Blake (Season One: The Ninth Inning #2) Read online

  “Safe!”

  “Are you kidding me?” I shout. “He’s out! I touched him before he even laid a finger on the plate!”

  The umpire glares at me. “He’s safe.”

  “Like hell he is. That was a bad call!”

  “Blake.” The stern voice of Coach causes me to slam my mouth shut. Last thing I need is to piss him or the umpire off.

  Thanks to my apparent mistake, the opposing team lands the advantage and we end up losing. Hector tries to talk to me on the bus ride back to the hotel, but I ignore him. Once I’m in my hotel room, I turn on the TV, the first thing showing is a replay of that call, which clearly shows the ump was right.

  My phone rings and I make another stupid mistake by answering it without checking the caller ID.

  “You know, Blake, sometimes I wonder if you’re even my kid with how you play.”

  I groan at the sound of my father’s voice. “What do you want? I don’t have time for this,” I snap.

  “That’s your problem. You don’t have time to improve your performance because you’re obviously not committed enough. It’s because you’re a worthless piece of shit. You get it from your mother’s side. That’s the loser side, because you’re a loser.”

  I clench my jaw. “Are you done? I wouldn’t want my worthlessness to infect you any longer. Although, you obviously don’t mind it if you’re still with Mom and she’s who I get it from.”

  “Your shitty, worthlessness has affected me since the day you came into this world. I’m ashamed to call you my son; did you know that? You were destined to be a pitcher, a great pitcher like me. You fucked all that up, too. The only reason I’m with your mother now is because she’s a good cook and I don’t want my name associated with a divorce. I stick with it because I’m strong, unlike your lazy ass. Now, I need to go find a nice, hot piece of young ass, while you should hit the weight room and work on your catcher’s arm, dumb ass” He says catcher as if it disgusts him that I would play such a position, as if it’s beneath him.

  The fury boils my blood as I explode, shouting at him, “Did it ever occur to you that I’m not a pitcher because I’m ashamed of you? I don’t want to be your son any more than you want me to be! And if you can hire a piece of ass, you can hire a damn cook and let Mom go. You can do that without getting a divorce, Jack. No one cares about your private life and no one will notice if Mom doesn’t live with you. It’s not like you make sure you’re seen in public together because heaven forbid the woman embarrasses you. Just let her go!” It’s what I want more than anything, for my mom to be safe from him.

  “You’re obviously not a man, because a real man knows that his wife is his property, and you don’t let go of something that belongs to you.” That motherfucker. My mouth opens, but he keeps talking. “I will do whatever the hell I want to your mother because she’s mine. Just like you’re mine, and I will kick your ass for raising your voice to me, son. I think you still remember the paddle and the belt in my office, right? It’s still there and I’ll show it to you again when you come over, you ungrateful bastard.”

  I laugh. He’s acting as if I’m still kid and he can hit me whenever he wants, as if I’m going to cower in the corner. “Do you think your threats to beat me scare me, Jack? I’m older, but I’m still younger than you are, and I think it will do you good to remember that I fight back now. You know what, this is pointless. You’re too weak of a person to realize you’re wrong, and I don’t care to waste my breath. I will be coming by to see Mom once I get home. If you’re planning to go a round, I wanted to give advance notice since you’re old and might need to be prepared to hit a man for a change.”

  Rage pumps my blood twice as hard and fast. That rage reminds me just how much I’m like my father. No matter how much I want to deny it, or how much I try to be the complete opposite, I’m my father’s son. I change my clothes, slip on my tennis shoes, and grab the card key before going down the to hotel’s gym. I need to get the anger out before it takes up permanent residence, at least any more than it already has.

  A punching bag catches my eyes, but I dismiss it for the treadmill. I need to run. Run off the steam, run away from my father’s voice, run away from myself, and run until I’m too exhausted to care.

  “Wow, Blakey, you look pissed off at the world. Are you mad enough to shoot fire through your nose like a dragon?”

  Of course, the last person I want to see is here. I don’t bother glancing at her. “Not in the mood, Sofia.”

  She leans on the treadmill rail and her tone softens as she says, “Blake, you need to talk to someone. You really do look mad enough to kill someone. Please, I’m not here to judge you or anything. I’m trying to be a friend.”

  “If I wanted a friend, I’d find Hector. Now, leave me alone.” I look mad enough to kill and she wants to step into the line of fire to talk me down? She’s lost her fucking mind if she wants to talk to me like this, or if she thinks that I want to talk to her.

  “Okay, but here.” She sets a card on the dash. “That’s my cell. You can call it anytime and I’ll be there. No matter the time, I’ll listen and help you in any way that I can.” I make the mistake of glancing at her and see her give me a small smile. “Have a good night, Blake.” She turns and starts walking away.

  Being the dumb ass that I am, I speak before she gets too far. “I don’t need you to feel sorry for me, and you don’t need to be my friend. I’m a grumpy jerk in case you forgot.”

  I watch through the mirror as she turns around and comes back over. “I haven’t forgotten, but you’re that way for a reason, and I want to help. Maybe when you get your head out of your ass and stop thinking you can do it all on your own, you’ll call that number.” She taps the card. “Unless you want to turn off the treadmill and talk now. I have the time.”

  Irritated and wanting to set her straight, I slam my hand down on the off button, facing her once the machine stops completely. “You think I need help? Just because there’s a lot that pisses me off, it doesn’t mean I need help. Not all of us have a reason to smile all the damn time.” I fold my arms over my chest, knowing I look every bit of the pissed off that I feel.

  “Maybe you don’t need help, Blakey, but you need to talk to someone. Look in the mirror.” She touches my arm to turn me back toward the mirrors that line the wall in front of the machines. My scowl might as well be a permanent expression. “That’s a guy who needs to stop bottling up his emotions inside. That’s a guy who need to talk.” I shake my head, facing her again. “For your information, I don’t smile all the time, I can be a bitch when I have to be, and you’re on the verge of bringing her out if you keep acting like a dick.”

  “That’s the thing, Sofia; I’m not acting. It’s who I am, and trust me when I say that keeping my emotions inside is for the best.”

  “May I try something? Seriously, for five minutes, let’s sit. If it doesn’t work, then I’ll walk away and the only time you have to see me is if you want me to rub something. No pun intended there.” She giggles at her joke, but I don’t laugh with her.

  “If that’s what it takes for you to leave me alone, then fine.”

  We’re the only ones in here and there are some chairs lining the wall, so we take a seat. I fold my arms over my chest again, lean back, and stretch my legs out in front of me, crossing them at the ankle. There’s no way I’ll be the first to speak. I watch her with narrowed eyes while I wait.

  “Okay, Blakey, tell me your favorite color and stop glaring at me before I kick your ass.”

  “Don’t have one,” I say.

  “Alright, favorite movie. I’m thinking you’re a Major League buff.”

  I shake my head. “I like the Mission Impossible movies.”

  “Did you ever try to hang upside down from the ceiling like Tom Cruise did?”

  “No, but that would’ve been cool.” My muscles slowly begin to relax.

  “I’m more of a Jason Bourne/James Bond girl. The new James Bond, not the Roger Moore
or Sean Connery James Bond. What is your favorite thing to eat? Don’t you dare say a girl’s name either.” She smirks at me and I tuck my chin down, focusing on my shoes, so she doesn’t see me trying not to smile.

  “I love vegetables.” I flick my gaze to my watch and add, “Four minutes left.”

  “Blech to the vegetables. For me, it’s all about pizza. Oh, I adore carbs and grease, but it’s killer on my thighs.” She shakes her head. I glance at her thighs. She has great legs. “Why do you hate baseball?” she asks.

  My eyes widen with surprise and the shock is clear in my voice. “Hate it? Why do you think I hate it? I’m a pro player; it wouldn’t make sense for me to play if I hate baseball.” Surely, I’m not that obvious.

  “Just because it’s your career, it doesn’t mean you have to like it and I can see that you don’t. Maybe you the like the money or the girls or the fame it gives you, but do you love it?”

  Without giving it any thought, I automatically answer, “Yes, of course I do. I wouldn’t play if I didn’t, not even for the money or the girls. Both of which I could get without baseball, by the way.”

  She gives an all knowing smile. “I’m glad you said that.” The smile falls away before she continues. “What is eating you up then? Is it a girl, Hector, or your family? If it isn’t baseball, then tell me.”

  The tension starts to tighten my muscles again. “You know, if it’s a girl who’s bugging me, you realize it would be you, right? Hector can be a pain in the ass, but he’s fine. It could be baseball, considering how the game went today.”

  “That only leaves family, then? Is it bad or annoying?”

  I stare at her for a moment, trying to figure out how to answer. Who does she think she is to ask me such personal questions? “Doesn’t matter because it’s no one’s business,” I finally snap.

  “I’m taking that to mean it’s bad. You know,” she clears her throat, suddenly looking slightly nervous. “My dad kind of knows your dad.” At this, I sit up straight. “I talked to Dad last night, and he told me a few things. Since you don’t want to talk about it, I’ll just say this: if you or your mom need help, I can help.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but it doesn’t matter. Time’s up.” I stand and leave, bewildered that she might know what went on behind the closed doors of my childhood home. And what still goes on today.

  I TWIST THE stem of the empty wine glass in between my fingers. Between the kiss and our last talk, Blake is heavy on my mind.

  “Baby girl?”

  I lift my eyes up to my dad. “Huh? What?”

  Harmony and Mom laugh. “We were talking to you.” Mom smiles.

  “I’m sorry. What is it?”

  “Sofia, what were you thinking about?” Mom asks, concerned.

  People assume my parents have lavish items in their house, but they’re not like that at all. For instance, our kitchen table has been in our family for as far back as I can remember. It’s a small, pale blonde wood. It seats six, but Mom always keeps two chairs in the closet because there are only the four of us.

  When I arrived home yesterday, I had Harmony stay up with me and we discussed everything that happened from the kiss to the point where he ran away from me again. Harmony didn’t have much advice to give me, but she told me to be there for him when he does come around.

  “I was thinking about Blake,” I confess.

  “Baby girl,” Dad shakes his head. “Jack Foster is not a nice man. I really don’t like you being with Blake.”

  “I’m not with him, Dad. I’m trying to help him. He’s nothing like his dad. I truly believe that Blake wouldn’t hurt me,” I defend him.

  “Okay,” he quickly answers back. “If you trust Blake, then I do too, but I don’t trust Jack Foster. Period.”

  “Judy said she saw Blake’s mom, Caroline, the other day. She had a bruise on her cheek and her arm was in a sling,” Mom informs me. “I’m going to see if Judy can get her to come to lunch with us. I’d like to meet her and maybe befriend her. Judy says she keeps to herself and doesn’t have many friends because everyone knows of Jack’s temper.”

  “Why is she staying with that—”

  “Harmony,” Mom cuts her off. “We don’t know the situation, but we can help.”

  “I’d kick him in the balls, that’s for sure,” Harmony says matter-of-factly.

  Dad beams with pride, knowing she’s strong. “That’s my princess.”

  “Dad, what do you know about Jack?” I ask.

  “The same thing I told you when we talked. It’s all hearsay, but he has a hot temper, especially when he drinks. When he was in the league, he was in a lot of bar fights, but nothing came of it because he’s Jack Foster. Plus, tabloid TV didn’t exist then, and it was easier to keep quiet. I don’t know him personally. Our business paths have never crossed. I’ve seen him a bit around town and at events though.”

  “I think he’s hurt Blake,” I blurt out. “I think Blake has seen a lot of trauma in his life. He’s holding it all in; and when he explodes, it’s going to be bad. I can feel it.”

  “Sofia, you’re not a psychologist. You can’t fix everyone. I know you have a good heart, but honey, some people don’t want help,” Mom tells me softly.

  “He needs me. I need to figure out an approach that will work with him.” I stand and grab the bottle of wine, pouring myself another glass.

  “What if you talked about baseball?” Harmony suggests.

  “Baseball?” I tilt my head at her.

  “Yeah, baseball. Connect with him on a baseball level. You know about it, right?”

  I roll my eyes at my sister. “Yes, I know about it. What I don’t understand is what you mean.”

  “Talk to him about baseball. You need to gain his trust, and baseball is his passion. Just talk about baseball.”

  I sit back down and lean back against my chair. “What do you think?” I ask Dad.

  “As long as you’re safe and happy, I don’t care. However, if he hurts you or Jack does, I know places where to bury their bodies and no one will ever find them.” Dad stands and leaves the kitchen.

  “He isn’t joking,” Mom adds, and I know she’s right. I love my dad, but you don’t cross him.

  Harmony and I decide to stay at our parents’ house for the night. We’ve both had a few glasses of wine and we don’t want to drive. Mom has kept our rooms the same since we moved out. After my shower, I crawl into my bed and flip through my phone. I don’t want to read. I don’t want to check Facebook. I don’t want to do anything but think of Blake, his lips, and a way I can help him.

  I scroll through my contacts until I see his name. I found his cell phone number in his personal file. I know it’s wrong to store it in my phone, but I did it in case he needed me.

  Ugh, who am I kidding? I did it because I wanted to make sure his stubborn ass is okay. Harmony’s words come back to me.

  Baseball.

  Alright, if I send him a text, he could get me fired or he might answer me. Shit. I’m not going to give up on him. I’m going to be his friend.

  Here it goes.

  Me: It’s Sofia. Did you know that Joe DiMaggio was only married to Marilyn Monroe for 274 days?

  Blake: No, I didn’t know that. How’d you get my number?

  Okay, how am I going to answer this? I should do the right thing and tell the truth. Yeah, I’m not going to do that.

  Me: The Baseball Fairy gave it to me. Did you know that the New York Yankees have won more World Series than any other team?

  I’m going to keep him texting and I’m hoping this helps him.

  Blake: Of course I knew that. I’m not gonna ask about the fairy. How do you know all this?

  Me: Google and I like baseball. Did you know that Nolan Ryan has struck out more players than any other pitcher?

  I’m running out of trivia that I do know and I might really have to resort Google.

  Blake: Yes. Ever heard about the Doubleday myth?

&nbs
p; Me: No, what’s that?

  Oh, please let it be baseball related and that this conversation won’t turn into sexting.

  Blake: A guy, Abner Graves, said his friend Abner Doubleday invented the game all by himself when he was a teenager. They wanted baseball to truly be America’s game, and that was their way of making it happen, even though it wasn’t true. Hence, Doubleday myth

  Thank you, Baseball Gods.

  Me: Wow, look who’s being Mr. Baseball now? I guess it’s true you do learn something new every day. Too bad I didn’t know something that you didn’t already know. =(

  Blake: You did. The marriage with Marilyn, I didn’t know that.

  I roll my eyes at the screen. He’s being nice because that’s worthless information.

  Me: Well, it’s not really baseball trivia. I read it in People magazine one time. How are you doing tonight?

  It’s time to see how this is going to go. He’s either going to answer or quit texting me.

  Blake: Same as always. You?

  It’s working. I think.

  Me: I’m actually spending the night at my parents. Harmony and I drank a little bit more wine than usual at dinner. How’s the knee?

  Keep him texting.

  Blake: It’s been fine since the first time I went to see you. No trouble since.

  Me: Tanner told me I have healing hands. LOL

  Blake: I’ve heard. Told the team you had hands of a God or something, I think.

  Me: He was moaning so loud on the table, people would have thought I was giving him something besides a massage. Plus, he doesn’t wear any underwear. SMH

  Blake: I didn’t need to know that.

  Me: Hey, sharing is caring LOL