Wild Card by Ashley Munoz

Chapter Thirteen

The sun kept peekingthrough the trees as I walked with Juan and Hillary through campus. We were laughing about something Hillary had said—as per usual because she had no filter—so I didn’t even realize we’d ventured toward the massive baseball field on the opposite side of the school. We never came this way, and since I had no classes until later that afternoon, I wasn’t paying attention to where we wandered.

“Why are we here?” I felt like everyone on the team knew what I had done, especially seeing that little group meeting I witnessed at the bar and knowing it was Elias who’d been leading it. I was finally able to connect a few dots after my little café date with Decker. Not a date—it wasn’t a date. I had to keep those thoughts categorized correctly, or else I’d get confused by his easy smiles and flirty behavior.

“Figured Hil and I could scope out this man who had his tongue down your throat the other night.” Juan smiled brightly, his dark shades covering those whiskey eyes. I wanted to punch him, but I was also curious about the players on the team. It was about time I checked out their roster, see who played what…even though I had no idea what ‘what’ was.

I watched as a few players tossed the white ball from glove to glove. “So turns out Elias wasn’t who he said he was…that was just the name he gave me.” We walked closer to the fence, still keeping close to the tree line so we had some coverage.

“Shit…then who was the one in the room with you?” Hillary asked, sipping her iced coffee. Her face pressed against the metal fence while we watched the players run and slide impressively fast to get to their next base.

“Decker James.” I searched the names on the back of the jerseys within my scope of vision to see if I could find him. I should have known by how quiet my two best friends were that something was wrong. Sure enough, as I pulled away from the fence and took in their concerned faces, I saw they were looking at each other with reserved expressions.

“What?” My eyes bounced from my best friend’s black-rimmed glasses and downcast brown eyes to Juan’s colored lenses.

“You’re positive it’s Decker James? As in, a student here at RFU?” Juan clarified with an intensity that threw me for a loop.

Hillary looked up at Juan right as he looked down at her, and I knew, I just knew.

“He’s not on the team, is he?”

“Well…he is, but I guess he’s in more of a supportive role now,” Hillary answered, her hands shifting nervously.

Juan shook his head back and forth like this conversation bothered him.

Hillary spoke up again, getting my attention. “I dated this guy last year who was on the team with him, and rumor is that Decker tried to nail Elias with one of his insane fastballs. I guess Elias was able to move in time, but they basically demoted him, took him off as starting pitcher, and removed him from the team house.”

Juan’s gaze stayed at our feet, that muscle in his jaw jumping every few seconds. I wondered why he was being so quiet, but Hillary sipped from her pink straw and spoke up again.

“I think he’s dangerous, Mal…” She trailed off, casting her gaze out to the field.

My heartbeat sped, like a rally car that had gone off course then got a flat, and then the brakes went out. A shitshow—that was what was happening inside my chest.

Dangerous?

He didn’t like Elias; that much I could tell from the conversations we’d had and the way he’d looked at the guy.

“Nah, he’s not all that. He’s in a class of mine…he’s cool,” Juan finally added softly. He barely looked up while his fingers dug into the metal near our faces. The journalist in me wanted to interrogate my best friend. There were things he wasn’t saying, and he was acting weird.

“Juan, this is serious…you can’t assess whether the man is safe or not based on if he shares his notes or not.” Hillary shook her head back and forth. Leaning closer to me, she said, “Get this: I guess Elias wasn’t the only one who got fucked up. They say the team started calling Decker ‘Frankenstein’ instead of his beloved nickname, ‘Dugger.’ I guess his hand got all jacked during a fight. Anyway, he has this grotesque scar running down the length of his hand and up his wrist.” My friend’s eyebrows waggled as she dished about this guy I had more than a little crush on.

I watched the field, trying to push away this feeling. They couldn’t be right, the rumors. I’d seen the scar, but something told me it hadn’t been from a fight. Just thinking about those hands made me feel an ache low in my belly. She had to be wrong, but then again…he did hate Elias with a crazy passion that didn’t exactly seem healthy and was going after my stepsister, for something complicated…

“Girl, you dodged a bullet.” Hillary sighed, and we started walking again.

I silently nodded my agreement, not sure how to break the news to my best friends that I had Frankenstein’s number in my phone and it was burning a hole in my pocket.

* * *

“Shaw!”My last name was bellowed through the newsroom, and every head turned my way.

I clenched my fists, hating that my legs straightened even though my mind was screaming at them to stay exactly where they were. Fuck this guy and his rude-ass way of communicating. We weren’t dogs, coming when he commanded.

Still, I went, and I hated myself for it, but he held my future in those clammy, petite hands of his.

“Trevor.” I took the seat in front of his desk, sliding my hands under my legs so I didn’t wrap them around his neck.

“Where is your article?” His face was already two inches from his monitor, typing away.

“It’s not due for another two weeks.”

He made some sound in the back of his throat. “Your notes are due, so…” He turned toward me and crossed his arms like he was confident in my utter demise. “Where are they?”

Inhaling a shallow breath, I steadied my voice as I explained. “I’m not turning them in this week.”

“Not acceptable, Shaw…you know that.” He rolled his eyes, turning back toward his computer. “Even freshmen understand the logistics of being in this journalism course. Notes are always due at the end of the week, regardless of the deadline.”

I loved how he constantly condescended to me regarding my position on the paper.

“I understand this, but I’m still not turning them in. I’m a senior reporter—I’ve earned a little bit of leeway. I have a really good story, Trevor. Trust me on this.”

He scoffed. “Trust you?”

His chair swiveled in my direction. His greasy hair was tied back at his neck, and his eyes had dark circles under them. I already knew it was from a Dungeons and Dragons game that had gone too long the night prior.

“You totally bailed on the last story!”

I stood and hovered near his desk, wishing I didn’t have this stupid proximity issue so I could get in his face. “You took that story from me! It was well written, informative, and delivered a fantastic punch, but you didn’t run it. That was your choice. I’m not budging on this. If you don’t want the story then I’ll sell it. Either way”—I stood to my full height and turned on my heel—“I’m not turning in my fucking notes.”

I walked away, ignoring him calling my name from his little office. People flicked their curious gazes my way before dropping them back to their desks. Trevor got off on causing drama in this stupid class, and he especially loved messing with me; I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction today.

I held my chin high while I grabbed my things and left the room, heading straight for the student parking lot. I may have seemed confident in my departure and my defiance, but truthfully, I was just fucked.

I had no notes, not enough to write something worthy of being featured in the showcase. I’d only met with Decker that one time in the café, then I’d ignored the number he’d given me and hadn’t called or texted him since hearing about his little rage problem.

I knew it sucked to judge someone based on a rumor, but could I really risk my or Taylor’s safety on something like that? No, I couldn’t.

Then again…Juan had said he was cool, and I had no story and really needed one. When I considered how many random guys Taylor let into our house, were we ever really safe? I mean, any of those guys could and probably did have hang-ups or issues…who was to say Decker would ever let those issues manifest around me or Taylor? If she wasn’t even worried about her safety, I didn’t need to make such a big deal about him coming over…right?

Right.