The Setup and the Substitute by Jiffy Kate

Chapter 17

Owen

“Sorry you lost your game, Daddy,”Ryan tells me. Since we’re FaceTiming on my laptop, I can clearly see the disappointment on his face.

“Me too, buddy, but it’ll be okay. Losses happen but we’ll come back and start winning again. I’m not worried, so you shouldn’t either.

Ryan lets out a deep breath and seems to rebound immediately. I love how passionate he is about baseball and I love his resilience even more.

I’ve learned over my long career that you can’t let every loss drag you down. Some hurt more than others, to be sure, but you can’t dwell on the past. You have to learn from your mistakes and try to do better the next game.

And, fuck me, if that isn’t a life lesson, as well.

I feel like a complete ass for my behavior yesterday morning with Sophie. Not that I was a complete dick to her but I wasn’t great, that’s for sure. After promising her I wouldn’t make it weird if we spent the night together, I went and did exactly that. In my defense, I had high hopes for our time in bed, but I wasn’t prepared for it to be the best night I’ve ever spent with a woman. When I woke up and found her still in my bed and naked, I freaked out.

I had a decision to make: fuck her again or run away like a coward.

And I chose wrong.

So fucking wrong.

Since I left, Sophie hasn’t had much to say to me but I understand. We obviously need to talk but that can’t happen when the kids are around, like now. I could call her after the kids go to bed but the fear that I’ve ruined things between us keeps me quiet.

Just as I’m about to speak, movement catches my eye at the top of my laptop screen. It’s Sophie in the kitchen and my heart squeezes as I watch her without her knowing.

“Daddy, you’ll win tomorrow. I just know it!” Molly exclaims.

“Thanks, love. We’ll try really hard, I promise.” I glance back at where Sophie was a minute ago and catch her watching me this time. I give her what I hope reads as a promising smile but I’m not sure what I’m promising her. That I’m sorry? That I won’t fuck up again? That I hope she gives me another chance?

I don’t even know if that’s what I want.

I thought being with Sophie the other night would temper the heat that’s been building between us. Instead, it only added fuel to the fire and I’m afraid I’ll be the one to get burned.

Or maybe it’ll be her.

Regardless, I don’t like either scenario.

“Alright, you two. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? Be good and I love you.”

“We love you!” they both yell. I manage one more glance at Sophie before the call ends.

I shut down my laptop and put it in its protective case when three loud bangs hit my door.

What the hell?

Three more bangs quickly follow and when I throw the door open, I come face to face with Ross and our catcher, Mack Granger. Behind them, stands Bo Bennett—our all-star third baseman who is dating Lola Carradine, a household name in her own right and Casey Davies' older sister. Ross and Mack both have their fists up, ready to beat on the door again, along with exacerbated expressions of their faces.

“Dude! What have you been doing?” Mack asks. “We’ve been calling you.”

I open the door and allow them into my room before answering. “I was FaceTiming with my kids. I didn’t get your calls, sorry.”

“Fuck, sorry. Just get your ass ready,” Mack commands.

Completely confused, I ask, “Get ready for what?”

“We’re going out,” Ross says. “We need it after today’s game and I have a feeling you need it for another reason.”

“Damn, Davies, you’ve been in New Orleans so long, you’re becoming psychic?” I’m joking but, honestly, the guy has some kind of freaky intuition when it comes to his friends.

“Maybe. Or I just pay attention to how my teammates play from game to game and you, sir, were not on your best game today.”

“Okay, you got me but how is going out going to help me?”

“Beers always help,” Bo declares.

“And tequila is even better,” Mack throws in, smacking me on the back. “So put your shoes on and let’s go.”

Going to bars hasn’t been my thing since before the kids were born, but a beer or two won’t kill me. Plus, it’ll be nice to hang out with these guys. I know I keep to myself too much, so this will be a good way to get to know my teammates better.

“Okay, it’s another game day tomorrow, so we’ve got two shots each,” Mack says, passing shots around like he’s a dealer at a Texas Hold ‘Em table in Vegas. “After this, we switch to a boring-ass beer, which we’ll nurse until we drag our tired asses back to the hotel.”

“May we turn losses into lessons,” Ross says, holding up the first shot.

Mack gives him a disgusted look. “Who the fuck are you, man?” He clicks his shot glass with Ross’s and then mine. “May we beat the shit out of those bastards tomorrow.”

With that, he throws the tequila back and I bark out a laugh before doing the same. The liquor burns as it travels to my gut and I’m reminded that I haven’t eaten anything since before the game.

“Nelson Mandela once said: I never lose. I either win or learn,” Ross says with a shrug. “I read it in a book during the off-season and it’s good shit. Don’t knock it.”

“And that’s why you’re our team captain,” Mack says, shaking his head.

Ross snorts. “We don’t have team captains.”

“No, but if we did, it would be you,” Bo adds.

Ross shakes his head. “Someone’s gotta keep y’all in line.”

Mack picks up his second shot glass, holding it in the air. “To Ross Davies, the best fucking non-team captain.”

“To Ross,” Bo and I say in unison.

I can’t help but smirk at Ross’s disapproval of this public display, but I get it. We’re similar creatures. We keep our cards close to our chest and we prefer to show people what we can do rather than tell them. But I’ve seen it over and over since I came to New Orleans, the way Ross quietly leads the team.

Shit, I probably wouldn’t be sitting at this table tonight if it weren’t for him.

He helped me get my head on straight after the trade.

“So, what the fuck happened out there tonight?” Mack asks, holding a hand up to signal the waitress that we need refills.

Ross exhales loudly as he leans further back into his seat. “They were just hot tonight. I mean, I know I threw some shit balls and they were seeing a few of my pitches a little too well, but honestly, I think it was just their night.”

“It didn’t matter what I threw,” I added, thinking back on the seventh inning when I was called in from the bullpen. “I didn’t miss many bats.”

“Doesn’t help that our bats were cold as ice tonight,” Bo adds.

We all sit there for a moment, our heads back at that field, but eventually Mack breaks the silence. “So, you got a girl at home, Thatch?”

Trying to hold back a smile, I look up at him. “I do,” I tell him, picking up the cold mug of beer. “She’s about four feet tall and literally has me by the balls.”

Ross and Mack both laugh, but I just shake my head, thinking not only about Molly, but Sophie too, and wondering if I should call her tonight.

“Not to pry, but where’s their mom?” Mack asks.

I notice Ross gives Mack a look that silently tells him to shut the hell up, but it’s okay. For whatever reason, I feel comfortable around Mack and Bo. And Ross already knows all my bullshit.

“She’s not in the picture,” I tell him. “She split not long before I was traded to New Orleans and I haven’t heard from her since.”

“Sorry, man,” Mack says, sounding sincerely apologetic.

He’s a good guy. I knew that from the first time I met him. But sitting around, shooting the shit with him, I can tell he’s someone I wouldn’t mind spending more time around, and not just on the field.

Waving him off, I shake my head. “Don’t worry about it. I mean, she made her choice and I’m finally at the point where I realize we were always toxic, at least she was. The only thing I hate is that the kids miss her, Molly especially. Ryan does too, but I think most of his memories of her are from the stories he hears me and Molly telling. Part of me hopes she never comes back,” I admit and feel a twinge in my chest.

That might be the first time I’ve ever said that out loud.

Maybe it’s the tequila.

“I get that,” Mack says, and there’s something in the way he says it that makes me believe he truly does, not just in a conversational sense, but in a real way.

I think there’s a lot more to this brick wall of a catcher than his awesome bachelor pad that everyone is always talking about and his fun-loving ways.

Shit, before tonight, I hadn’t said more than a dozen words to the guy. Besides Ross, I don’t typically spend a lot of down time with anyone from the team. It’s part of the wall I’ve built. If I don’t get close, then I won’t be disappointed when I get traded.

It’s a shitty way to live, honestly.

Especially since I’d love nothing more than to retire with this team.

“So, how’s Sophie?” Ross asks, changing the subject. “Did y’all talk?”

My entire body heats at the mention of her name. I should’ve known Ross would bring her up at some point.

“Wait,” Bo says. “Who’s Sophie?”

“The nanny,” Ross replies, waggling his eyebrows.

I give Ross a hard stare.

“What?” he asks. “Am I wrong?”

“No.”

“Is she the nanny or is she the nanny?” Mack asks, picking up what Ross is laying down and I don’t like it one bit.

Clearing my throat, I sit up a little straighter, resting my elbows on the table. “Don’t talk about her like that. She’s amazing and yes, she takes care of my kids, but she’s more than just the nanny.”

Mack’s hands go up in surrender. “Say no more, man. I’m not going to pry.”

“But I am,” Ross says, mimicking my position. “We’re all friends here and whatever you say won’t go past this table, so you might as well spill your guts.”

“Fine,” I say, resolved to the fact he’s not going to let me drop it. “We talked.”

And then we fucked.

“And?”

“And nothing,” I say, picking up my mug of beer and draining the remaining contents. “I’m not going to air my dirty laundry. You know me better than that.”

“But there is dirty laundry?” he prods.

We sit in a stalemate for what feels like an eternity. I can feel Mack’s eyes boring into the side of my head while Ross’s are burning holes in my retinas. Bo is trying to act like he’s minding his own business, but he’s not doing a very good job.

Finally, I give in under the pressure. “Yes, there’s dirty laundry, but it’s not happening again.”

“Famous last words, man,” Ross says, shaking his head like he’s been there, done that. And he has. His now wife, Casey, was working for him as his assistant when she got pregnant… with his baby. So, he definitely knows what he’s talking about.

Just as Mack motions for our waitress so we can close out our tab, Ross’s phone dings with an incoming message. He pulls it out of his pocket and frowns at the screen.

“Who is it?” I ask, wondering if it’s one of the other guys from the team.

“Casey,” Ross says absentmindedly as he swipes across the screen and begins typing.

The way his body stiffens and a look of concern is plastered on his face, we all lean in, waiting for more information. When he doesn’t say anything, Bo asks, “Is everything okay?”

Glancing at my watch, I see it’s already ten o’clock here, which means it’s only eight at home. Maybe the baby is still up? I remember those days with Molly and Ryan. They seemed long, but now, looking back, they were really only a blip. Sometimes, I wish I could go back and do it all over again.

“Casey’s sick,” Ross says, sounding a little panicked, which is out of character for him. Swiping his thumb across the screen of his phone a few more times, he places it to his ear and waits for someone to answer.

“Hey, baby,” Ross coos. “What’s wrong?”

We wait as he talks to Casey. His worry and concern are oozing off him and I know exactly how he feels. When the kids and Sophie were sick a while back, it took everything in me not to catch the next flight home. It’s hard being away when our families need us.

“What can I do?” he asks.

After a few more seconds, he adds, “Is Lola home?”

“Shit,” Bo mutters, sitting up a little straighter. “Lola’s in Nashville this week.”

“Shit,” Ross echoes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

There are a few more quiet words exchanged between Ross and Casey before he reluctantly ends the call and tosses his phone on the table.

“Fuck!”

“What’s wrong?” Bo asks.

Ross runs a hand down his face and then back up through his hair. “Casey is sick and the baby is teething. She’s alone and miserable and I’m fucking hundreds of miles away and useless.”

Bo’s hand comes down on Ross’s shoulder in a supportive gesture. “I could call Lola and see if she can cut her trip short.”

Lola Carradine is a child star turned recording artist. She’s a household name and used to be synonymous with tabloid gossip, but after settling down with our MVP third baseman, things have been a lot calmer. She and Bo seem really happy and settled.

“No,” Ross says, shaking his head. “Casey would be pissed. You know that.”

Bo huffs reluctantly but agrees. “Yeah, but Lola won’t be happy when she finds out how sick Casey is and she’s not around to help out with Samuel.”

“Listen,” I tell them. “It’s late and there’s not a lot you can do tonight. Hopefully she’ll be feeling better in the morning.”

“Fuck, I hope so,” Ross says.

Mack settles up with the waitress and the four of us grab an Uber back to the hotel.

Thirty minutes later when we’ve all gone our separate ways and I’m in my room, I stare at my phone on the nightstand as war wages in my head.

Call Sophie.

Don’t call Sophie.

Text Sophie.

Don’t text Sophie.

Stripping down to my boxer briefs, I turn all the lights out and climb under the covers.

Twenty minutes later, when I still can’t sleep, I grab my phone and type out a text.

Me: I know it’s late, but I just wanted to make sure everything is okay.

Before I chicken out, I hit send.

After a few minutes, there aren’t three dots signaling her impending reply, so I place the phone back on the nightstand and roll over. She might be asleep, but at least the message will be there in the morning when she wakes up and maybe she’ll call or at least text back. I feel the need to apologize. For what, I’m not sure. But I know I fucked up. I should’ve stayed in bed, at least long enough for us to have an adult conversation. Better yet, I could’ve brought her a cup of coffee and told her how amazing our night together was. Even if we never do that again, I want her to know it meant something to me and was honestly the most mind-blowing sex of my life.

I’ve literally never come that hard.

Ever.

But it wasn’t just the physical aspect. There was definitely something deeper than that happening between us and I think that’s what scared me when I woke up.

She was laying there—this beautiful creature who has felt so unattainable—in her most vulnerable state and I felt things I haven’t felt in a long time, if ever. I wanted to simultaneously protect her and fuck her. My carnal instincts screamed for me to take her again, but my head told me to run.

I’m about to drift off to visions of Sophie’s naked body wrapped in my sheets when my phone vibrates on the nightstand.

Reaching for it, I knock it onto the floor and practically fall off the bed retrieving it. It’s on the fourth ring when I finally swipe my thumb across the screen and answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” Sophie’s soft, tired voice says on the other end of the line.

“Hey.”

We’re quiet for a brief moment while I gather my wits and remember what I wanted to say to her.

“I’m sorry about yesterday morning,” I tell her. “I know I promised things wouldn’t get weird and then I made them weird. I… I’m not good at this. It’s been so long since I’ve—”

“Owen,” she says, cutting off my rambling apology. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. Sure, I wish you would’ve been there when I woke up… and I really wish we would’ve had a chance to talk before you left, but it’s okay.”

I exhale, maybe truly for the first time since I left the house almost two days ago. Just hearing her say it’s okay is enough to put my mind at ease and for me to know I didn’t totally fuck things up.

“If I would’ve stayed, I would’ve had to have you again,” I admit, the darkness of the hotel room and hundreds of miles between us a great buffer, making it easy to let my guard down.

“I would’ve let you,” Sophie says.

I know she would’ve. That’s the problem.

Because I’m not sure if we should do that again. It feels dangerous. One more night like that and I may never want to let Sophie Callahan go.

Not giving myself time to fall down the rabbit hole of everything that’s wrong with me and all my insecurities, I tell her, “I just want you to know it was amazing and I have zero regrets.”

“I feel the same,” she whispers.

There’s a pregnant pause, where I can only imagine what she’s thinking and I have a million and one things on the tip of my tongue that I bite back.

“Did you go out with the guys tonight?” Sophie asks, blessedly changing the subject and giving us something safe to talk about.

“Yeah,” I tell her. “The guys forced me out of the hotel room and we went to a bar not far from here for a drink.”

“That’s good,” she says, and I can hear the genuine smile in her voice. “How’s everyone doing?”

“Good,” I tell her. “Well, Ross did get a call from his wife, Casey, tonight. I guess she’s sick and she’s home alone with their baby. I felt bad for him. I remember what it was like when you and the kids were sick and I felt helpless.”

“Oh, gosh. That’s horrible. I met her at the game. She’s so sweet and that baby is to die for,” Sophie says. I can hear a rustling of sheets and blankets, which makes me wonder what she’s wearing and wish I was lying beside her having this conversation.

Or on top of her.

Inside her.

“Maybe I should call her tomorrow?” she suggests. “I remember seeing her number in the Thatcher Bible as one of your local emergency contacts.”

God, she’s so great. “I’m sure Ross would really appreciate that, but don’t feel like you have to.”

“No, it’s fine… I don’t mind. If it wasn’t so late, I’d call her tonight, but hopefully she’s at least sleeping right now. I’ll call her first thing in the morning.”

“You’re really great, you know that?”

“It’s nothing,” she says, brushing off the compliment.

But it is. It’s everything. The way Sophie is willing to jump in and help people says a lot about her character. That goes back to her taking my job offer. She didn’t have to. Given her family’s well-known name and status, she obviously doesn’t need the money, even though she makes it seem like she does.

Sophie is a good person.

Better than good, she’s the best.

“Thank you,” I tell her, before I unload the myriad of feelings and emotions sloshing around in my head. “Get some sleep.”

“You too,” Sophie says. “Good night.”