The Game (Carolina Connections Book 4) Page 2

  I laughed mirthlessly. “I wish to hell I could be the one to do it, but I kind of like being employed. I would suggest you do it, but, well…” I let that sit out there. Brett was damn scrawny and I loved giving him shit about it. But he was good at dealing back in kind.

  “And you wouldn’t want to mess up that pretty-boy face of yours anyway,” he threw back at me. “Tell me, exactly how long did you spend getting ready this morning, princess?”

  I punched him in the arm and he pretended it didn’t hurt.

  I told Brett about Brad’s disturbing locker-room behavior, and he was appropriately appalled. I may not have caught up with Brad after training, but I had been able to pull Chris aside. I’d tried to share some tips on how to maybe fit in a little better without becoming an asshole himself. Truthfully, sometimes all it took was one new impression and a bully’s attention could be diverted. I’d been half tempted to communicate the age-old prison strategy of beating someone to shit on your first day to keep people from messing with you, but even I knew that would be unwise.

  “Hey, I’m going to check out some new talent tomorrow for Gerry and Buzz. You wanna come?” Brett and I had always shared a love of baseball—it was one of the main reasons we’d become friends in the first place. He revered the game almost as much as I did. He also had a damn good eye, even if he was kind of a shit player, so I often used his help.

  “Got nothing better to do now that you’ve scared Ginger off.” He set down his beer and pointed at my face. “You’re gonna pay for that if she doesn’t take my call, asswipe.”

  “Noted.” My mouth tugged. It was good seeing Brett feeling more confident around girls these days. “But, just in case, let’s head out in a bit and check out the talent at Jake’s. Never hurts to have a back-up.” I raised an eyebrow.

  He sighed in resignation. “Whatever.”

  I headed upstairs, drink in hand, to take yet another shower before our night out. I had a good feeling.

  The good feeling from the night before had not panned out as I hoped. I’d had a decent time shooting the shit with Brett and a couple other guys, but I wasn’t feeling any of the girls at the bar. I decided to attribute my positive premonitions to the player I’d be scouting today instead.

  I found a parking spot up close by the field at North High School. It was a good day to play ball. The sky was clear and the temperature was ideal, sitting in the low seventies. I grabbed my notebook and headed for the fence to check out pregame warmup. Brett planned to meet me at the field later since I liked to show up early. I adjusted my cap and looked over the sea of uniforms for an unfamiliar number.

  There he was. Number 52.

  The kid was tall for his age, probably just under six feet, and he had a mess of dirty blond hair sticking out from under his blue cap. He was lanky as shit, but held himself confidently. His glove raised and lowered naturally as he and his teammate tossed the ball back and forth. It was impossible to see what kind of talent he may or may not have from just watching him play catch, but that was why I was prepared to stand against this fence for the rest of the afternoon.

  I knew the starting pitcher for North, a senior named Wes Hartfield. He wasn’t too shabby. North’s record was 4-2 so far this season, and Wes had a lot to do with that. We’d worked with one of the coaches to try and set up some extra training sessions with Wes, but it was a no-go. His parents were set on him joining the family business out of high school and didn’t want to shell out the money for a future they didn’t see for their kid. It was a shame, but Wes didn’t seem willing to fight them on it, so we’d let it lie.

  His impending graduation opened up the spot for a starting pitcher on the team next season, and I could think of a couple guys who’d be gunning for it. I’d have to see for myself if this new kid could give them a run for their money.

  The coach called the players in for a chat and I signaled one of the assistant coaches, a guy named Kirk. He jogged over, pulling his cap off and wiping his brow with his shirtsleeve.

  We shook hands over the fence.

  “Good to see you, Monroe,” he greeted me.

  I gave him a chin lift. “You too, man. Just wanted to give you a heads up that I’m here for Gerry and Buzz today. We’re checking out the new kid.”

  His mouth lifted on one side in a knowing grin. “Damn, you move fast. The kid just got here last week.”

  “That means we’re already a week behind,” I threw back at him with my own grin.

  That got a small chuckle out of Kirk. He settled his cap back on his head and looked to the side. “Well, patience will have to be your virtue today because he’ll be riding the bench until probably the eighth. Wes has earned his time, and we got Anders and Bates fighting for relief pitcher already.” He didn’t look pleased.

  “What’s the story?” I asked.

  Kirk didn’t look at me or answer for several moments so I waited. Finally, he spoke. “You ask me, we could win the whole goddamn thing if we put Miller in starting today. But you know how this works—nothing’s that simple.”

  I nodded. You can’t escape politics, even in America’s favorite pastime. “Well, Kirk, it’s like you said—patience.”

  He nodded back and we both heard his name being called from across the field.

  “Catch you later, Monroe. Make sure you stick around.” He pointed at me as he turned and jogged toward the team.

  Nothing was going to make me move from my spot today—not after that conversation.

  Chapter Two

  Hello, Monday

  EMERSON

  “Do you want some dinner? I can whip something up.” I lurked in the doorway to the bedroom, feeling slightly out of place. Which was odd considering this was my own house.

  My brother looked up from his book, his dirty blond hair hanging over one eye. My hand itched for a pair of scissors so I could trim the messy mop right then. “Sorry, what?”

  Instead, I felt my lips tip up. I remembered getting caught up in reading to the point where outside noises vanished. It was one of the things we had in common. “Dinner,” I prompted.

  “Oh.” He self-consciously combed the errant hairs back with one hand while his blue eyes dropped back down. “I’ll just fix myself a sandwich or something. You don’t need to worry about me.”

  I took a few steps into the room. “Jay, I’m happy to make you something. I’m making myself a salad—I can easily put a meal together for you while I’m at it.” He’d been refusing all my offers of help or any type of real engagement since he’d moved in the week before. It was beginning to truly concern me.

  He attempted a half smile and just shook his head.

  I didn’t want to push, but this was getting ridiculous. He was my brother, for God’s sake. Well, technically my half-brother, but I loved him with my whole heart. Which was why it was so hard to see him this way—so unsure of his place, and obviously not wanting to make even the smallest ripple in my normally structured and orderly life. He’d always been a kid who was so comfortable in his own skin, it was unnerving to see him rattled.

  “Okay,” I finally conceded. “You know where everything is…” I trailed off, then switched tack. “You know, reading from paper as opposed to a screen increases your degree of comprehension and mental recall. Just thought you’d want to know you’re making good choices.” I shrugged.

  He looked up again, and this time his grin was genuine. My inane knack for trivia always used to entertain him. I was pleased to see it could still make a dent.

  “I’ll file that away,” he responded, his tone warmer this time.

  “You do that.” I turned to leave the room. But one glance back when I reached the doorway revealed his shoulders slumping in a defeated sigh.

  “Crackers,” I muttered under my breath. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. This wasn’t the scenario I’d envisioned a month ago when I’d spoken with our mother and we’d agreed it would be best for Jay to move in with me.

  “We’ll be
fine, Mom,” I’d said for the fourth time. “You and Aldo have been wanting to do this forever. Lord knows he’ll relish the chance to drive that ridiculous camper in any direction you point.”

  I heard a sigh and a small hum on the other end of the line. “This is going to be our second act, Emmy. The craft-fair circuit are my people, you know what I mean?” I wanted to confess that I didn’t know what she meant at all. An itinerant life on the road with uncertainty and strangers around every bend was my version of a fresh hell, but I supposed she was right. This spontaneous and somewhat flighty behavior was in no way surprising coming from the woman who called herself my “life vessel.”

  “I just didn’t understand how strongly he felt about this,” she continued. “We’ve moved a few times before and he’s never said a word.” I bit my tongue to hold back a sardonic laugh. “A few” was putting it lightly. My mother and stepfather led a practically nomadic lifestyle, always dragging Jay with them wherever the wind led. It wasn’t surprising to me in the least that Jay finally wanted to put down roots somewhere. I suppressed the urge to ask why they couldn’t wait another couple years until Jay could at least graduate high school. Any answer I’d receive would be less than satisfying, and more than likely just downright confusing.

  Our mother’s wanderlust was in her blood, no doubt, but I certainly had not inherited it. All evidence pointed to Jay’s not sharing the gene either. Thank God she’d found Aldo to share her erratic tendencies with. He adored her for them, which made me adore him, as incongruous as it sounds.

  “Mom, he’s almost sixteen. He’s thinking about his future—he’s thinking about college. I’m not trying to be mean, but you can’t expect him to pick up stakes and get a GED, for goodness sake. He wants to be a normal kid.”

  She gave a long-suffering sigh. “I wasn’t suggesting he get a GED, Emmy. We could home school him on the road. Aldo is a whiz in chemistry.”

  I practically choked. I didn’t really think colleges appreciated Aldo’s form of chemistry, if you get my drift. And, God love her, but the only thing an education from Naomi Miller would entail was how to harness the mystical powers of crystals and perhaps give a halfway decent tarot card reading. Science, in her world, mostly came in the fictional variety, and I was guessing she would dedicate much of her tutoring to the history of such useful subjects as witchcraft and the healing virtues of essential oils.

  Not helpful to a sophomore boy who just wanted to make friends and play baseball.

  “I have plenty of room, and I can have the paperwork drawn up without a problem. Are you absolutely sure this is what all of you want?”

  “I want what he wants, and if that’s to settle down in one place until he graduates, then I’m happy to let him,” she reassured before sighing quietly. “So why do I feel like a terrible mother?” she asked.

  That softened my heart. The last thing she was was a terrible mother. Unconventional, yes. Terrible, no. The love in her heart had no bounds and she gave it freely. In all the years growing up with her, never had I doubted either her love or her pride in me.

  She just wasn’t a traditional mother-type. I’d never had my permission slips signed on time or worn trendy fashions. My lunches were an odd combination of whatever she found in the pantry, sometimes to the great envy of lunch-table-mates when they’d spied chocolate bars and raisins in my brown paper sacks instead of turkey sandwiches and apple slices.

  And nothing fazed her, or Aldo for that matter. A snide comment from another parent rolled right off her back. A request from the principal to please ensure my prompt arrival at school in the mornings was met with a beautiful smile and an offer to check his chakras.

  No—Naomi was in no sense traditional. She was more of a free-spirited, sometimes-forgets-to-put-shoes-on, earth-mother.

  And I’d always accepted that. I had not, however, emulated it. From an early age, I’d known what I wanted, and I was determined to work toward my goals. So, around third grade, I began to set my own alarm clock, pack my own lunches, and forge my mother’s signature on permission slips. I was going to succeed, and the world would be mine to conquer.

  But I could do all that and still love my mother.

  “Mom, I love you. Jay loves you. You’re a good mother. You drive us nuts sometimes, but there’s no one better.”

  I could hear the tears in her voice. “I love you too, my sweet girl.”

  “Now, when are you bringing him down?”

  And that was how I had inherited my very own “charge” as they used to say. I was the official temporary guardian of my fifteen-year-old brother and I was determined he’d feel at home in my—our—house. It was just going to take a bit more work than I’d anticipated.

  And having unexpected hiccups in my life was something I didn’t handle all that well.

  “Fudgesicles!”

  I clutched my pinkie toe which had just made solid contact with the leg of my bed. My phone clattered to the hardwood and I could hear the faint sound of Ari’s voice on the other end of the line.

  Blowing my hair out of my eyes, I retrieved the phone and sat on the bed. I cradled my poor toe in my hand. Hello, Monday, it’s awesome to see you too.

  I brought the phone back to my ear as Ari yelled, “What the hell?! Did you just throw your phone at the wall?”

  “I dropped it. My bed tried to kill me.”

  “That’s a new one,” Ari replied. “You okay?”

  “I’m sure my toe will grow back, don’t worry. Sorry, go ahead with what you were saying.” I tested my toe by placing my foot gingerly on the floor and standing. Okay, not too bad, but my shoe choice for the day would have to be amended. Crap. I could have really used my heels today to face off with Craig.

  Ari’s voice kicked up on the other end of the line. “So, what part did I lose you at?”

  “I heard the part about Elliot being a d-i-c-k to your mom in the backyard.” I disliked Elliot. Intensely.

  She sighed. “You know you’re allowed to say the word, right? You’re an adult. Dick! Say it with me now.”

  I echoed her sigh. This was one of our constant back-and-forths. Ari was what I would classify as an Olympic-level cusser. I, on the other hand, couldn’t even imagine a curse crossing my lips. Sure, I mentally cussed sometimes, but never aloud. My father’s voice always lurked in the back of my mind, telling me that well-bred women didn’t curse.

  “Yes, Ari. Go on.” She knew I’d never cave so she gave up immediately. I limped my way to the bathroom to finish getting ready for work.

  “Needless to say, Mamá didn’t take that shit. She told him he could cook his own dinner if he didn’t like what was on his plate. I don’t know, Em, he’s so sweet when it’s just the two of us. I don’t understand why he has to be such an ass sometimes.” She sounded defeated.

  This wasn’t the first time we’d hashed out this dilemma. I’d seen Ari’s boyfriend treat her all right, but I wouldn’t ever classify his behavior as sweet. Elliot’s first priority is Elliot. He’s the kind of guy who would walk into a parking meter because he was too busy admiring his own reflection in a store window. And his idea of a thoughtful birthday present was a pair of tickets to see his favorite band. Sweet? I don’t think so.

  Ari’s voice dropped and she continued, “And you know the sex is smoking.” She practically purred. I set down my hairbrush and closed my eyes to keep my breakfast from reappearing. I did not need to hear about Elliot’s magical penis again. Unless it held the cure for cancer, I was of the opinion that the world could do without it.

  But being a good friend meant more listening and less lecturing. “Yes, Ari, I’m aware that Elliot…satisfies you.” I was hoping my acknowledgement of his bedroom skills would propel the conversation forward—to other topics.

  “Anyway, he left and I got another lecture from Mamá on my terrible taste in men.”

  Did I mention I love Ari’s mom?

  “I hate to say it, Ari, but did you really expect things to go well? You
have met your mother before, right?”

  “Shut it, bitch,” she laughed. “I know, but there is this part of me that’s compelled to try anyway. One of these days, she’ll break.”

  I had to smile at her optimism—and guts. “Where was your dad during all of this?” I couldn’t imagine Mr. Amante standing by while someone insulted his wife’s cooking, no matter how subtly.

  “Papá had to work late. Turns out that was a good thing in the end. I guess Elliot and I will just lay low for a while. I don’t want to scare him off.”

  I had to bite my tongue. Hard. Ariana is beautiful, intelligent, talented, funny, and all-around wonderful. She deserved so much better than a jerk like Elliot. Why couldn’t she see that?

  I made a noncommittal noise, then looked at my watch. Darn it! I was going to be late if I didn’t get moving. And I could not be late today, of all days.

  I thought briefly about checking in with Jay, but I knew he’d already be gone on the bus and wouldn’t answer his phone. I’d have to catch him in the evening.

  “I’m sorry, but I have to run.”

  “Oh, shit!” Ari responded. “I totally got sidetracked and forgot today is the day!” She squealed a bit and it made me grin. “You’re going to do awesome! Kick Craig’s ass, woman!”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I mock saluted even though she couldn’t see me. “I’ll call you later.”

  I set the phone on the bathroom counter and caught my own eyes in the mirror. “You can do this, Emerson. You were born for this.” My resolve in place, I swiped on my favorite red lipstick and prepared for the day ahead.

  I crossed my legs and ordered myself to stay still as I sat in a chair outside Thomas Wheeler’s office. Fidgeting would only indicate nervousness and weakness, so it was essential I maintain a calm and collected demeanor. My colleague and nemesis, Craig Pendleton, occupied the chair to my left as we both waited for our meeting with one of the managing partners at the law offices of Jefferson, Wheeler, and Schenk.