Page 89 of Stepping Up to the Plate

My frustration with this conversation is ratcheting higher by the minute. I can’t believe the audacity. “That’s rich coming from the man who freaked out when I didn’t tell him I was going to St. Louis. I went to leave someone, not pick them up!”

“I didn’t pick anyone up. Nothing. Happened,” he grits.

“Prove. It,” I counter.

“I can’t do that,” he says somewhat chagrin. “I have to protect the other parties involved.”

“If your business’ privacy is more important than my certainty of your fidelity, then this relationship isn’t as serious as I thought it was.”

“It is. It is serious. It couldn’t be more serious,” he pleads. “Baby, I love you. You have to know that.”

He did not. He did not tell me he loves me for the first time while trying to prove to me he isn’t a lying, cheating sack of shit.

“Don’t you dare say that to me right now. You’ve had weeks, months to tell me you love me and you choose to do it when I’ve caught you being unfaithful?”

“I wasn’t. I swear on my life.”

“I need time to think,” I reply. “You need to leave. I don’t have anything else to say and I don’t want to be near you right now.”

His expression flashes with panic. He didn’t think I’d ask him to leave. He must have assumed he could convince me that my eyes were playing tricks on me. That isn’t going to happen. But the longer he stares at me, the more my resolve weakens.

“Lola,” he pleads.

“Please go,” my mutter, voice cracking. I squeeze my eyes closed, but don’t miss the sigh he exhales. My body goes stiff when he wraps his arms around me and kisses the top of my head.

“I’ll leave. For now. But this isn’t over. When you’ve had some time to cool off, you’ll see. You know me, sweet girl. Better than anyone.”

When I don’t respond, he lets me go and walks to the door. I don’t open my eyes until I hear it shut behind him. Only then do I crumple onto the floor. When I manage to put myself back together, I know what I need to do. Or at least what I want to do. I grab my phone and send off a text.

Me

Changed my mind. Be there tomorrow.

ChapterForty-Two

• BRADY •

Leaving Lola’s apartment last night was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I wanted nothing more than to fix the shattered expression I saw in her eyes but I know I’m the one who put it there. I have been trying to think of how I could have prevented this, but aside from telling her I would be at the club, I come up empty. Even if she knew beforehand, I don’t think we could have avoided the doubts she’s having.

I could convince Cole to give me the footage she wants to see, but the way her mind is spiraling, I don’t think it would help. All I can do is give her time to process and show up to reiterate my devotion. Damn, is it tough, though.

Waiting on my draft call was less anxiety-inducing than sitting on my hands waiting for Lola to reach out. This is torture. I’d hoped to hear from her this morning, but she must need more time. We head out of town in a few days for an away series and I can’t imagine going with this hanging over us. The idea that my sweet girl is suffering cuts me beyond words.

It hurts me even more than the shit people are saying about me. Once the pictures were out, online trolls did some digging and blasted my affiliation with the club. Thankfully the sex-positivity movement has kept me from losing any endorsement deals. Shaming someone for being sexually expressive would be a bad move for the few brands I work with.

I hate that some of my fans are disappointed in me but that is their issue, not mine. I am not ashamed of my investment in the club or my involvement in the community. The only thing I’m ashamed of is not pushing for Craig to be kicked out after the initial room mix. How much destruction did he cause between that night and the incident with Mandi?

The investigation discovered that he was behind leaking the photos. Apparently, the woman lingering in the exhibition hall is a sometimes partner of his and was taking pictures to blackmail him into rekindling their relationship. He decided to use them to get back at the club. Our lawyers have slapped them with a fat lawsuit. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

Walking into the clubhouse, I can see whispers and stolen glances from the staff. Some of them appear uncomfortable or guilty for knowing my never-was-a-secret ‘secret.’ Others regard me with disgust. The worst reaction is the women eyeing me with lust. The idea of being with anyone aside from Lola genuinely makes my stomach roil. Not that my stomach wasn’t in knots already. I don’t think I am going to be eating much of my pre-game meal.

When I make it to the locker room, everyone gives me a wide berth. I don’t know if they’re being respectful or if my expression screams ‘don’t fuck with me’ but I appreciate the space. Even Robby and Kent mostly leave me alone aside from a quick greeting.

When we get out to the field, I try to keep my focus on the game, but my mind keeps going back to Lola. I should have checked on her this morning or at least before the game. I’ll go see her once we’re done and offer her more reassurance. I hate that all the shit Phil pulled means that she can’t give me the benefit of the doubt. I get it, but it sucks.

In the dugout, I scan the stadium. I see fans holding up signs directed at me. That is fairly common, but they don’t normally say, ‘Miller can tie me up anytime’ or ‘Let me be your good girl.’ They never say ‘Spit ball in my mouth’ and include a phone number. I’m shocked the stadium would allow a sign that crude with all the kids present.

When Crew’s pop fly is caught by the shortstop, the inning turns over and we go back onto the field. I can only hope the game goes by quickly. I need to get to my girl.

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