Igniting the Wild Sparks (42 page)

Sighing, he nods to the bench behind him and tersely says, “Take a seat.”

I look back to the field and then to him in confusion. “Why?”

“You
know
why,” a well-known, deep voice replies from behind the home plate cage. I involuntarily turn my head to see Sparks walking into my sight. Even though he’s wearing sunglasses and there was evidence at his apartment of him currently having a hangover, he looks even sexier than the last time I saw him in my room before he left for his
work
trip
.
Right. His red T-shirt sets off his very tousled, glowing, blondish hair and his goatee blends in with the dark stubble growing in on his jaw.

“I’m fine,” I argue. Oops. He hates that word.

Without acknowledging I even said it, Finn points to the bench and dourly orders, “Sit.” He never wants to negotiate with me. I glare at him, but from here, I can’t see his eyes to assess his expression.

I stubbornly pull on the bill of my hat and gripe, “I want to play.” Finn ignores me as he drops the bag of helmets next to the bats before walking back around the fence. Moping, I slam my glove down on the bench and take a seat next to Crick. We fleetingly smile at each other, but that’s the extent of our conversation.

Someone taps me on my arm and I look up, scowling, most likely. Betsy says, “Your boyfriend won’t cut you a break?”

I cross my legs and sulk. “No.”

Walking around the bench, Betsy squeezes in between Crick and me, and he obligingly moves down to accommodate her. I smile apologetically at Crick as Betsy says, “You think he’d let you have anything you wanted. I mean, to keep you happy and all. He’s the one who has to live with you.”

I gloomily mutter, “You’d think.”

She runs her fingers through her short, blonde bob. “I’d be mad if I were you. He’s not even going to let you play.”

Even though I want to punch Sparks in the stomach and break his sunglasses in two, I automatically defend him. “I guess it’s because he’s worried about me.”

She scoffs, “I think it’s because he wants to show you who’s boss.”

I can’t help but snort. “Boss? Of me? Hardly.” Peering around, I see Ricky, Cara and Finn, along with the other team’s coaches, talking to the umpire.

“Well, it’s not like you can just get up and go out there on your own. He’d stop the game and yank you back out. Starting a fight with you.”

“Probably.” The ump goes behind home plate and Ricky calls everyone in for a quick pep talk, even though I’m far from being peppy. Finn starts the encouraging talk, imparting last-minute strategies and tips to the team, but I don’t join in since I’m obviously sitting out this game. I know it’s in poor taste or childish, but I can hear them anyway from my permanent seat.

As my team takes the field, Betsy and Crick both return to the bench since Rod is pitching—no surprise there—and Grant is playing first base to start.

Leaning his shoulder against the chain link in front of us, Finn casually flips through papers on his clipboard as if his very pissed off girlfriend isn’t sitting 20 feet away from him.

I irritably ask, “Are you not going to let me play at all?”

Without stealing his attention away from his precious notes, he answers, “No.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Well, that’s not an answer.”

“It is.” He peers out at the team on the field, but won’t give me two seconds of his time.

Betsy nudges me and whispers, “Told you.”

I ask him, “Am I even a member of this team anymore?”

He responds to the ball field, “Yes.”

“So, I’m being punished for being there for my friend?” He doesn’t answer me and my blood rapidly stews. Having the odd feeling of being watched, I look around and see Cara studiously observing us instead of the game. I wish she would mind her own fucking business, more so than even Betsy, although I’m making it so easy for them not to. I also notice Ricky is watching us, but his apprehensive expression is very different from Cara’s intrusive one.

Unnerved by the audience, I watch as Finn writes on a paper attached to his clipboard. He’s actually going to ignore me? This is ridiculous. Without thinking, I snap, “Yeah, well
you
should be punished for lying to me.”

He doesn’t look up, but I know that statement affected him by the way he’s subtly crumpling the paper beneath his fingers. Stanchly biting his lip, he glances up to evaluate the game again, still refusing to look at me.

Betsy whispers, “I think you’re making him mad.”

I growl, “Good.” I don’t care if he hears me. “Did you have fun being a cricket while I was gone, Jiminy?” This time, Finn does acknowledge me, but his sunglasses can only partially veil his emotions as he testily licks his lips and clamps his teeth together. I guess he’s not good at poker, either. How did I
not
know he was lying to me?

Instead of responding with words, he returns his focus on the game, which enrages me. Now I’m hitting the truth and he won’t even admit to it. I bet he was jumping before he got here. His windblown hair certainly gives him away since he doesn’t have his baseball cap on. Of course, he’d be one to go without a helmet because that would be too safe.

Betsy asks, “Are you two having a fight outside of him not letting you play?”

“We’re
fine,
” I lie, saying his favorite word louder for him to hear. However, with Betsy listening, I know anything I say
can
and
will
be held against me in the Court of Public Opinion.

I get up from the bench and when I do, he completely turns his back to me so he’s full-on watching the game. He’s making it an art of ignoring me. Standing next to him, I cross my arms and huffily ask, “Are you going to talk to me?”

His jaw again twitches, but he doesn’t take his eyes from the game. “Later.”

“Maybe I want to talk
now.
” I nearly stomp my foot. I know I’m being immature, but I’m past caring.

“No.” I can practically hear his teeth crunching together.

“So, you’re only going to answer me with one or two words? I’m not worth a third?”

“Guess not.”

“Good one, Wilder. So, we’re not talking about this?”

He indifferently mumbles, “Not now.” I’m going to beat him with a softball bat.

“Hadley, leave him alone.” Ricky says, now next to me.

I whirl to face him. “Oh, I’m sorry. Are you Finn’s paid assassin now?” Ricky rolls his eyes and pushes up on his cap. I can imagine the mess beneath it from hurdling through space. “I don’t want to hear a word from you, Ricky. You are just as much to blame for him keeping this from me.”

He tilts his head and indulgently replies, “He’s an adult.”

“So, I’m
not
acting like an adult because I don’t want him doing crazy shit that could get him killed?”

Ricky steps closer to me, lowering his voice. “We will all talk after the game. This isn’t the time to do it.” He widens his eyes at me to get the hint of Betsy and Cara hanging onto every word.

As I turn to Finn, who glances away from me and back to the game. Not as smooth as he thinks he is. Going up to him, I angle my head to see his face better, and I darkly ask, “Was it worth it?”

His body stiffens while his Adam’s apple frantically dips, but he doesn’t take his attention away from the field action. From behind me, Ricky claps and yells encouragement to Rod.

Though I want to watch my friend pitch a good game, I don’t deviate from my mission. “Answer me.” If Sparks can use it on me, I’m going to use it on him.

He quietly growls, “Sit down.”

“What? I won’t like your answer, if you ever give me a truthful one?” He doesn’t reply, but I can tell he’s holding his breath and his eyes want to close. He always closes his eyes when he doesn’t want to face something, like how they grow heavy when a bridal shop commercial comes on TV.

I guess I have my answer.

And just like at the kite festival when he wouldn’t introduce me to his boss, I’ve reached my limit of bullshit. I’ve had it.

When I take a step back, Finn’s shoulders slump in relief. Pivoting on my heel, I storm past the bench and grumble to Betsy and Crick, “I’m out of here.” I don’t even have a game plan, per se. Unfortunately, I take off in the opposite direction of my car. Smart move, but I can’t dwell on it or look back as I quickly move with an unknown purpose, except to get away from Finn Wilder. I’m sure he didn’t even notice I left.

I think I’ve made headway until I hear a booming, “Where are you going?”

I roll my eyes and try to get my legs to go faster, shouting, “Four words! Wow! I’m so deserving!”

With his long legs, I know he’s on my ass by now because his voice is closer and angrier. “We have a game!” Really? Didn’t notice.

Heading to the nearest tennis court, not knowing what I’ll do from there, I book it, but can’t run or the aching in my stomach will literally bring me to my knees. I loudly retort, “
You
have a game!
I’m
just a benchwarmer!” My hands slam against the chain-link door and fumbling with it, I hurriedly swing it open to the sound of metallically squeaking. Thank God it’s empty because Sparks is about to see sparks. I go to the closest net and hold onto the post, my stomach unable to take any more crazed power walking.

Finn looms over me. “You’re hurting! I saw you. I see it now!” I bite my lip, cursing my lack of pain tolerance.

Catching my breath and wincing, I look down at the blue turf and strive to sound nonchalant, as well as to not gasp out loud. “It’s not bad.”

“I can see it on your face!”

Shaking my head, dismissing his claim, I say, “You didn’t even ask me. You just yanked me from playing.”

“It’s
my
job as coach to look out for my players and to do what’s best for the team.”

Still grasping the post, I shift to look at him. His hands are on his hips, his sunglasses are on top of his head, and a frown is on his beautiful lips.

Focus, Beckett.

With a cold smile, I seethe, “Congratulations. Job well done. When my boyfriend reappears, tell him to give me a call because God knows I’ve been calling him for days, but he won’t return m
y calls! I wonder why? Oh, yeah. He spent time with his good friends, Jack Daniels and Jim Beam. Those bastards.”

Finn clenches his fists and yells, “You fucking took off!”

“For Eden! She’s
dying,
Finn!”

He shakes his head; his brown eyes are dark and piercing, even in the late afternoon sun. “You still went down there for Greg Rodwell.”

Steady enough to let go of the post, I angrily cross my arms. “Yeah, I did. He needed a friend. Don’t you through your parents’ divorce?”

He grimly laughs and takes a step towards me. “That’s funny because the
one
person I need isn’t there for me when I need her.” His sarcastic smile drops and he growls, “Instead, she’s off with another
man
in another
state
doing who in the
hell
knows what with him!”

I gape at him in horror. “You think I went down there to
cheat
on you when his sister is in the hospital? How sick is that?”

Taking another step, he says, “Grief does a lot of shit to people. Did he cry and beg you to take his pain away? And the only way to do make him feel better was to fall on his dick, right?” I blink at him in shock, unable to fully comprehend what Finn just said to me. I can’t believe his jealousy is back, and so much worse, even after what Rod told him. What
I
told him.

Swallowing hard, hot tears spring to my eyes as he icily glares at me. I cry, “No! I wouldn’t do that! He’s not my boyfriend!”

“Are you sure? Because you act like he fucking is! You’ll do anything for him, no damn questions, but I have to
beg
you to spend time with me, to move in with me, to make love to me!”

“Are you serious? Have you forgotten last week after decorating? I was begging
you
!”

He derisively scoffs, “Wow! Once!”

“Finn! I only want you! I’m not in love with anyone else!” Tentatively, I move closer to him, which seems to put him on the defensive because he steps back as his hand goes to his mouth.

Knowing he wants to say something, but is withholding, I hesitantly ask, “What?”

His fingers tightly grip both sides of his jaw and then fall. Finn’s eyes blaze as he roars, “I know you’re fucking in love with him!”

I gasp, almost falling over, staring at him in utter astonishment as the tears trickle from my eyes. I don’t understand where he’s getting this!

I manage to whisper, “How could you say that?”

Finn swallows and glances over at the baseball field as he calmly asks, “How could you do that to me?”

“I’m not in love with him!” My shoulders heave as I lean my elbow on my arm that’s holding my stomach. We have to be drawing some kind of attention in our red T-shirts, especially since I still have my red cap on. Maybe people think my coach really is a stickler for his players making it to first base.