?” I say. “No way.”

  “We need to talk,” he says. “Now.”

  “We can talk through the door then.”

  He’s quiet for a few seconds.

  I look through the peephole again.

  His hands are jammed into the pockets of his shorts and he’s looking down at the floor.

  I know why he’s mad. I called his mother. She didn’t answer the phone, but I left her a message telling her who I was and asking her to call me back. She hasn’t. But it sounds as if she told him I called.

  “I’ll stop yelling,” he says. “Just open the door.”

  “Not sure I believe you.”

  “You called my mom,” he says. “The least you can do is look me in the eye.”

  There is some sort of saying that journalists should always be willing to talk to the people they write about. I’m not sure it applies here, but his words sting me a little. And he doesn’t yell them.

  I turn the deadbolt and unlock the door.

  His jaw is locked. He’s got on a long-sleeve Baymont Baseball T-shirt and shorts, with running shoes on his feet. His dark hair is pushed back off his face and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was heading out for a run or planning a quick workout in the weight room.

  But then his expression darkens and I remember exactly why he’s standing there.

  “Why did you call her?” he asks.

  I want to shirk away from him and the anger emanating from his body but I force myself to stand my ground. “You know why I called her,” I tell him, crossing my arms. A defensive posture, I know, but I can’t help it. “I’m still doing the profile and I have questions.”

  “You didn’t tell me you were going to call her.”

  “I didn’t know I had to.”

  “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

  “No, it’s not,” I say. “I told you I still needed to do the story. You told me to do what I needed to do. That’s what I’ve been doing.”

  He shakes his head. “Why are you so locked in on this?”

  “Because I have to write the damn story,” I tell him. “We’ve been over—”

  “Not the story,” he says. “The suspension. Why can’t you just drop it?”

  “Because when someone tells me I should just drop something, it makes me think that’s the last thing I should do.”

  “She’s not going to call you back,” he says.

  “Then I’ll keep calling.”

  He laughs, but it’s not because he thinks I’m funny. “I knew you were going to say that.”

  I think for a moment, then step to the side. “Come in here.”

  He hesitates.

  “I don’t bite,” I tell him. “And I’m not the one who’s been yelling.”

  He walks in and I shut the door behind him. He smells like soap, and maybe a faint hint of cedar, and he takes up nearly the entire entryway of our small apartment. I press myself to the wall and slide by him.

  I walk over to the sofa and grab my computer. I hold it out to him. “Look at it.”

  “Look at what?”

  “At what I’ve written.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “I let you in and I’m talking to you,” I say. “It’s my turn to tell you what to do. Look at it.”

  He walks toward me and pulls his bandaged hand from his pocket. He takes the computer. “It’s blank.”

  “Exactly,” I tell him. “I’ve been staring at the screen all day and I have nothing. I can’t put anything together.”

  “That’s not my problem,” he says, handing the computer back to me.

  “I didn’t say that it was,” I answer. “But do you not get it?”

  He stares at me.

  “I’m not writing some hit piece on you.” I set the laptop on the couch. “Jesus, I’ve already told you this, but apparently you think I’m some sort of liar. If I was trying to write a hit piece, that fucking screen would be filled. But it’s not. I’m trying to write about you and nothing else. I don’t get why you don’t trust me. I’m not out to get you. And, shit, I get that this week has been a mess and some of that’s my fault and I really am sorry. But I’m not out to destroy your life or tell everyone all of your secrets. I’m just trying to get a fucking picture.”

  His eyes are locked on me.

  Then he steps closer. He’s right in front of me, looking down at me with those bluer than the sky fucking eyes.

  My heart’s racing. I was angry when he was banging on my door. Then defensive. Then indignant. Then exasperated.

  Now I’m not sure what the hell I am.

  Still angry, yeah.

  But there’s something else there, too.

  I’m acutely aware that Shea’s not home and he smells like deliciousness and whatever this spark is between us just ignites every time we’re together and I�
�m not opposed to dragging him into the bedroom and fucking him until neither one of us is angry anymore.

  But I don’t know if that’s what he’s thinking.

  I try not to fidget under his gaze. “What?”

  He licks his lips. “You just want a picture of me? Of my life?”

  I swallow and nod. “Yeah.”

  “And you’re telling me I can trust you?”

  My neck throbs from looking up at his gorgeous face, but I manage a nod anyway. “Yes. One hundred percent.”

  His eyes are like tractor beams, paralyzing me, like he’s trying to lock me in before he drills me with a fastball or something. I can’t read anything from his expression.

  Then he blinks.

  “Alright,” he finally says. “Come on then.”

  “Come on then?”

  He grabs my hand and pulls me toward the door. “Before I change my fucking mind and fucking take you somewhere else.”

  Chapter 31

  HOUSTON

  When we get to my truck, I realize I’m still holding her hand. I let go of it, hit the clicker to unlock the door, and pull the passenger door open for her. She looks at me oddly for a moment, then climbs in. I shut the door behind her.

  As I walk around the truck, I have a moment of hesitation. Maybe I don’t really want to do this. But there was something going on in her apartment that I wasn’t ready for and more than anything, I felt like we needed to get out of there before I lost my mind and pinned her to the floor and did about thirteen different things to her.

  If I’d suggested it, I was sure I would’ve gotten a slap to the face, so the better move was to get the hell out of there.

  I want to trust her. I want to trust someone with all of this because it’s been weighing on me, and other than Beck, I don’t think I’ve ever really said a word to anyone about it.

  So maybe it’s time.

  I climb in behind the wheel and shove the key in the ignition.

  “Where are we going?” she asks.

  “Not far.”

  “Where?”

  I look at her. Her cheeks are flushed, her green eyes wary. A wisp of hair is curled across her forehead and she’s still got the blanket wrapped around her. I’d be fine if she took it off.

  “You want me to trust you, right?” I say.

  She nods. “Yeah.”

  “Then you need to trust me,” I tell her. “Cool?”

  She waits a moment, then nods. “Okay.”

  I pull the truck out of the lot and head toward campus. It’s late and the streets are mostly empty. The streetlights glow above us. I turn into the main entrance, then work my way toward the east side of campus, away from the athletic complex and the classroom buildings. We pass the dorms, the admin buildings, and I see the entrance to the hospital parking lot. I turn in, drive to the other side of the five-story hospital building. The lot is empty and I park directly in the middle of it, so we’re looking directly at the stucco-sided structure. I turn the truck off.

  Lila looks at me. “Uh, I’m confused.”

  “Fourth floor,” I tell her. “You see it?”

  She leans forward to get a better view of the hospital. “I guess so?”

  “It’s the third row of windows from the top.”

  “Okay.”

  “Second window from the left. You see it?”

  “Yeah?”

  “That’s where she was,” I say.

  “Who?”

  “My mom.”

  She leans back in the seat, but doesn’t say anything.

  “You want me to trust you,” I say. “Then this is off the record right now.”

  She shifts in the seat, but doesn’t say anything.

  “Beck’s the only guy on the team who knows the whole story,” I explain. “Most people don’t know anything about any of it. I don’t talk about this, and I’m not even sure why I’m telling you now, but…maybe you’ll just get it if I tell you.”

  “Okay,” she says, her voice softer now. “Off the record.”

  I take a deep breath. My hands are still on the wheel. I stare at the second window from the left on the fourth floor.

  “My mom was diagnosed with cancer summer before senior year,” I say, my eyes on the window. “At first, we thought it was no big deal. I mean, of course it was a big deal, but the initial thought was that it was pretty treatable. But when a biopsy comes back positive, they scan your whole body to make sure they’ve pinpointed exactly where the cancer is and it’s not hiding anywhere else. They did her scans and the cancer was more extensive than they originally thought. Breast cancer that spread fairly wide and there were some tumors on her spine.” I clear my throat. “She’d been complaining about pain in her back for awhile and we’d just joked about her getting old. Turned out it was legit.”

  I glance at her. She’s pulled her legs up underneath her and pulled the blanket tighter around her. Her eyes are on me.

  I look back at the window. “So. After the initial shock, they put together a treatment plan. All sorts of shit that I still don’t understand, but they got after it. Surgery, chemo, radiation, so much shit she had to get through.” I pause, giving myself a chance to get control of my emotions. “But she was in the room behind that second window on the fourth floor for the better part of six months. I’d leave at night and just sit out here, right here, and wonder if she’d still be alive the next day.”

  My throat constricts for a second and I have to clear it again. I’m surprised by how fast it all comes back at me. Like it’s been a day since it all happened.

  “But she made it,” I say. “Which obviously you know because you talked to her. She made it. But it was pretty rough, even after she came home. She was in a shit ton of pain. From the surgeries, from the chemo. It was just brutal. And they found out while she was in the hospital at some point that she was allergic to most painkillers. So she can’t take them. But she needed something. She couldn’t sleep. She was crying all the time.” I shake my head. “It fucking sucked.”

  “I’m sorry,” Lila says, softly.

  I nod. “Yeah. So someone, I don’t remember who, recommended that she try weed. For the pain. She’s never even smoked a cigarette, so she was against it at first. But it just…it just got bad. She needed something. So she said she’d try the weed.” I glance at Lila. “And here’s where it gets weird.”

  She nods.

  “She works for this church,” I explain. “About half an hour from here. Not because she’s some big believer or anything, but because they hired her, they pay great, and their benefits were awesome. It’s an admin assistant’s job, and it was a pretty good find at the time. Think she started there sometime my sophomore year in high school. Can’t remember exactly. But when they hire you, you have to sign this code of conduct thing and belief statement. Basically says you won’t do any of this shit, that you believe in the church, and won’t do anything to embarrass them or anything that violates the rules of Christianity. Whatever the fuck those even are.”

  “Right,” Lila says. “I had a friend who belonged to a church like that in high school. No sex, no swearing, no alcohol, all of that.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “And definitely no drugs.”

  “But…I assume it was her doctor recommending marijuana for medical use?” she says. “I mean, that’s legal and not a big deal anymore. Is it?”

  “It is if you belong to a church that doesn’t see it that way,” I tell her. “She asked around a little bit and it was pretty clear. If she used it, they’d fire her. And that was a huge problem, not just because she would’ve lost her job, but her health insurance, too, if she was fired.”

  “Because the medical bills were through the roof,” she says.

  “Yep. So she couldn’t do it. She was afraid if she went through the right channels, it would show up somewhere in the insurance paperwork and they’d see it.” I pause. “So I got it for her through the wrong channels.”

  “You bought it for her?”
she asks.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I mean, I’ve never touched weed. Or anything else. So I literally had no idea where to even buy the shit. But I knew a couple of guys at school who used, so I hit them up. I told them it wasn’t for me, but I’m sure they thought I was full of shit. Whatever. So I started buying it for her every week.” I look at her and laugh. “And that shit worked.”

  She smiles. “Really?”

  I nod. “Yeah.” I laugh. “We had to Google YouTube videos to figure out how to smoke it, but once she figured it out, it really helped with the pain. She could sleep. She could move around. She felt like she was actually better. So it was totally worth it.”

  “That’s good,” she says.

  “Yeah, it was,” I say. “And we were careful, you know? She never got in the car after smoking. She’d never use before work. She was back in the office on a part-time basis, so she was super careful.” I pause. “But then we sort of fucked up.”

  Lila leans her head against the seat. “How?”

  I look at her. “We’re still off the record?”

  “Yes. Absolutely.”

  I wait for a second, then nod. “Okay. So she’d smoked a little this one night. After dinner. And then she decided she really wanted ice cream. So I said I’d run to the store and grab some. The guy that I bought from, he worked at the store. I saw him while I was there. I couldn’t remember how much she had left, so I asked him if he was holding and he was. I bought an ounce from him. Just like always.” I shake my head. “I’m halfway home when I see the lights in the rearview.”

  “Fuck,” she says.

  “Think that’s exactly what I said,” I tell her. “I pull over and I’m trying to be cool. Record’s clean, I’ve got my license and insurance and shit. Should be fine. Except for one thing.” I look at her. “He smelled weed.”

  She wrinkles her nose. “From what you bought?”

  I shake my head. “No. From the smoke in the house when my mom was smoking. He said he smelled it and he probably did. But it let him pull me out and search the car. I didn’t even lie to him. I told him it was in the glove compartment.” I point at the compartment in front of her. “Right there.”