The Truth About Air & Water (Truth in Lies #2) (41 page)

A few beers in, I’m feeling fine and feeling no pain for once even if it is still there. Properly soaked in alcohol and the camaraderie that comes with the territory in hanging out with ballplayers, I begin to relax. My star trajectory didn’t have me in the minor-league system too long, as if I remember any more of it other than what Kimberley has told me. Even so, like everything else I’ve had to adapt to over the past several months, I’ve begun to acclimate to my current surroundings. Like I told Kimberley and Brad on a call a few days ago, I’m still considered new around here and there’s this welcome relief in not being expected to know everybody’s name. Here, it’s okay if I don’t remember. In Fresno, I’m just like everybody else.
Sort of.

“So what’s the deal with Tally Landon?” Hillman asks again. We’ve both been watching with interest as the band began to file in to a few cheers and whistles with the bass and piano players immediately starting to tune up their gear.

I take a swig of the third beer Brandy has just set down in front of me before answering. “There’s no
deal
with Tally Landon.”

I’ve put her out of my mind as much as possible since being sent down. My focus needed to be on baseball to save my illustrious career from sinking any further. It was the one thing my dad and I agree upon—that all three of us ended up agreeing on. So I’ve spent the past three months training myself not to think of Tally Landon hardly at all. I call at a regularly scheduled time, four in the afternoon, on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and talk to Cara. Tally always answers, says a little hello, and hands the phone to little Cara. A thirty-second conversation with Tally is not enough to go on, certainly not enough to build a relationship on; and after basically asking me to leave the last night I saw her, it would appear that ship has sailed.

And now? The LA thing has come back around to haunt me in a new and ugly way that Kimberley and my lawyers are busy trying to resolve for me. I’m not looking forward to having
that
conversation with Tally. I already know what it will mean. She won’t believe me. She won’t ever trust me again, and we will be essentially over, like it appears, we already are. I’ve begun to question what really happened that night in LA, but as much as I wrack my brain to remember what all went down with Trinna, I can’t even conjure up a memory of her face let alone remember what we did together. I fucked up doesn’t really cover it anymore and admitting this to Tally is something I’ve been avoiding for as long as possible.

I check my iPhone for messages from Kimberley and discover it’s dead. That’s what happens when you don’t plug it in the night before and you spend your only day off at the practice field and in the film room which pretty much sums up my day as well as my life right now.

Despite the additional workouts and training, it’s been a slow go getting my arm and my confidence in pitching back to what it once was. At this point, it is pure desperation and a vague sense of seeing what I used to be—based solely on the film I’ve seen—that keeps me in the hunt at all. I’m almost there. That’s what they tell me anyway. Trainers, coaches, my father—anyone who gives a shit about my career and diligently watches the way I throw a baseball.

Now, it’s the middle of May. One could hazard a guess I’m pissed off. And one would be right. At this point, I no longer want to know any more about my past because I still don’t remember it or Tally, and I’ve grown tired of trying because she doesn’t seem to care. So. Why I don’t remember her at all remains one of life’s biggest mysteries. As it stands, Tally has absolutely nothing to do with me throwing a baseball and since baseball is apparently all I have left, except for two little phone calls with Cara each week, and since the LA thing continues to haunt me, I've come to realize I’m seriously fucked and that’s just the way it’s going to be.

Hillman is still going on about Tally. I drink down the rest of my beer and nod at him.

“She’s pretty famous, just like you,” Hillman says with a wide smile. “What’s that like? To date somebody almost as famous as you? Hard to enjoy the everyday normal part of life I bet. You two probably can’t even go to Costco together without getting mobbed by fans.” He laughs. “But the
Sports Illustrated
article didn’t seem to hurt her very much even though Baxstrom did perform a little character assassination on Tally. So what’s a dancer like? She’s got to be all kinds of epic.”

“All kinds.” I frown. “
Sports Illustrated
was off the mark. I don’t know why Candy had it in for her like that. But we’re not together anymore.” I throw him a we-broke-up-I-don’t-talk-about-it look hoping he’ll move on because just saying her name causes my head to hurt. Yet, Hillman seems to be gearing up to ask me far too many personal questions about Tally Landon that I won’t be able to answer.
Not good.

“
Sports Illustrated
. Yeah, the cover was amazing. Let me see if I can find it.” He pulls out his iPhone, does a search, and ultimately holds up in triumph the photograph of Tally and me. “This one. This is my favorite. Not of you but of Tally.”

“Wow,” I say to amuse Hillman more than anything else. There we are on the cover doing the famous
Dirty Dancing
move. Tally’s in this filmy white dress number and I’m wearing a Giants uniform.
Good times. Wish I could remember them. Or do I wish I could just forget her?
I kind of flinch at seeing her face again. It’s taken a lot of willpower not to start back up on the painkillers again because I
know
that would help put Tally Landon completely out of my mind.

“She’s so beautiful. She doesn't even look real, does she?” He sighs. I don’t even have to answer him. “Too bad the piece ran right before your Giants tanked in the playoffs. Karma…she’s a bitch.” Hillman gets this easy-going smirk.

“Karma. Yes.” I shake my head at him and try to smile but between being reminded of Tally again and the whole the LA debacle rising from the ashes all over again I start to get worked up.
I’ve got to tell Tally. Warn her this is coming back around.
Kimberley’s probably tried to call me a dozen times today about that.

As Brandy swings by our table, I ask her for an iPhone connection of some kind she tells me she can take care of it and promises to charge it for me. Hillman’s going on about the Giants spectacular rise and early fall in the series. I quietly admit to him that there’s a small part of me that doesn’t feel that bad about the Giants tanking in the playoffs. “I’m not exactly enamored with the Giants for sending me down in the first place.”

“No shit, bro. That sucked. And you
know
they did it to save a buck or two somewhere else,” he says quietly so we won’t be overheard.

Ballplayers are a funny breed. We stick together for the playing of the game, but when it comes to contracts and trades, a player is all on his own.

We stick together until we fall apart.

The thought leads me right back to the LA and Trinna Danner, who appears to be ready to sue me for paternity of her unborn child.
Let the dick hunt begin.

I numbly nod at Hillman. He is rather likable because he is perfectly capable of carrying on a conversation by himself and he obviously hasn’t screwed up as much in baseball and his personal life as I have. I figure the only way to get him to put his iPhone away so I’m not feeling the familiar pang in seeing Tally’s photograph is to move on to an entirely different topic.

“Yeah. It’s a great photograph of her,” I say. “But I was dealing with the fallout of the line drive shortly after that. And like I said, we broke up.”

“Right. So was Tally part of the fallout of that? Why would you break up with her? It doesn’t make any sense. I mean, she’s gorgeous and you’re not bad-looking. You two seem to match up pretty well.”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking straight.” My memory loss isn’t front-page news anymore, but it’s still out there filtering through the organization after the comments I made to the LA Times reporter. I start to feel uneasy. Hillman’s looking at me like he has a lot more questions he wants answers to.

“Obviously.” He looks away toward the front entrance then taps the table vying for my attention some two minutes later. “Looks like you’ll be thinking straight soon enough. Damn! She’s even better looking in person than on SI’s cover. Jesus! Why don’t you want her around again?
That
makes
no sense
whatsoever.”

“It’s never been a question of not wanting her,” I mutter turning to look in the direction Hillman is still staring at with his mouth open.

Sure enough, Tally Landon is making her way over. She still has the graceful walk of a dancer who invariably reaches for my soul at just seeing her again. She moves without seeming to, as if guided by magical guide wires; she glides more than she moves. Meanwhile, the air seems to part like ocean waves would respond should a goddess be passing through. Our table is the farthest from the entrance, nearest the stage. Her eyes stay on me while every baseball player within her realm is keen on proving his existence to her. Her lips part as she gets this faint smile and I actually know when she takes her next breath. It’s intense all around me as every guy in the room watches Tally Landon arrive on scene.

I’m rewarded her queen’s smile and reminded of Elsa in
Frozen
for some inexplicable reason. I think I’ve watched that movie about a dozen times now because Cara is so obsessed with it, and I wanted to impress my kid in knowing the storyline when we get to talk on the phone. And let’s face it; there isn’t much else to do in Fresno so that movie is now a part of my repertoire these days.

“Jim Frazier said you were here,” she says about halfway toward her destination.
Our table. Me.

Jim Frazier. Jim Frazier? Oh yeah, the third baseman.

“Where’s your cell phone? I’ve been calling it.” She’s asking questions like we just saw each other two hours earlier instead of almost three months ago.

“Oh, Brandy has it. The waitress? I ran out of battery a day or two ago. She’s plugged it in for me.”

“Oh I bet she did,” Tally says with a backhanded wave. “That explains it.” Her eyes gleam this Incredible Hulk green. It’s kind of thrilling and disturbing at the same time. “Can I talk to you? Later then?”

Miss Cloves and Vanilla wants to talk to me.

I am reborn.

“Sure. We can talk.” All I can do is nod and then
grin like a fool.
Which I am.

And yet, thoughts about LA, and what is transpiring there, wipe it off my face ten seconds later. “We should talk,” I say with a hint of despair.
I have to tell her.

Her lips curve upward but she’s got this glacial glare thing going and this unmistakable bewitching air is all about her.

“Yes,” is all she says.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Slow Dancing In A Burning Room -LINC

She introduces herself all around the table and shakes hands with a now speechless Doug Hillman and rewards him with her winner-takes-all smile. “For later,” she says to Hillman handing him a black garment bag which he dutifully goes off to hang up on a hook near the bar. She studies me for a long moment before averting her gaze and proceeds to slide onto the bar stool Doug’s retrieved for her, while I just continue to stare at her with my mouth half-open for the next ten seconds.

She laughs at something Hillman says and then looks at him with renewed interest. I finally close my mouth, shake my head side-to-side, and wish to start the scene over.

“So, what are we drinking?” She asks. He holds up his beer glass. Tally wrinkles her nose at him. “No. Something stronger. Tequila, I think. Patron, actually. Mmm….”

Considering she looks like she hasn’t had food in a week I’m surprised she wants something as strong as tequila which I proceed to tell her. She gives me this killer look. I shut up.

Meanwhile, Doug flags down Brandy and places Tally’s order for two shots of Patron with orange slices in lieu of limes like she’s specified. With
Miss Cloves and Vanilla’s
drink order out of the way, she turns to Doug giving him her undivided attention.

So what position do you
play,
Doug?”