Night Games

NIGHT GAMES

COLLETTE WEST

Copyright © 2014 Collette West

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States of America.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. They are not to be misconstrued as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Cover image © Artem Furman / Shutterstock.com

Editor: Mickey Reed

To those who’ve ever had a crush on a baseball player.

Chapter One

Grey

I like seeing things from on top of the world.

Nudging the screen door open with my shoulder, I greet the morning outside my trailer. I can’t help but sigh in contentment as I gaze down at the valley below. The sun is breaking over the horizon as I sip my coffee from a chipped New York Kings mug. The pinkish orange tinge of dawn slowly gives way to blue, promising another scorcher ahead.

I sit cross-legged on the ground and pick off the blades of grass clinging to my toes, listening to the birds call back and forth to one another through the trees. The cicadas are already humming as the forest awakens from its nightly slumber. But the air is still cool and I savor the caress of a light breeze as it weaves its way through my hair.

Nothing soothes my soul like this mountain does.

Everyone thinks I’m crazy living up here by myself. They don’t understand how I crave isolation. The world is so turbulent, its hectic pace often leaving me drained. I need to get away from the constant stream of chatter and slow things down to a more natural rhythm. On top of this mountain, I’m able to think clearly and maintain some perspective. I’ve made so many mistakes in my life. I don’t think I can afford to make any more.

And it’s not like I’m completely removed from civilization. There are homes at the base of the cliff. I can see some of them from where I’m sitting. But the summit’s all mine. Jack Hardy, the hunter who owns this land, inherited it from his father. It’s been in his family for generations. And even though he only uses it for recreational purposes, he lets me rent his ramshackle trailer at a reasonable rate. Too bad, the suspension in my truck is shot due to the hasty road the phone company put in when they installed a cell tower within spitting distance of my front door. Jack promised City Council that he would open up his land for development and that installing the necessary utilities would be a worthwhile investment. He just didn’t tell them that his vision didn’t include anyone living up here for the next fifty years except for me. But thanks to him, I have all the modern amenities a girl could ask for—from a shower that leaks to a generator on the fritz. Ah, the joys of roughing it.

I was the first to answer Jack’s Craigslist ad back in the spring. He was wearing a New York Kings hat when I met him so I knew it was meant to be. At first, he was hesitant to have a single woman as a tenant. But after talking baseball with him for nearly an hour, he relented. He made it clear that he thought I required some protection, living up here on my own, before he’d feel comfortable with the arrangement. Being a gun enthusiast, he convinced me to buy a Glock 17 pistol. I wasn’t keen on keeping a loaded firearm next to my bed but eventually conceded that he was probably right. Anyone could wander out of these woods in the middle of the night, and I need to be prepared. Sure, it feels like utopia now on a sunny morning in July, but I’m no fool. The peaceful solitude can turn dangerous in a heartbeat. I’d rather have it than not, even if I never pull the trigger.

What scares me more is the loneliness that sometimes creeps up on me. When I’m busy, I don’t notice it as much, but on mornings like this, I wish I had someone to share this breathtaking sunrise with instead of always waking up alone. But I’m not going to let myself go there. It’s too nice a day to throw a pity party, especially when I have to be at work in an hour.

My eyes trace the flight of a hawk as it glides through the air, catching the sunlight on its ebony-tipped wings. I should embrace my freedom, not whine about it. I’m not tied down to anyone or anything. I could pick up and leave right now if I wanted to. I could go out and explore the world and all it has to offer. If I had the money, I wouldn’t stop until I crisscrossed the globe. But I have bills to pay and my lame-ass job at the mall barely covers those.

I thought about going to a New York Kings game this summer. Too bad I had to splurge on a new set of tires for my truck instead. It’s been a while since I’ve been to the stadium. I miss seeing the perfectly manicured field and hearing the roar of fifty thousand fans jump to their feet. So many good memories are wrapped up in that place. I used to go every year with my family, but once Mom got sick, it didn’t feel right going without her.

But my enthusiasm for the Kings never wavered. I still watch as many games as I can on TV. When I have to work nights, I’m usually home by ten to catch the last few innings. From April to October, the Kings are a part of my nighttime ritual. My Chase Whitfield t-shirt is so threadbare that it’s ready to disintegrate in the wash. I finger the hem as I tip back my head and drain the contents of my mug. I really should get a new shirt, but I can’t bear to part with this one. It’s all worn in and cozy. Even if the number three is fading on the back, my mind doesn’t have any trouble envisioning the player it represents.

It’s weird, but I feel like I know Chase Whitfield. Maybe it’s because I’ve been watching him play shortstop for the Kings since his rookie season back when I was sixteen. When I think about it, he’s been the one constant in my life. Boyfriends have come and gone, but he’s the one guy who has remained. I know it’s silly, but no one else could measure up to him. He’s driven, yet humble. Determined, yet gracious. His personality is more dazzling than all four of his World Series rings combined.

I like what he stands for. He grew up wanting to be the starting shortstop of the Kings and he’ll probably have his number retired at that position. He knew what he wanted and he went out and got it. Sure, he worked hard to get where he is today, but it all seemed predestined, like he was somehow meant for greatness. He taught me how to strive for nothing less than my personal best, even if it’s only neatly folding the underwear tray in men’s accessories.

I bite my lip to keep from giggling when my phone rings inside the trailer. Scrambling to my feet, I race to answer it. No one usually calls me this early. Shit. It’s my sister’s name lighting up the screen. I hope everything’s all right with Mom.

“Erin, what is it?” I ask, out of breath, afraid of what she’s about to tell me.

“Oh my God, Grey Goose! Are you sitting down?” she screams into the receiver, forcing me to hold it away from my ear. I hate it when she refers to me as a brand of vodka, but I let it pass. She’s so frazzled I can’t tell if she’s excited or upset.

“Please tell me Mom’s okay.”

“Mom? Yeah, she’s fine.”

“Then why are you calling me at the butt crack of dawn?” I collapse on the edge of the bed, trying to still my heart.

“Just shut up and let me finish, would ya?” She laughs, knowing what a worrywart I am. “I was getting the boys ready for summer camp, and I had the news on in the background. I really wasn’t paying attention until I heard a certain someone’s name mentioned.”

“Oh no. Not Mark.” Erin’s estranged husband took out a telephone pole with his car after one of his drinking binges, but that was months ago. I hope he’s not at it again.

“Grey, don’t kill the buzz I’ve got going on,” she snaps, annoyed that I mentioned her ex.

“Well, who then?”

“Chase Whitfield!”

For a moment, my mind goes blank. It throws me to hear Erin shriek his name after I was just thinking about him. My brain seems to freeze as my daydream collides with real life.

“What? Is he coming off the disabled list?”

That’s the only thing that comes to mind since he’s been out of commission practically the entire season. He twisted his knee sliding into second base in April, and I’ve been in serious Chase-withdrawal mode, waiting for him to return to the team. I know I’ve been grumbling about his prolonged absence to Erin so much that she’s probably sick of hearing me talk about him. But I didn’t think she cared enough to give me a status report on his condition. It’s beyond thoughtful, which is kind of unlike her. She’s usually too preoccupied with whatever her kids are doing to notice stuff like this.

“Even better than that. He’s coming here!”

I can’t help it. I drop my phone.

“Grey? Did you hear me? Grey?” Her voice radiates from the speaker, but I’m at a loss for words. Struggling to collect myself, I push my hair out of my face and take a deep breath before picking up the phone.

“When is he coming?” I manage to spit out.

“Tomorrow night!”

“Erin, we have to get tickets… We have to—”

“Calm down, G. Already taken care of. I went online and got them before they sold out. We’re in. We’ve been waiting for this so I got right down to business. No fooling around.”

I don’t know who is more obsessed with Chase—me or my sister. It’s a toss-up. Ever since the Kings moved their minor league franchise to our hometown of Stockton, Pennsylvania, three years ago, we always hoped that Chase would play here.

“He must be pissed that he has to come to Beaver Field,” I mutter, more to myself than to her.

“Who cares? We can’t go to New York anymore, so let Chase come to us,” Erin remarks, oblivious to the fact that an athlete of his caliber shouldn’t have to rehab a knee injury on turf.

“It’ll be awesome to see him play again, live and in person. I just hope he takes it easy and—”

“What are you, his mother? Grey, snap out of it. We’re going to ogle his cute butt from the cheap seats, not fret over his damn knee. Just for that, you’re buying me a beer. I’m bound to get thirsty as hell from all the catcalling I plan on doing.”

Erin’s been drinking way too much lately, but I bite my tongue. Her marriage exploded in her face when she caught Mark cheating on her. They had a knockdown, drag-out fight that escalated to the point of Mark drawing a knife on her in their kitchen. Erin managed to get away with their two boys, Randy and Jacob, before calling the cops. Since she had nowhere else to go, I happily vacated the apartment above our parents’ garage and moved into Jack’s trailer. But the pressure of being back at square one has been wearing on her last nerve, and she’s been hitting the bottle more than ever.

“Well, if you’re taking the Chippendales’ approach, I guess that means I’m driving and you’re not bringing the boys.”

“Grey, we’re going to stalk his ass all over town if we have to. I’m not going home until I have a picture with my arms wrapped around that smokin’ hot body of his.”

I know she’s trying to overcompensate after what Mark did to her, and of course, she needs to get her groove back somehow. Just not when she’s desperate and inebriated.

“Uh huh. You just want to show off on Facebook.”

“Damn right I do. I intend to show all those sorry bitches out there that I’ve still got it. C’mon, baseball’s most eligible bachelor? The kids and I would be set for life. What was his last contract for—$35 million? Now that would be sweet. Living in a penthouse. Having a maid pick up after us. Being pampered by one of the sexiest guys in the known universe.”

“Keep dreaming, Erin.”

“You’re just jealous because you want him for yourself. Admit it.”

Of course I do. But I’m not telling her that. Her ego’s still bruised. If it helps restore her confidence, I’ll play along. It’s not like we’re actually going to meet him or anything.

“Fine, I’ll give you first dibs. As long as one of us Kelleher girls snags him, I don’t care who it is.” I act like we’ll be in some kind of
Bachelorette
-style showdown to win him over.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about!” Erin exclaims before whistling loudly. “I bet that boy’s a handful in the sack. Just look at all of the models and actresses he’s dated. It seems like he hasn’t found one yet who’s able to keep him satisfied. That’s for damn sure.”

My throat constricts as she rattles off my biggest pet peeve about Chase. He’s a player both on and off the field. Everyone’s just waiting for him to settle down, but he never does. Erin’s right. No one seems to be good enough for him, and I doubt he’s going to find what he’s looking for in Stockton.

“Listen, Erin. I gotta run or I’ll be late for work. But text me and let me know what time you want me to pick you up.” I grab a brush off my dresser, running it through the tangles the morning breeze left in my hair.

“I’m so wearing that new bra I bought from Victoria’s Secret. It still has the tags on and everything. Hey, you never know. I might get lucky.”

“Erin…”

“All right, see ya tomorrow.”

“Bye, slut.”

“Later, ho.”

I hang up, feeling both elated and dejected. I admire Chase just as much for his talent, but all women seem to focus on are his looks or his bank account. Not many know his batting average or his on-base percentage. I only hope that the woman he does end up with at least has some interest in baseball. I mean, it’s what he does for a living, and it wouldn’t kill him to be a bit more particular when it comes to whom he’s sleeping with.

Not that I stand a chance.