The Wild Card, page 8
Shouldn’t the fact that there’s a baby inside me make the desire between us disappear instead of putting gasoline on a raging bonfire? We have much more important things to be worried about.
“Callie?”
I love the way my name sounds on his lips.
“Foster?”
“What are you guys doing?” Hayes’s voice has us both turning to see him standing at the end of the short hallway.
I bend forward and cough, pretending I’m clearing my throat.
“She got dizzy, so I was trying to help support her.” Foster’s lie glides off his tongue faster than one of his pitches, so fast it’s a tad scary.
“Dizzy?” Hayes breaks the distance, a concerned look on his face. “From all the sugar in your drink?” There’s disbelief and questioning in his tone, despite his concern.
I’m not sure if we’re fooling him as easily as we think we are.
I stand straight and cover my mouth. “I’m just going to go to the bathroom to splash some water on my face.”
“I’ll send in Mom or Leighton,” he says.
I leave Foster to answer any more questions my brother might have. There’s no way my brother bought that act, and if we’re not more careful, he’s going to find out before we can actually tell him.
CHAPTER
TWELVE
Foster
I haven’t been in the right headspace since Callie surprised me with the news that I’m going to be a dad. It’s hard to be around Hayes and rely on him when I’m keeping this huge secret from him. Omission is lying no matter how you try to excuse it.
Callie’s doctor’s appointment is tomorrow. Thank God. We had to cancel once because I wouldn’t be back from New York in time. Fitting a doctor’s appointment into my schedule isn’t the easiest thing. But there should be no problem tomorrow. We’re off right before we have a longer stretch of away games, going from Texas right to Atlanta. At least after that we’re playing at home for a ten-day stretch with one day off.
Hayes is working with McCarthy since he’s our starter today while I bullshit with the other pitchers after our warm-ups. I keep looking up at the stands to see who might arrive.
“Who are you looking for?” Hayes comes up next to me, and I turn to see McCarthy talking to Coach Cal before the game starts.
“Just looking.”
He rests his back against the one-way glass and eyes me. “You expecting someone again?” His cocky smirk says he still hasn’t figured out that my dick only perks up at the mention of his baby sister. “Stephie done?”
I sigh, not seeing Callie but seeing Leighton—which means maybe Callie isn’t coming. It felt presumptuous to ask her if she was. It’s not really my business, and I shouldn’t care if she is, but this odd feeling of protectiveness won’t leave the pit of my stomach.
“She was a bit…”
“Much?” Hayes chuckles.
I shrug. “She was nice and all and said she was only in it for the sex, but I wasn’t feeling it.”
He rocks his head back. “Huh. Maybe pretty soon you might want more than sex from a woman.” He raises his eyebrows.
Am I jealous of what Hayes has? Yes and no. The family that he’s growing is something to admire. Something I’ve wondered if I’d be any good at. And maybe fatherhood will be good for me, but I’m positive I’d suck at being a husband.
“Maybe when hell freezes over.”
He chuckles and turns, scanning the stands. “She made it.”
My head swivels in the direction of where Callie always sits with Leighton, but there’s no Callie—only Leighton. I realize Hayes hasn’t been stalking the stands like me.
“Leighton was worried because of her schedule. I’m telling you, it takes more than a fucking village to align our schedules. My parents picked the kids up, but they’re bringing Leighton’s mom too.” His smile is admirable—if I wanted something like he has. “I’ll be thanking her tonight for making this work.”
I turn away, telling myself it doesn’t matter whether Callie comes or not.
“It’s weird, you know? I played all those games without Leighton in the stands, but now that I have her, I want her at everything. We’re going to try to get some babysitters so she can come to some away games. Too bad your sorry ass can’t find someone to travel with.” He laughs. “Maybe Callie will come with her as long as she’s not busy with her podcast. Which…” He snaps his fingers. “Did you hear?”
My stomach drops. The only thing I’ve talked to Callie about is my spawn in her stomach. “What?”
“Brightwave is eyeing Callie’s podcast for their network. Have you ever listened to it?”
I can’t remember the last time Hayes was this chatty—especially before a game. I feel like an asshole having to ask him the name of it. When he does find out she’s pregnant with my baby, he’ll be asking, You stuck your dick in my sister behind my back and didn’t even know the name of her podcast? Not a good show on my part.
“Her agent told her that for them to even consider her, she needs to get five big names on as guests, which isn’t easy. I volunteered, of course, but she turned me down. Said they want names the majority of the public will recognize.” His eyes light up. “You could do it.”
Since all I really know about her podcast is that she walks around Chicago and talks to strangers who pour their hearts out to her, I’m not really the kind of person she wants.
“Sure, I’ll tell the world about my shitty upbringing, my overly demanding dad, and how I don’t really talk to my twin brother or my mother. Everyone will want to listen to that shit show.”
“They actually would.” Hayes gives me a lopsided grin.
I frown. “Well, it’s not happening.”
Neither of us says anything, and thankfully Coach Cal tells Hayes and McCarthy it’s time. We all fist bump, and Hayes winks, saying he’ll see me out there. For the first time in a long time, I kind of hope I don’t have to pitch tonight.
“Feel free to pitch a no-hitter, McCarthy.”
The rookie pitcher looks as though he’s about to throw up, but he gives me a smile that doesn’t come close to genuine.
“You’re gonna be fine. You’ve got me.” Hayes talks him down as they head out to the field. He’s good at that, so I’m not surprised he’s such a good dad and partner.
I, on the other hand, do not share similar qualities.
“Does Hayes know how hot his sister is?”
My head whips toward Taz on the bench, and my fists clench at my sides.
“Her ass is…”
“Don’t fucking talk about her like that. Hayes will kick your ass if you try anything with her.”
My ass too, but that’s beside the point. Right now, I’m holding in all my anger, so I don’t pin Taz to the wall and knee him in the nuts for even thinking of Callie in that way. I can’t very well go caveman on him and expect Hayes not to notice.
I don’t even know why this dick is bringing up Callie.
It’s the eighth inning, and the call comes from the dugout. All eyes look at me. Damn it. I was really hoping I’d get tonight off, go to the doctor appointment tomorrow, and then after we tell Hayes and I’ve taken my well-deserved beating, I can work with him behind the plate again.
The lights in the stadium turn down, “Crazy Train” by Ozzy Osbourne plays, and my intro pops up on the Jumbotron. I love the song, and I love the fact that my nickname is Reaper, but sometimes I wonder—had Decker and I swapped places all those years ago, would it be him who’s seen as the darker brother? Maybe I just came out of the womb a grumpy egomaniac with a short fuse.
I jog onto the field and stop to have the umpire check me and my glove. He lets me go, and I meet the team manager, Ripley, and the guys on the mound.
I purposely don’t look at the stands. I didn’t see Callie arrive until the seventh inning stretch, but I’m trying to be at least halfway decent to Hayes, even if he doesn’t know what’s going on.
Ripley places the ball in my palm, and the infield steps back. Hayes jogs back to home plate, and I watch him, my eyes veering up.
Sure enough, Callie is sharing a pretzel with Lake. The two of them are laughing and talking. I love that she’s taken on the aunt role to those kids just as Hayes took on fatherhood. The Carlisle family is one I don’t deserve to be part of, that’s for sure.
I throw my warm-up pitches to Hayes, and he’s dodging a little.
“You good, Reap?” Easton asks. “You do see Carlisle’s glove, right?”
My teammates laugh from behind me, and I tuck my glove between my arm and body, shaking out my hand. Fuck, I really need to get myself under control.
Hayes jogs back up to the mound, waving for the infield to take their positions.
He puts the ball in my glove. “I’m going to catch whatever you throw, so don’t worry. All we need are two strikes, and we’re out of this. You’re the only one in that bullpen who can do it.”
“I bet you say that to all your pitchers.”
He laughs and doesn’t argue. We’ve always had a special bond, but I haven’t met a pitcher who doesn’t love having Hayes behind the plate.
“Your slider looked good earlier, but they’ll expect it, so let’s throw them off and do a curve.”
I nod.
“And we’ll strike him out on the slider.”
I nod again.
“Jesus, breathe. You look like McCarthy out here.” He goes back to squat behind the plate, and I’m thankful he’s not here psychoanalyzing me anymore.
My first pitch is so off Hayes has to get up to catch it. This isn’t a great sign. But Hayes steadily gets back into position and calls the same pitch. A curve on the inside.
I wind up and throw the ball. It doesn’t get as inside as I’d like, but Little does swing and miss.
I throw two more strikes. One more out and we’re up to bat.
The ball got in the dirt, so Hayes tosses it to the ball boy and asks the umpire for a new one. And damn if my eyes don’t drift up to see Callie again while I’m waiting for a new ball.
If I thought my blood was hot from Taz’s comment earlier, it’s boiling now. Lake is with Mrs. Carlisle, and the two guys behind Callie are leaning forward talking to her. One can’t keep his eyes off her tits while she laughs.
Fucking hell.
It was a bad idea to look over there.
Hayes tosses me the ball, and I almost miss catching it, but the top of my glove snags it before it sails toward Easton behind me.
Hayes gives me the slider sign, and I wind up, my usual throwing motion not feeling nearly as fluid as I’d like. The minute the ball leaves my fingers, I know. I don’t need to hear the crack of the bat, the groan of the Chicago fans, or the roar of the visiting fans as the ball sails well over me, all the way over Ian’s head, and into the bleachers.
“Fuck.” My entire body gets tense.
Hayes calls time, and I try to wave him off, but he comes to the mound anyway.
“Hey, we’re good,” he says.
“No, we’re not.” My jaw is clenched so tight it hurts.
“Look at me.” He stands there until I do.
I want to tell him everything. I’m an asshole. I fucked your sister, and she’s pregnant with my baby. I really hope you don’t hate me, and I know I did a bad thing. I’ll just stand here, and you can kick my ass.
“It’s one run. We’ll get it back in the bottom. Let’s wash it and concentrate on the next runner. What are you feeling tonight?”
Soon all of the infield joins us. I want to throw a fit like usual and tell them to fuck off, but Jagger’s words ring through my head. But really, it’s knowing that I have a kid coming and that endorsement deals are even more important now that has me checking myself.
“You good, man?” Hayes asks.
“Best day ever,” I respond dryly.
“It was only one slider,” Easton says.
“It didn’t slide.” I cut him a pissed-off look.
My gaze veers up again, and I see the guy showing her something on his phone.
“Back the fuck up, clown,” I murmur.
“What did you say?” Decker asks.
“Nothing. Just go back to your positions. I’m fine.”
Hayes calls them back, and I inhale a deep breath.
“You too. Go. I’ll get us out of this.”
“What are you keeping from me?” Hayes asks point-blank.
I look at Callie, and this time he follows my vision and turns back. He doesn’t say anything, but there’s no one else I would be staring at, so I wait for him to call me out. I shouldn’t be surprised that this is how it will all come to light—Hayes having to call me out because I’m a chickenshit. He’s always been a more stand-up guy than me.
“You’re gonna do the slider again, and we’ll go from there.”
He doesn’t wait for my answer and goes back to squat behind the plate. And I think I’m so thankful he didn’t ask me—or beat the shit out of me on the mound in front of millions of people—that I actually strike the guy out.
Decker saves me with a homerun in the bottom of the ninth and the Colts win. Thank fucking God.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
Callie
Foster demanded that he come pick me up rather than meeting at the doctor’s office, so when there’s a knock on the door, I grab my purse. I swing the door open, and there he stands in the hallway of my apartment, but his head is turned, staring to his right.
“Hey.” I peek my head out the door to see what’s caught his interest.
Jerry is staring back at Foster as he inserts a key into the lock of my neighbor’s door.
Jerry is probably a little intimidated that Foster Davis is at my doorstep.
Foster turns to face me, and his blue eyes leave me speechless as they often do. “The door downstairs wasn’t locked.” He steps inside my apartment, leaving me no choice but to back up and allow him to invade my personal space.
“Come in, I guess…” I’m not sure why we’re both not on the other side of the door.
“Callie!” Jerry calls, pulling me away from thinking that I should’ve cleaned up my apartment this morning.
I turn toward the open door to find Jerry standing in my doorway.
Here we go. He’s probably going to fawn over Foster and ask me about tickets again. Not anything I’m in the mood for right now.
“Are you headed out?” Jerry glances over my shoulder.
“Yeah. Just for an hour or two.”
Jerry glances at Foster again, whose chest is now pressed to my back, staring down Jerry over my shoulder. What the hell is his bodyguard behavior about?
“Oh good. I can look at that bathroom fan issue while you’re out.”
“Oh, Jerry, that’s not me. I think you’re confusing me with someone else in the building again.”
He pulls out his phone and scrolls on the screen for a moment. Then he glances back at Foster, who I’m pretty sure is going to knock me down because he’s even closer to me now. He’s acting like a guard dog ready to attack.
“Oh, I thought for sure it was you.”
“You’re the landlord?” Foster’s voice is gruff with a bite to it.
What am I missing here?
“That’s me, Jerry. Foster Davis, right?” Jerry steps into the apartment, his hand extended. Foster winds around me, putting me behind him, but at least finds some manners and shakes his hand. “I’m a big fan of yours.”
“Thanks.” Foster doesn’t sound any more friendly than earlier.
Jerry’s lips thin, and his body stiffens. I glance to where their hands are joined, noticing that Jerry’s knuckles are white.
I push Foster’s side. “Anyway, we need to get going. Hope you figure out which person needs their bathroom fan fixed.”
Foster steps toward the door, giving Jerry no choice but to blindly back up into the hallway. Finally, we’re all outside the apartment, and I lock my door, then say goodbye to Jerry.
“It was great meeting you, Foster, or do I call you Reaper?”
Oh, Jerry, quit while you’re ahead.
“Foster’s fine,” he grumbles.
Foster waits at the top of the stairs for me to go down first, and he places his hand on the small of my back as if we’re a couple. “I got us a car.”
He takes one more glance over his shoulder before we exit the building. He stops and turns around. Jerry is at the top of the stairs, watching us.
“Maybe forget the bathroom fan and fix this door,” Foster says. “I shouldn’t have been able to just walk in. The residents’ safety is your responsibility.”
Jerry’s face turns red, looking struck. “I’ll get on it.”
I peek my head around Foster’s arm. “Thank you, Jerry.” I tug at Foster’s sleeve. “We’re going to get going now. Bye.”
I drag Foster out of the vestibule, and when we get onto the sidewalk, I release him. “What’s with the bodyguard act?”
“I don’t like him. He was coming out of that apartment next to you. He didn’t say anything to me. The door to the outside was unlocked.” He stares at the building as if he’s a building inspector and is about to slap a red sticker on it that says CONDEMNED. “I thought your podcast was doing well?”
I stop beside the car he led me to before climbing in. “Are you judging where I live?”
“I just think you can afford somewhere that makes safety a higher priority.”
I place my hand on his chest and laugh. “Let’s remember our roles here, Foster. You’re the baby daddy, not my keeper.”
I climb into the car and get situated as he slides in beside me. Thank God there’s more than enough space, and we’re on separate sides of the SUV. The driver pulls into the traffic with the address already in his GPS.
“You’re wrong. You’re the mother of my child, so your safety is my concern. I don’t like Jerry, and I don’t like the apartment.”
I laugh bitterly. “Well then, let me just move out.” I glare at him, hoping he catches my sarcasm, but he’s still brooding, holding my gaze in a stare down. “Jerry is harmless. He keeps forgetting which tenant needs help, and I’m sure after your mafia boss performance, he’ll get right on the door.”
