Caught by You (18 page)

“You better,” growled Duke. “This is baseball, not middle school. I want to see both of you in my office after the game.”

Mike nodded, as did Yaz, with one more resentful look in his direction. With a heavy sigh, he jogged back to home plate, where Foster was chatting with the umpire. “You guys get it all figured out?” Foster asked with a grin. “Bet you can't get called up soon enough, eh, Solo?”

Hell to the yes. But now it was time to put his personal feelings aside and do some work for the Catfish.

“You got that right. When Yaz is in this kind of mood, no one's safe, not the catcher, not anyone. Just a friendly warning.” He pulled his face mask down, hiding his grin as Foster eased back from the plate a hair—­enough to strike out swinging.

For the rest of the game, Mike worked Yaz's volatile personality, riding the pitcher's quicksilver emotions to produce a six-­hit, 4-­2 victory. Hopefully someone noticed and gave Mike credit, but Yaz sure wouldn't. He'd do his usual postgame YouTube and Instagram update in Yaz language, all about the brilliance of Yazmer Perez. Hashtag CrushIt.

For the first time, it didn't bother Mike. Because he had a plan to fight back now.

The first time the PSA aired, Mike was in bed with Donna at her tiny apartment with the view of the sewage treatment plant. The production coordinator at Equal Rights in Sports, the group he'd chosen as a vehicle for his message, had given him a list of airtimes. He and Donna surfaced from one of their delirious bouts of sex in time to switch on the TV with only seconds to spare.

“I'm a little nervous,” he confessed, rubbing his hand across his chest. “Not used to being in the spotlight.”

“Well, you should be. You're just as cute as the ones they always show.” Donna's singular loyalty always made him smile.

“Think you're a little biased, what with that secret crush and all?” He couldn't believe she'd handed him such a convenient weapon with which to tease her.

She blushed, as she always did when he mentioned it. “You're never going to forget that, are you?”

“Nope. When did it start? In the closet at the library? Before that?”

“You should worry more about when it ended.” She poked him in the ribs. “Which happened pretty much when you opened your mouth.”

“What I want to know is, why'd you make me jump through hoops to get you to like me, when you were already there?”

“Shhh! You're up.”

Mike sat up against the headboard, one knee bent, the other leg stretched forward. The sound of a ballpark filled the screen, along with his face against the backdrop of a baseball field—­not Catfish Stadium, but a field Crush Taylor had installed on his ranch when he first retired.

“Hi, I'm Mike Solo. I've been a baseball player most of my life, but I've been a brother since I was born. My big brother taught me how to skateboard, how to recite the Pledge of Allegiance, and how to stand up to bullies. I've never forgotten any of those lessons, which is why I'm coming forward—­with his permission—­to say that he also happens to be gay. This should be a private matter, but sadly, for some ­people it isn't. They want to exclude ­people like my brother from living their lives and performing their jobs. I think that's unfair and shortsighted. Shouldn't the important thing be how well a person does their job? Not what they do in the privacy of their own homes? That's how I see it, anyway. I'm proud of my brother, and if anyone tried to exclude him, I'd call that a bush league move. I'm baseball player Mike Solo and this has been a message from Equal Rights in Sports.”

The music soared, the ERS graphic swirled onto the screen, and it was over. An ad for Rice-­A-­Roni took the screen, little elbow pastas dancing arm in arm. Mike was afraid to look in Donna's direction.

“We went back and forth on that ‘bush league' line,” Mike said nervously. “Is it stupid? Did it sound ridiculous? We couldn't think of another baseball saying that sounded right.”

Donna threw her arms around him, nearly knocking him sideways off the bed. “Are you kidding? It was awesome. You just told it like it is. And you looked seriously hot. What was that shirt you were wearing?”

“It's an away uniform from one of my high school leagues. No team identification on the front, so it worked. Did it look too tight?”

“No way. It looked hot.” Donna's eyes glowed with a golden sheen, her enthusiasm radiating from her like sunbeams. “I'm so proud of you! I was thinking of something like this when you were looking at Yazmer's tweets.”

“You're the one who gave me the idea.”

“Really? It came out so much better than I even imagined.” She raised her hand for a high five. “Touchdown, Mike Solo!”

“What . . . did . . . you . . . say?” Menacingly, he narrowed his eyes at her, then flipped her onto her back. Fighting giggles, she widened her eyes innocently.

“Oopsies. Did I say touchdown? I totally meant . . . goal!”

“Oh, you are seriously asking for it. Try one more time.” He stripped the sheet off her and straddled her hips, his cock, completely spent five minutes earlier, stirring with new appreciation for her curvaceous nudity. But now was not the moment for sex; this was a time for ruthless tickling.

“Home run! I meant home run!” She shrieked as he dove in with both hands. “Don't tickle me, I swear you'll make me pee!”

“You'd better not, missy. Say it again! You know what I want to hear!”

“Baseball is the best game in the entire world! Ever! In all of human history!”

“That's more like it.” He stopped tickling her, because he knew by now that she was serious about the peeing. And besides, he'd thought of another game that rivaled baseball. “There might be this one particular game with a big advantage over baseball.”

And he positioned his hand at the softness between her legs, ready to demonstrate, ignoring the phone calls that were already pouring in.

 

Chapter 18

M
IKE'S
PSA
CREATED
a sensation. It got picked up by the national sports media, which meant lots of free publicity. Everyone wanted to interview him, and every time he spoke, with his charming, mischievous, regular-­guy manner, he won new fans—­no surprise to Donna. He also won new enemies. He'd gotten a few pieces of hate mail—­or at least, hate Facebook posts—­and the group that had wanted to get rid of the Kilby Catfish last season suddenly had new life.

“Can the Catfish! We've had enough of the constant scandal and controversy. Isn't it high time the Catfish moved to another location?” read their latest statement in the
Kilby Press-­Herald
.

Reporters got to work unearthing all the details of his family history. The fact that he'd been at the Naval Academy, with the eventual goal of becoming a SEAL. The fact that he'd left the Navy when he donated a kidney to his brother. Even the end of his engagement to Angela found its way into the profile
Sports Illustrated
did on him. Most of the coverage was positive, but even so the sudden onslaught of attention was disorienting, especially for Donna.

She'd thought Kilby's interest in the Catfish Wedding of the Decade was over the top, but this was on a whole different level. The next time she brought Zack to a game, there was a photographer waiting near the entrance. After she'd picked up their tickets, she moved toward the turnstile, holding Zack tightly by the hand. The photographer aimed the camera at her face and walked backward while he screamed questions at her.

“What do you think about your fiancé's revelations? What do you think of Yazmer's response? Have you seen his new YouTube video?”

“I haven't seen it,” she told him. “You should go interview someone else.”

“Why did Mike Solo keep quiet so long about his brother? Was he ashamed?”

“Of course not,” she snapped. “It was private. Can you get out of our way, please?” Zack had wrapped both of his arms around her leg, which made it even harder for her to make it to the safety of the stadium.

“If it was private, why is he coming forward now?”

“Because the time was right. Because of that stupid petition Yazmer is circulating. Why are you asking me these things?”

“Are you calling Yazmer stupid?”

Donna glared at the man, who she could barely see behind his camera. Glasses, ruffled brown hair, a weaselly appearance. “You rotten creep, did you just twist my words around? For the record, I support Mike, I think Yazmer's a publicity ho—­I mean, hound—­and I don't have any comment.”

By the time she made it inside the turnstile, she was completely flustered. She was absolutely the wrong person to face a nosy reporter. Zack lifted his arms, begging to be picked up. She swung him into her arms and headed for the concession stand where they could buy a gigantic lemonade to share. Mike, already in his light blue Catfish home uniform, came running toward her. The girl inside the ticket booth must have alerted security.

Still holding Zack, she practically fell into his arms. “Oh my God, Mike, that was crazy. I think I totally messed up. I wasn't prepared! He came at me out of nowhere.”

“Shhh, shhh. It's okay. Security's on it. They'll try to confiscate the tape.”

“I hope they do, because I kind of called Yazmer a ho. I tried to change it to ‘hound' but I'm not sure he caught that part.”

“Forget about it. I don't want you to worry. This is my battle, and I'll make sure they leave you alone.” Enfolded in his arms, she felt a little better.

“Who was that man?” Zack piped up. “He's poopy.”

“That's one way to put it, Zack-­a-­doodle. Let's just say he's not someone we want to hang out with. If we see him again, we'll go somewhere else.”

The next day, the headline on the Daily Sports Blog read, “Catfish Catfight! Solo's Sweetie Calls Yaz a ‘Ho.' ” Donna peered over Mike's shoulder as he read the entire text on her computer.

“Me and my big mouth,” she groaned. “Can you just put some duct tape over it for the next month or so?”

“Oh no. I have other plans for your mouth.” He gave her a teasing leer, all twinkly eyes and wiggling eyebrows, but she could tell he didn't like the direction the controversy was taking.

“It's turning into a circus, isn't it?”

“Yes, but it's not your fault. Yaz likes circuses. I thought he'd be pissed about the PSA, but he isn't. He gave me a big fist bump. Like we're playing some kind of game for the public's entertainment.”

“What should we do?”

“Nothing. Just go about your regular life. If ­people ask you questions,
don't answer.
I know it's hard. They're tricky. They're experts at getting ­people to respond. That's their job. Just block them out and do your thing.”

“My thing? What's my thing?”

He swiveled the chair and scooped her into his lap. “That thing you do. Breathing. Existing. Smiling. That sort of thing.” His kiss drained every last bit of worry out of her. Mike made her feel valuable and important in a way that no one else ever had. Every moment she spent with him made her love him even more, and made the task of disguising those emotions even more difficult.

Good thing she had long practice at hiding her feelings behind a fun-­loving, carefree exterior.

The next day, two photographers were lying in wait in the parking lot of Dental Miracles. This time she was prepared. Since silence wasn't her strong suit, she'd concocted another plan.

“Good morning,” she chirped to them as she shouldered her purse and hauled her blue-­blazer-­clad self toward the front door.

“Do you have any comment on what commentators are saying?”

“Thank you so much for asking. I'd like to bring your attention to a new product we're offering. Laser teeth whitening. Works like a dream. Your teeth will look amazing. And since you guys are so awesome, I can even offer you a special deal. One tooth-­whitening session and a filling—­all for one low price. Sadly, we'll have to leave out the Novocain, but you guys can handle that, right?” Five steps from the door; she'd nearly made it.

“Cute, Donna, very cute. You have a certain reputation in Kilby. You're known as a party girl.”

Three steps. “That was in my younger days. I'm a hardworking dental receptionist now, and I'm about to be late for work. If you'd like to speak further about the tooth whitening, let me explain how it works. We strap you into a chair, prop your mouth open, and aim a high-­powered beam of light into your mouth. Sure, there's a risk, but all good things come with a price, you know?”

“Is it true you met Mike Solo at a bar? How can you claim you're no longer a party girl when you were involved in a brawl there just last year?”

The door. Right there in front of her.
Open it. Ignore them. Go inside
.

“Is this controversy hard on you, given your history of depression?”

“
What?
”

Luckily, just then Ricki, the billing clerk, hurried up behind her and pushed the door open. “You coming in, Donna?”

Numbly, she nodded and followed Ricki inside. Shaking, in shock, she slipped into the bathroom and called Karen Griswold, the lawyer. “My hospital records are private, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“A photographer just asked me about my history of depression. It happened one time, and it was pregnancy-­related! That's not a history, is it?”

“Hmm. Looks like someone's flinging dirt around. Don't say a word to anyone. You hear me? I'll do some digging.”

The next time she arrived at the Hannigans' house to pick up Zack, Harvey's Pathfinder was parked outside. Strange, because they usually tried to avoid running into each other during their Zack pickups. It just made everything awkward.

She hurried up the front path, anxious to see Zack. The last time she'd seen him had been at the baseball game where the photographer had accosted them. Not the happiest memory, although Mike had hit his fifth homer of the year and the Catfish had won 5–2.

God, this baseball thing was really taking over her brain.

Rapping on the front door, she noticed that there was no small figure waiting behind the drapes in the living room. Zack must be in his bedroom. Harvey answered the door, then slipped outside to join her on the front walk.

“What are you doing? Where's Zack?”

“He's inside with Bonita. They're making cookies.”

“I thought Bonita didn't eat sugar.”

“They're using stevia.”

Donna made a face. That was one way to make sure your kid didn't eat too many cookies. “How long are they going to be? This is my time with Zack, and I wanted to take him to see the new white tiger at the zoo. You know how much he loves that stuff.”

“Well, see, that's the thing.” Harvey shuffled uncomfortably. Under his new Wrangler jeans, he was barefoot. His Western-­cut shirt was misaligned by one shell-­inlaid button; how had Bonita missed that? “You can't have Zack today.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Because of all the controversy over your new boyfriend.”

“Fiancé,” Donna said automatically.

“Yeah. Makes it even worse.”

“The controversy is over the PSA he did, but it has nothing to do with Zack.”

A dull flush came and went from Harvey's neck. She wondered what it meant, since Harvey had never been the best at expressing his opinions. “Bonita says it's an unhealthy environment for a four-­year-­old boy. The judge agreed.”

“Unhealthy . . . what do they mean?”

Harvey took her by the elbow and guided her down the front path, away from the house. “Donna, come on. The blogs, the photographers, the headlines. Bonita's upset because you said the word ‘ho' in front of Zack.”

“Hound! I said, hound!” Weak response, and she knew it. “A hoe is also a garden tool. It's not such a bad word.”

“Zack called Bonita a ho when she gave him Cheerios instead of Frosted Flakes.”

Donna couldn't hold back a spurt of nervous laughter. “You know he hates Cheerios. She should know that too.”

“This isn't a joke. You turn everything into a joke, but Bonita's serious about this. She didn't want to take it so far, but she believed she had to.”

“Oh my God. Is she the one . . . did you tell her about the depression . . .”

The sheepish look that crept across his face told her all she needed to know. “I can't believe you did that,” she whispered. “You know it has nothing to do with what's going on now.”

“Are you so sure, Donna? What if stress brings it on? Bonita looked it up. Could happen. We both have to think about Zack's best interests.”

Zack's best interests
. He'd never used that phrase before in his life. Obviously, all of this was coming from Bonita.

Flashes of heat crashed through her body. All the helplessness from that time in the hospital came flooding back. Things slipping away. Decisions taken out of her hands. “You said you'd never talk about it. You swore.”

“Things have changed.” He wouldn't quite meet her eyes.

“But we agreed.” She cast around for something, some weapon. “What if everyone knew you wanted me to get an abortion?”

“Yeah? Are you going to tell the newspapers that part? How would Zack feel if he heard?”

Horrified, she stared at him. “Bonita has this all plotted out, doesn't she? Or have you suddenly developed an evil genius brain? Harvey, this isn't you. I know this isn't you.”

A muscle in his cheek twitched; his gaze slid away from hers.

“Why is Bonita so set on getting Zack? Why does it matter so much to her? Just tell me that, so maybe I can understand.”

Harvey hunched his shoulders. “All her sisters have kids. She's the only one who doesn't. It's hard on her, being left out. She started bringing Zack around her family and they all think he's great. That's when she got the idea. It's good for Zack, being part of the posse.”

The Wade posse?
How would that be good?

She picked up his hand and held it in both of hers. “Harvey, listen to me. I get that Bonita wants a family. I know you love her. But look how far she's taking this. Is it in Zack's best interests to be raised by someone who would dig into a person's past medical history and twist it around? Someone who would betray secrets and break promises? Is that the kind of person you really want to be Zack's mother? I might joke around, but I would never do any of those things.”

Still, he wouldn't look at her. Tension vibrated between them. A delivery truck drove past, furniture on the way to someone's new home. So hopeful. A puff of diesel exhaust hovered in the air. Donna wanted to stop time right where it was, balanced in a place where she still had a chance to change Harvey's mind.

She saw him waver, saw uncertainty take hold. “Please, Harvey,” she whispered. “We need to work together, not shut each other out. You're his father.
You're
the one who should make the decisions, not Bonita.”

He pulled his hands away from her. Damn it, she'd overplayed her point.

“It's already done, Donna. The judge issued an emergency ruling.”

“
What?
” She actually felt dizzy for a second, as if she might faint.

“They sent the order over to your place but I guess you missed it.”

She hadn't been at her own apartment for a ­couple of days, ever since she'd watched the PSA with Mike. She'd spent last night with him, then gone straight to work, then come here. “You can't do this. Please.”

“You have a lawyer, Donna. It's not like you're helpless.”

He turned his back on her and loped back to the front door, with his slow, minimal-­effort stride.