Game Changer, page 12
"Brooks," Landry calls out again. "I think you better go out the side door and come up to the house with me. If the reporters realize that you two were down here alone together… Well, I’d advise not provoking Terry any more than you have to." Landry sounds guilty, like he doesn’t want to have to be saying this but he feels it’s his duty as a teammate and a friend. "Julie’s gonna come down with the hair and makeup person the Kings sent over and get Sasha ready to go."
I can’t believe this is happening. There’s no way I can be away from Brooks. Not now, not after what we just experienced together. It’s cruel that we’re being forcibly separated by yet another obstacle in our lives. Family, work, distance—all of these things are just striving to keep us apart.
Brooks gives me a passionate kiss, putting everything into it, showing me the promise of where he intended to take me. He breaks away when Landry pounds on the door again to hurry him up. He runs a strand of my hair through his fingers, bringing the end to his lips before getting to his feet and staring mournfully down at me as I sit crumpled in on myself on the floor. He hustles into his shirt, not even caring that it’s inside out.
I think he’s just going to leave me there with my arms crossed shyly over my breasts, but he glances back at me with that same heat in his eyes. "This isn’t over. Not by a long shot. Somehow, I’ll find a way. If it’s the last thing I do."
He exits the cabana, and my heart wants nothing more than to run after him, jump on the back of the four-wheeler, and escape all of this. I just want to be with him.
Whatever it takes.
Chapter Thirteen
Brooks
Turns out that Terry asked Landry to put the reporters up for the night, considering that there weren’t any hotels nearby, and after grilling Sasha all afternoon, they planned to pick up right where they left off first thing in the morning. Terry’s well aware that Landry’s ranch is huge and that he has bunkhouses throughout the property for when his extended Louisiana family comes to visit, but it’s really imposing a lot on his hospitality. Terry must be so consumed with Sasha-mania that he’s not even thinking straight anymore. Why in the world would he send reporters here? It’s like he’s looking to stir up the controversy he is hoping to avoid.
Tonight, we all planned on going to the local honky tonk. Landry—not wanting to leave any member of the media unsupervised on his ranch—invited them to join us. I can’t say that I blame him. I wouldn’t give the press free access to prowl around my home either.
Julie is sitting in the back of the F-250 with Sasha and Jason, thinking it wise if I sat up front with Landry. Her mom agreed to watch Taylor over at her place for the night, though Taylor didn’t like it too much when she came out of her room in her pink cowboy hat, expecting to tag along.
We’re essentially going to a bar, but in the sticks, the rules are a little more relaxed, especially when it comes to the town’s most famous resident. Jason begged to come along when Sasha asked him if he’d dance with her, and Landry and Julie didn’t have the heart to refuse. Apparently before nine o’clock, The Pig’s Tail serves things like chicken quesadillas and pulled pork enchiladas to a variety of hungry families. Underage patrons are usually not encouraged to stick around after that, but no one’s going to tell Mike Landry’s son that he has to leave—not as long as he behaves himself. But considering that he agreed to dance with Sasha, I don’t know if that’s possible.
I keep stealing glances at her over my shoulder. Julie decked Sasha out in one of her denim skirts and a scuffed pair of Ariat boots. But it’s the black razorback tank that’s killing me. I’m unable to get the image of what’s underneath it out of my mind. I don’t know how I’m going to stay away from her tonight. I don’t care if the reporters are there. I have to have at least one dance with her or I won’t be able to keep my shit together.
While the reporters were waiting to speak to her, they pounded me with questions about why I charged the mound and how I felt about my suspension. Some of them were surprised to see me walk in with Landry, not knowing that I was at the ranch. But the looks they exchanged with each other said it all.
So I have to be on my best behavior tonight. We can’t sit by each other. We can’t talk to each other. We’re just two colleagues who are in the process of learning how to work together in a professional capacity. We have to make them believe that we’re practically complete strangers—when we’re anything but.
Sasha yawns in the background, and it burns me up that they subjected her to over three hours of interviews this afternoon, turning Landry’s spacious living room into a makeshift TV studio with lights, cameras, the whole nine yards. She was supposed to be resting and trying to unwind; instead, Terry threw her into a pressure cooker situation, expecting her to be on top of her game no matter what. Any stumbles and those sound bites would turn into blundering gaffes she’d never be able to take back. But from what I can gather from Landry, she held her own. Some of the reporters made offhand comments like they thought she was a little too expressive in her responses, but they’ll trim down what she said and run with it. She’ll learn to abbreviate as she goes along. It’s not for nothing that Kyle always teases me for being the king of the one-word answers.
The pink neon light of a curly pig’s tail gleams in front of us as Landry drops us off at the door. The parking lot is packed and the reporters are huddled together, waiting for us, like this group of hardened New Yorkers is afraid of going in without backup. It never ceases to amaze me how they view the South—like we’re all a bunch of rednecks ready to aim a shotgun at them for wandering into our territory. I know a lot of them thought I wasn’t very smart when I first came up because of my accent. Yeah, I talk slower, but it doesn’t mean I think slower. Stuff like that burns me up and I’m a pretty laid-back guy. Maybe too laid back…
I called my mama while Sasha was tied up, seeing if she might have time to see me during this road trip. She’s only three hours away in Chickasha, Oklahoma, and even though I spent today with Sasha, I thought I might be able to swing it somehow, maybe put her up in a hotel near the ballpark while I am in town. But when she heard that I wouldn’t be playing because of the suspension, she wasn’t too keen on driving that far alone. I told her I’d send a car for her, but she made an excuse that she’d feel funny sitting in the back by herself while the driver was stuck in the front. She isn’t used to being chauffeured around like that, and she didn’t intend to start now.
Reading between the lines, I could tell that my dad must’ve gotten to her first, complaining about the negative media coverage I’ve been getting and how I’m making a fool out of myself over some girl. It’s all right for him to get into dozens of fights out on the rig, but hearing that I started a brawl just doesn’t cut it with him. He thinks that I’m being paid to do a job and I should do it. He already left me a ranting voicemail about how disappointed he is in me. That I’m costing the team a shortstop when they’re already down a second baseman. He doesn’t even consider Sasha a part of the team. He only mentioned her as the ‘dumb hussy’ who got me in trouble. I deleted the message before it finished playing. I have no desire to hear what he has to say. He can take his stupid advice and shove it.
I’m bummed because I really wanted my mama to meet Sasha. I think they would’ve hit it off. Mama is quiet, but she always gravitates toward people who tell it like it is and aren’t afraid to take risks when it comes to the things that are important to them. She was glad when I left Oklahoma for the minors, even though my dad was furious. He claimed that I was throwing my life away and that I’d wind up getting hurt and never make it to the majors. But Mama saw things differently. She always pictured me living in New York and making a name for myself. I only hope that I’m not letting her down and she’s not buying into all of the hoopla surrounding Sasha. I told her that she’s only doing it to help her brother, but she seemed reluctant to accept that as the truth—no doubt the result of my father’s poisoning influence. He’s hundreds of miles away in the Gulf, but he’s never far enough away from her as far as I’m concerned.
I open the door to The Pig’s Tail, and Julie and Jason scoot past. Sasha follows, not even turning her head in acknowledgement. I want to grab her arm and pull her back to me. I know she’s just playing a part, but after everything that went down between us in the cabana, I want her eyes focused on me and nowhere else.
The live band is already playing, and the loud, thumping music flows into the night. I continue to hold the door as the reporters finally decide to step inside. Some of them thank me for letting them go ahead of me, but most of them don’t.
I jump when Landry comes up behind me, reaching above my head to brace the door. I didn’t even hear him approach.
"Relax, dude," he laughs at me. "We’ve got two hot women in there waitin’ for us. Even if you can’t touch, who says you can’t look?"
But I can’t just look at Sasha. There’s no way. Not after I held her in my arms. Not after I tasted her sweet lips. I’m through with staying away from her.
We walk into the dimly lit bar, and I hear the peanut shells crunch beneath my feet. My eyes immediately find Sasha in the crowd. Julie snagged a table near the dance floor, and Sasha’s attempting to drag a suddenly reluctant Jason out there with her. The song the band’s playing is coming to a fiddle-stomping end, and she can’t wait to join in the fun.
But Jason is the epitome of teenage awkwardness. His face is bright red as she guides him by the hand into the throng of dancers. A space opens up just as the band strums the opening chords to "Any Man of Mine" by Shania Twain.
I stand transfixed letting people mill around me, loving what a good time she’s having out there. She doesn’t know the steps, but it doesn’t matter; she’s smiling ear to ear as Jason tries to lead her through it. They’re messing up, stepping on each other’s toes, but it’s the cutest darn thing I ever saw. Her face is partially hidden under the straw cowboy hat Julie placed on her head when they waltzed through the door, so no one really knows who she is. She still doesn’t know what it means to be famous herself, personally, and I’d hate to see the freedom and openness she’s showing out there ever get taken away from her. She shouldn’t have to bottle up her personality and go hide in the corner somewhere. She deserves to be front and center. It’s where she’s meant to be.
"Bro, you might wanna get a move on." Landry nudges my arm. "I said you could look, not ogle."
I snap out of it, keenly aware that some of the reporters are glancing at me from the bar. I have to pull myself together or I’m not going to make it through the night. I wish Sasha and I could have some fun together, but I have to be content in knowing that she’s having a good time, even if I’m not. She’s been through a lot the last couple of days. She needs to let loose a little.
"The usual?" Landry asks.
I nod since it’s too loud to be heard as he elbows his way up to the bar. It’s not long before he’s slipping an ice-cold Pabst Blue Ribbon into my hand.
"You’re the only guy I know who drinks that stuff. Well, maybe you and my great-uncle who’s over a hundred."
"You don’t know what you’re missing," I respond, taking a swig from the bottle, knowing that I’m going to need a lot more than this to keep my thoughts off Sasha’s swaying hips.
The crowd begins to part before us. Word has spread like wildfire that Mike Landry and Brooks Davison are in the house. So far, no one’s recognized Sasha, but it’s only a matter of time. I kind of wish she could be anonymous, just for tonight, but I know that’s not going to happen.
When we reach the table where Julie’s sitting, a buzz goes through the room when Sasha spins, causing her hat to fall off. That’s all it takes for everyone’s attention to focus in on her like a laser. There’s plenty of whispering as people start to point and gesture to their friends at just who’s kicking up her heels on the dance floor. Jason senses that something’s up as he glances over at his mom, but Sasha seems oblivious to everything as she twirls him around her.
"Do you want me to go get them?" Landry asks his wife, seeing the panic on his son’s face and feeling his paternal instinct kicking in.
"Nah, they’ll be all right." Julie waves her hand after assessing the situation. "He’s seen crazy fans before. He knows how to handle himself. And Sasha’s no fool."
"You don’t think it could get outta hand?" Landry turns slowly in place, doing a full sweep of the building.
"We get her out of here if it does," I mutter to them. "No matter what."
"She’s fine," Julie replies with a lot more assurance than I have at the moment.
The song concludes with a flourish as the other dancers turn and face Sasha and Jason, giving them a round of applause. The lead singer grabs the microphone, officially welcoming her to The Pig’s Tail, and a cacophony of hoots and whistles rain down upon her. She’s clearly taken aback by the reaction she’s getting, but she continues to smile as she tips her hat to the crowd, acknowledging their hospitality.
It doesn’t take long for a guy to approach her, asking her if he could have the next dance. Unsure of what to do, she shrugs her shoulders, giving him her hand as the band launches into a Kenny Chesney classic. At least it’s a fast one, and Sasha keeps a respectful distance between them as they move to the pulsing beat of the music.
Jason returns to the table all sweaty and in need of the frosted mug of root beer Landry has waiting for him. "That was amazing," he sighs between gulps, wiping his foam-covered mouth with the back of his sleeve. "But I’m glad that dude cut in. I don’t think I could’ve handled all those people staring at me like that. Dad, I gotta admit. I don’t know how you and Brooks do it night after night."
"Well listen, we’re not out there shakin’ what our mamas gave us. If I had to do that on a daily basis, I don’t think I’d ever leave the dugout." Landry laughs, giving Jason’s curly hair a good tousle. "In fact, you probably wouldn’t get Brooks anywhere near the stadium, never mind the field."
"You suck that bad, huh?" Jason asks, shooting me a lopsided grin.
"I’d say I’m more of a slow dancer." I take another pull of my beer, thinking back to Kyle’s wedding, the one and only time I ever danced with Sasha. How small her waist was. How tiny she felt up against me. How I wanted to protect her and never let her go.
"I’m a pretty good slow dancer myself," Landry states as the band shifts gears. With the opening notes of Lonestar’s "Amazed," the pairs on the dance floor move closer together. With a twinkle in his eye, he asks, "May I have this dance, milady?"
Landry bows dramatically in front of Julie, causing her to giggle. "Since this is our wedding song, I’d kick your ass if you didn’t ask," she teases. "Jason, stay with Brooks and don’t go wanderin’ off." She gives her son that no-nonsense look only mothers can give before walking hand and hand with her husband onto the dance floor.
"Where does she expect me to go?" Jason groans, sliding into the seat beside me. "I bet you’re sorry you got stuck babysitting me tonight."
I shift in my chair, angling it so that I don’t have to watch Sasha in the arms of another man. It seems that every hot-blooded Texan is lining up for a chance to dance with her. I’d like nothing more than to stride out there and let the world know that she’s mine. But I can’t.
"Nah, man," I respond, stretching my legs and trying to get comfortable. "It’s cool. I haven’t seen you in a while. It’ll be a good chance for us to catch up."
Jason throws a wary glance at the reporters who have gathered two tables away. "If they didn’t crash the party, would you be sittin’ here with me or would you be out there with her?"
"I’d probably be right where I am now." I edge my thumbnail under the moistened label on the bottle, not wanting him to realize what a coward I’ve become. "There are dozens of people in here with cameras on their phones. All it would take would be one picture, one video, and the cat’s out of the bag. After that shot someone took of us in Baltimore, I don’t think we’d be able to talk our way out of another one."
"That blows because I think she’s seriously into you, man." Jason leans forward, clinking his mug against my bottle. "She’s not even paying attention to whatever that guy is sayin’ to her. She just keeps looking over here."
Automatically, my eyes find hers, and she’s pleading with me, begging me to come rescue her. I swallow hard. There’s nothing I can do and she knows it. We’re on full display here. The only thing I can do is send reinforcements.
"Jay, can you do me a favor?" I gaze at him expectantly.
"Sure, Brooks. Anything," he says solemnly, picking up on the change in my demeanor.
"I need you to dance with Sasha for the rest of the night. Do you think you can do that for me?" I watch utter fear cross his face.
"But that last guy didn’t even give me a choice." He’s stalling, feeling unsure of himself.
"You don’t give some asshole a choice," I respond, laying a hand on his shoulder, letting him see how important this is to me. If Sasha’s uneasy, I’m not going to stand around and do nothing.
"All right, I’ll do it." Jason gets up from the table, finishing off his root beer and slamming the empty mug back down on the table. He strides by me and marches up to Sasha, who shoots me a grateful smile before disentangling herself from the overeager cowboy intent on winning her over.
I breathe easier when she switches her hold to Jason’s gangly arms, leaving the other guy shaking his head before exiting the floor.
I feel a surge of satisfaction flow through me as I drain the last of my beer. Landry and Julie indicate that they’re going for another round, and I raise two fingers in the air, letting Landry know to order me a shot as well. I’m not a big drinker. Usually when the guys go out after a game, I stick to one beer and that’s it. But tonight, I need something a little stronger to take the edge off. The bruise around my eye is starting to throb, and my heart is aching right along with it.
