Covering Home (15 page)

Britt surveyed the room, her eyes wide. But Caleb wasn’t in the mood to mingle. While they couldn’t blend in, maybe they could hustle to the elevator unnoticed. A bellman wheeled a cart loaded with luggage toward them. Perfect. Caleb took Britt’s hand and they walked beside the cart, obscured from view.

They were almost to the elevators when the doors parted and a raucous group of baseball players spilled out. Tyler Jeffries was in the center, face flushed, as he laughed too loud and hung on the shoulders of his teammates. Britt stiffened and Caleb tugged her behind a potted Ficus tree in a nearby corner. She trembled next to him.

“It’s okay.” He planted a tender kiss on her forehead. “I won’t let him hurt you.”

She closed her eyes, resting her head against his shoulder. “Thank you, that means a lot.”

Caleb’s gut tightened. He could protect her from jerks like Tyler, but would she still thank him when she discovered the truth he’d worked so hard to conceal?

Chapter Fifteen

“Just a sec.” Britt stifled a yawn. “Sorry.”

Wendy paused, her makeup brush suspended in the air. “That’s quite a yawn. Late night?”

“Something like that.” She closed her eyes as Wendy dusted powder across her nose. Memories of that one incredible moment at the top of the Ferris wheel flitted through her mind. Caleb’s lips finding hers—the way his kisses left her wanting more—But that wasn’t what had kept her awake into the wee hours, punching her pillow. Though she’d analyzed it and over-analyzed it, Caleb’s refusal to answer her questions still baffled her. Plenty of other international players openly shared their experiences playing here. But not Caleb. There had to be a reason and she was determined to figure it out.

“Let me send Gretchen on a caffeine run. Gretch?” Wendy called to Marne’s assistant. “Can you grab Britt a Diet Coke with a straw, please?”

“Yep. Be right back.” Gretchen disappeared out into the hallway.

“Thanks.” Britt opened her eyes. “You’re too good to me.”

“Don’t mention it. By the way, stop frowning. You’re making my job harder.”

“Sorry.”

“Is he hot?”

“What?” Britt stared at her.

“Whoever’s on your mind, keeping you out late. It must be a guy. I just want to know, is he hot?” Wendy’s eyes sparkled with amusement as she uncapped the lip liner.

Britt held still as Wendy lined her lips. Telling a co-worker about Caleb meant fielding even more questions. But she was desperate to hash out the details with someone and Kristi hadn’t answered her messages.

Wendy stepped back and examined her work. “I’m waiting.”

“All right, all right. I went out with Caleb Scott.”

Wendy quirked an eyebrow. “And? How’d it go?”

“Fantastic kisser, circumspect backstory.”

“You’ve certainly piqued my curiosity. Do tell.”

“I can’t figure out what he’s doing here. The more questions I ask, the better he gets at deflecting.”

“Please tell me you didn’t kiss him just so he’d answer your questions.”

Britt squirmed in her seat. “No, of course not. But I want to help him.
Covering Home
is the perfect venue to share his story.”

“What story is that?”

Britt met her gaze in the mirror. “Didn’t you read the magazines or watch
Inside Edition?
He and Amanda Forrester were a huge deal. Then she died, he dropped out of sight and resurfaced in Japan.”

“Are you saying he had something to do with her death?”

“I’m saying no one knows what really happened and he won’t say. But he didn’t have to play here. There were other options.”

Wendy squeezed a dollop of serum into her palm. “If he’d been convicted, he wouldn’t be playing professional baseball.”

“I’m not saying he committed a crime. But what’s the motivation for playing here?”

“Maybe he wanted a fresh start. Can you blame him?”

“I think there’s more to it. We were supposed to meet for coffee this morning and I was going to ask him. But he cancelled at the last minute, said something came up.”

Wendy smoothed the serum along Britt’s sleek ponytail, taming any stray hairs. “That doesn’t mean anything. He’s a professional athlete with a busy schedule. Enough about the past, tell me about that kiss.”

A slow heat crawled up her neck. “Best first kiss ever. Top of the Ferris wheel, at night, looking out over the lights of Tokyo. He—”

Gretchen came back into the room and handed her a Diet Coke with a straw. “Thanks, Gretch.”

“You’re welcome. Just a heads up, Marne wants you on the field in ten. Something’s wrong with Joe.”

“What do you mean?” Britt cracked open the can and dropped the straw in.

Gretchen shrugged. “I don’t know. She found him in his room and he can’t get out of bed.”

“Oh no.” The soda can almost slipped from Britt’s fingers.

“For real.” Gretchen glanced at Wendy. “Are you almost done?”

“Give me two minutes, okay?”

Gretchen nodded and gathered up her tablet and smartphone. “I’m headed out. See you in a few, Britt.”

Once they were alone, Wendy twisted open the mascara and applied another coat on Britt’s lashes. “You didn’t hear this from me, but Kate Songer’s looking to switch to another network, one that covers college football. She’s dating a pro quarterback and wants a schedule that matches his.”

Britt frowned. “Why are you telling me?”

“Because I like you and I want you to think about your options. I’ve been around long enough to recognize a talented sportscaster. If she leaves the Epic Sports desk, they’ll want to talk to you about taking her position.”

Britt laughed. “Thanks for the inside scoop, but I’m a rookie. They won’t consider me.”

“You laugh now, but wait and see.”

Britt took a long sip of her Diet Coke. Kate anchored the premier show on the network in the coveted primetime slot. Unlike Britt, she kept a reasonable schedule by baseball standards—no late nights waiting for West Coast games to wrap and definitely no travel. If the network considered Britt a potential replacement, it would be hard to resist the opportunity.

Wendy removed the cape and patted Britt’s shoulder. “I’m all for having a good time, but I’d hate for you to get caught up in a relationship here that influenced a major career move later.”

Britt’s stomach twisted in an anxious knot. “Dating Caleb means I couldn’t replace Kate?”

Wendy packed her makeup and hairspray back into her travel bag. “I’m just saying you need to be careful. You’re in the limelight, whether you want to be or not.”

Britt stood up and reached for her briefcase. “Thanks, Wendy. For everything.”

“Of course. Have fun.”

Shouldering her bag, Britt made her way down the corridor and out onto the field. Wendy’s advice echoed in her mind. Working for the network was a phenomenal job and she didn’t want to mess it up. But she couldn’t deny her attraction toward Caleb, either. How could one kiss complicate things so much?

Britt crossed the field toward the Senators’ dugout where Marne stood with Wes Harper and Kentaro Hashimoto, their gray pants and navy blue jerseys still spotless. Britt transitioned into work mode, cycling through her list of questions for the pre-game interviews. Wes’s on-base percentage was crazy good last season, his batting average the stuff of legends. If these last two games were any indication, he had a great season and a prolific career ahead of him.

The crowd broke out in a cheer as the Rays jogged across the outfield in a neat formation. Marne beckoned with a frantic ‘come closer’ wave. Why was everything so urgent?

“Slight change of plans.” Marne gripped Britt’s forearm. “Joe’s had a high fever since yesterday, nothing’s helping. I’m afraid he’s out of commission.”

“How high?”

“Really high. Like a hundred and four. It’s definitely not a stomach bug.”

“Has he seen a doctor? Maybe one of the athletic trainers could take a look at him.”

Marne shook her head. “No. We need to get him to the hospital. You’ll have to call the game.”

Britt’s mouth went dry. “I can—I mean, um—I’m sure I can call a game, but—”

“We’re talking to the Senators’ people. They’ve sent two broadcasters. If we add you in, then the three of you could call it together.”

“Bill Vickers and Jamie Tomlin?” Britt said with reverence. “Are you sure?”

“No, I’m not.” A sheen of perspiration coated Marne’s forehead. “They’re the voice of the Senators, after all. But tag-teaming is the best we can do, given the circumstances.”

“Right.” Britt nodded, her mind racing in a hundred different directions.

Wes Harper cleared his throat.
Oh. Right.
The pre-game interview. He couldn’t stand there all day. She willed her pulse to slow and gathered her thoughts.

“Hi, Wes. I’m Britt Bowen. Do you have time for a few questions?” She dazzled him with her most professional smile.

“Nice to meet you, Miss Bowen.” Wes’s own bright smile gleamed against his milk-chocolate complexion, even in the dome’s hazy lighting. “I’ve got a few minutes before things get started.”

“Tell me your thoughts heading into the final game, with the series tied. What’s your strategy as you step to the plate tonight?”

Wes shrugged. “Our strategy’s essentially the same, even though there’s a lot about playing here that’s very different—”

“Such as?”

“The strike zone’s ambiguous, smaller ball, crowd’s a bit more enthusiastic … even the distance to the outfield wall is shorter. But we find that works in our favor.”

“Spoken like a man who plans to swing for the fences tonight. Care to elaborate?”

“We’re pumped and ready to go. The Rays’ starting pitcher throws a mean split-finger fastball, but he’s got a whole arsenal of pitches to draw from.” Wes looked toward the outfield and shrugged. “You never know what could happen. We have to be ready for anything.”

Isn’t that the truth.
She hoped her facial expression didn’t reveal how accurate he was. Caleb was now the least of her worries. Two of professional broadcasting’s greatest legends were willing to share the spotlight. If she planned to show the network she was serious about covering baseball and possibly being considered for Kate’s job, she needed to bring her ‘A’ game.

Chapter Sixteen

Caleb toed the loose sand on the pitcher’s mound, carving out a space for his foot. It was the top of the ninth inning, and Shin had sent him in to win the game. While such an assignment was unheard of in the majors back home, given that he’d had so little rest, now was not the time to question the decision. The Senators had the bases loaded, with the go-ahead run standing on third. Since Wes Harper had returned to the plate, Caleb had thrown three balls and two strikes. He drew a deep breath and rolled his shoulders. The rhythmic pounding of the spectators’ drums kept time with his racing heart.
Calm down.
He needed this, wanted this win, more than anything he’d wanted in a long time.

Taka squatted behind home plate and signaled the pitch by tapping three fingers against his thigh. Caleb shook his head. Wes’s previous at-bats had resulted in a two-run double and a sacrifice fly. He expected a fastball. Taka called for a cutter this time and Caleb nodded.
My thoughts exactly.
Wes shouldered his bat and narrowed his gaze, the familiar expression of a fierce competitor.

Caleb moistened his dry lips, gripped the baseball in his glove and drove out all the distractions. He needed that ball to break down and in, hugging the strike zone. He wound up, then hurled the ball toward home plate, his back leg kicking up behind him. Ignoring the dull throb in his elbow, he gritted his teeth as Wes’s bat sliced through the air. The ball landed in Taka’s mitt with a resounding
thwack.
The crowd went crazy, bursting into a chant that could only be described as elation.

“Yes!” Caleb hollered, thrusting his fist in the air. In a matter of seconds, his teammates surrounded him. Fist bumps and back slaps ensued, pride evident by the wide smiles on the faces that greeted him. Victory tasted sweet regardless of language and culture.

Shin brought up the end of the line of well-wishers and shook Caleb’s hand. “Nicely done.”

“Thanks,” Caleb said.

“The Rays are proud of your commitment to the team.”

Caleb nodded. He wanted to ask why tonight was different. Why was it acceptable to play to win, handing Hashimoto and his teammates a defeat on their last outing in Tokyo? Never mind. This wasn’t the time for in-depth discussions on the nuances of Japan’s expectations. He’d pitched one inning and led the team to victory. Time to celebrate.

Before he knew what was happening, four guys hoisted him onto their shoulders. “Whoa. Hold on a second, fellas,” he protested, swaying to sit upright as they stumbled down the baseline. But resistance was futile. He gave in and enjoyed the moment.

Ben stood near the fence with Heather Wilson, applauding as the Rays took their victory lap. Caleb waved and Ben gave him a casual salute. He’d catch up with his twin later. It wasn’t like they could get to each other now, anyway. The crowd continued to cheer and dance, breaking out in song after song, while the cheerleaders and the mascot egged them on.

The throng of reporters and cameramen jockeyed for position, clogging the space in front of the dugout. Caleb groaned inwardly.
Post-game press conference
. In all the excitement, he’d forgotten what winning actually meant. Security guards maintained order while a makeshift podium was quickly assembled from wooden benches. He’d have to talk to them. All of them, including a certain beautiful American broadcaster, whom he’d managed to avoid thinking about for almost the entire game. A quick glance told him she wasn’t among the throng. Yet. But he knew she’d find a way to be at the front of the pack.

His teammates rounded first, laughing and cracking jokes, while they paraded toward second base. Caleb tried to smile and play along, gripping the shoulders of the guys who supported him. But his enthusiasm was dampened by the reality he would face in a matter of minutes. He couldn’t shun the media. Not now. It would humiliate Shin and the whole organization. But even a win didn’t fill him with the courage and confidence he needed to field their bold inquiries.