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“You made it, man.” Turner clasps my shoulder. “Most of us have been here three days, soaking up the free rooms and all the city has to offer.”
I look around. “No kids this trip?”
He shakes his head and looks down. “Twenty-seven years old, a three-time divorce?—”
“Thought you and Claudia were working through things?”
“Thought so too. Went back to the LA house, and the locks were changed. Called her, all, What the hell? She fed my divorce papers through the mail slot and then a positive pregnancy test.” He holds up six fingers. “Six kids. Three exes with fat pads, alimony, and child support. I have a two-bedroom apartment in New York the size of their closets.”
“Kids are a blessing. Those women?—”
“All gold diggers,” Frankie who plays centerfield says as he takes my other side.
“My first wife Kathleen wasn’t,” Turner admits.
“Forget about them. Let’s go hit the tables and then the strip clubs. At least professional women take the money up front. Am I right?” Tony, who plays short calls to the guys. “Let’s make it rain for the honest ladies of Vegas.”
“I’m whipped, man.” Which is code for hell no, I have shit to do to prepare for tomorrow.
At the same time, Turner says, “I’m hungry.”
Tony throws up his hands. “We’re in Vegas.”
“So is the rest of the team.” Turner lifts his chin. “I’m sure they’d love to help you two make it rain.”
“No doubt.” He holds up his phone as he walks away. “You have my number when you change your minds.”
Turner looks like hell, like he hasn’t slept in days and like he shouldn’t be left alone.
“Wouldn’t mind eating before I get some shut-eye.”
As I follow Turner toward one of the restaurants, I look at my phone to see if Whit has replied to my good night text. I mean, hell, I didn’t even get a thumbs-up last I checked. But there’s one there now, and that makes me giddy—fucking giddy.
After we each order a prime rib, I watch him, sitting across the table, as he looks down at his hand, twisting his ring around and around in circles. The fact that it’s still on his finger is telling. He loved her and probably still does. I know they split up mid-season, but she was at our last game.
“People warned me that she was playing the same game ex number two did. Guess I should have listened.” He looks up at me. “Love’s a bitch.”
“You have five, going on six, kids. The kind of love they give isn’t a bitch. It’s the best.”
“Until you’re not around because you’re out here playing ball in order to afford the lifestyle they’ve grown accustomed to.”
“I’m not gonna pretend I know what that looks like.”
“Sucks because they’re involved in everything, so there’s never enough time, but you don’t want them to not find their passion, you know?”
I lift my chin.
“My exes can’t even get along so that the five I have now can be at a game once in a while together. My oldest is eight, the youngest three, and now a baby is coming.” He leans back and scrubs both hands up and down his face, then leans forward. “At least when the others were babies, I was with their moms. I got those hours after I got home late from a game, and I’d just scoop them up and hold them on my chest as I watched highlights. Feed them when they woke up and let their mom sleep. Kathleen and Sharon too. I won’t have that this time.”
“I’m sorry, man, truly.”
He waves his hand in front of himself. “Not gonna bring you down. Talk to me. Tell me something good.”
I shake my head, the corner of my lips twitching up before I can stop it.
“Spill it, man.” He chuckles.
“It was finally nice to be home.”
