No Breaking My Heart (11 page)

“Give or take.”

“Any longer, and I'll come back for you.” He turned toward Alyn, and gave her a good-night hug. It was not a casual embrace, but a full-body press. She felt every inch of him.

“Give it a rest, Land,” Halo said, warning him off.

Landon eased back, only to drop a light kiss on her forehead. “'Bye, sweetheart.” He stepped off the sidewalk and into the night.

Alyn followed Halo to the front door. She held it for him. They climbed the stairs to the second floor, where she knocked on her mother's bedroom door. Martha was quick to let them in.

Her mom's face softened when she saw Danny being carried. “My boy tired himself out today,” she said. “Lay him on the bed. I'll deal with his pajamas later.”

Alyn pulled down the blanket, plumped his pillow. Halo lowered him on the mattress. Martha removed his tennis shoes, covered him with a sheet. Danny rolled onto his side. His eyes remained closed.

“A late night snack.” Alyn handed her mother the doggy bag. “Half a burger and small container of macaroni salad.” She glanced toward the bedroom door. “How's Quigley?”

“He's fine,” her mom reassured her. “He woke up, ate, and went back to his dog bed. He's been quiet ever since.”

Halo glanced at his watch, and Alyn nudged him toward the door. “I'll walk you out.”

“Trying to get rid of me?” he asked, waving to Martha from the door.

“Do you really want Landon returning for you?”

“He would, too.”

“He's a good friend.”

“We're bullet brothers.”

Alyn understood. They'd take a bullet for each other. Their bond was strong. She faced him in the hallway. “Have a good evening,” sounded lame, but she didn't know what else to say.

“It's all about the team tonight. Tradition. Beers and bonding. Even the married players show up.”

“Be careful.”

His smile was slow, sexy. “You worried about me?”

“You're a big boy, Halo Todd. Don't do anything foolish.”

“I'll hold that thought.”

They stood staring at each other, neither moving. Time slowed. His gaze lowered to her mouth, a visual touch. The sensation was warm, seductive, and so strong she felt kissed. Her breathing deepened. Her breasts grew heavy. Her stomach warmed. Her knees went weak.

Halo slapped his palms against his thighs. “Don't look at me like that.” His voice was gruff.

“Like what?”

“Like you want me to stay.”

She did. She didn't. She was conflicted. “You're reading me wrong.”

“Yeah, right.” He didn't believe her for a second. “What are your plans for tonight?”

“TV, reading, taking Quigley for a walk when he wakes up.”

His brow creased. “Sounds nice.”

“Sounds quiet compared to yours.”

“I would have invited you, but it's going to be loud, crazy. We act stupid. All before season starts.”

“Season opener, and you get serious.”

“Serious as I can be. I slip up sometimes.”

“Danny thinks you're perfect.”

“I'm not.”

“I know.”

“Ouch.” Hand over his heart, he left her then. “Later, babe.”

“Later.”

Six

“T
ime to toast,” said Will Ridgeway. The starting pitcher sat on a bar stool next to Halo. Landon and Zoo flanked them. Jake Packer stood to the side. Will held up his bottle of Heineken, his go-to brew for the night. He led off, “Look like a movie star, party like a rock star, fuck like a porn star.”

Bottles clanked, and the men drank deeply. All but Halo.

Zoo went next. He raised a long neck Red Dog. “To being single, seeing double, and sleeping triple.”

More drinking. Not Halo.

“May all your ups and downs be between the sheets,” from Jake. Who chugged a Coors.

Chuckles, and consumption. Halo had yet to raise his beer.

Landon was next. He preferred Land Shark. “Here's to those who've seen us at our best and seen us at our worst and can't tell the difference.”

Beers were polished off. Halo hadn't taken a sip.

The air went dead. The players stared at him. He was last to toast. He remembered a quote from Hemingway's Bar in Key West. “‘Always do sober what you said you'd do drunk. That will teach you to keep your mouth shut,' my man Ernest.”

Zoo's lip curled. “You yanking me?”

“Careful who you promise what to tonight.”

Zoo got the message. “No more marriage proposals. That's a morning headache worse than a hangover.” He cut Halo a look. “What's up with you, dude? Women have been shoving their tits in your face and flirting their asses off. You've ignored them. You sick or something?”

Or something
seemed about right, Halo thought. Or someone. Alyn Jayne. She was in his head. Under his skin. He couldn't shake her. No matter how hard he tried. He'd been with her five days straight. He should be tired of her. He wasn't. He wanted more. The feeling scared the hell out of him. He'd never felt anything like it.

He cared more about what she was doing at that moment than about the girl trying to climb onto his lap. He turned slightly on his stool, nudged her toward Jake. She pouted full red lips.

“I'm starting out slow,” Halo told his teammates. “I'll pick up speed.”

Zoo snorted. “When have you ever paced yourself?”

Never, Halo realized. More often than not he was half in the bag by ten. It was after that now, and he continued to drink one beer to everyone else's three . . . or four, given the redness of Zoo's eyes.

“Beer here,” Will called to the barkeeper.

Cold ones all around. Halo took a long pull on an Amstel. That pleased his buddies. They slapped him on the back, cheered him to kill the beast. He emptied the bottle. Then slammed it down on the bar. Zoo gave him a high five. Halo nursed the next one.

The players left him alone, then. For the moment, anyway. They were looking to hook up. The Blue Coconut was packed with women. All sizes. All shapes. All hot. All interested in ballplayers. Zoo had found two females to his liking. Both redheads. He liked threesomes. He split his attention, kissing one, then the other. Neither seemed to mind.

Halo rolled his shoulders, tried to relax. Found it difficult. Scanning the crowd, he caught sight of Rogues' captain Rylan Cates seated at a table near the back wall. Ry was talking to shortstop Brody Jones. They were the only married men on the team. The two hung out to show their unity. They were good for a couple hours, at the onset of the night. They would split when the coast cleared.

Halo had nodded to Ry on his arrival, but had yet to speak to him. Now was as good a time as any. Clutching his ice-cold beer, he pushed off his stool, and pressed flesh. The peanut bar was packed. Partiers continued to file in. No dress code. Women went skimpy. Board shorts on the bare-chested men. There was a lot of skin.

Baskets of shelled peanuts were offered to customers. Salty nuts that made everyone thirsty. Bar bills rose. The shells were shucked and tossed on the floor. They crunched underfoot. A corner jukebox played loudly. The oldies. “Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On” by Jerry Lee Lewis could barely be heard over the chatter and laughter. A life-size neon Elvis statue leaned against the vintage Wurlitzer. The skinny Elvis, not after he'd gained weight. Dartboards and pool tables drew customers to the back room.

The jukebox dropped a new record, and Creedance Clearwater Revival's “Bad Moon Rising” played. A chick with spiky blue hair who was drunk out of her skull fell into Halo. He steadied her with one hand. She wrapped her arms about him, went up on tiptoe, seeking a kiss.

“What the hell?” an angry male voice shouted in his ear. “Get your hands off Audrey.”

Halo held up both hands, one with his beer, the other open, palm out. “She knocked into me,” he told the pissed off man. He wore a khaki work shirt with
RON
stitched over the pocket.

“I saw you grab her.”

“You saw wrong, dude.”

“You calling me a liar?” Ron's words were slurred.

“He's not, but we are,” came from Landon. He stood on Halo's right. Zoo and Will now on his left. Game faces in place, they had Halo's back should the argument escalate.

Halo's accuser was not alone. Four men stuck by him, long-haired, narrowed-eyed, and built like bricks. Halo wasn't drunk enough to take pleasure in a fight. Still, Ron irritated the hell out of him.

The jerk's buddies came closer. The biggest, heaviest of the four poked Zoo in the chest. Halo had a bad feeling. Never poke a man who shrugged off life. Zoo was a six-foot-four death wish. He had a twice-broken nose, and looked more mixed martial arts fighter than ballplayer. His past was as dark as his expression. Bat-crap crazy ran in his blood.

Zoo's jaw worked now. He accepted the first jab from the man's middle finger with a sneer.
Do it again
, his expression challenged. The man took Zoo's dare. Socked him harder with his fist. Zoo grabbed his wrist, twisted, and the dude dropped. Like cement. He clutched his arm, crawled to his feet.

Time digested the incident. Breathing thinned. The crowd backed off. If a fight ensued, a misplaced punch could take out a bystander. Four ballplayers stood against five instigators. Anything could happen.

The woman who'd knocked into Halo had passed out on a nearby chair. Facedown on the table. She wasn't Halo's fight. He stared down her boyfriend. “Are we done here?” He kept his voice low, even. Giving the guy a chance to save face and back off.

“We're done if you're done.”

Halo gave him a short nod. They parted ways.

“I'm blowing,” said Will. “The Lusty Oyster's calling my name. What about you guys?”

“I'm gone. Let me grab the Reds,” Zoo agreed, referring to his twins.

“I'm with you, too,” said Landon. “I won our afternoon bets. You're in my debt, Will.” He glanced at Halo. “You coming? Hank Jacoby just texted. He and Sam Matthews are on their way. They got a late start.”

“They'll catch up.” Of that Halo was certain. “I was headed to talk with Rylan before the confrontation. I'll sit for ten, then find you.”

“Ry hired two stretch limos for the night. Chick chauffeurs. They'll get us to Boner's after the Oyster.”

“Sounds good.” A fist bump with Land, and Halo finished with, “Keep an eye on Zoo. He's had the taste of a fight. The littlest thing could set him off. No blood.”

Land gave him a thumbs-up. Halo made it to Rylan's table without further mishap. “Take my chair,” Brody offered. “It's past my bedtime.” The big man from a small town in West Virginia finished off his beer, made his way to the door. He seemed relieved to leave.

Halo dropped down. He noticed Rylan's empty glass, and flagged down a barmaid. “Whiskey?” he asked.

Ry shook his head. “Coke.”

“Make that a Coke and a club soda,” Halo told the server. She left to fill their order.

Ry looked questioningly at him. “You're not drinking?”

“I had a beer earlier.”

Rylan let it drop. “I saw your run-in,” he continued. “I didn't recognize any of the guys. They're not from around here. I appreciate you not fighting. My cousin owns the bar. He'd hate to close for repairs. You guys never leave a table or chair standing. Only splinters and toothpicks remain. Damages are costly.”

Halo shrugged. He'd initially wanted to flatten the son of a bitch, yet his conscience talked him down. He'd thought about Danny. The kid idolized him. Alyn was sweet. Gentle. How would he explain a black eye, bruised cheek, or broken jaw to them? No ballplayer wanted to start the season banged up. It wasn't worth it.

Ry shelled a peanut. “You've kept to yourself tonight.”

“You've been watching me?”

“Someone has to.” He popped the nut in his mouth, tossed the shell on the floor. “I heard you just pulled into town with your contest winner and two chaperones. A family affair.”

A Landon broadcast. “My winner's eight. His mom's nice. His sister—”

“Is a total babe, according to Will.”

His teammate would be right. Alyn was hot. And nice. It was her kindness and generosity that appealed to him most. She put others before herself. She kept track of Danny and took care of Quigley. She consulted and included her mother in all decisions.

He worried about people taking advantage of her. In Halo's mind, her previous boyfriend was a douche, and her business partner a criminal for wiping out her bank account. He would do his best not to let her down.

He rested his elbows on the table, admitted, “Alyn Jayne is a looker.”

“Are you looking?”

“I've side-eyed her.” A thousand times.

The barmaid brought their drinks; Halo paid for them.

“You tip bigger than anyone I know,” said Ry.

Halo shrugged. “I make decent money.”

“You're the—what?” Rylan scratched his head. “Third highest-paid right fielder in the league.”

“Second,” Halo corrected. He caught Ry's grin, and knew he'd been baited. Rylan knew exactly how much Halo earned compared to other players. Ry ranked first in center fielders. The Rogues were a highly competitive check-writing franchise. The organization paid their men well. The team paid the owners back with a solid season.

“It's a bonus year for you and Landon. High stakes,” said Rylan. “Play hard, surpass last year's stats, and you'll bank a bundle.”

It wasn't the money as much as proving to himself that he could focus and exceed expectations. It was do-or-die personal mission. One that started now. He needed to keep his act together, and get through the night without mishap.

“I hear you're in the best shape of your life.”

Again from Landon. He shrugged. “I worked out some.”

“You bought athletic training equipment, and hired a Pro-X handler. The company covers all bases of a sportsman's career. Fitness, nutrition, ambition. Three routines a day, each lasting ninety minutes.”

Halo narrowed his gaze, stared at him. “Did you have a hidden camera at my warehouse?”

“I know Pro-X,” Rylan confessed. “I used the company when I was traded from St. Louis to Richmond. I needed strength and body depth. They delivered.”

Halo rolled his shoulders. “Their workouts were killer. I swore at my handler hourly. My muscles hurt so badly the first week, I invested in a small whirlpool tank. That helped some.”

“The Pro-Xers are used to profanity,” said Ry. “I had a few choice words myself.”

“You, the dude who seldom gets mad, except at me?”

“You could tick off a priest.”

“I have.”

“You're getting your life in order.”

Halo didn't get many compliments from Ry. “It's slow going.”

“Fast doesn't stick. Keep at it. Steady wins.”

He was working on it. But restlessness stirred his soul at the most inopportune moments. He could only contain it so long. Longevity was not his friend. Distraction his worst enemy.

Rylan rolled his iced glass between his palms. Thoughtful. “I wanted to personally extend my appreciation for your contribution to the Island Walk Project.”

“What donation?” Halo played dumb.

“The six-figures you gave anonymously.”

“Not me, dude.”

“My sister says differently.” Rylan was serious. “Shaye was blown away by your generosity. She's usually QT when it comes to private donations, but, in your case, she was out of her mind and had to tell someone. I just happened to be at the bank when she received your money transfer into her project account.”

Rylan ate a few more peanuts, finished with, “Shaye's always envisioned a connecting foot bridge between Barefoot William and Shell Key. The island is small and barely a mile off shore. It's ideal for nature walks, shelling, and picnics. You can reach it by boat or Jet Ski, but not everyone has the means. The bridge will be a great addition. An ideal tourist attraction.”

“I was glad to help. Keep this between us, okay? No one else needs to know.”

“If that's what you want.”

“Yeah, I do.” Halo left it at that.

He stared across the thickening crowd. It was after eleven by the bar clock. Patrons continued to push through the door. It was standing room only around the dance floor. The noise made his ears ring.

Two sweet young things in tube tops and short-shorts navigated through the crowd to their table. Ben E. King's “Stand by Me” played on the jukebox, pressing couples together. Halo thought he recognized the girls from the previous season—they were townies, baseball groupies, and always in the bars. Their names both started with an “M.” Misty, Missy, Marty, something like that. One now swayed to the music, while the other sang along. Badly. High-pitched and off key.