Caroline wasn’t so easy to shake, I found out. After that first night, she would just pop in and usually wanted to stay the night. Having her around was both good and bad. It was nice to have someone to hold, someone to talk to, but because it was her, it made me crazy with guilt.
Then there was Whitney, who seemed very happy according to everything I read online. She dated a string of men, then had been seen with the same man – Todd Morris – several times.
I’d stare at her picture, recognize the clothes I’d bought her and be pissed and sad at the same time. By the time she left me, I’d spent nearly eighty thousand dollars on those designer clothes, including the twelve thousand dollar Versace gown she’d bought for the ball. Seeing those credit card statements still made me angry. Used.
In the full light of day, I hadn’t done anything wrong. Yes, I could have done things better, much better. I could have come straight home from practice. I could have spent every free moment with her. Could have done this and could have done that.
Coulda. Woulda. Shoulda.
Shit.
But I hadn’t wanted that blonde’s attention. Caroline’s either. Yes, I had been attracted and intrigued but hadn’t followed up on any of it. I had been trying to have fun with my new team. Enjoy myself a little bit after the stress of practice and living up to everyone’s expectation of me. Was spending an hour or two after five or six hours at the stadium so terrible?
To drown out all of those questions, I started drinking more and partying later and later. I knew part of my reason was to not be so available to Caroline, but every time I got wasted enough to start feeling sorry for myself, I’d call her anyway. It was a vicious cycle, and I wasn’t sure how to stop it.
Coach Griffin had a few ideas of how to handle the situation. One, scream in my face. Two, scream in my face. And three, scream in my face.
Yeah, those strategies didn’t really work and caused the cycle to spin faster.
It wasn’t much of a surprise when I walked into the clubhouse after pre-game pitcher’s stretch to find Coach waiting on me. “Malone, you’re spiraling out of control!” he yelled.
I wanted to say, what do you care? My pitching was solid, even better than before, probably because I was putting all my anger and hurt into each pitch. I was helping the team, so why did he care what I did outside this stadium?
He tossed a tabloid down on the desk and slammed his finger on a picture of Caroline and me leaving a club. The photographer caught the exact moment puke streamed from my mouth. Yeah, I looked pretty fucked up, that was a given. The headline caught me off guard: Small Town Girl Rises to Grace While Beast’s Pitcher Calvin Malone Falls From It.
“What does that mean?” His face turned pale, which is pretty scary to see happen to a man whose skin was as dark as his. “What’s the other picture?” I demanded, pointing to his hand covering half the page.
He moved his hand away and there she was in two pictures. Whitney. So beautiful. In one shot, she was on fucking Todd Morris’ arm. In the other, Rhett Hamilton was holding open a door for her, his hand on her back.
“I’ve got it under control,” I snapped at the coach and then ripped the tabloid from his hand. I sat on the bench in front of my locker and stared at the pictures. She looked happy in both of them.
Then there was me, looking daze and confused, spewing vomit at the cameras, Caroline looking shocked, but still hanging on my arm. I knew if I saw this, then Whitney had seen it too. My heart ached at the thought of her seeing me with Caroline, and in that condition. But Rhett? She wouldn’t go for a man like him, would she? And Morris? Was he the reason she was in New York?
Ace placed his hand on my shoulder and peeked down at the tabloid. “Whooweeee, you were lit up,” he said. “Don’t let the coach piss you off too bad; he’s just angry he can’t get any action.”
I pointed to the pictures of Whitney, then waited for Ace’s response. “Fuck her,” he said.
I stood, bumping my chest against his. I wanted to punch him, or at the very least spit on him for talking like that about my girl. Shit. My ex-girl. He was part of the reason she was gone.
I took a deep breath, knowing what I was doing was wrong. Everything that happened was ultimately my fault. I backed down and sank into my chair, tossing the tabloid in one of the shelves of my locker.
“I’m sorry, kid,” Ace apologized. “That’s just what guys are supposed to say in these situations.”
I could almost understand Morris going after her, but Rhett? He was my damn boss. I wanted to find Rhett and knock his head right off his shoulders. I saw how he’d worked her at the party that night. His hand on her thigh, his smooth talk, offering her a job. Yeah, there was only one job he wanted from Whitney. My heart ached at the thought of her in his arms.
“Let’s get it together!” Coach Griffin yelled out, then came over to me, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Want to sit this one out?”
“No,” I insisted. “I want to take out some frustration on some batters.”
He clapped me hard. “Then go do that.”
I changed into the game uniform and headed out to the field. I stood on the mound and stared out at the seats just above the home plate where Whitney used to sit and watch me practice.
They were empty, like my stupid, fucked up heart.
The sky box where Rhett usually watched the game wasn’t lit up. He was probably out with Whitney somewhere, too busy to watch his own fucking team. My anger increased, and my hands shook as I rolled the ball in my fingers, looking for the right seams.
I couldn’t focus; every ball I threw resulted in a hit or a pitch out of the strike zone. Coach wasn’t screaming, just given me a blank look that was even worse.
We squeaked out of that game, winning by one run, but no thanks to me. I was pulled in the fifth inning, and my replacement saved our asses.
Caroline usually greeted me after the game, something I normally found annoying, but when I looked for her, she wasn’t around. Which pissed me off more, because now I felt lost and irritated that she would just abandon me while I was hurting so badly. That’s how fucked up I was. I didn’t even know what I wanted.
I knew the team was pissed, but mostly they were gracious about my major fail. All of them except Ace. He had no grace, so what did I expect? “You need to get your head out of the fucking dirt, kid,” he screamed at me. I didn’t care. I didn’t even look at him.
He finally gave up yelling when he realized he couldn’t get me to react. His arm came around my shoulders as he took a seat beside me. “You know this is all bullshit, right?” he asked.
I looked at him, my eyebrow raised and my head cocked. “What is?”
He blew out a long breath. “Everything. Women, baseball, life. It’s all bullshit.”
I wasn’t in the mood for one of Ace Newman’s lessons on how not to function at life. “Yeah, it just sucks,” I complained.
“Well, what sucks needs to be sucked up,” he spouted.
Oh boy, another one of Ace Newman’s amazing philosophies.