More than the Game by Jenni Bara

32

@NYStarPost:Although @HotShotDemoda and Beth were at the same baseball game, our inside source says the pair have no plans to reconcile

Beth watched as Marc and Steve headed down the steps into the dugout. Seeing Marc, being so close, was a special kind of torture. Especially since Steve was over the moon about getting to see him again. The kids missed Marc almost as much as Beth did. Although the story in the media was now painting her in a better light and she was doing well—and, to be honest, she’d had fun doing some of the many interviews in the last month—nothing about what she wanted changed.

Nor had anything changed for Marc.

He was great on air. The buzz was that he was one of the best new voices in baseball. She was bittersweetly happy for him.

Beth had known Marc would be here today when Senator McGomry called and asked her to do her a favor, but she couldn’t say no to the woman who had become her champion for the last few weeks. So here she was, throwing out the first pitch to start the game, but desperately wishing she could run away as fast as she could because it hurt so fiercely.

She’d been with the kids at Grant’s farm, spending the weekend with him and Nick, who was on another seven-day leave from the Navy. Both guys had said they’d come out to the game with her, and although she was glad not to be alone, the two of them together was a constant one-upping contest. She had to tell two thirty-year-old men that they couldn’t see who could spit farthest, and it was getting old.

“I’m not sure that’s the best idea,” Grant said, nodding at Marc and Steve.

Beth’s head whipped around, and her eyes narrowed. Grant was the only one of her brothers who was happy that she and Marc had broken up.

“What do you mean? Steve’s thrilled.”

Grant shook his head. “The bastard is trying to worm his way into your bed again, and he’s using Steve to do it.”

“Are you kidding me?” she asked. Watching Marc hug her son, even a stranger would have seen the unfeigned affection.

“I can’t believe how blind you are,” Grant mumbled.

Beth’s eyes widened. She might be upset by everything that had happened, but Grant was way off-base.

“I’m not the blind one. You’ve been nothing but cold to Marc. I get it: He’s not your big brother, and it’s hard for you to trust anyone who’s not family. But Bob died. I’ve been letting your attitude slide because I assumed you’d come around like everyone else did, but I’m done with it, Grant.” The next words hurt to say, but she pushed them out. “Marc and I are over, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to be patient when you don’t get on board with what I want in the future. And today, I want my son to be happy.” She glared at him, and he glanced away.

“That’s my girl,” Marc murmured an hour later as Beth tossed a solid pitch toward home plate.

“What?” Austin asked, looking up from his phone. “Oh yeah. I wasn’t worried. She’s got a pretty good arm, and she told me she’d been watching you give Steve pointers. I think it would have been worse if it was McGomry.”

“Yeah, there’s not much Beth can’t do,” he agreed. “Man, I love that woman.” Marc smiled as he watched Beth wave before heading back into the Phillies’ dugout.

“What?” Austin asked, pleasantly surprised.

Marc’s heart faltered as he realized what he’d said. He—loved. That woman. He—

Holy shit.

He loved her.

What Marc wanted, what he needed—it was always her. He’d thought he would resent her for taking baseball away from him, but he had ended up resenting the game because it had taken her away. He was such a fuckup.

“Marc?” Austin waited for him to say something.

“Austin, I love her. I’m completely and totally in love with Beth and her two kids. They’re everything I need.”

“I know, dumbass.” Austin sighed.

“Why the hell didn’t I know?” Marc said, thrown slightly off-kilter by the realization.

Austin shrugged. “I’m guessing you couldn’t see the forest through all the trees. But…”

“What?” Marc said desperately.

“Well, Sid and I have been wondering what you were going to do when you finally figured it out.”

“I’m gonna tell her,” Marc said, as if it was obvious—but he wasn’t sure how. He couldn’t do it over text or on the phone. Steve had said they were heading out as soon as Beth pitched, so even if he didn’t have to be on the air, he wouldn’t be able to catch her before they headed back to Grant’s farm. And Marc doubted he’d be welcome showing up there.

Austin snickered. “Best of luck with that.” He slapped Marc on the back, and a frigid chill raced through him at the idea she might have already moved on.

“What does that mean?”

“Elizabeth Campbell Evans has an army around her, and in case you forgot, you pissed them all off. Before you get to the girl, you have to get through her boys,” Austin said.

The game was a blur. Everyone said he called it well, but he remembered none of it. All he could think about was Beth. How the fuck was he getting her back?

Finally back at his house in Jersey, Marc should have felt better—but he didn’t. He leaned against the stone mantle of his fireplace looking at the reminder of why he was about to make an ass of himself. They all stood wrapped together in the photo—Beth, Steve, Mandy, and Marc, soaking wet from the rain. He wanted to spend a lifetime dancing in the summer showers with them.

It was almost seven thirty; almost time. Marc was worried about his plan, but he’d spent four days trying to get anyone near Beth to talk to him, and no one would. Although Sid and Austin were happy that he had finally figured out what he wanted, neither would get in the middle of the mess he’d made. He couldn’t blame them.

He couldn’t even get Corey, who had gone out on a limb for him professionally, to return any of his calls. So he’d been feeling desperate when he’d sent that text message.

Marc had given the seven guys two days’ notice to get to his house, and had threatened them with something that none of them would ignore. But they would all come in with guns blazing, he knew. He hadn’t changed the code to open the gate, and nothing had ever stopped any of the men from barging into his house before, so he wasn’t surprised when the front door slammed open at twenty-five after seven.

He grabbed a bottle from the bucket of beers he’d set out on his coffee table, then stood in front of the fireplace, braced for their wrath and praying that one of them might listen.

Corey led the pack.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Corey demanded harshly. The six faces behind him didn’t look too friendly either, but the fact they stopped just inside the room to give him a chance to explain was a positive sign.

“I got beer,” Marc said and pointed with his bottle to the table.

“Not interested,” sneered Danny, who never turned down a beer.

“You wanted to talk, we came,” Luke said. “Now tell us what you have to say.” Luke cracked his knuckles.

“Quickly. I don’t have much patience, and I’m trained to kill without leaving evidence,” Nick said, his face not carrying a flicker of emotion.

That calmness should have been reassuring compared to the heat radiating off the rest of them, but it wasn’t. Nick was the one Marc knew the least about, and his threat seemed sincere. And now that the men were in the room, spilling his guts was a lot harder.

“Why don’t we sit, so I can explain what I need,” Marc said. But no one made a move to do so.

“What could you possibly need?” Corey demanded. “Your life is back on track. I put in a good word with the Metros, and I know they offered you the assistant job for next season since Simpson is retiring. You got your job with the Metros, everything you wanted.”

Marc opened his mouth to tell Corey that he had nothing he wanted, but before he could speak, his house vibrated as the front door slammed open again, and Clayton’s voice boomed into the air.

“Where the hell is he? I’m not wasting any time with pleasantries before I kill the son of a bitch. I’ve been benched for two games, might lose my starting position, I spent six hours on a flight across the country, I’m tired, hungry, and angry.” Clayton stormed into the room. He had grown in two months, bulked up for his football season.

From the looks on the faces of the seven other men in the room, they were as surprised to see Clayton here as Marc was.

“Clay.” Will’s voice sounded like he was about to lay into him.

“Oh, fuck off. I don’t care if I wasn’t asked to be here. Beth is as important to me as any of you, whether or not Marc realizes it.” Clayton shot Marc a look full of disdain. Of all Beth’s brothers, he and Clayton always gotten along the best.

“Clayton, the only reason I didn’t ask you to come is that I didn’t want you to have to choose between football and Beth,” Marc explained.

“If you had any idea how important she is to me, you would know there’s no choice. Fuck football,” Clayton snapped. “So get on with this.”

“Can we please sit?” Marc asked again, then moved to a chair and sat himself down.

“You’ve got one minute to tell us what we have to do so you don’t release more sex photos.” Danny glared. His easy-going, fun-loving nature was gone as he stood in front of Marc—and Marc was feeling hopeless.

“Damn it, Danny, I don’t have any photos. I never did. I just needed to get you all here. I’ve been trying to get her to talk to me, and she won’t.” Marc ran his hand through his hair and let every bit of his desperation flood his voice. “I fucked up. I know that now, and I fucked up even more for taking so long to figure it out. But please—I love her, and I need your help. I…” He sighed and kicked the table with his foot. “I just needher.”

At first, no one moved. His heart sank and he let his head fall into his hands. Then Grant stepped up from the back of the group, grabbed a beer from the bucket, and sat down. Marc looked at Grant, and saw sympathy there instead of anger. Grant was the last person Marc had thought would believe him, but it seemed he did.

“You look like horse shit,” Grant said. He nodded to his other brothers. No one else moved. “She told me I never gave Marc a chance, and she was right. I was too blind to see what was in front of me.”

Still no one moved.

Grant waved a hand at Marc. “He’s hurting. I saw heartbreak in the mirror every day for two years after my wife left; I know what it looks like. We came to listen, so sit. Listen. Give the man a chance. This shouldn’t be about what we want.” Grant’s tone didn’t leave any room for argument, and slowly they moved forward, grabbed their beers, and sat down—except Nick, who paced in front of the fireplace.

Marc regarded them all warily.

“This is your chance. Hurt her again, and I’ll have you stampeded by horses,” Grant said seriously.

Marc nodded in response before looking at everyone else.

“You know this was a shitty way to get our help,” Luke said. He was sitting down, but he still looked mad.

Clayton’s mouth twitched at the corners, and some of the anger faded from his eyes. “You know what Beth would say about that, don’t you?”

Danny chuckled.

“You can’t choose someone’s method of reaching out,” Will said, and he almost smiled too. “I believe that’s what she told us the first time we were pissed off at Marc for messing with her.” A few of the men nodded. “Is this going to become a habit?”

“I sincerely hope not. You’ll help me?” Marc asked, unwilling to let the hope bubble up yet.

“What do you want us to do, Demoda?” Corey asked warily. “We’re not forcing her to ignore you.”

“I want your help to see her, so I can tell her how I feel. After I talk to her, if she wants me gone, I’ll never bother her again,” Marc promised. And if that happened—if he told her everything and she still sent him away—he didn’t know what he would do.

“What exactly do you plan to say?” Grant asked, sitting back and crossing his ankle over his knee.

“First, I’m going to explain why I’m such a fuckup and apologize. Then I’m going to tell her I love her and hope she’ll forgive me. I’m going to ask her to marry me,” Marc said, looking around at the men to see how they would respond.

“Marc,” Corey said hesitantly, “life on the road can be hard when you have a family back home. They need someone who can be around more than three months of the year.”

Over the years, he had watched too many guys trying to balance the demands of baseball and a family not to know how hard it could be.

“Corey, I’m not sure what I’m going to do next season. Honestly, I have more job offers than I know what to do with, but I can’t see anything past needing Beth back.”

Corey’s face softened into a smile.

“Finally got your priorities in order, huh, Demoda?” he said, almost sadly.

A couple of guys chuckled, but Grant’s voice interrupted them.

“If you travel next year, are you going to fuck around on her?”

Everything in Marc went cold as the room went silent, and he turned his stare on Grant.

“Willing women are everywhere; it would be pretty easy to forget about her and bring someone back to your hotel room,” Grant continued.

Marc reminded himself that Grant was only looking out for his sister, which Marc should appreciate, not resent. “I don’t cheat—ever. I’ve seen over and over what it does to someone when their husband can’t stay faithful. I know the temptations of being a rich, famous athlete—better than you do. I’ve had fifteen years of getting my rocks off with random women, and I’m done with that. There’s only one I want. Two weeks of an empty bed on the road so I can have Beth next to me when I’m home is an easy trade-off.”

The men all looked at Grant, who was watching Marc. Finally Grant said, “Okay.” He smiled. “I trust you. If you’re what she wants, then I’m on your team.”

Marc smiled back before turning to look at the other guys, and Will answered his unasked question.

“The rest of us realized we could trust you after you danced in the rain. Grant was the only holdout. Just don’t make us regret it again.”

“Never,” Marc promised honestly.

“Okay, I have a plan.” Corey sighed. “But she’s going to chew my head off if you fuck this up.”

Marc relaxed for the first time in weeks. He looked from one man to the next. There wasn’t another group of guys in the world, not even a baseball team, that Marc wanted to be a part of more than this group in his living room. He’d found where he belonged. Finally.