Page 108 of Wild Hit
Miguel cooperates by raising his arms, but clearly he’s not pleased by the development. “I really am fine. I once played with a broken clavicle and trust me, this doesn’t feel anywhere near that.”
“Miguel!” I bark, almost the same way that our All-Star catcher would. The two of them jump to attention. “You’re always taking care of everyone else. Can you just let us take care of you for a damn second?”
Once Hope recovers from the shock, she snaps her mouth shut and her lips curl into a very Lucky-like smile. “That’s right, Miguel. Let your friends and your wife worry about you, hmm?”
He clears his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing hard. “Um, okay. Yes.”
“Atta, boy.” Hope pats his shoulder when she’s done, like he’s a good doggo. She tosses me a lopsided smirk as she heads back to the dugout, saying, “Tag, you’re it.”
I huff. I don’t know what she means because I can’t do anything for this man. Can’t magically heal him. Or wave away his frustration. Or really commit murder as I’d prefer.
My arms squeeze so tight around my ribs that it starts to hurt.
“Give it to me straight, Machado. Are you pretending like you’re okay or are you really okay?”
“Wow, last name basis, even.” He has the nerve to smile. “I really am fine, though.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I know you don’t. Ilikethat you don’t. It means you’re really worried.”
How dare his eyes and his smile soften like that, like he’s just watching a tiny kitten fumble around, and not like he genuinely gave me a fright.
“Of course I’m worried, you’re our best player. Our entire postseason run hangs on you.” Something flashes in his eyes that dulls him just a notch, enough for my chest to squeeze painfully. “Marty would also kill me if something happened to you, you know?”
It doesn’t improve his mood. It’s not like he’s upset, exactly, more like pensive. Looking into my eyes like the answer to his questions is in there somewhere. He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his stark white pants, almost in a casual way. But there’s nothing laid-back in the air around him. Rather, it’s like I’m a pitcher and he’s calculating what my next move will be.
Then he opens his mouth. “And you? How would you feel if something really happened to me?”
My breath hitches.
A million possibilities circle in my mind, too fast to grasp each one, but every one worse than the previous ones. All I know—all I can feel—is how my heart beats painfully and my body grows cold, colder than it’s ever been. And I wish I could just walk up to him and melt into his chest, absorb his warmth, his strength, and know that he’s not going anywhere.
But I don’t know how to say any of this. Idoknow that I shouldn’t. And as he waits, steps echo behind me and Franklin appears into the picture again. “Beau agrees that you’re done for the night. Cool down and go home. We’ll assess you again tomorrow.”
Miguel turns his attention to the other guy. A muscle jumps at his jaw, until he nods. “Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Franklin also bids him farewell with a pat on Miguel’s shoulder.
My whole body is fluttering with nerves. I don’t want to answer Miguel’s question. If I admit how horrible I’d feel if something would truly happen to him, he may either freak out or be glad. I’m not ready for the consequences of each scenario. I’m not ready for things to change between us. I wish we could be like this forever, happy together but not togetherenoughthat all my fears and flaws will be exposed, and that I’ll get attached to someone so precious that losing him would be like dying.
I’m not ready.
I’m just not ready.
My voice almost comes out as a sob while I turn around. “Take your time, I’ll wait for you in the car.”
But I’ll have to face it. We came together to the facilities today. We’ll drive home together, and the silence will only be filled in with the conversation I left hanging. I speed walk out of the clubhouse and then take off running to the admin building, as if I could outrun a truth that is about to be revealed.
What I feel for Miguel is something I didn’t think I had the capacity to feel at all, and I’ve never been more scared in my life.
Because this isn’t just something that would only affect my life, or his, but also his daughter, who has claimed me as her best friend and who deserves a much better one.
I’m just a broken shell of a woman, and all that leaks through the cracks is fear. Of being abandoned again. And worse, of letting them down.
Grabbing my stuff from my cubicle, I somehow manage to hold it together until I find Miguel’s modest but trusty SUV in the parking lot. That’s just like him, unassuming despite his greatness, so reliable that it robs my breath.Herobs my breath. Somehow, he also took my heart.
“What am I gonna do?” I fully sob into the steering wheel once I’m safely alone inside the car.
My body heaves with great sobs. Somewhere in the back of my mind I know I’m being melodramatic, that nothing’s happened. That I have no right to be acting this way, like I’m mourning something that hasn’t come to pass. Like this was the most difficult moment of my entire life—not every time I was neglected or shunned by my parents, not when I lost my only brother, not when I was bullied by the other rich kids who didn’t find me enough.
