Caught by You (20 page)

Mike had never been so happy to be going on the road. Tacoma, Colorado Springs, and Salt Lake City? Bring it on. Anywhere but Kilby, Texas, sounded good to him. He showed up fifteen minutes before the scheduled bus departure time to break the big news to Crush in person.

“The wedding's off,” he said, poking his head around the frame of the door of Crush's office. “I'm really sorry for the inconvenience. I'll pay for whatever work the planner's already put in.”

Crush, who'd been napping, boots propped on his desk, chair tilted back, opened one eye. “I see. She couldn't handle a gay brother-­in-­law, huh?”

Mike bristled. As furious as he was with Donna, he couldn't let something like that stand. “That's not it. She's the one who told me to go public.”

“Hmm. Problems with the pre-­nup? She refuse to sign?”

“
What?
No. Nothing like that. Donna's not after money.”

Crush uncrossed his legs and spun the chair around to face him. “Must have been the kid then. Can't blame you for not wanting to raise another man's child.”

“Christ, no. That wasn't it. Zack's the greatest.”

Crush shrugged. “Well. Young love. It's a roller coaster. What are you going to do?”

Young love
. What was the man talking about? He wasn't all that young, and love didn't even come into this situation. That thought gave him a weird, sick sensation in the pit of his stomach. As if he'd done something wrong. But he hadn't, had he? Donna had been way off base. Not him.

Crush picked up his iPhone and thumbed through it. Mike decided to give up on this aggravating conversation. “Anyway, just wanted to let you know that you'll probably get some more media attention.”

“Lucky me.”

“Is . . . uh . . . I mean, I hope I didn't cause any problems with my PSA.”

“No. I told you before you shot it. If I'm going down in flames, at least it'll be for a good cause.”

“I appreciate that.”

“And you know, some days I wonder if it wouldn't be simpler to just let the team go. Let me ask you this, Solo. You've had to make some tough calls in your time. Giving up the kidney. Leaving the Navy.”

Oh no. The last thing he wanted was a heart-­to-­heart with Crush Taylor. “Boss, the bus is going to leave any minute—­”

Crush carried on as if he hadn't said anything. “This town has been good to me. Except for that ice queen of a mayor and some ladies who have morality clauses tattooed on their asses.”

Nice. “Seriously, the bus—­”

“If you had a choice between selling the team to a family you've hated ever since they put your daddy out of business in second grade, or moving the team to another town that meant nothing to you, what would you do?”

“The Wades did that?”

“That's a tiny blip on the radar of what the Wades have accomplished here. You know, ­people thought I was crazy when I took over this team. The previous owner was going to move it out of Kilby, but even though this town's on the small side, the Catfish get a lot of support here. Sure, I might earn more profit somewhere else. But is profit really that important? The sewage plant makes a nice profit. Maybe I should go run that. Probably less crap to deal with.”

With a laugh, he dug out his silver flask and tipped it toward Mike, as if offering him a sip. Mike shook his head no, and Crush took a long swallow. When he was done, he looked at Mike as if he'd just noticed him. “Don't you have a bus to catch? What are you doing here shootin' the shit? The Grizzlies aren't going to beat themselves.”

To a glare from the driver, Mike jumped onto the chilly, air-­conditioned bus, the last one to claim a seat, which meant . . . oh hell, he was right behind Yazmer. Luckily, the pitcher wore mirrored sunglasses, headphones, and a deer hunter cap tilted over his face. No interaction necessary. He settled into his seat with a sigh of relief. For the length of this road trip, he could put thoughts of Donna on the back burner.

“Hey, Solo,” Trevor Stark called from across the aisle, two seats down, as the bus rumbled underway. “Heard you're a free agent now. Romantically speaking.”

So much for not thinking about Donna. Sweet Jesus, how had word gotten out that quickly? “Did you really just say ‘romantically'? Who are you, Fabio?”

“Fabio wishes he were me. ­Couple of the guys have been asking about your cute little ex. Just wanted to see if they have the all-­clear. If it was me, I wouldn't bother to ask. But some guys have ‘morals.' ” Trevor air-­quoted the word “morals.”

“Which guys?”

“What does it matter? You're not with her anymore, right?”

He was saved from answering by a vibration from his phone. Incoming text. He clicked on it. It was from Jean-­Luc.
Joey in the ER. Come as soon as you can
.

 

Chapter 20

C
HICAGO IN THE
summer. Sticky, muggy heat radiated from buildings and sidewalks. A gray haze hung outside the windows of Chicago General Hospital. Inside, Mike sat at Joey's bedside while Jean-­Luc slouched against the wall, looking as worn and weary as a cosmopolitan businessman possibly could.

“How long has this been going on?” Mike still couldn't believe they hadn't called him earlier.

“Don't yell at me, little brother. Doctor's warnings.” Joey looked terrible. His skin hung loosely from his neck, its color a pale puce. Dark circles ringed his eyes.

Mike sank into a chair next to his bed. “I should have been here.”

“To do what? Watch me die?”

He buried his head in his hands. “You're not going to die.”

“I am, Mike. We all are. I'm just going sooner than anticipated.”

“No.
No
.” He couldn't bear it. Couldn't stand to hear Joey talking this way.

“Listen to me, Michael Xavier Solo. I'm not interested in making a drama here. I just want to spend some time with you. I don't want recriminations or rendings of clothing. I nearly died four years ago from the E coli. I'm at peace with whatever's coming.”

Mike glanced at Jean-­Luc, who was staring miserably at his loafers. “What about Jean-­Luc? Is he at peace with it?”

“It's harder for him. Don't make it worse,” Joey said sharply. “Now come on. I want to hear about you. Something good. Something I can think about while . . . while I lie here.”

Something good. Mike's brain was operating about as well as a plateful of fried worms. What was good in his life? “The PSA is getting a lot of attention.”

Joey brightened. “So I hear. I've had to decline all requests for comment, but I'm happy it went over well.”

“It did.”

His mind wandered away from the PSA, toward the conversation with Donna that had inspired it. His brother would love her. He could just imagine him leaning close, peppering her with questions, eyes shining with the delight of meeting someone new and refreshing. And Donna would have teased him the way she did everyone. She would have become his favorite little sister in the time it took her to give him a nickname.

But he and Donna were through. That was never going to happen.

He realized Joey had asked him a question about the Friars and his chances of getting called up. “Duke thinks it's a possibility. Their catcher's got a pulled groin muscle and their reserve catcher's in a massive slump. Hasn't gotten a hit in the past twelve games. It's still early, so they could bring me up to get some games under my belt before things heat up in September.”

“So, it could happen. After all your hard work. Everything you sacrificed.”

“I didn't sacrifice shit,” Mike said fiercely. “Nothing that mattered.”

“Angela?” Joey asked softly. “You sacrificed her.”

“She made that choice all on her own.” He didn't want to talk about Angela. In fact, it made him nervous because she volunteered at this very hospital, accompanying Father Kowalski during some of his end-­of-­life visits. That was one of the reasons he'd fallen so hard for her, that compassionate, angelic side of her.

“Has Angela ever come to visit you here?” he asked abruptly.

“No. Why? I'm sure she knew she wouldn't be welcome.”

“Just wondered why you wouldn't qualify for a dose of her saintly presence.”

Jean-­Luc spoke from across the room. “I saw her in the cafeteria once. She asked about you, Michael. Asked how you were doing with the team.”

“Oh, I'm sure she cares deeply about that. She told me I'd never make the majors.”

“
What?
” Joey reacted with more vigor than he had since Mike had arrived. “When was that?”

A nurse tapped on the door, then entered, wheeling a tray with several shrink-­wrapped trays of food.

“After she dumped me. One of her reasons was that I couldn't take care of a family if I didn't have a career. I told her my plan to switch to baseball and she laughed. Said that was a kid's dream. Told me to grow up.”

“Why, that little piece of . . . of . . . tiramisu.” Joey never swore, and never delivered insults. “How dare she?”

The nurse, a brisk, efficient Jamaican woman, was busy taking Joey's vitals. She shot a sharp glance at Mike. “You're getting my patient all revved up, mon. Can't tell if that's a good thing or a bad thing.”

“Good,” Joey assured her. “Very good. This is my brother, a famous ballplayer. He's about to get called up to the major leagues.”

“Unless we're talking about the Cubbies, I'm gonna have to root against him.”

“Understood. It's the San Diego Friars,” added Mike. “And it's not a sure thing, the call-­up. You never know. I could get traded. I could get released. It's baseball. Anything could happen.”

The nurse smiled and unloaded the tray of food. “Well good luck to you then. If this man here likes you, then I'll have to make some room for a Friar in my heart. He's a fine man, this here.”

“That he is,” Mike said tightly, because it was too true. The kind of true that could rip your heart out.

The nurse wheeled the cart from the room. Jean-­Luc came to Joey's bedside to inspect the offerings. “Another takeout night,” he proclaimed. “Are you in the mood for I Porcini?”

“Perfect.” Joey turned to Mike. “I see little point in eating anything unappetizing. At this moment, life is too short for hospital food. And I do believe I just figured something out about you and Angela.”

“What?”

“You want to make it to the majors to prove her wrong. In fact, you aren't entirely over Angela.” Joey's wry, knowing gaze seemed to penetrate right through to Mike's worst secrets. The memory of his conversation with Donna in Crush's pantry came back to him. She'd said the same thing.

“No. The first part, maybe. I mean, yes, there might have been an ‘I'll show her' spoken at some point. Then my natural competitiveness took over, and I want to make it because I want to be the best. The best I can be, anyway.” He leaned back in his chair. “The rest is a crock. I'm
over
Angela. I don't think about her anymore.”

“You said you stopped believing in love because of her.”

“Yes.”

“Then I disagree. You aren't completely over her. It's not that you don't believe in love. You're still holding out hope that she'll want you back.”

Mike nearly toppled his chair backward out of sheer indignation. “Not a
chance
.”

A lively flush flooded Joey's cheeks. “Jean-­Luc, back me up here. I'm on to something.”

“Certainly, it's true. Beyond a doubt. A man like Mike, with such a loving heart, doesn't simply give up on
l'amour
. He still feels it. Still dreams of it, in his secret self.”

“What?” Mike surged to his feet. “You're both out of your gay little minds.”

Joey cackled. “We've hit a nerve.”

“
Bien sur
,” agreed Jean-­Luc. He scanned through a menu on his phone. “Osso buco for you,
mon amour
?”

“And a bottle of cognac.”

“You can't have a bottle of cognac. Aren't you on a restricted diet? Shouldn't you be?” Mike protested.

“No, I should not be, and I will not be,” Joey declared. “I'm doing this my own way. I will eat what I want, I will be with whom I choose, and I will say what I want. That's how I've lived, and I see no reason to change that now.”

Mike burrowed a hand through his hair, feeling completely helpless. What magic words would convince Joey he was going to pull through? Was it even true? He watched his brother and Jean-­Luc discuss their order with the meticulous attention of two surgeons planning a heart transplant. When they'd finally made their decision, Joey turned back to Mike.

“So. My brother. There's something I want you to do for me.”

“Anything.”

“At two o'clock tomorrow, a small group will be gathering in the chapel to discuss end-­of-­life care. I want you to be there.”

“Why?”

“Because it's important to me. Are you going to argue with your big brother?”

“I'm not arguing. Did you hear me argue?”

“I could see you arguing in your head.”

“Joey, you know how much I love you, but you can't see into my head.”

“You might be surprised. Something happened with Donna, didn't it?”

Mike felt his expression shift. He couldn't maintain a poker face when it came to Donna. His whiplash emotions about her made that impossible. “You're annoying as fuck, you know that?”

“Two o'clock tomorrow.”

At two o'clock, Mike stepped into the quiet chapel, with its single stained-­glass window featuring a sapphire-­blue dove against a backdrop of high-­rises, and locked gazes with the last person he wanted to see: Angela. She looked incredible, curse her Italian genes. Her long ebony-­black hair was swept into a braid that fell over one slim shoulder. She'd lost weight over the past four years, which made the delicate modeling of her cheekbones even more pronounced, her eyes wider and more mysterious, full of secrets.

Mike shook his head, disgusted with himself. Full of secrets? What was wrong with him? He dragged his gaze away and spotted Father Kowalski in the group. He raised a hand in greeting.

After whispering something to the priest, Angela glided toward him. She wore the kind of loose, figure-­hiding dress that used to drive him crazy with wondering. “Hello, Mike.”

“Hi, Angela. How are you?”

“I'm well. And you? I'm sorry to hear about your brother.”

Mike stiffened.
Sure she was
. “Thank you.”

“I mean that sincerely,” she added with a spark of spirit. “I have always wished the best for Joey.”

“That's so sweet.” He smiled with complete insincerity. “So, what's the meeting about? Joey wanted me to stop by. I have no idea why.”

A smile touched her lips. “Perhaps he wanted us to cross paths, after all this time.”

He frowned uncertainly. She was probably right; why else would Joey have insisted he come to this particular meeting? Did he really believe that Mike still wanted Angela, and set this up as a way to get them back together? “If he weren't on his last kidney, I might have a word with him about that.”

An expression of distaste marred the perfection of Angela's face. A very familiar expression. He used to tiptoe around that look, dreading its appearance. He'd forgotten that feeling, as if he was a little boy getting the kitchen floor dirty.

It crossed his mind that Donna would have found that funny. And that she never looked at him with distaste. Even in their most down-­and-­dirty sexual . . .

Oops.
Chapel.
Angela. Broken engagement.

“Anyway, we're just wrapping up. Would you like to get a cup of coffee in the cafeteria?” Angela was asking him. Just wrapping up, huh? Joey definitely must have planned it this way. After a long hesitation, he agreed, and they left the chapel. It felt completely surreal to be walking beside the woman who had shattered his heart. The woman who had enthralled his horny young imagination for so many years. The woman who'd granted him her virginity once they were engaged, and taken his. Now they were strolling down the hospital corridor as if they were strangers. Punching the elevator button. Watching for the light that would herald the elevator's arrival.

And he felt . . . nothing.

When he'd first asked Angela to a movie, his heart had been racing so fast he'd practically gasped the words. The first time they'd made love, he kept losing his erection out of sheer anxiety. He'd wanted it to be perfect. Since his only experience was with kissing, he'd holed up in his room with
The Joy of Sex
and
How to Bring a Woman to Orgasm Every Single Time
. The first time he unsnapped her bra, his hands had been shaking so hard he punched his own fist. Bruised a knuckle. He'd tried everything in the book, but if she'd experienced an orgasm, she'd kept it to herself.

Instead, she'd smiled serenely and said, “Do you feel better now?”

As if the only purpose of sex was to relieve a guy's blue balls.

The elevator dinged, and the door opened. Great, he had to ride in an empty elevator with Angela. He didn't want to be alone with her.

Why not? He didn't have an answer to that, so he stepped into the elevator. The doors slid shut, enclosing them in uncomfortable silence. Maybe she was waiting for him to start a conversation, since he'd always been the more talkative of the two of them. But she'd invited
him
for coffee, not the other way around. He cleared his throat. “Was there something in particular you wanted to discuss, Angela? I don't have much time.” Meaning, he really wanted to get the hell out of there and get back to Joey.

Her eyes lifted to his. The dark, tranquil beauty of them hit him like a punch in the gut. “Well . . . I heard that you are no longer engaged. The ladies, you know, they like to gossip. They like to talk about you now and then.”

“You shouldn't listen to gossip.” He didn't want to discuss Donna with her, or his engagement, or really, any aspect of his life.

“So it's not true?”

When he didn't answer, she seemed to come to her own conclusion. “If it's true, and you are free of your engagement, I wanted you to know that my parents have had a change of heart.”

“Your parents?”

“And me,” she added quickly. “My parents and me. We all think that . . . well, that things might be different if you did become a member of the Friars.”

“I don't get it. How would things be different? I'm already a member of the Friars organization. Assigned to a Triple A team, but a member of the Friars. They're the ones who sign my paycheck.”