Over the Fence: Lyssa Layne's Baseball Romances (31 page)

“How old is he?” Mia asks, her voice cracking.

I thread my fingers through hers and run my thumb over the back of her hand. Then I pull her against me; her head rests on my chest and my other hand runs through her hair. This is not how I saw this going at all, but I guess it’s better than the alternative. Now’s the time to tell the truth.

“His name is Toby and he’s four, five this summer. When I got called up to the Minutemen, I thought I’d made it. I had a multi-million dollar contract, I was getting paid to do what I love, I had women whenever I wanted, and I let the power and the fame make my decisions for me. I messed around with a lot of women that first year in the big leagues, but only slept with a select few. That Christmas, I got a card in the mail with an ultrasound picture and a note where to meet. At first I thought it was some kind of sick joke but curiosity got the best of me. I went to the diner listed on the card and I immediately recognized a woman that I’d slept with after our last home game. I didn’t have a condom on me the night we were together and she’d told me she was on birth control. I still don’t know if she lied or it just didn’t work or what. Either way, that summer my son was born.”

“Your son? Don’t you mean ‘our son’?”

I shake my head. “She was twenty-one and still in school. She didn’t want a kid so we went to court and she signed over all guardianship to me. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing either, but I wasn’t about to let the kid get into the system, I mean fuck, I was making more than ten-grand to play one game.” I break and laugh at a memory. “I remember holding him right after he was born and thinking, what the hell have I gotten myself into? At the same time, I wondered if I’d ever experience something so amazing and life-changing as holding a tiny human in my arms. He had my heart from the second I saw him.”

I hear Mia sniffle and I kiss her head. I always knew women loved babies and were emotional, but I’m still shocked at her reaction.

“Is he moving to L.A.?”

Now it’s me that has tears to blink back. “Not right away, one of the many reasons I was so pissed at the trade. My parents moved to Milwaukee when he was born and have helped me raise him. My mom is staying there with him until I’m settled and ready for them to come down.”

Mia doesn’t move against me, no tears, no talking, nothing. We sit in silence until I can’t stand it anymore. “Mia, Toby’s mom was the last woman I slept with because I’m afraid to be a father again. I’m doing the best I can with my son, but I know it’s not enough.” I trail my finger down her arm and let out a low laugh. “That’s why I’m Mr. Safety.”

She finally moves and sits up, looking into my eyes. Tears run down her face. Moving my hand to her cheek, I kiss her lightly and wipe them away. Mia leans back and her words are like a punch in the gut.

“Tate, I’m not on birth control.”

Mia

Tate is out of bed and across the room the moment he registers my words. It’s as though I have the plague. I can see a vein pulsing in his forehead as his face turns red with anger. I need to explain, and fast.

“What the fuck, Mia? What kind of scam—”

I scramble out of the bed, rushing to him and placing my finger on his lip to cut him off. “Stop, Tate, before you say something you’ll regret.”

I would never do this with my ex. He’d never let me try to calm him down in a moment like this. Although Tate’s clenching his fists and that vein keeps throbbing out of his temple, I’m oddly at peace, probably because I know Tate will like what I have to say.

With a deep breath, I admit, “I can’t get pregnant, Tate. I can’t have kids.”

I see Tate’s shoulders drop as he relaxes and his mouth toys between a frown and a smile. Although I know Tate is relieved to hear this news, as it’s obvious he doesn’t want more children, it still doesn’t make the pain that I feel every time I say that any easier.

His hand moves to my hair as he runs his fingers through it. The other hand finds my waist and pulls me against him. Our bare chests touching as we rest our foreheads against one another’s.

“Mia, I’m so sorry.”

Tears fill my eyes again. He apologized for something that wasn’t even his fault. In my marriage, there was no empathy, just blame. It was always my fault.

Tate kisses me softly. “Please don’t cry, baby.”

I nod, trying not to, but the emotion I always carry knowing that I’ll never be a mother takes over me and I begin to sob. Tate’s arms move around my body and he holds me tightly. He walks us over to the bed where he pulls me into his lap and pets my hair as he tries to calm me.

A few minutes later, my emotional outburst subsides and after a few short breaths, I look at Tate and laugh. “I’m sorry about that.”

He rubs my back. “It’s okay, Mia. Do you want to talk about it?”

Wiping at my eyes, I shrug. “I had a ruptured appendix in college which left scar tissue on my Fallopian tubes. My husband and I tried for a couple years to get pregnant until finally we went to a specialist who explained what happened. I bet that makes you feel better, doesn’t it?” I say with a laugh, trying to play things off.

Tate shakes his head and kisses my shoulder. “No, Mia, it doesn’t. I’d never feel good when you’re going through so much pain.”

Tears fill my eyes again; this man knows exactly what to say. I move my lips and press them lightly against his. “I can’t wait to meet Toby,” I say softly.

He grins. “Good. Although, he might try to steal you away from me.”

I laugh and turn around to face him, straddling his legs. “I don’t know, I’m slowly beginning to think you’re the perfect guy…for me.”

Tate raises his eyebrows. “Really?”

I nod and with a quick twist, he flips me on my back as I giggle. I reach for the condom on the nightstand but Tate grabs my hand pushing both my arms over my head and grasping my hands with his. His lips press on mine and our tongues dance. I let out a loud gasp as I feel him enter me. Letting out a long moan, I try to enjoy the one positive in my situation.

CHAPTER 11

Mia

Sweat trickles down my forehead into my eye. It burns and I quickly squeeze it shut as though that will do any good. With my forearm, I wipe the rest of the perspiration away and glance at the clock. Tate won’t arrive for another couple hours so I have plenty of time to finish putting this fire pit together before he arrives.

Since I last saw him at spring training a couple of weeks ago, I’ve been getting his house ready for him to move in. I’ve unpacked plenty of clients before without them being there, but this time it’s much more intimate. While unpacking his box for his office, I’ve learned that he’s a Mac guy, his reading is limited to
Sports Illustrated
, and he’s a proud father. He has more pictures of Toby framed than he does of his teammates and awards.

My phone beeps and I see a text from Asher. Wiping my forehead again, I mutter as I read it. I forgot that we were meeting for dinner. I don’t know how it slipped my mind. I plan on finally making a proposal to him for our business. It’s taken me months to feel well enough prepared to even discuss this with him. Recently though, I’ve been too consumed trying to make Tate’s place perfect that the meeting date had escaped me.

The fire pit will have to wait. Tossing the screwdriver with the metal waiting to be pieced together, I head inside. I wouldn’t normally do this, but I’m late and I really don’t think the new owner will mind. I strip off my clothes and pull my hair into a tight bun then take a quick shower. Twenty minutes later and I’m in Tate’s kitchen leaving the keys to my ‘Vette and a note telling him to enjoy a drive along Highway 1.

Outside, the cab I called honks, letting me know they’ve arrived. I slide into the backseat in my helio green Ellison dress. After giving the driver the address where we’re meeting, I lean back in the seat. Nervously, I slide the cameo pendant hanging in the square neckline of the dress back and forth along the chain.

When we got divorced, we both refused to buy the other out of the business. I simply couldn’t afford it at the time since all of our finances were in his name and I got screwed over royally. When the divorce was final, Asher wasn’t a total jerk. He bought me a house and the alimony I received for the first year helped me survive, but I was forced to continue working with him just to pay the bills. Six months after our marriage ended, I proposed the idea to start flipping houses to him because I couldn’t do it alone. Luckily, Asher is a money-hungry man so he agreed.

A year later and that endeavor has allowed me to have enough money to officially buy him out. Honestly, I don’t think he’ll go for it, but at least now, he could buy my half of the business and I have enough clients and almost enough money to start my own operation. And then I’d officially be done with him and I’d be free.

When we pull up in front of the restaurant, I adjust the slim belt just below my bust line and take a deep breath. Looking out the window, I see my ex-husband looking stylish in his pressed tan Armani pants, pinstripe button-up shirt, and the matching sportcoat. His dark complexion is a gorgeous contrast against the suit. One hand resides in his pocket while the other scrolls through his phone. The man never stops working; it’s where I learned it from. He may be a horrible husband but he’s one amazing businessman.

Paying the cabbie, my black Miu Miu Peep-toe heels hit the pavement. Standing up, I hold on tightly to my Dolce & Gabbana black and white lace handbag. His blue eyes meet mine and he flashes a million dollar smile full of perfectly straight teeth. I wipe my sweaty hands on my dress and quickly smile back. Despite all the horrible things he’s done to me in the past, I have to play nice.

Slipping his phone into his pocket, he walks toward me, holding out his hand. His left hand takes mine and he leans forward, kissing my cheek. “You’re late, Amelia,” he scolds me like a child.

I return the cheek kiss and try to take my hand back but he holds on to it. I don’t fight him; I have a bigger battle to push for. “Sorry, Ash, I was finishing up a client’s new home before they arrive in town.”

We head into the Greek restaurant. The food is fabulous and the location is perfect for a discreet meeting. I should know, Asher’s not only brought me here before, but many of his mistresses that the waitresses always confuse me for. His hand moves to the small of my back as he guides me through the restaurant to his favorite table in the corner. The one where you can see anyone entering the establishment but no one can see you. It’s his favorite hideout place.

We weave between the tight space, tables crammed together so they can seat maximum capacity at fifty diners. Through tight spots, Asher moves both his hands to my waist and my body starts to tingle. I hate the way my body betrays me with his touch.

Reaching our table, Asher waits for me to slide into the booth, which is large enough for six people. Of course, when he slides in, he sits right beside me. I scoot ever so slightly away from him, hoping he doesn’t notice.

“Something wrong with the ‘Vette?”

I swallow hard. He knows it’s my baby so I have to be careful. “No, just dropped it off for a tune-up.”

He studies my face carefully. Luckily, the waitress comes to take our order. As usual, Asher orders for both of us then turns to me as she leaves. His hand moves to my neck and I tense slightly as he flicks my pearl and diamond droplet earrings with his finger. He moves his head close to mine and whispers, “Looking beautiful as ever tonight, my Amelia.”

I quickly lean away and look at him. “I’m not yours any more, Asher. Remember that thing that happened two years ago? Our divorce?”

Asher leans back, his arm hovering above me as it rests on the booth behind us. He takes a sip of his wine. “If that’s what you want to think, sweetheart.”

My skin gets goose bumps at his tone. Sitting up taller, I decide to bite the bullet. Reaching into my purse, I pull out an envelope with the contract my lawyer drafted. “Asher, we need to talk about our business. I think it’s time we officially split ways, personally and professionally.”

Asher raises his eyebrow again as he takes the envelope from me. I bite my lip to keep from smiling as he opens it and begins to read through the papers.
He’s actually considering it!
He’s on the last page of the document when our food arrives. Without saying a word, he sets the papers beside him and begins eating his mydia saganaki.

Finishing his first bite of mussel, he looks at me. “Are you going to eat?”

Like an obedient child, I nod and put my spoon into my fakes. Taking a bite, I can barely swallow I’m so nervous. Instead of eating, I push my spoon around in the bowl. Asher enjoys his meal making small talk about anything and everything except my proposal.

Finally, I interrupt him. “What do you think?”

He stares at me blankly. “About what?”

I set my spoon down, narrowing my eyes. “The proposal.”