Over the Fence: Lyssa Layne's Baseball Romances (74 page)

“What about? You know Coach isn’t going to cut you at this point in the season.” I shake my head, trying not to laugh. Almost five years ago, Jace Richards ruled the MLB. Then he got caught gambling on his own team and was banned. Ever since the commissioner allowed him back into the league, he’s worse than a first year rookie with his nerves.

“No, man, not that. The twins. They’re coming… like any day and it fuckin’ scares the shit out of me! One, they’re like… teeny, tiny humans. Two, they’re girls. Three, there’s two of them. Four, Laurel, I mean, two human beings are coming out of her and what if—”

Laughing, I squeeze my hand on his shoulder. “Dude, calm down. The baby stage is the easiest. They eat, sleep, poop. It’s when they start moving around that you’re in trouble.”

Dickey thinks about it then nods slowly. “Okay… but what about Laurel? I mean… I can’t even picture something that size coming out of… there… or worse, the doc slicing her open.” He shivers and his face goes pale.

“Yeah, a woman’s body is pretty amazing. It might freak you out seeing that happening but you can’t let Laurel notice. Your job is tell her how awesome she’s doing and just watch the miracle happen.”

I smile, thinking back to the day Marcos was born. Ironically, Isabel and I were in biology class when her water broke. To this day, Mr. Hahn still says that was the best lesson he ever taught. Like two nervous teenagers, because we were at the time, we jumped in my El Camino and I raced her across town to the hospital. We didn’t call either of our parents until Marcos was safely in our arms but I clearly remember changing from a teenager to a father the second he wrapped his tiny finger around mine.

“What about… you know… afterward? Like will I ever be able to shake that image of a baby coming
out
of her?” The fear on Dickey’s face is even more intense at the thought of post-baby sex.

My grin gets wider and I squeeze his shoulder again. “Once you fall in love with your daughters, these precious gifts from God that only Laurel can give you, you’ll be even more crazy in love with her.”

Dickey’s shoulders relax and he smiles. “Good. I was worried about that.”

I roll my eyes and start to turn back to the window to sleep but not before reminding him, “You know, it’ll probably be at least six weeks before she can have sex again.”

Dickey’s smile disappears and he punches me in the leg. “Fuck you, man, not cool.”

I laugh hysterically as I rub my leg. Speaking of sex, it’ll be good to be home with my Isabel in just a few hours. No game for the next two days means I can get my workout in house, or better yet, maybe I can talk Isabel into staying at a hotel so we don’t suffer through the summer heat and wild lovemaking like we normally do. Not to mention, getting out of the apartment also means delaying the birds and the bees talk even longer.

CHAPTER 7

This time home I remembered to change into my undershirt and a pair of shorts before making the long trek to our top story apartment. The sweet Spanish tunes follow me up the stairs as I dance up them toward my home where my sweet Isabel awaits. I’ve been sending her dirty text messages ever since the plane landed and I got a stressed out Jace Richards into a cab, no way that kid was okay to drive. Marcos shouldn’t be out of school for another few hours which means I’ve got Isabel all to myself with no distractions. It should be a perfect start to getting us back on track to where we once were.

I’ve done a lot of soul searching the past few weeks, reminding myself of better days when Isa and I were inseparable. I sigh because those times were back when we were in high school. I should’ve asked her to marry me the day we found out Marcos was on his way but I didn’t. Why not? Well, there was a variety of reasons, but the most obvious was that we were still kids ourselves. If I didn’t think I had a real shot in the big leagues, I probably would’ve asked Isabel to be my wife, but as it was, her pregnancy pushed me to try harder and do everything within my power to make an active roster in MLB. I didn’t want us to fall into the same lives that our parents had. I wanted more for us, for our son, and here I am, living and breathing the highest goal I’ve ever set for myself. It might be almost two decades later but I’m ready to make that commitment that I should’ve done years ago. At least I think I am… I don’t know. I mean, nothing’s changed. Isa’s not going anywhere. I’ve still got a few good years left out of my pitching arm. Maybe I should just wait until I retire?

The good news is that I don’t have to make my decision now. The better news is that my Isabel is on the other side of the door I’m staring at. Turning the doorknob, I inhale deeply, expecting to smell pasteles, but I’m disappointed when I’m greeted by a floral air freshener instead.

“Gordi?” I call out. “Papa is home!”

I drop my bag, sweat already beading on my forehead. The sweat droplets on my neck begin their descent down my back and I fight back the urge to curse over the lack of AC in this place. Tugging off my undershirt, I ball it up and wipe my head as I begin to search the apartment for Isabel. Less than two minutes later, my search is over and there’s no sign of Isabel here. I check my phone again but there’s nothing from Isa. Sighing, I toss my phone on the couch and make my way to the kitchen to grab a beer. If she were in trouble, I’d be the first person she’d call so I’m not worried. Other than a case of blue balls thanks to the anticipation of seeing Isabel, I’ll welcome the time alone. I settle on the couch and flip on what other than a baseball game. It just so happens to be the Stags playing so it’s like catching up with Grant and Tate without having to pick up the phone.

Between beer #4 and the heat in this place, I’m fast asleep by the fifth inning. The slamming door startles me and I jump off the couch, disoriented from the alcohol and my slumber. A smile comes to my lips as I see my beautiful Isabel wearing a loose fitting, knee length, floral, cotton dress. It doesn’t hide her curves one bit and immediately I can’t wait to get my hands on her.

“Gordi, I’ve missed you,” I say, crossing the room to greet her.

Isabel holds up her hands and shakes her dark tresses over her shoulders. “Benny, you know how much I hate that name.”

Technically, the term “gordi” means chubby but it’s always been my pet name for Isabel. In our culture, it is a common phrase that is used and in no way am I using it as an insult but more a term of endearment.

“Lo siento, Isa.” I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her body against mine. “Where’ve you been? I was home… alone… missing you.” I suck on her earlobes in between my words so that it is conveyed just how much I wanted her.

“Working, Benny. Most of America has 9-5 jobs, unlike you,” she quips but doesn’t pull away from my kisses.

I bite my tongue, not wanting to remind her that there is no real reason for her to work. I’m not in the mood for an argument, just some Isabel lovin’ to remind me exactly how we fell in love. My hands slide over the backs of her thighs, pushing her dress up as I do. Isabel jumps back, forcing us to lose contact with each other. My throbbing manhood is
not
happy.

“What, Isabel?” I ask, not hiding my irritation at all.

She purses her lips together to answer then they drop into a frown. Shaking her head, she walks to the kitchen without saying a word.

Why? Why does this have to be so hard? Why can’t she be like Mia James or Laurel Richards? Those women can’t wait for their men to get home, grateful for their family time together AND for the jobs their men have. My woman? She’s pissed at me before I even walk through the door. I run my fingers through my hair before I follow her into the kitchen.

“I’m sorry I was short, Isa. It’s just been a long few weeks without you and I missed you. Can you honestly be upset with me because I missed you, gor—” I catch myself and call her babe instead.

Isabel stays silent a few more seconds, meaning nothing good is going to come of this evening. Finally, she turns around to face me, thrusting her phone in my face. “Miss me, Benjamin? Sure doesn’t look like it!”

Cabron!
Staring back at me is a photo, a very bad photo of me. It’s me in the club with Gregg and his boy, Clay. Some woman wearing next to nothing is grinding on my lap and my drunk eyes let on that I’m enjoying the attention.
Why have I not seen these pictures yet?
Because the headline is about Gregg’s sexuality, not my escapade. In the very far background, not even in focus, is Gregg with his hand on Clay’s thigh, just enough PDA to prove that the rumors are true.

“Can you believe the paparazzi is hounding Gregg like this? Let the man be, he’s happy! I need to call him.” I hand the phone back to Isabel who is staring at me with tears in my eyes. “Isa, what’s wrong?” I ask, confused at her emotions.

A slew of Spanish profanity is unleashed on me as she throws her arms around, shoving me every now and then. If only my Spanish weren’t so rusty, I’d probably be able to understand what she’s saying, but as it is, all I know is that she’s pissed… really pissed.

“Is this why you won’t marry me? Are you being unloyal when you aren’t home?” Tears brim her eyes, threatening to fall at any moment.

“What?! Isabel, don’t be ridiculous! You are
the
only woman I’ve
ever
been with!” It’s the truth, Isabel took my virginity the same night I took hers.

“Then why won’t you ask me to be your wife?”

The tears fall and I hate to see my Isa cry. I reach out for her, trying to calm us both down in the moment. She slaps my hand away, crossing her arms over her chest and fighting like hell to stop her tears. I take a deep breath before I speak again.

“Isabel, I love you with my everything. I thought you knew that. I thought you trusted me and these accusations would end. I have never been with anyone other than you, Isabel, and I don’t want to be with anyone else.”

The tears don’t stop as she manages to squeak out again, “Then why won’t you marry me?”

I throw my hands up in exasperation. “You want a piece of paper that says we’re man and wife? Because I know there’s not a chance in hell that you’ll let me buy a diamond to put on your finger.”

Judging from her reaction, that wasn’t the right thing to say. Isabel’s tan cheeks turn bright red as she leans in close to me. “I don’t want a ring or a piece of paper. I want to set an example for our son but it’s too late now.”

I lift my eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

Isabel stands up straight, crossing her arms again. “Janisa’s pregnant, Abuelo.”

My jaw drops as if I’m being sucker punched. Quickly, I pinch myself, making sure I’m not asleep because my past is coming back to haunt me.

“Don’t you see it didn’t matter, Benny? You thought the fame and money would save Marcos from the mistake of our past but can’t you see that it hasn’t?”

“Mistake, Isabel? How could you call Marcos a mistake?” My blood boils at her words. This isn’t my Isabel, she would never say anything like that.

“I’m not referring to him, Benny…”

I lift my gaze, looking into her eyes where I see the truth. No, Marcos is most definitely not a mistake. Isabel is letting me know that it’s me, I’m the mistake of her past.

CHAPTER 8

Chilly air blows out of the air conditioner, lowering the temperature of the room quickly. My arms folded behind my head, I take a deep breath and try to relax as I cool off in my very expensive, and now, very cold hotel room. I’m going to have to man up and do the father thing with Marcos before I leave for our away game in a couple of days but I needed to get away from everything. Isabel, Marcos, that hotbox apartment. I couldn’t think, much less breath, in that tiny space and to be honest, Isabel’s words cut like a knife to my chest.

My cell phone rings and the only reason I even look at it is because it’s not Isabel or Marcos’ ringtone.
Cabron!
I quickly pick up when I see that it’s Gregg. I think I really screwed things up for him this time.