More than the Game by Jenni Bara

14

@SIMag:@HotShotDemoda was back at his former team’s stadium today. Is there a coaching change in the Metros future?

“What is yourproblem?” Beth demanded as Marc slammed the car door shut. He’d been in a mood ever since they’d left the restaurant.

“Maybe it has something to do with the fact that we’re supposed to be on a date, but now we’re running back home to hold your ex-boyfriend’s hand because he had a terrible game,” Marc snapped.

“We’re not on a date. We’re drumming up good press for you. There’s a difference. There were plenty of pictures, and I’m sure that by tomorrow morning everyone will know what we ate. Tonight was about you.”

Marc glanced at her with that familiar look of disappointment, but she continued.

“Second, there is nothing between Corey and me, and hasn’t been for ten years. And third, I’m not holding his hand. I’m saving the babysitter from the overload of testosterone that is about to invade my house! My brothers will know Corey stank again, and he’s heading there. You think they’ll miss the opportunity to tell him?”

“We get to spend the night telling Corey how crappy he is?” Marc mused. He didn’t have to sound so cheery about it.

“They get to tell Cor. You get to sit and enjoy a cold beer.” None of her brothers would like it if Marc picked on Corey.

“Oh, shi–sugar,” Marc cursed.

“What?” Beth’s eyes flew to the road.

“We have to stop and get beer,” Marc said, shaking his head.

“Huh?”

“It’s my turn.”

“What?” she demanded again.

“Apparently I’ve been freeloading. If your brothers know I’m coming, they’ll expect me to bring some.”

Beth laughed.

“What’s funny?”

“When was the last time anyone accused you of freeloading?” she asked, chuckling. Her brothers had taken Marc in like a stray puppy.

“Never, and that’s why we’re getting some beer,” Marc said, but he smiled. “And not Coors Light either. We’re getting real beer.”

“Yuck.”

“What?” Marc eyed her warily.

“What men call ‘real beer’ tastes like sewer water,” Beth complained.

Marc snorted. “Okay, then we’ll get a six-pack of Coors for you.”

He patted her thigh, and Beth’s breath caught in her throat. He meant it as nothing more than a friendly pat, like her brothers gave her all the time. The problem was she couldn’t separate herself from this lust she had for Marc, and since the moment he’d kissed her tonight, she still couldn’t get over it. For Marc, it had been about the challenge of getting her to kiss him. But that simple brush of his lips against hers had sent her into a tailspin.

“Unless you’d prefer some White Claw,” Marc added, oblivious to his effect on her.

“I’ll stick with the Coors,” Beth said, picking his hand up and moving it off her thigh. She couldn’t let it sit there and have a normal conversation.

“Oh. Sorry,” he mumbled.

“We don’t need to put on a show when we’re in the car.”

“Yeah, right,” he said, and ran his hand through his hair. It was an absentminded gesture that made Beth’s stomach knot. She wanted to run her hands through that thick gorgeous hair, and wanted his hands on her—not in the friendly gesture way. “We’ll stop when we get by your house.”

“Sure,” Beth said.

She hated this situation. She hated that she was dumb enough to fall for the seductive smile Marc flashed at any woman who turned her eyes his way. She hated that they had to go out and sit in a fishbowl and be all touchy-feely when it made her stomach sick. And she hated that when they were alone, she wanted to be all touchy. Couldn’t she be smart enough to stay indifferent to the man? The whole thing plain old sucked.

Beth got rid of the sitter before heading into the kitchen to deal with the boys.

“Holy camoly,” Clayton said, and Will choked on his beer.

“What?” Beth said, slamming her hands onto her hips.

Danny shrugged. “You look hot.”

“How come you don’t get all dressed up like that for us?” Clayton asked.

“She likes me better,” Marc said. He carried a few beers to the center of the table, smiling at the guys. “What can I say? I’m her favorite.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake. I told Austin this would happen. Just another one of the boys,” Beth huffed.

“What?” Will asked.

“Less than a week, and he’s fallen into the ‘hey wait, I need to stop and get the beer’ routine.” She tried to make her voice sound deep, which made all the men laugh. “And ‘oh, I’m her favorite.’ I told him it would happen, and he laughed at me. Laughed.” Beth crossed her arms and stomped her foot, while all the men looked at her as if an alien being had invaded her body.

“Whoa, what’s got you so worked up?” Corey strolled into the kitchen, pulling Beth into his arms for a hug. “You look hot, by the way.”

“Thanks.” Beth sighed. “Ignore me. I’m not making any sense.”

“Okay,” Corey said before putting his palm on the top of her head, shaking her hair all over her face. She whacked him in the stomach, and he smirked before joining the others at the table.

“Nice game, blowhole. I only caught the beginning, but by the second inning, it wasn’t worth watching anymore,” Clayton said as Corey sat down across from him. Beth sat on Clayton’s lap.

“Fig off, Clay,” Corey snapped, then glanced around the table. “Why do you look like you should be on the cover of some men’s magazine, Demoda?”

“Beth and I went to Slush for dinner.” Marc shrugged as if to say it was no big deal. She shot him a glare, and his mouth twitched.

“Ah, a public outing—hence the mood,” Corey said, smiling at Beth before turning to Marc. “You should have gotten chocolate cake. She likes chocolate almost more than sex.”

“We got cake,” he said tightly as if Corey’s comment upset him. Marc’s glare moved from Corey to Beth and it softened. She flushed, remembering his comment about making her smile.

“So why are you in such a snit then?” Corey asked.

“Maybe because my kitchen is full of men again,” Beth muttered. Not that she minded, really. She was in a snit because Marc was turning into one of her brothers, and she didn’t want that. But she would cut her tongue out before she admitted it, even to herself.

“Oh.” Understanding rang in Corey’s voice. “No one told me. Did anyone bring anything?” Corey asked, looking at Beth’s brothers like they were about to provide drugs. They all smiled as Danny picked up a bag from the floor and dumped multiple chocolate candy bars on the table.

“Take your pick,” he said, looking at Beth and then the four candy bars on the table.

“I had cake; I don’t need candy. I told you to ignore me.” Beth shut her eyes.

“It’s four games in a row, Cor,” Will said, changing the subject and letting her have her moment. They knew her well enough to know when not to beat a dead horse. It wasn’t PMS, but she’d let them think it was if it meant not having to explain that it was Marc making her crazy. “Dead arm?”

“No,” Corey huffed.

“You’re missing your mark with your left foot. It’s messing with your release point,” Marc said simply, but he gained everyone’s attention.

Corey’s head snapped around to Marc, and his eyes narrowed. “You serious?”

“Hasn’t Ross said anything?” Marc asked, taking a sip of his beer. But Beth could see he was enjoying having the attention of the men in the room.

“Ross says it’s my head again,” Corey answered.

“Maybe it is.” Marc shrugged. “You’ve always been a headcase, but your left foot’s still missing its mark.”

“Hey,” Danny began, but Beth stuck her hand in the air, cutting him off.

There was no hostility between Corey and Marc this time. These two were feeling each other out. Marc had said something about Corey needing help with his release point as they were leaving the restaurant. She’d gotten the impression that Marc wanted to help him.

“My head’s fine,” Corey said, his eyes fixed on Marc.

“So fix the other problem.” Marc met Corey’s gaze, waiting for him to ask for help.

“I can’t,” Corey said, frustrated, but not willing to make the first move.

“That’s a shame.” Marc smiled and took another pull of his beer, unwilling to offer his help unless Corey asked. Silence fell over the kitchen.

“Ridiculous,” Beth said. These two were more stubborn than anyone she had ever met. Marc was dying to help Corey, and Corey wanted Marc’s help, but neither would admit it.

“What?” Clayton said, rubbing her back.

“Men are stupid,” Beth said, shaking her head. Someone objected, but she simply ignored them and continued. “Marc, if you want to hang out here anymore, go outside and help Corey. Corey, if you’re planning on spending the night, then you better go out there and figure out what the problem is because I’m tired of your moods.”

Both men pretended to protest but ended up going outside.

“That was stupid,” Beth complained.

“It’s like asking for directions,” Will said. “You know you’re lost, but it’s hard to admit it out loud.”

“The question is, who’s lost?” Beth asked.

“Both of them,” Will answered. “But hopefully they can figure it out, because I refuse to pick a side, and they don’t seem to hate each other as much as they both claim.”

“She’s bossy,” Marc said as he walked into the backyard.

“Darn right, but if she weren’t, those guys would have walked all over her years ago.”

“Who are you kidding? She has every one of them wrapped around her finger,” Marc scoffed.

“Most people don’t realize that.” Corey chuckled. “So are we going to stay out here until she thinks we’ve worked the problem out? Because I can’t throw tonight.”

“No, I’ll help you. I’ll meet you at the stadium tomorrow. You still do afternoons, right?” Marc waited for Corey to confirm, although pitchers were all about routine. “But I want some answers, which is why we’re out here,” Marc said.

“What do you want to know?”

“What made you throw her under the bus ten years ago?”

Marc had to ask; he’d read the articles, yet he couldn’t find a reason for Corey to have said anything that came out in those interviews.

Corey’s teeth locked, and he glared. “Of all people, I would think you’d know you can’t believe what you read.”

Marc raised his eyebrows; he also knew a direct quote was just that.

“My full statement was ‘I’m not a victim here, Elizabeth is. I keep getting slapped on the back while you cut her off at the knees.’” Corey sighed. “The first half of my quote played over, and over, and over. I’m not a victim.” Corey’s jaw clenched. “Not once did the full statement come out, and every media outlet used the first bit to say we took the photos willingly.” His hands fisted at his sides. “After that, I didn’t trust myself to talk about it, and Beth wouldn’t talk to me at all, and her father was furious.”

Marc was seeing the full picture: two young kids floundering, neither with any media savvy or much help.

“So you lost her for good,” Marc said.

“Yip,” Corey agreed, popping his lips on the p, like Beth did. “Nothing will ever happen with us again. Too much there. I’m not your competition, if that’s what this is about; still, there’s not much I wouldn’t do for that girl,” Corey said. Both men’s gazes flicked to the window, where Beth was whacking Clayton on the back of the head.

“If she needs anything, you’d have to get in line.”

Corey smirked. “Nah, we’re family. We share well. We’ll take turns throwing the punches at your pretty face.”

There was too much pleasure in that statement for Marc to want to rise to the bait. “She has some media issues?” he asked instead.

Beth’s reaction earlier in the night had shown him that much. What surprised him was that it didn’t put him off. He wanted to understand, to help her move past it.

Corey flinched.

“Can you explain?” he asked, hopeful that Corey would give some insight.

He shrugged. “We don’t talk about it.” Corey had that same stone-faced look he’d had last week when he walked in on Marc and Beth’s discussion.

“What?” Marc had watched Beth and Corey together; they were close. How could they not talk about something that had affected them both so profoundly?

“Demoda, she’s not over any of it. I know that, but I can’t help you because we don’t talk about it,” Corey snapped. “You’ve talked about it more with her than I ever have. Don’t you realize that’s why we broke up, why nothing will ever happen with us again? Why she immediately ran away and married someone the opposite of me in every way?” He fisted his hands. “Now, are you done with the inquisition?”

Beth wasn’t the only one with issues, and Marc realized he shouldn’t push Corey. They weren’t even friends. But, pressing his luck, he said, “One more.”

Everyone in Marc’s life had assumed the accident had been the start of the downward spiral he’d been in for the last year. Only one person realized it had started before that night. Before the injury that ended his career. And he felt like crap about blowing off the only person who had tried to help him. “When you offered to bring me somewhere the… the night of the accident, was it here?”

“Yes. Nobody seemed to notice, but something had been off with you for a while. I thought maybe you needed to talk to someone. In this group, there’s usually someone who can listen. Wish you’d come?” Corey asked.

Marc nodded. “Although it wouldn’t have changed anything that night.”

“Then why do you care?” Corey demanded.

“Because it changes things between us.” Marc remembered that night so clearly. How hard Corey had worked to offer Marc an olive branch of friendship.

“What?”

“Corey, you care about these people. This place is more than a hideout. You’re closer with these guys than you’ve ever been to the team. Even though you and I never got along, the idea that you would bring me here—that means something to me.”

“You wouldn’t have come,” Corey said, looking disgusted. “But why? Why were you so determined to throw everything away?” He glared at Marc.

“The girl—”

“Oh please. You didn’t give a flying fu—flip about her.” Corey threw his hands up and spun around, clearly giving up on Marc. And that was what made Marc admit it: He didn’t want anyone in this group giving up on him.

“She was pregnant,” Marc said quietly. Corey turned around slowly and his eyes widened. Marc nodded. “My baby.”

Corey blinked but said nothing.

“A baby’s supposed to be a great thing, but it messed with my head, made me compare myself to my dad. And he’s not someone I ever wanted to be.” Marc had held those words in for so long, and Corey wasn’t who Marc would’ve thought he would open up to, but he was doing it. The comparison between Marc and his shitty-ass father was so glaringly obvious.

“You’re not him, Marc,” Corey whispered.

“Yeah, right,” he snapped.

“Marc—”

“Corey, you don’t know me.” Marc kicked the ground.

“How’d you keep it out of the media?”

Marc looked at Corey, but saw only questions in his eyes. No disgust, no anger, no judgment.

“Release enough other crap, tell a story the media can run with, anything to distract. I have a team of people I pay for that,” Marc replied. “Same as you.”

Corey’s mouth opened and then shut, and he glanced down, not looking at Marc anymore. A light in Marc’s head switched on: Corey didn’t know how to handle the media. That was shocking. Everyone probably expected that Corey, having a famous father and having lived through a considerable scandal, already knew. He wondered if anyone had ever shown him the ropes.

“Maybe there’s something else I can help you with while we deal with the release point,” Marc said.

Corey’s eyes flashed to him in surprise.

“We don’t have to keep hating each other.”

“I’ve always wanted to be friends with you, Marc.” Marc couldn’t hide his shock, but Corey didn’t slow down. “One reason I forced a trade to the Metros was you. Not only are you one heck of a pitcher, but you’re one of the best teachers in the game. I wanted to play with you, learn from you—and you wouldn’t give me the time of day. I assumed it was because you didn’t think I had the stuff.”

“You have the stuff, Corey,” Marc said, shaking his head at the irony.

“So why leave me out in the cold? If you see the talent, you hone it, focus it, develop it. You’re doing that with Steve—he’s only eight, but you can’t help it. Everyone around us always knew you didn’t think I had it in me to be a great pitcher. Don’t you know that?”

Was Marc responsible for the head game Corey had developed since joining the Metros? That stung. Marc hadn’t meant to mess with the younger man’s head. Maybe some honesty would help Corey.

“The year before you came to the Metros, the media spent the entire season pitting us against each other. Blue-collar ball versus pitching royalty,” Marc said. “And that’s exactly what we were.”

Corey winced.

“You were born to be an All-Star: You’re the son of one of the GOATs of pitching, you went to a Big Ten school, wore the Olympic gold before you were twenty—the media nicknamed you Captain America,” Marc said. “I worked to pay for what my baseball scholarship didn’t cover at Rutgers, then struggled for two years in the minors before I got lucky with the Metros. And I have none of the charm that shoots out your butt when you laugh with reporters. I felt you breathing down my neck from the moment your name went on your locker. Why help my competition?”

“Really?” Corey’s eyes widened.

“You have the stuff,” Marc repeated, then he smiled. “But don’t let that go to your head. You also have one heck of a head game and, right now, problems with your release point.”

“Better than dead arm?” Corey suggested.

“Only if you can fix it.”

“I’m kind of hoping you’ll help me with that,” Corey finally admitted.

“I’ve been itching to fix the problem. You’ve got too much talent to play like garbage every six days,” Marc conceded with a teasing smile that Corey returned.

Neither said anything else for a minute, and Corey paced the yard. “Hey Marc,” he said when he finally stopped.

“Not done with the girly stuff yet?” Marc asked.

“Just don’t hurt her, okay? Be who you are, not who you think you are.” Corey’s voice was grave.

Marc shook his head. “She doesn’t like me enough for you to worry about that. She’s just holding up her end of the deal.”

Beth had knocked Marc completely off his feet early in the night. By the time her phone rang while they were sitting in that booth, she had become a girl he wanted to spend time with—even time outside the bedroom. That wasn’t something he ever wanted. But Beth had quickly reminded him that it wasn’t to be. Nope, he couldn’t hurt her at all, and that was exactly how it should be.

Marc could never be the kind of guy her late husband was. He couldn’t be what she needed. And he couldn’t change that.