Caught by You (8 page)

Visions of revenge danced through Donna's mind, so vivid she barely saw the sidewalk in front of her. She'd catch up to Bonita and smash her stupid camera against a lamppost. Bonita would cry and her perfect makeup would run down her cheeks in streaks of black. She'd barge into the Sunday sermon and lecture the congregation with an extensive PowerPoint presentation on what a nasty person Bonita was. She'd . . . She'd . . . Oh, who was she kidding? Bonita would always win because she was ruthless when it came to getting what she wanted.

“Donna.” Mike caught up with her with a hand on her shoulder. Mike Solo, the cause of her current disaster. She rounded on him.

“This is all your fault. You took a
vow
!”

He drew back, frowning. “And I kept it. We kissed, that's all. What's going on here, Donna? I feel like I'm missing a piece of the puzzle.”

“I knew I should stay away from you.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets, looking miserable. “I'm sorry. Really. I didn't mean to cause a problem for you.”

And still he lingered, as if afraid to leave her alone. He glanced around the neighborhood, which she suddenly saw through his eyes. Broken glass scattered on the uneven concrete beneath a lamppost, a wrecked car resting on rusted rims, still parked at the curb. No one cared enough to tow it away. “You can leave, Solo. I know my way around my own town.”

“Sorry, babe. I'm not leaving you like this. If you don't know that much about me by now, you haven't been paying attention.”

She knew that. Of course she knew that. He'd stood up to the Wades for her. No one had ever done something like that for her before. Suddenly all her fire evaporated. Who was she kidding? Mike had done nothing wrong. She'd teased him, going on about the closet, taking things in the flirtation direction. She'd wanted to kiss him; she
had
kissed him. She'd wanted more, much more.

She buried her head in her hands, incredulous that she'd screwed things up this much, this quickly. “It's my fault, completely my fault. Bonita was right. I'm impulsive and irresponsible. I'll always be the fuckup. And I wouldn't even mind, because it's kind of fun being the fuckup, but Zack . . .” Her throat closed up with fear. If she lost Zack because she couldn't keep her hands off Mike Solo, she'd hate herself forever.

“Zack what? What does this have to do with Zack?”

“Everything.”

 

Chapter 8

A
T FIRST
M
IKE
couldn't completely make sense of the story Donna told. Zack, Harvey, Bonita, the judge, the Wades; it all blended together. Finally he settled her into his Land Rover and told her to stay put while he retrieved his laundry. Then he drove her to the Smoke Pit BBQ. Her blood sugar needed some help, he figured. A giant platter of ribs, fries, and coleslaw ought to do it.

“So you're trying to convince the judge that you've changed and are ready to take custody of Zack?”

“Sort of. I never signed away my parental rights. It was an informal agreement and I've been a consistent part of Zack's life all along, unlike Harvey. So I should be able to take Zack now. That's why Bonita has to do underhanded things like catch me necking with a Catfish. If she can prove that I'm not fit, then she and Harvey could get custody.”

“What about the Hannigans? Where do they stand?”

“They're staying out of it, mostly. They're ready to let someone else raise Zack. If I'd just gotten my shit together earlier, before Harvey met Bonita . . .” She shook her head angrily, pushing ribs around on the platter. “Bonita's the one pushing for full custody. Harvey wouldn't mind split custody, or even visitation. He's an easy-­come, easy-­go sort of guy. If Zack wasn't around for a while, he might wonder what the kid was up to. That's about as far as it goes with Harvey.”

Mike could already tell he didn't like Harvey, and he hadn't even met him yet. “Okay, I think I get the picture. But do you really think a kiss is going to make you look unfit?”

“Maybe not. I don't know.” Looking wretched, she took a long sip of her iced tea. “It's the Wades, you see,” she explained. “Bonita is a second cousin or something. She's just like them. Thinks she rules the world and everything is a competition. The Wades play dirty and they'll do anything to win. I don't think like that. I just want Zack. I don't want to hurt anyone else. But they're all or nothing. Win or go home.”

Mike shook his head. He'd think she was exaggerating if he hadn't seen the shit the Wades had pulled with Sadie. “They are a law unto themselves.”

Donna poked viciously at the smoky meat on her plate. “They are what they are. And I played right into Bonita's hands. This spare rib is smarter than me.”

Mike would give anything to bring back her bright smile. “Listen, Donna. Don't worry about Bonita. I'll pull the vow card if I have to.”

“Yeah, that'll make me look even worse. I'll come off as the party whore trying to tempt you into sin.”

“You're blowing this out of proportion, Donna. It was one kiss. No one's going to care.”

She nodded mechanically, as if all she wanted was for him to stop talking so she could focus on her fear. He leaned across the picnic table and clasped her elbows, one in each hand. If only he could infuse his own confidence into her. “I always saw you as fearless, Donna MacIntyre. Where's the girl who took on Kilby's ruling family and made them look like the asses they are?”

“I'm not fearless.” She picked up a forkful of coleslaw, then put it down again. “Okay, maybe most things don't scare me. But I'm terrified of one thing. Losing Zack.”

“Donna . . .”

“No! You don't know, Mike. Don't try to tell me everything's going to be okay, or it's not that bad.”

He threw up his hands, even though that was exactly what he'd been about to say. “Fine. Have it your way. It's a disaster.”

“Are you making fun of me?” She slammed down her fork and leaned over the table, her eyes blazing gold. “I nearly lost Zack once. They almost gave him away behind my back.”

“
What?
”

“Oh yes. When I was pregnant I was so sick I wound up in the hospital. Mentally sick, emotionally, everything. Like I was in a black pit with a huge stone on top of me. They had me on all kinds of medication, and I slept a lot, but one day I heard my mother in the hallway, on the phone with someone. They were running through possible homes for Zack. My mom said she couldn't take him because she's on the road so much. Then she said, ‘Carrie won't touch the baby with a ten-­foot pole.' Carrie's my stepmother. And
then
she said, ‘Donna can't raise him. My girl's a sweetheart, but she wouldn't even know what a bottle is. Unless it says IPA on it, of course.' ”

The pain on Donna's face made Mike want to rip something apart.

“May I point out,” Donna added, with an attempt at a smile, “I was always more of a Shiner girl. Lone Star on a good day.”

“You don't have to joke about this, Donna.”

She pressed her lips together, clearly holding back tears. “Laugh so you don't cry, right? Anyway, the next word I heard was ‘adoption.' The person on the other end of the line started talking, and I felt like my life was swirling down the drain. I knew if I didn't get myself out of that bed and do something, I'd never see my baby. They'd take him away, give him up for adoption, and I'd never find him.”

“What'd you do?”

“I rolled myself out of that hospital bed. I was on an IV drip because I couldn't keep anything down. I felt like some kind of weird pregnant zombie busting out of the grave. I was all sweaty and gross and . . . anyway, you don't need to know all that. As far as you're concerned I was a knockout in my silk negligee and feather boa.”

Oh, Donna.
Even telling such a painful story, she managed to squeeze in a light touch. His heart ached for her.

“I couldn't even walk right, I was dizzy from all the medication and everything kept swirling around me. Somehow I made it to the hallway where my mother was talking on her cell phone. Next to her was a rolling table with a bunch of plastic-­wrapped food trays on it. I grabbed a little packet of plastic silverware, a napkin wrapped around a knife and fork. Then I ran out of energy. I crumpled down in front of my mother, landing half on her feet. I held the silverware up in the air, in my fist, like some revolutionary.”

She gripped her fork to demonstrate.

“I said, ‘No adoption. I won't sign. I'll swallow this fork first.' And for some reason, my mother believed me. Maybe because it's not often a crazy pregnant girl lies down on your feet. Or maybe because I sounded like myself again after two months of sounding like the Voice of Doom.”

“So they canceled the idea of adoption?”

“Yes. That's when the Hannigans stepped in. And I'm grateful. When I think about how close they came to giving Zack away to a total stranger so I'd never even get to see him . . . I mean, what if I hadn't overheard that conversation? What if I'd signed some papers without even reading them, because I was so out of it? Yeah, it scares me to think about losing him, Mike. It scares me to death. I feel like I have this little toehold in his life, and it could get taken away if I make a wrong move.” She carefully put down the fork she'd been brandishing. “That's why I shouldn't have made out with you in the Laundromat. Or the library, but at least Bonita wasn't in there hiding with the mop bucket.”

“I'm sorry, Donna. I really am. I had no idea about any of this.”

“I know. It's not your fault. It's mine. I knew I couldn't trust myself around you.” She offered him a smile that landed somewhere between impish and rueful. “You know something? I think the Vow of Celibacy makes you even more attractive. And I can't believe I just told you that. Or all that other stuff.” She expelled a long breath of air.

“I'm glad you did.” He thought back on every interaction he'd seen between Donna and Zack. Affectionate, attentive, responsible—­he couldn't imagine anyone questioning her fitness as a parent. “I bet the judge will see what I see. Someone who loves her son and wants to take care of him.”

A slow flush rose up her face. She looked like she might cry again.

“No one in my family supports me on this. Judges like to hear testimony from family members. But my mother's in Europe right now, my stepmom hates me, and my dad can't be bothered. He keeps telling me I'm worried for nothing. At least, I think that's what he's saying, though it's hard to tell when he only speaks to me from underneath a car. He's a mechanic. If you ever need that Land Rover worked on, we can take it to him. Give me a chance to say hi. God, why can't I stop babbling?”

“Maybe because it's important?”

She gave a few quick nods. “My gut says I could lose Zack. And now I've made things a million times worse. Bonita's going to make it look like all the navy blazers and the good-­girl stuff is just an act. Which it is, but not
completely.
I'm not a
bad
girl.” She chewed on her bottom lip, reminding him of how it tasted when he'd kissed her in the Suds-­o-­Rama. “I don't even go out anymore. But who's going to believe me?”

“I can back you up on that. I had to go to the ball-­shriveling extent of doing my laundry, just to get you to go out with me. I'll tell any judge that, even though it makes me look a little pathetic, quite frankly.”

“Thanks, Solo.” Finally, a faint smile made its way back to her face. “That's nice of you.”

“Listen, I'll take you home, and you should take a bath, drink a cup of tea, read a book, whatever you like to do to relax.”

“Put on Nine Inch Nails and punch holes in the wall?”

“Whatever it takes. And don't spend any more time worrying about this situation. I'll figure out how to handle it.”

She shrugged, a hopeless little gesture that made his heart grieve. Donna wasn't used to ­people helping her; that much was clear. Well, she'd have to get used to it. Because there was no way he'd just stand by while she looked so frightened and sad.

The problem of how to help Donna dominated his thoughts over the next few days, to the detriment of his play at home plate.

They were playing a three-­day home stand against the Salt Lake Condors. With a man on second, their slugger hit a long line drive that Dwight Conner chased down in center field. He threw to Leiberman, who executed a perfect throw to home, right in the dirt the way Mike liked it.

And Mike . . . missed it. The runner on second—­a guy named Bates, who could have played linebacker in football—­was barreling down the third-­base line like a tanker truck. Mike got into position, his body firmly planted in front of the plate. He kept his eye on the ball winging toward him, while tracking the progress of the runaway train about to mow him down. And at the last minute, he flinched. He dove for the ball instead of waiting for it to come to him. By the time he caught it, no part of his body was touching home plate and his glove was nowhere near Bates.

Christ Almighty. He was going to hear about that from Duke. Not to mention the way he and Yazmer had been off rhythm all game, conferring after every other batter. Sure enough, as soon as the inning was over—­with the Catfish down three runs—­Duke collared him in the dugout.

“My ten-­year-­old niece makes that play, Solo.”

“If you're trying to insult me by comparing me to a girl, not cool, Duke.”

“I'm comparing you to a ten-­year-­old. She happens to be female. And tough as a tank, but that runs in the family.”

“I'm sure it does.”

Duke lowered his voice. “Crush told me about the kidney. I saw you flinch out there. How's it feeling? I gotta ask.”

Fucking Crush had ratted him out. “No, you don't. It's not a factor.”

“You guarantee that?”

“Absolutely.” What if Crush told more ­people? So far, no one in the media knew he was a one-­kidney player. The last thing he needed was reporters crawling all over his personal business, prying into Joey's life. If it were up to him, he'd tell the whole world he had a loving, supportive brother who happened to be gay. But his parents had begged him to keep their personal life private, and he felt compelled to honor that.

“Well, something's up. You and Yaz are a train wreck out there.”

“I know, Duke. We have communication issues.” That was one way to put it. Another way was that Yazmer paid no attention to anyone but himself.

“Work it out, Solo. Whatever it takes. Group therapy, language lessons, whatever.”

“On it, Duke.”

He walked to the other end of the dugout, where Yaz sat by himself, his pitching arm tucked in the sleeve of his jacket, head bobbing to a beat only he could hear.

“Yo, Mike-­o Solo.” Yaz shot him a sideways mocking glance. “Give me a shout next time, I'll cruise my ass home for the play.”

“Yeah, right. You wouldn't want to mess with that million-­dollar face.”

“Right on, baby, right on. I did the math, yo, and my face is worth more than your whole body.”

“You might be right about that.” Mike sat next to him and held out a packet of sunflower seeds.

“What's this, some kinda peace pipe action? I don't get high with the ­people tryin' to dictate my ass. Dick-­tate.” He drew it out with an emphasis on the “dick.”

Mike fixed his gaze on the batter's box, where Trevor was at the plate, staring down the Condor pitcher who'd been giving him fits lately. He crouched over the plate like a lion ready to pounce on a rattlesnake.

“It's sunflower seeds, Yaz. Nothing more. And I'm not dictating out there. Just trying to do my job. Control the pace of the game. Share my experience. Like, you don't let Bill Danson anywhere close to a curveball because he eats them for breakfast and throws up homers for lunch.”

“Not mine. Popped it up, baby, popped it like a soda.”

“That's because he has a sore shoulder. I noticed it when he was warming up. You could have gotten a groundout, easy. But you had to get cute.”

“Ain't no thing. An out's an out. Gotta be me. I don't do no quick at-­bats. I want my time. My time to shine. The Yaz gotta be
the Yaz
. Whoo!” He thumped his chest. “Yo, you gonna sign our petition?”