Blake (Season One: The Ninth Inning #2) (2 page)

“Sorry,” I quickly rush out.

“Are you lost?” His deep voice is smooth and his hair is wet, falling onto his forehead.

“No...um...just leaving. Sorry.” As I scurry around him, I realize he’s only wearing a towel. Damn it. I went out the wrong door. This is the player’s locker room, and I needed the other side. I keep my head down, praying I don’t see anything, and burst out the door.

Once I figure out where I am and how to get out, I rush to my car and crank the air conditioning again. I’m not sure if it’s the heat making me hot or the hot body I just saw.

I WATCH THE redhead quickly rush out of the locker room. For a moment, I wonder if I should be concerned about people roaming around where they clearly don’t belong, but I don’t really care, so I don’t pay it any more attention. I get dressed and drive home.

Some days, it’s hard to decide if I even like baseball. The idea that I don’t would seem crazy to anyone who knows me, considering that I’m a catcher for the professional baseball team, the Memphis Angels. Surely, if I play, then I love the game.

Sometimes, when everything in my life is like it should be, I love my job. But then, when reality strikes, I wonder if I truly enjoy it. However, there’s no doubt in my mind that playing baseball is what I was born to do. My father is the famous pitcher, Jack Foster. I’ve been playing for as long as I can remember because he needed his son to carry on his legacy.

A legacy I wish would vanish and rot in hell right along with my father.

He wanted me to pitch like him, too. While I could pitch, I needed to grasp the one small piece of control I could. I needed to have something in this game for
me
, so when I have a hard time remembering why, I can hold on to that. So, I became a catcher instead. Thankfully, my father was still playing when I was growing up, so he was never officially my coach. The coaches I did have honed me into a damn good catcher and player.

Of course, my father would say it’s all because of him.

Being back in my hometown isn’t something I’d particularly looked forward to, but here I am anyway. At least, now I can look after Mom better, even though it will cost both of us and still won’t change anything. My personal life is so exhausting that baseball season, with its traveling and games for months on end, is like vacation instead of work. Well, when I like baseball, that is.

At home, I fix a healthy meal before relaxing on the couch. I spend most nights at home like this. I never had many friends in Memphis to start with, and those I did have, I haven’t bothered connecting with since I’ve been back. There was a huge fiasco with the Angels last season with drugs. The entire team was wiped out and a lot of the staff members were fired as well. Part of me wishes my dad still had a hand in things with the team, so that it would taint his legacy. No such luck, though.

My phone vibrates with a text from Hector Rodriguez, our first baseman. The team-building exercises we’ve done really paid off for him because he now considers me a friend. Which means I’m apparently his go-to person when he wants to hang out. I don’t know why, but I tell him he can come over. It’s not as if I try to be alone, excluding everyone else from my life. It just happens that way most of the time.

Thirty minutes later, Hector walks right into my house. No knock, no hello as he pushes the door open, nothing. He plops down onto the recliner, grabs a controller from the coffee table, and kicks his feet up.

“One of these days, I’m going to mistake you for a burglar and knock you unconscious,” I tell him as I start the army combat video game.

“No one wants your shit, Blake. You come after me and I’ll go Kung Fu on your ass.” He swipes his hands on the air and I laugh. “Since you’re in a good mood, I think I know what your nickname should be,” he adds.

My jaw locks, but I don’t spare him a glance, instead choosing to keep my eyes glued to the screen. “Why do I need a nickname?”

“Because your personality is too much for a simple name like Blake to handle. And because I nearly died laughing when I thought of it.”

Reluctantly, I ask, “What is it?”

“Grumpy. And when Halloween comes around, you can dress as a dwarf. Wasn’t one of them named Grumpy?”

“I don’t know, and you’re not calling me Grumpy.”

Hector shrugs and I’m dumb enough to believe that’s the end of it. An hour later, he gets up, heading toward my kitchen. “Hey, Grumpy,” he calls.

“Yeah?” I wince as I realize my mistake, hearing him laughing. There’s no way I can stop him now.

“Don’t you have any leftovers? I’m hungry.”

I turn on the couch to look at him. He’s standing in front of my fridge, rubbing his stomach. “Didn’t you pass like a million food places on your way here? Or, if you’d hurry up and get internet hooked up, we could play without you ever coming over and eating all of my food.”

He reaches in, grabs a box of pizza from yesterday, and heats up a few slices. “You know what happens to people who don’t socialize?” he asks.

“They don’t kill their friends?”

“They go crazy. I’m keeping you sane, Grumpy.” He returns with a bottle of water for us both along with his food.

“Call me Grumpy one more time, and I’ll show you what kind of damage a
sane
person can do.”

My phone rings, interrupting whatever he’s about to say. My stomach knots and dread fills me before I even answer. Mom calling me this late means bad things.

“Hey,” I answer.

“Hey, can you pick me up and take me home?” Her voice is soft like always, the touch of fear present in her tone no matter who she’s speaking to or what she’s talking about.

“Where are you?”

“The hospital. I broke my wrist falling down the stairs earlier.” I’m sure that’s exactly what happened.

“Where is he?”

“At home. He got tired of waiting, so he left.”

“I’m on my way,” I tell her. A sigh is the only moment I have to myself.

Hector raises his brows at me. “Do I have time to finish?” He holds up his plate.

“Take it to go,” I snap. Standing, I grab my keys from the coffee table and wiggle my feet into my shoes by the door. One night. I can’t even go one night without this shit. Now that I’m back home, it’s like he tries to bring me into it more than I have to be. On the drive to the hospital, I try to shake some of the anger away. It’s not Mom’s fault. Sometimes, I want to blame her for sticking around like she does, but I don’t know what goes through her head, so I don’t. Or, I try not to.

If she needs me, I’ll be there every time.

My father, on the other hand, could be on fire and I wouldn’t spit on him.

Mom is waiting outside, standing on the sidewalk along the parking lot. I get out and walk over to her, gently wrapping my arms around her in case she’s hurting elsewhere, too.

“You alright?”

“I’m fine.” That’s always her answer. “Thanks for coming, son.”

“Always will, Mom.” I lead her to my truck before asking, “What set him off this time?”

She shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know anymore,” she whispers. “He’s been worse since you came back and started ignoring him.”

My hands tighten on the steering wheel. She can’t be serious. “You’re blaming me? No one is responsible for this but him.”

“I didn’t say it was your fault, Blake. All I mean is that he’s been moodier than usual.”

“Yeah, because of me, I got that.”

I don’t know why this surprises me. The finger would always be pointed at me, even if I weren’t living in the same state. Usually, Mom and I get along. We’ve had to stick together against the force that is my father, but over the past few years, her mindset has shifted. She’s thinking more like him. He has her so completely controlled, it’s as if he’s been able to brainwash her while I was away, living my life.

Hell, maybe this is my fault. I should have taken my mom with me, gotten her away from him. Instead, I left her behind and now, it’s worse than before. I’d hate me too if I hadn’t made things better for her when I could have.

I shake my head as if I can expel those thoughts from my mind. I’ve tried to get her to move away from here. I would have supported her financially, and she could start fresh some place new.

She’s turned me down each time I asked, each time I tried to convince her.

“Do you want to stay with me tonight?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“No, he wouldn’t like that.”

I glance over at her, the streetlights lighting her features every few seconds as we pass them. She’s never looked this bad before.

“Mom, if you want to leave, all you have to do is say the word. I can get you out and away from him. I—”

“I love him,” she interrupts me, glancing over at me as I focus on the road. “Memphis is my home, and I don’t want to leave.”

I clench my jaw, my knuckles gleam white as I grip the wheel tighter. We ride the rest of the way to my childhood home in silence. I park my truck in the driveway, seeing my father’s figure in the window.

“Are you coming in?” Mom asks.

“No.”

She nods, pats my hand, which is resting on the gear shift, and opens the door. “I love you, Blake,” she says once she’s standing outside.

“Love you too, Mom. Call if you need me.”

I watch her walk up the walkway to the front door. Dad stands at the window, and I know his eyes are still on me. The world will be a better place when he dies. Unfortunately, I don’t think it will happen soon enough.

My mother’s words stew in my mind, pissing me off more and more. My fault. I can’t believe she would think it, much less admit it out loud. I’m still irritated on the plane ride as the team flies out for our next game. I choose a seat near the back, hoping no one bothers me.

No such luck. Hector is in the seat in front of me, and Felix, a pitcher, has just claimed the spot next to me. I don’t bother acknowledging him, hoping he’ll take the hint and leave me alone. I gaze out at the clouds and pieces of earth far below that appear in between the white puffs. It’s probably unnatural for someone to think about murder as often as I have in the past twenty-four hours. Or hell, most of my life. Because right now, I’m wishing my father was up here with me, so I could push him out of the plane and watch him fall until I couldn’t see him anymore.

“Hey, you alright, Blake?” Felix asks.

“Fucking peachy,” I answer, still imagining my father flailing around as he falls to his death.

Hector turns around and says with a slight grin, “I think he prefers to be called Grumpy.”

“Turn around and shut up,” I snap with a glare.

The dumb ass laughs. “He’ll be better in a few hours,” he tells Felix. “Right, Grumpy?” I give him the finger, turning my attention back to the window, listening as their conversation continues. “Hey, Felix. Who’s the girl at the game you keep throwing your balls at?” I roll my eyes, and I hear him chuckle.

“She’s the reason we keep winning,” he answers.

“I thought it was because of your mad throwing skills?”

“That’s helpful, but having her there is more helpful. She doesn’t believe in good luck charms, though.”

This catches my attention. “Seriously?” I ask Felix, glancing at him. Lucky charms might as well be as true as scientific discoveries or something. They’re real, plain and simple. “Like not at all, or she just doesn’t believe she is one?”

“She doesn’t think she is one. Do y’all have one?”

Hector lifts a necklace with a cross from under his shirt and then they look at me. It’s laughable that they think I have good luck, much less a damn lucky charm. “I don’t have one,” I say. “I can’t keep anything long enough to have a good luck charm.” I turn around, my gaze shifting back to the sky. I try to think of something good that has happened to me; something my father didn’t ruined.

The list is empty.

I FINISH TANNER’S leg rub; he is the center fielder, and he’s still moaning as if he’s about to get off right here on my table. I roll my eyes at the thought and shake out his leg.

“Okay, Tanner, you’re all done.” I wipe my hands clean on a fresh linen towel.

“You have the hands of a God.”

“Well...thanks. Just a reminder, you don’t have to be completely naked under your towel when you come in here.” He’s already flashed his junk at me twice.