#Score (39 page)

I
f you would have told
me months ago that I’d be lying in bed next to Paige, my fiancée right now, I would have laughed. Marriage? Yeah, no. That wasn’t in the cards for me—only football and more football. With a side of football.

She giggles when I tickle her side after she makes some comment about me reading all the books in our library—excuse me—her library. I like reading, sure, but not as much as she does. There’s no way I can get through all the books. When I pull away from her, I see a stray piece of fuzz from who knows where in Paige’s hair, and I pick it out, catching a soft look on her face.

“Now that your dad’s out of the picture for good, what are you going to do about the team?”

This I’ve had to think about for a while. There was a reason that I didn’t call Paige straight away after I essentially broke everything off with my dad, and although part of the reason was because I wanted to set everything up here in anticipation for my proposal to her, another part was because I had to think long and hard about my future and what I wanted from it.

“Actually, I’m going to stay with the team. I mean, the contract is a good one, and I’m already looking for a new agent, which shouldn’t be a problem, considering all the big contacts Maine has to go through. But I’m hoping that maybe without my dad there, I’ll be able to enjoy the game for what it’s worth. I mean, I’ve always loved football, don’t get me wrong. When you’re stressed out with every damn thing about it as much as I’ve been my whole life, it can be a little bit of a hard pill to swallow. So maybe, without him hanging around here, it’ll be different. At least, that’s what I hope,” I reply to her, rolling over onto my back and looking straight up at the ceiling. “Plus, how else am I going to pay for the awesome life I have planned out for us? We’ll need a fat bankroll for all that, right?” I add a little grin at the end, knowing that she and I both couldn’t give a shit less about that part.

“Or you could help me open my new physical therapy office here in San Antonio. I might end up meeting a really hot patient with a football injury, though, so I’m not sure how you feel about that.”

I give Paige a little side-eye, smiling when she starts to laugh out loud at her own joke. “I don’t know if I should be horrified that you’d dismiss my love so quickly . . . or flattered that you think I’m really hot.”

C
oming
home from Texas is so different from last time that I laugh when I let myself in Stacey’s house. I guess I’m not technically home any more . . . not since I’m engaged to Elijah and moving in with him this week.

“Anyone here?” I call out, setting my purse down on her kitchen countertop. “I’m back!”

Stacey manages to sneak up on me, somehow, even though her burgeoning belly is poking out, making it a little harder for her to walk. Jesus, she’s actually pregnant.

“Hey! How are you?” she asks as she pulls me into a big hug. It’s kind of odd, considering this isn’t the question we usually ask each other. We see each other all the time enough to know better, but I guess that’s going to change. A little part of me crumbles up, because now, I realize what I’m having to give up by moving away and following my dreams. It doesn’t change anything, but it sure as hell makes it harder.

“Everything is good. How are you feeling?”

Stacey reaches down and rubs her belly without even noticing, a smile slowly growing on her face. “I’m finally over being sick. It only took me 4 ½ months, but still.”

4 ½ months? That can’t be right. “Wait a second. Have you been holding back on me? You’re 4 ½ months pregnant? I thought you had only just found out when you told me.”

She gives me a sheepish look and shakes her head. “No. I was actually already twelve weeks when I told you. I just didn’t want to tell anybody . . . you know? Just in case. I have another big surprise for you, though.”

I open my eyes wider, as if that’s going to make a difference. “Really? Are you having triplets?”

“Oh God, please don’t jinx me. No, but we’re having a boy,” she exclaims, doing a little dance along with me.

“Oh my God, a boy? That’s going to be so much fun for you. What does Rafael think? I bet he’s so over the moon right now.”

“Yeah, he’s pretty stoked, to say the least. But we both just want a healthy baby, so it doesn’t matter to either one of us. But you know what that means, right?”

“Baby clothes.” We both join in together, laughing as I pull her in for another big hug. It’s hard to believe that I will have to miss out on all of this when I move to Texas.

I can tell Stacey’s thinking the same thing. “There’s a thing called Skype, so learn to use it. Okay? I will see you like every fucking day, and I’m not even kidding here. You get all the gross details like about my hemorrhoids and if I tear or anything gross like that. Telling you all of it.”

I roll my eyes at my sister, laughing. “It’s not like I’m not going to be there for the birth. Of course I’m going to be here when you actually have him, but Skype it is. I’m definitely down for a little bit of video chatting if that means I get to keep up with your pleasantly puffy face. God, I can’t wait to see how big and veiny your boobs get. You’re going to be like a big, squishy marshmallow, just like I always dreamed. It’s about damn time.”

“Uh! So rude!”

–

“
I
miss
you so much already,” I say into the phone, closing my eyes as I picture Elijah’s face. “When are you going to be here, again?”

His deep laugh rumbles, and I bite my lip, suddenly wishing he really were here with me so I could take advantage of him. Again and again. “It’s only one more practice on the field, and then I’ll be out there with you. Coach T is adamant that I get through all three practices if I want to make it off the bench this season. And I don’t want to throw off my chances.”

“Hmph,” I pout. “If he insists. I’m already hating packing up all these stupid boxes. I don’t remember having this much shit to pack when I first moved into the place. I think this was your plan all along—make me come out here and pack all my stuff up while you get to go hang out with your boys and whatnot. I have to do the hard part.”

“Would you like to trade places? I can put a couple of pairs of shoulder pads on you, lace you up in those tight pants, and then stick a helmet on your head. I can’t guarantee how long you last, but we can absolutely trade places if you want. I have no qualms about boxing up a whole bunch of crap at your apartment.”

“Hey. My stuff isn’t crap. I appreciate the offer, but I’ll have to decline. I guess I’ll find a way to get through it somehow. Most likely booze. And pizza.”

He laughs at me again before telling me how much he loves me and hanging up. I look around the room at the half-filled boxes I packed so far, groaning to myself. And I still have to pack up my office in the next couple of days, too.

–

H
e squeezes
my hand tightly as we walk up the pathway beside the mausoleum. Maureen’s grave is a few rows down from it, right next to the tree line of the forest that borders the cemetery.

My face is still wet from crying after having seen my mom for the first time in months. She’s not doing any better, and in fact, she’s getting worse, from what I can tell, but Stacey promises me that she will visit her at least a few times a week and tell her about how I’m doing. There’s always the visits I plan on making, too, especially when Stacey finally gives birth to baby Brandon. It’s not enough, but it’s the best I can do in my situation. I try to not give into the guilt that’s wanting to smother me and think about my last goodbyes with my sister. She wanted to keep it short and sweet because I knew that she was pretty emotional anyway, given the circumstances, but then again, so was I.

I gave her one last gift—my favorite copy of
The Wizard of Oz
, with a little note to my nephew scrawled in the top corner, just like Elijah had done for me all those years ago.

And here we are, coming to say our last goodbye to his mother. Of course, Maureen hasn’t been around for a long time, but it still feels right to be here to say goodbye to her. After I place a new wreath of fresh flowers at her grave and he cracks a joke or two before those telltale tears start slipping down his face, we walk over to the tree. The very same tree Elijah climbed and told me how we should run away together. Maybe if he would’ve known then, things would be different now. But then . . . things are perfect the way they are for me, and I wouldn’t want to change anything that happened between then and now—not any more.

We sit at the base of the tree, Elijah patting my knee while we both look over the rest of the cemetery. It’s peaceful in this somber afternoon, the cold finally seeping in through the late November clouds above us. Back in Texas, it won’t be as chilly as it is here, so I try to soak it in as much as I can, closing my eyes and imagining being curled up under that favorite afghan of Mama’s on our front porch swing. She and I used to swing early in the morning, before Stacey woke up, still chilly in our pajamas, but covered up in that warm blanket, we felt so much better.

Elijah takes my hand, and I feel something cold and hard being slipped onto my finger. I look down and gasp because it’s the most beautiful ring I’ve ever laid my eyes on. I know it because I’ve seen it before, but I just can’t place it in my mind.

“It was hers. I found it in her jewelry box before my dad took me away, and I kind of had this crazy idea . . . you remember when you were here last time? And I asked you to run away with me?”

How could I forget? “Yes, I remember.”

He rubs his thumb over the ring on my finger, twisting it so that it’s sitting up perfectly. “So I had this whole master plan. I was going to run away with you, and we were to live somewhere in a big city and have some big, amazing life together. And I figured that by the time we were old enough—and at that the time, I thought when I turned fifteen—I’d ask you to marry me. We get married, we go on all these awesome adventures together, I would play in the bands, and you would watch me sing.”

“Oh my God,” I say, laughing because I can’t help myself. “Me watching you sing, huh? Man, you had a really interesting view of the world, didn’t you?”

He nudges me playfully. “Hey, I was twelve, okay? Even then, I knew I was in love with you, is what I’m saying. I knew that this was the ring I was going to eventually put on your finger, one way or the other. I gave up for a really long time, believe me, but when I heard that you were looking for me? Tell me why that was the first thing I thought of. Tell me why I went upstairs to my room as soon as Kevon left and searched for that ring. I found it, and I didn’t do anything with it, obviously, but I made sure I had it ready. You know,
just in case
.”

“Dammit, Elijah. Why do you have to go and say the most perfect things? Don’t you know how much harder you make it for me? It’s already hard enough to keep my hands off you.”

“Success.” He jokingly shouts, standing up and pulling me up on my feet. “It has been my plan all along.”

He’s come such a long way from his grief over his mother that it strikes me deep in my heart when I realize that maybe he’s finally moved on from the worst part of it. He will always mourn his mother in some way, I’m sure of it. But maybe now, I can help him move through the rest of his life without having to grieve for anything else ever again.

“Ready?” I ask him, holding my hand out for him to grab. His fingers are rough and warm, just the way they’ve always been.

“Let’s go,” he replies as we walk.

And we do . . . straight into our new, exciting lives.

C
hapter
One

C
al

I
n the neon
lighting of the pool, another pair of bikini bottoms float above me as I look up. Based on the fact that I see several naked asses ranging from creamy and pale to smooth and brown swimming this way and that across my Olympic size pool, the owners of said bikini could be anyone. Skinny dipping isn't really my thing, but to each their own, I guess. It's not like everyone's intention here is to actually celebrate me winning the prestigious MVP of the Year award, or the fact that our team just won the World Sequences Games for the first time in two decades.

N
o
, after living here for over two years, I've realized that the good people of San Francisco will find any excuse to throw an 'event,' as my assistant Bethany calls them. Half the time these so-called events turn into wannabe orgies. The kind where mostly everyone's parents were hippies who professed free love back in the day. In other words, the parties can get a little wild around here.

I
don't mind
, especially since my place is certainly big enough to accommodate everything--one of the perks of being a millionaire. The house came with the pool. I love swimming because it takes me out of the world for a couple minutes at a time and lets my mind go temporarily silent. There's more than enough space here and in the grotto for everyone to have some clothing-optional fun.

I
t was cool at first
, and even I joined in, unable to resist the beautiful women with their soft curves and smiles. My IQ of 141 marks me as a genius, but I also have a fully-functioning dick that requires my attention as well. My first year as shortstop for the San Francisco Mammoths led me and my dick in all sorts of new directions. It was a monumental difference from high school and college. I went from being the virgin to ‘swimming in the pussy,’ as Benji likes to say. But like just about everything else in my life, I got tired of the daily escapades and focused more on my game than ever before. My brother likes to screw with me, taunting me about becoming a Tibetan monk, but I'm pretty sure he doesn't even know where Tibet is. And here I am, the new MVP of The Year.

I
can almost feel
the black spots waiting to pop into my vision, alerting me that my brain needs more oxygen. Down here the images around me are distorted, bent at angles that don't make sense unless you understand how light refraction works. It's blurry even though my eyes are wide open, slow bubbles rising to the surface in front of me as I exhale. Propelling myself upward, I break through the surface and take in a fresh gulp of warm night air.

D
ozens of people
around me cheer for no reason, and I swim over and pull myself up on the side of the pool. Water drips from my hair and nose as I look over and see both my manager, Paul, and the owner of the Mammoths, Schlesinger, smoking cigars and carrying on with a group of topless women around them. If one didn't know any better, the whole scene would look like something out of a 1970's mafia movie.

"
H
ey slugger
," a sultry voice says from behind.

I stand up, stretching my arms overhead and wishing I would've thought to ice them earlier, before turning around to see a tall, leggy redhead staring at me. She’s wearing a shimmery golden one-piece with so many cut outs that I hardly see the need for it at all, and judging by her hair and makeup she hasn't bothered actually getting in the pool. One of the mysteries in life to me is why people do things for looks when there is no functionality behind them.

"
H
i
," I reply grabbing one of the towels from a nearby rack, and turning to head back up to my house.

"
C
ongratulations on the title
. I hear you are the youngest baseball player in history to ever been awarded it."

To be honest, I'm pretty damn tired, so continuing a conversation with this woman sexy or not, is not on my to-do list. "Yes, I am. And thank you."

W
hen I walk
past her I can see her smirk turn into something stony from my peripheral. I want to feel bad, but I don’t. Not when there are dozens more readily available men here for her to sink her teeth into.

T
rying
to sneak past the rest of the party proves almost impossible as everyone aims to get my attention. The redhead wasn't the first or last woman to try to flirt with me for the night, and plenty more guys who claim to be my biggest fan, come up to me in hopes that I'll sign their baseball cards or take a picture with them. I even get pulled into an impromptu photo session with Dylan, our third baseman, and a totally naked woman who has her arms around us, one hand firmly on Dylan's ass and one inching down my waist. She mumbles something about a threesome, and grabs for my dick, her hand warm through my wet swimming trunks as she cops a feel with a drunk smile on her face. My dick seems to think it’s all good but they don’t call me a genius for no reason, and I bail before Dylan has the chance to speak up.

I
t's
like a goddamn minefield in my own backyard.

I
'm just about
to make it to the path that leads to my house when Paul catches my attention, gesturing for me to wait as he stumbles up to me. His round body isn't used to so much movement, and he's nearly out of breath by the time he gets to me.

"Cal, good. I wanted . . . to talk to you . . . real quick."

I
t takes
everything in me not to roll my eyes, and I stop to hear him out. "Hey, Paul." This time I do feel shitty because I know the man means well, and probably even thinks this party is something I wanted, even though I repeatedly told him it wasn't at all necessary.

H
e reeks
of alcohol and stale cigar smoke, and coughs as he wipes his forehead. "Where you heading off to so early? The party's only just started."

I
sigh
. "I've been up since four-thirty. I just need some sleep is all." Even though I know what his reaction is going to be I tell the truth anyway. Call me crazy, but I've never seen the point in lying about anything.

P
aul claps
his arm around my shoulder, nodding to the backside of my house. "Sure, sure. But first, some business we gotta discuss."

* * *

I
think
it's rather ironic that Paul goes to sit in my office chair, but I let him because he's clearly intoxicated and trying to get this stubborn ass man to budge on anything is difficult enough when he's sober.

"
T
he future
. Your future to be exact. It hangs in the balance, and we need to make sure that balance weighs in the right direction," he says, leaning forward.

I
cross my arms
, not understanding where he's going with this. "Okay . . ."

"
W
e got some real good
, high-paying sponsors lined up for you this next year. They all want a piece of that Lundgren uniform, they want you to be their spokesman. We're talking sixteen, seventeen million dollar contracts."

I
t's not
that I don't appreciate what Paul does for me. I like money, I mean, who doesn't? It's just that the actual physics and science of the game are more important to me. Excelling at baseball until I can no longer break my records has been my dream forever. The money's nice, but that's not what I'm about. "Sounds good, Paul."

H
e frowns at me
, his small, watery eyes looking me up and down. "I'm serious, Cal. You're a walking fortune, kid. I've got big plans for you that I think you'll really enjoy. But there's one thing I want to run by you in particular," he says, folding his paunchy hands on the desk. "Think about it like this--everyone wants to know more about you. Cal Lundgren, genius baseball player, what does he like? What does he not like? Where did he start out? What are his hopes and dreams?"

A
snort escapes
and I have to muffle my mouth. "To be honest, Paul, that sounds like some of the crap they put on the back of the baseball cards. Couldn't people just read those to find out more about me?"

P
aul just shakes his head
. "No, no. Think bigger. With your good looks, your career, even that crazy internet sensation everyone's going on about, you could do big things with all of it. "

I'm just about to ask him what crazy internet sensation he's talking about when he holds his hands up high in front of him, waving them from left to right. "Cal Lundgren's Celebrity Memoir. What do you think?"

I
run
my hand through my wet hair, unable to say much of anything. Is he being serious?

"
I
t sounds
like it's not your thing, listen, I know. But think of it like this . . . you love baseball, right? You're always going on about how the science is lost with most casual viewers, how you wish more people would get into it because there's beauty in it, blah blah blah."

I
raise an eyebrow at him
. "Something like that, yeah. What's your point?"

"
M
y point
, kid, is that we can use your book to help people understand that. To get more young kids into reading about and playing baseball. Everyone is going to want to read this book. Women want to know more about the hunky man behind the baseball cap. Older kids want to be this guy, and men, the
true
fans, that have all his stats, will want to know more about how this baseball player has the second best batting average in history. It could do wonders for the baseball community."

I
let out a long breath
, trying to imagine what he’s saying. In theory I understand, but I don't know why Paul all of the sudden cares about baseball the way I do. I never thought he actually listened to me when I was telling him my thoughts on the subject.

"
Y
ou paint a pretty picture
, Paul. But I don't have time to learn how to write a book, much less actually do it."

P
aul stands
up from the chair, grabbing the top of it with both hands, grinning at me. "You can leave that part up to me, kiddo."

I
give
him a half-hearted smile. If he thinks this might actually work, that a book about me will get people in the stands and learning more about baseball, then what kind of person would I be if I turned the opportunity down?

I
stick my hand out
, trying not to laugh when Paul winces as we shake hands. Sometimes I forget my own strength. “All right. Just tell me what I have to do.”

Olivia

P
iles of books
, piles of them everywhere. Stacks that nearly go to my ceiling, all begging to be signed by me. Olivia Jeanette Carter, New York Times best-selling author is displayed in fancy script across the bottom of every book.

I
smile
, imagining the long lines of readers dying to get their books signed, authors who I've always deeply admired, now respecting me in turn. It's everything I ever hoped it would be, all of my dreams wrapped up in one pretty —

"
D
on't you think
? Olivia? Miss Carter . . . ?"

I
snap back
to the present. My hazy thoughts fading as the real world bleeds into my vision. "Hmm?"

A
dam nudges me
, his eyes wide and I look over to see Jeffrey, our editor-in-chief, staring directly at me. Oh boy.

"
I
was just saying
, Olivia, that we have an exciting new project at our fingertips here. I don't suppose you'd want to find out more?"

I
clear my throat
, trying to pretend I'm not completely mortified at the moment. "Absolutely. Please continue."

E
ven though Jeffrey
rolls his eyes at me I know he isn't actually angry, he's more agitated than anything. It wouldn't be the first time I was caught daydreaming in the middle of one of our monthly department meetings, and probably wouldn't be the last time, either.