Page 82 of Wild Pitch
Shit. I feel like an absolute fool—just the same as the rest of men. How the hell had I never noticed how gorgeous she is?
Maybe it’s better this way. If I had, I’d have asked her out the second I found out she was looking, just like Lucky did.
Wait a freaking second. Does that mean he had the hots for her like, for real? Is that why he got so intense with me after her date with Kim?
I shake my head hard and that’s when Garcia turns around to bring a massive bowl of soup over, carrying it between oven mitts. “Careful, it’s really hot.”
Ya don’t say?
I wait on edge as she slowly walks around the kitchen island, sucking in air as she places the bowl in front of me and whiffsme with her arm. I can’t believe I’m angry that she didn’t accidentally touch me.
“Right, water.” She snaps her fingers. Now that she’s free of the steaming soup, she’s much quicker to skip over to the fridge. “I mixed in some electrolytes to hydrate you faster.”
“Thank you,” I say, overwhelmed out of my mind between the smell of homemade food, of her—her presence alone—how alive my whole house looks with her in it, how unexpected and hard that hits me. I blurt out, “I didn’t think you’d come.”
She twists her face. “You gave me your address.” Then sets the drink on the kitchen island, sliding it over to me.
“Yeah, but I still didn’t think you’d come.” I avoid her eyes by grabbing the spoon. The bowl has soup, all right, but also an assortment of vegetables, corn, and pieces of chicken in it.
“Mrs. Gonzalez was also extremely shocked to see me.”
My eyes whip up. “You met Carmen?”
“Yep. She thought I was a stalker at first because apparently you have no one else to visit you, ever.”
I don’t know why that combination of words gives me vertigo, like I’m sitting still but someone is slowly yanking the floor from under me and I can’t do anything about it.
I try to distract myself by picking a spoonful of soup with plenty of chunks in it. After blowing on it slightly, I put it in my mouth and almost die right here. My tastebuds explode with flavor. I lock my throat so that no matter what happens, the nascent groan doesn’t escape from it.
Garcia folds her arms and lowers them to lean on the counter, which is already much more than I can take in my weakened state when the move frames her chest so well. “I had to show her my employee ID to pacify her, which was fine, I appreciate that she looks out for you so much. Especially because apparently you have literally no family to do that for you?”
I choke so hard on the soup that I’m afraid a chunk of potato will come out of my nose.
“Drink,” Garcia says breezily, pushing the water bottle closer to me from across the kitchen island.
I uncap it and take a healthy swig. After a bad coughing fit that burns my throat even more, and some more swigs of the drink, I manage to utter a weak, “what?”
Garcia looks almost angry. “I didn’t know.”
“Know what?” My brain is still not processing.
“That you have no family. What the hell? Why did I not know something as important as that?”
“I—I have no idea. It’s not like it’s a secret,” I rasp out and squint at her. “Why are you even upset about it?”
“Because!” She throws her hands in the air. “It’s a pretty big thing. I feel like a terrible person for having no idea.”
“You freaking weirdo,” I say with more shock than any bite. “It’s on my literal Wikipedia page. I’ll spare you the search. Cade Starr’s early life: abandoned in the rain at the steps of a church approximately a week after birth. Absorbed by the Department of Family and Protective Services. Named after Cade Mathews, the director at the time, and last named after the lone star state. Extra r for funsies—I’m paraphrasing but that’s the gist.” I shrug.
Her voice grows even harsher. “So it’s true that you’re all alone in this world?”
“Yep.” I dig the spoon back into the hot soup, looking for the tastiest morsel to chase away the bitter taste in my mouth. “Biological parents never showed up, was never adopted and ended up growing in the system. Lucky claims to be my brother now.” In an attempt to lighten the mood, I add, “Maybe I should’ve asked him to make me soup instead.”
“He can’t. He’s down with the same bug as you.” Her chin trembles. Her eyes are glassy.
“Uh, Garcia… why do you look like you’re about to?—”
A tear rolls down her face. Then another.
