“Coach, that happened before we talked.”
“It doesn’t matter when it was,” he barked, on the verge of yelling, “it’s on the newsstands today!”
My good day just turned ugly, and my heart felt as though it would break in two at the thought of Whitney seeing this. “I’m sorry, Coach,” I stammered.
“I didn’t want you to see this before the game, but you didn’t need some paparazzi springing it on you either.”
I nodded my understanding, still in shock.
“Calvin, shake this off or use it to your advantage. Get pissed and show the world what you’re made of. You hear me?”
I nodded again and stood up to stumble to my locker.
I sat in my leather chair, stared at the beautiful wood of my locker, and wondered how hard I would have to slam my head into it to be put in a coma. Whitney certainly wouldn’t leave me if I was in a coma.
“I saw the paper today.”
It was Ace and his voice carried that same cocky, boastful edge it usually did. It grated on my last, very frayed nerve. He slung an arm over my shoulder and it felt like a weight. “I’m proud of ya. Taught you well.”
I shrugged and pushed his arm away. “Leave me alone,” I grunted.
He shot me a glare, then smirked and slowly walked away. He was loving every minute of this. Holly probably told him Whitney was back, so what better way to celebrate than with a front page article displaying what a fucking douche I had been.
I dressed and walked onto the field. Whitney sat in her seat and waved with a smile. She was sitting beside an angry looking Holly, whose eyes were shooting daggers at me. Shit! Holly knows, but hasn’t told Whitney. I had to get through this game, and then I could talk to her. There would be no way for her to see it as long as she stayed seated, and then I could talk to her face to face.
The first couple innings were rough, but I managed to stay focused and keep the opposing team from scoring. In the second inning, Rhett sat down in the empty seat next to Whitney and my focus became even cloudier, allowing two runs in a row. Rhett kept leaning in, whispering something to Whitney. Holly just glared at me.
Then it happened.
Whitney’s head tilted as she was looking down, then she leaned forward to pick something up. Holly’s face changed, going from angry to mortified in an instant. I watched her mouth form the word, “No!” as she grabbed for whatever was in Whitney’s hand.
A newspaper.
I stood there on the mound, the ball in my hand, the batter at the plate, ready for my throw. But all I could see was Whitney’s face as she looked at the paper then up at me.
“Malone!”
A hand slammed down on my shoulder, but I barely felt it, barely felt anything. Except the cracking of my already fractured heart as a single tear slid down Whitney’s cheek.
“You’re out,” Coach said beside me, taking the ball from my hand and waving for the relief pitcher to come onto the field. He grabbed my arm, steering me from where I’d been rooted. He was saying something to me, but I couldn’t make out the words over the roaring of the blood in my ears. He took me into the dugout, then through it and into the locker room, pushing me into a chair.
“Officially, you’re sick. Got it!”
I nodded. It was true. I was sick.
He stomped out, heading back to the game while I sat there, trying to force air in and out of my lungs.
I had to do something.
Then I was on my feet and was out the door, going through the maze of hallways. I exploded through the door of the stands, heading toward the home plate section.
But I was too late… Whitney was gone.
So were Holly and Rhett.
I looked around and saw them walking up to the skybox, Rhett’s arm around Whitney’s shoulders. I wanted to roar out my frustration.
“Look, it’s Calvin Malone!”
It was a kid’s voice, so I forced my face to relax and gave him a high five as I passed him. But soon, I was surrounded by a throng of people thrusting balls and pens at me, getting in my way, stopping me from getting to Whitney.
“Way to fuck it up, fuck face,” some dude shouted.
I ignored that comment as I pushed my way through the crowd, telling everyone that I was sick, and would come back to sign balls as soon as I could.
When I finally managed to get through the crowd, the door was closing to the skybox. I took the steps three at a time, finally making it to the door. It was locked. I pounded and pounded, then stopped to peer through the glass.
Whitney was in Rhett’s arms, and his hands were moving up and down her back. I could see her shoulders shake with her sobs. Then Holly moved in front of her, blocking my view, facing me with hate in her eyes. Slowly, she lifted a hand and shot me the bird.
***
I sat at my house for hours, waiting for Whitney to come and, at the very least, collect her things. I was afraid to leave. Afraid I’d miss that opportunity to talk to her, beg her to forgive me. Again.
The Beasts won the game. I know because I stared at the TV, hoping for some glimpse of Whitney in the background. I’d called her phone over and over. Then Holly’s. Then Rhett’s.
Voicemail. Voicemail. Voicemail.
I was in electronic purgatory.
Which was fitting because I was in hell.
As I sat waiting, I knew it was truly over this time. There was no way I could convince her all that was behind me, or being with those girls was what triggered me to call her. That nothing, no fantasy or dream, could live up to the reality of having her in my life.
She’d never believe me.
Hell, I barely believed it myself.
This was like being in some horrible conspiracy movie.
Conspiracy.
Marty’s word came floating back to me. He thought he’d been set up. I certainly knew how he felt. Yeah, I’d been well and thoroughly set up.
By Caroline. But who else?
Ace?
Rhett?
Holly?
Others?
I shook my head. I didn’t know, and it all sounded way too crazy. But now that the thought was planted, it tried to take root, playing scenario after scenario in my mind.
My heart raced, my mind was reeling, and now everything that Marty had said started to make more sense. Maybe there was a conspiracy. But why?
You’re being ridiculous, Calvin. Marty was a loon; don’t you start too!
Picking up my phone, I dialed again.
“Hello, Calvin.”
My heart sank. It was Holly.
“Holly, I need to talk to Whitney,” I said, knowing I sounded frantic.
“She doesn’t want to talk you,” she hissed and then the line went dead.
Fuck!
We’d had such an amazing three days together. Everything was fine; better than fine. It had been like old times, when it was only me and her. Why did this have to happen now?
I grabbed my keys and jumped in the truck. If Holly was with her, they were probably at Ace’s.
My foot slammed on the gas pedal and pushed my large SUV as fast as it could go to Ace’s place. I made it to his house in record time, even faster than when in my old Porsche.