Page 116 of Wild Catch
I try to launch myself at him but several hands stop me. One of the Wild players close enough to hear breaks out of the mosh pit—Machado.
“Williams,” he says with menace, pushing at his former teammate. “Shut the hell up before Kim pulps you.”
“Is that so?” Williams slides a slimy smirk that I can’t possibly believe ever interested Rose. “I just wanted to give Kim a heads up that my leftovers aren’t that great, but I guess he’s okay with settling.”
Nothing can stop me now.
They try. Someone even rips my elbow pad off.
But the pain is gone and I’m all muscle—muscle and rage.
The roar comes from my chest—from my soul. I’m just aware of two things: one, that I drop everything in my hands and two, that I slam my right fist in Williams’s nose, and it makes a sound like a ball hitting a bat right in the percussion point. Before the motion takes him too far, I ram my other fist in his gut.
“Kim!”
“Logan, stop!”
I’m about to throw myself at him when hands grab me. More hands. Too many for me to move. I try but there are chains around my stomach—not chains, arms. Tanned. With a little scar that I recognize. It’s Rivera. Someone’s screaming something in my ear. I shake my head, trying to make sense of it but the words don’t filter through. My feet leave the ground for a second. There are bodies around me. Sweat drips down my face. I can’t see very well. It’s getting hard to breathe. I’m only aware of being dragged away. The pain is coming back and I can’t fight Rivera off.
“Move it! Move it!” The words penetrate because whoever it is keeps repeating them over and over.
And so I move it. I manage to get my feet going. I can’t breathe. The lights disappear from over me and darkness swallows me in. The tunnel—we’re going to the clubhouse.
I keep going. I let them keep taking me. I gasp for air but I can’t—I can’t breathe. My hands try to grab at everything and anything all at once, but the air escapes me. Colors swim in my vision—voices in my ears. And between all that it finally clicks.
I’m having a panic attack.
CHAPTER39
ROSE
The crowd roars. So much for baseball being a gentlemen’s sport, huh? You’d think this is a hockey match instead.
My jaw drops and my heart races like a horse. I don’t know what Ben did to provoke Logan—did he try to literally kick him while he was down?—but I’m sure he deserved it and yet… this is no bueno. So no freaking bueno.
“Stop it, you fool!” I scream with all my power, my voice breaking at the end. “You’re gonna get suspended!”
But Miguel was the guy who took off after his ex teammate and thank goodness for him, he slides his arms under Ben’s and prevents him from pouncing back at Logan. Except that Logan’s trying to go for another blow, and Lucky has to bracket Logan’s arms with his to keep him off.
“Yeah! Hit him again!” a man shouts from the crowd.
I—I agree. A weird laugh bubbles up my throat.
That was… amazing.
Seeing Logan punch Ben in the face is a dream come true. I pinch my cheek but yep, I feel pain so this is all real. My um, fake boyfriend just socked my real ex, who is now dripping red from his nose down his baby blue uniform.
I put a hand on my chest, feeling the wild thumping of my heart against it. “Logan Kim, what are you doing to me?” This freaking man is a threat to my sanity. It’s not that I’m a fan of violence, but my delusional hormones found that so… so sexy. I shake my head hard, trying to think straight. “Violence is never good, Rose,” I tell myself.
But damn it, I know in every fiber of my being that Logan would never resort to violence with anyone who doesn’t deserve it. In fact, when Logan pushed his brother hard enough to make him fall on his ass, was after Lewis hurtme. So Ben must’ve done something to deserve this.
And it’s the fact that Logan can dish it that has my knees weak. Like it has woken up all my cavewoman hormones.
He’s being dragged away by several teammates but he’s using his own legs, which means that even if the risky out hurt him, it’s not a life or career threatening. I hope.
I stop recording from the stands and finally take off. My lungs work extra hard getting oxygen to my racing brain, which in turn tries to compete with my legs, as if the power of wishing to be next to Logan could get me there faster.
I sort through some fans trying to get a closer view of the biggest fight of the season so far, through security, through the maze of corridors for employees. I have to grab onto my camera so it stops bouncing against my stomach painfully. The corridor leading to the clubhouse is packed with staff—from operations, to some marketing colleagues, and even the GM.
