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The hot shower does nothing to ease the stiffness in my shoulders. It has nothing to do with my throwing arm and everything to do with the postgame interview, and the possibility of my father attending a game. It’s not surprising folks would assume such. Under normal circumstances, within a normal family, it would be expected. But if he shows, I don’t want to know about it. Certainly, he’s figured that out by now.
Grabbing my phone, I click to find no new messages from him about my game, and unfortunately, no messages from Avery. I know she won’t text me, she outright said as much, but it hasn’t stopped me from checking my phone more often than usual over the last week.
The team manager calls out through the locker room that it’s time to get to the bus. Tomorrow’s an off day, but we’re heading out tonight for our next road series. Off to the next city where we’ll play the day after tomorrow. Traveling’s never bothered me before, but I’ve been ready to get back to Canaan Falls since the moment I boarded the plane. That’s definitely an abnormal feeling. And it’s irritating as shit.
Fast forward a couple of hours later, and I’m stepping into the hotel room I’ll call home for the next few days. The walls feel too tight suddenly, and since tomorrow is a day off, I decide to head down to the hotel bar. One drink won’t hurt. I don’t indulge often during the season, but I will tonight.
Sliding onto the barstool, I signal the bartender, and order a whiskey neat. He slips the glass across the bar as I do my best to hide my face from the other guests, but I see one who shows recognition. Predictably, she slinks onto the seat beside me.
“Can I buy you a drink?” Her red lips make my stomach turn, and I shift to look straight ahead at the shelves of liquor bottles.
Avery’s stubborn face flashes in my mind. I can’t envision her ever wearing blood-red lipstick. She’s a natural beauty. Her glossy pink lips are what dreams are made of. I shake my head. “I’m good, thanks.”
“Are you sure?” She walks her fingers up the outside of my bicep in what I’m positive she thinks is a sexy way, but even with the fabric between her skin and mine, the touch skeeves me out. Legit makes my stomach drop.Notin a sexy way.
Shifting away from her, I down the whiskey, eye the bartender, and he refills it pronto. Then I down that one too. So much for one drink. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
“Ah. It’s a woman that has you all puffed up, because it’s not your performance on the field that has you here drinking.” When I don’t respond, she continues. “I could still help you out. Teach you a few techniques for your off-the-field performance.”
I spot Brooks walk in and slide onto a stool at the end of the bar. Turning to Red Lips, I give her as polite a nod as I can muster. “You’re not her.”
“Hm. Your loss.”
Grabbing my refilled glass, I move down the bar to sit next to Brooks.
“Figured you wanted to get to know your new friend a little better.” Brooks gestures to Red Lips who has moved on to her next victim across the bar.
“Nope. She’s not the one I want to get to know.” I laugh darkly, downing the shot. “The one I want to get to know won’t give my sorry ass the time of day.”
Brooks gives me an encouraging slap on the shoulder. “Good. You needed to eat some humble pie.”
“Yeah. Is that what this is called? Because it tastes like hell.”
“It’s your number one fan, huh? The one who slept through your game.”
“She didn’t fall asleep until after the game was over,” I say with mock outrage. Not that it makes a damn bit of difference. I laugh. “And that was after she finished her book during one of the biggest games of my career. And I’m having the best start to the season ever. But it’s not enough anymore.”
“Man, she really did get to you.” He looks down to his laced fingers as his hands rest on the bar. “I’m sure she’ll come around eventually.” He waves his hand in my general direction. “This is a lot to take in.”
“Thanks. I think.” As the bartender approaches to refill my glass, I say, “Can I just get the bottle. Charge it to my tab, and whatever he has.”
Brooks waves off the gesture. “Nah. No need for payment—my advice is free of charge. Plus, I think I’ll head upstairs too.”
“Let’s go.” I hold the bottle out, feeling the effects as we ride the elevator up to the tenth floor where most of the players are assigned.
As I push my door open (after swiping my key card a few times) I hear Brooks say my name. When I turn, he’s a few feet away. “Are you hoping Cash shows up at a game?”
“Nah. He’s a busy man, but I know he supports my career.”
“There’re no cameras here, Carter.”
He’s right. There’re no cameras around, and I’m still lying to protect the piece of shit who’s made my life miserable. Stepping a foot into the room, I give Brooks a nod and let the door shut behind me.
I hold up the bottle as I speak into the empty room. “No. I don’t want him at my game because the last time he showed up, I pitched the best game of my Little League career, and he rewarded me by breaking my arm when we got home. Because that was the day he saw me as competition. At the ripe old age of ten, ladies and gentlemen, he feared I’d be a better player than he ever was, and he’s hated me every day since.”
That’s the goddamn answer I should give the reporters, but it’s not them who I picture admitting the truth to for the first time. Maybe it’s because I’ve already given some of the truth to her, but I wish Avery was standing in this room with me. I wish she knew the real story. The real person I am and how I became this way.
Bringing the glass to my lips, I take a big gulp before plunking it down on the nightstand and falling across the perfectly made bed, drifting off into a drunken slumber.
