Rounding the Bases by Jaqueline Snowe

Chapter Twenty-Four

Brigham

Blue Bell missed me.

It was juvenile to enjoy the fact that she texted me the words, but it did nothing to stop my upbeat attitude. Sure, I played a hell of a game—a homerun and two doubles—but it was easier to think about Sarah than the chance of not playing baseball again. My mind wouldn’t even go that route, and if I did in the middle of the night, my brain would short circuit and send me into a full panic. So, thinking about Sarah’s little sighs when I touched her, or the sound of her laugh, helped. It helped a lot.

“Dude,” Gideon said, we got back into the hotel for the night. “You’re having a hell of a month, man.” He hit my back with a proud look on his face. “Starting to make me look bad, actually.”

I snorted. “Fuck off, Gid.”

“You want to grab a drink in the bar? I think Tate and Bummy are joining us.” He nodded toward the right and the scene unfolded in my mind. Having one drink, wanting another then doing something dumb.

“Uh, better not.” I tried to smile. “Too worried about fucking up my good karma.”

“Brigs, you can’t keep hiding in your room alone on road trips. You’ll go crazy.” He put a hand on my shoulder and guided me toward a booth. “We miss your competitive ass. Without you, we all just sit and stare at each other in silence.”

“Jesus,” I scoffed, but warmed at his words. Being a part of this team, with these guys, was a dream come true. The support they offered, the friendship, wasn’t always the case in the majors, and despite the warning in my gut, I sat down with him just as Bummy and Tate joined us.

“Heyoo, Brigs!” Tate said, fist bumping me across the table. “What are you on, man? Your stats are wild right now.”

“It’s annoying,” Bummy said, typing something on his phone and smiling like an idiot. The dude gets married and becomes a marshmallow. Never made sense before but now, thinking about Sarah, I might understand it.

I showed them all my middle finger as a waiter came over and took our order. I ordered one light beer and hoped my friends didn’t see how nervous I was. This was a big deal. The first drink since the arrest. It wasn’t like I was an alcoholic, but my drinking had gotten out of control. Taking a deep breath, I smiled when I was supposed to and forced a laugh. The waiter brought the drinks, and when we all had our fingers wrapped around our bottles, Gideon held his up. “To Brigham, the pretty party boy who is kicking ass and who will totally fucking beat this case.”

“Brigs!”

We clinked our glasses and my throat got tight. “Thanks,” I mumbled, taking a small sip before setting the drink down. He meant well. I understood that. But the harsh reality was that I didn’t know for sure if I would beat the case.

“Ah, shit.” Gideon narrowed his eyes at the entrance of the bar and we all looked, wincing at the four women who appeared. They wore very little clothing and heels, their gazes locking on us as triumphant smiles stretched across their faces. “Don’t want to deal with chasers today.”

“Or ever,” Bummy said.

Every muscle in my body tensed when the women, clearly focused on our table, walked over with so much sway in their gait that it actually baffled me that they didn’t fall. I tightened my grip around the bottle and scooted farther into the booth, almost touching Tate’s leg. Fuck, I’d sit on his lap if it meant getting out of the situation.

“Hi! We are so sorry to bother you gentlemen, but we were hoping for a picture? We’re huge fans,” the tallest one said. Her fire-red lips were full and pouty, and her dress left little to the imagination. Six months ago, I would’ve let her sit on my lap before taking her to my hotel room. Easily.

But now, not even a chance. Her gaze zeroed in on me as she moved closer to the booth. “Can we take a few with you?”

“We’re trying to enjoy a drink right now,” Gideon said, no warmth to his voice. There was a reason guys feared him, and right now, the women didn’t care. “I think it’s best if you leave.”

One girl made a pouty sound before the tallest, the one inches from me, slid her hand over my neck. “Brigham, we could have fun tonight. I’d make you feel good.”

“No.” My jaw tightened and I tried to crane my neck away from her, but she kept trying. It was so fucking hard not to grab her hand and remove her from me. But I couldn’t risk it. One photo of my touching her would be enough to ruin everything. So I had to sit there, let her touch me while my body recoiled and it fucking sucked. “Get your fucking hands off me.”

Gideon whistled at the bartender, a big beefy man, and he saw the scene and marched over. But in those few seconds, the woman threaded her fingers in my hair and bent down so low her cleavage spilled over and had a nip slip. “Oops,” she said, giggling and adjusting herself. “Hate it when that happens.”

No one said anything.

“Get out. Now. You have thirty seconds before I call security.”

They hustled out and I pinched my nose, anger and revulsion creating a shit mood. “I’m heading up.”

“Brigs,” Gideon said, frowning. “Sorry, man.”

“It’s fine. Part of what we do.” I pushed out of the booth and bee-lined it to my room. Shower. I wanted to wash the woman’s touch off me and try to forget it. But it was hard. It rattled me. After the arrest, the fact that all the people I was with were all using me in some way made every interaction with strangers nerve-wracking. The scalding hot water helped ease some of the tension, but it wasn’t until I crawled into the bed and Facetimed Sarah that I could relax.

“Hey, you,” she said in her sing-song voice. “How was the match?”

“Game.” I snorted. “The game was good.”

“Game, match, competition. All the same.” She stuck her tongue out at me and rolled over to her side in bed. “You all right?”

“I don’t know.” I sighed and tried to find the right way to say what I felt. “I played great. When I’m on the field, I’m fine. It’s just off it I feel unbalanced.”

“How so?”

Something told me not to tell her about the women. It wasn’t that I felt guilty, because I didn’t. I hadn’t done anything wrong. But fans would always be a part of the game and it would stress her out. “People’s expectations of me. Since the arrest, I’ve realized how few people I trust. It’s sad.”

Her eyes softened and I wished more than anything that she could be there, in the hotel, with me. “Why don’t you focus on those who you do trust? Your teammates. Those guys seem great. Their wives. Your family. Me. You can trust Megan and Ethan, too. They are loyal as hell, so once you’re in our circle, you’re in forever.”

Fuck.I wanted that. I wanted that forever. Their friendship and loyalty and zero interest in my paycheck or what I did. My chest started feeling funny again and I scratched it, knowing it was time to tell her how I felt, the second I got home. I shook my head. “Sarah.”

“Brigham.”

“I miss you.”

“I do too.” She blushed and opened her mouth for a second, before closing it. “It’s stupid, huh? You’ve only been gone four nights but I still look for you every time I’m in the hallway, or every time I take the dogs out.”

“Not stupid.” I almost told her. It was right there, the L word. “Would you ever…consider traveling with me?”

“Like, to Paris or something?”

God, she was the fucking cutest. “I would take you to Paris in a heartbeat. I meant, during the season.”

Shit, nerves fluttered in my belly. It was like asking a girl three years older than me to a dance in eighth grade. She’d said no, but it was the bravest thing I’d done that year. Sarah remained silent for two seconds and I rambled. “The players get their own room and we reserve our own floor at hotels. They are secured. The wives and kids travel sometimes. And I just thought, if you could, or if you wanted, you could come.”

“And we could have hotel sex?”

“As often as you wanted.”

“Mm.” She pursed her lips and nodded, hard. “Would I get to see a game?”

“We could plan it so Fiona and Michelle come too, so yes, you could come to a game with them?”

“Oh, I like those ladies.” She hummed for a second before staring at me straight through the phone. “You want me there?”

“Fuck, Sarah. Yes. I really do.”

“Okay. We’ll make it happen when Mr. Alexandre gets back.”

Her answer helped ease the growing anxiety from the incident downstairs, but it shot back up when Charles sent me a text and the notification interrupted the momentary distraction of Sarah.

Charles: CALL ME

“Fuck,” I said, already feeling the throbbing of a headache coming on. “Charles needs me to call him.”

“Maybe it’s good news. You don’t know.”

“Let’s hope. I should call him. I’m sorry, Blue. I’d rather talk to you all night.”

“I know, me too, but call him and get some rest. It’s much later there.” Her voice was soft and kind and I wanted to fall asleep talking to her. But my life didn’t provide that option. “Talk to you tomorrow?”

“I’ll definitely need my Blue fix.”

“Charmer. You’re dangerous. Go call Charles. Goodnight, Brigham.”

I hung up, braced myself, and dialed his number. One ring. That was all it took.

“What the fuck, Brigham?”

Fear paralyzed me. I wasn’t sure I could even breathe until he explained his comment.

“Drinking? Chicks wearing almost nothing? I thought your blue-haired chick was stopping you from doing this? Fuck, man.” He groaned and panic surged through me to the point my hands shook. “I don’t know how to spin this.”

“What?” I said, my voice above a whisper.

“I have a fucking Google alert on your ass so I see when news breaks. Pictures are out. Beer bottles and skanky chicks. Tits in your face. Same ole party boy.”

“I don’t… No. There was none of that. Thirty seconds of fans trying to get a picture with us, but we turned them away.”

“Doesn’t matter what actually happened, Monaghan. You know that more than anyone. The picture makes the truth irrelevant. I’m sending the photo to you now. We need a fucking plan, because this will be the final fucking straw.”

My phone buzzed and all the blood left my face at the image.

Charles wasn’t kidding. It looked bad. Worse than bad. Horrific. The woman’s body was positioned just right so it looked like I was staring down her dress.

“Charles, this isn’t…the photo is staged. I didn’t even see them take a photo.”

He didn’t respond and I wanted to slam my phone through the window. Why does this happen, again? I’d done the right thing. I’d said no. My eyes stung and I had no warning before I threw up in a shitty metal trash can by the desk.

“We need something. Anything. A comment about the falseness. Photos of you and blue hair. This might be the final straw, Brigs.”

“I’ll send you everything I have.” I scrolled through my photos in a wild desperation. I had so many of Sarah and me. Maybe it would help, maybe it wouldn’t. Twenty pictures of us, of her smiling, the dogs, pictures of me and my sister, some of Gideon, Bummy and me at the rescue event. My brain didn’t compute how they were helpful. “Do we need to hire a publicist?”

“Too late, Brigham. At this point… Not sure what they would do.” His tone had a dangerous tremor, one that sent my worries into an even deeper part of my brain. “Stay in your hotel room. Play great the next three days. Don’t be a fucking idiot.”

“Okay.”

Then he hung up.

I couldn’t sit in the room. It was too small and too stifling. My chest hurt, like someone was sitting on it, and my heart raced. Is this a panic attack? I stumbled into the hallway and knocked on the door closest to the elevator. Our coach’s. He didn’t look happy when he saw me, but his face changed to worry. “Brigham, what happened?”

“Can I…” I swallowed. “I need to talk to you.”

“Sure, sure. Come in.”

He pushed the door open and I fell into to red armchair. “I’m fucked. Totally fucked. And I didn’t do anything wrong. Baseball is my life. I can’t… It’s going to end.”

“Tell me about it. Take a breath. We’ll figure something out.”

And I told him everything. All of it, while he listened, and instead of sympathy or worry in his eyes, he had a fire. It was the spark of hope I needed to not fall apart, and I clung to it.