The Game Changer: A Novel (18 page)

If anyone could curb Dean’s actions, it was Melissa. I worried about him sending Jack the same type of text messages with pictures that she had been sending me. I knew better than to let the jerks know they affected me, and now I’d have to pay for my stupid actions with the online postings, comments, and whatever else came along. The last thing I wanted was for Jack to be worried about me, or think I couldn’t handle myself in the face of some stupid drunk hecklers, so I was determined to keep my behavior a secret from him.

My phone chirped.

You got it. Dean won’t tell Jack anything about his crazy middle-finger-flipping girlfriend. LOL But hey, you gotta keep it together or these fans will eat you alive. You’re better than that.

I sighed inwardly and typed.

You’re right. I know. I lost my cool. It won’t happen again.

I worked the rest of the day uninterrupted and only started to get nervous about the game when Matteo dropped me off at the stadium. If he knew about the pictures, he wasn’t saying anything.

“Have a good night, Cassie. I’ll see you later.” His smile reached all the way to his eyes, and I shoved my nervous energy aside before smiling back.

“See you later Matteo. Thanks for the ride.” I slammed the door shut, hoping no one would notice me. If the comments started already, I’d probably turn around and chase Matteo’s car all the way back to Manhattan.

Attending Jack’s games solo all the time might start to get old. I really needed to make some friends who liked watching baseball. I guess I wouldn’t want new friends so badly if the wives had been kinder. And as much as I liked Trina, it was obvious that her modeling jobs kept her from coming to most games; that sucked for me because without her there, I felt completely alone.

A few nasty comments burrowed into my eardrums as I walked out of the tunnel and into the night air. One deep, steadying breath later and my nerves started to settle. I repeated a chant in my head as I walked toward my assigned seat:
Don’t give them anything to talk about. Don’t give them anything to talk about.

I avoided looking directly into anyone’s gaze for fear that they might see through my façade. I played tough on the outside, but it wouldn’t take much to break me down at this point.

The game ended and I started walking toward the exit, the sound of drunk men stumbling in line behind me. A quick shove forced me to slam into the guy in front of me, my hand grabbing his shoulder for balance. “I’m sorry,” I quickly offered as he shook me off. Another rough shove and I started to wonder if they were accidental.

Reaching the end of the aisle, I turned to eye the person responsible for the shoving, when moisture splashed against the back of my shirt and bare neck. The smell of beer filled my nostrils as
I winced, rolling my shoulders forward away from my damp and sticky shirt.

“Oops,” an oversized man said with a sarcastic gruff before heading away, laughter ripping from his lungs. I watched as his friend patted him on the back in congratulations.

I stopped moving, the crowd filing out around me as my eyes met Kymber’s. She looked at my soaking back and continued walking, her eyes saying it all. She didn’t care what happened to me out here. She wasn’t on my side and she damn sure wasn’t going to do or say anything to help me. The other wives followed behind, all of them glancing in my direction, but none of them stopping to help.

I hurried toward a concession stand, my eyes scanning for a jersey with Jack’s name and number on it. I breathed out in relief when I saw it displayed against the silver fencing.

“Can I get a Carter jersey in medium please?” I asked.

After paying for my purchase, I rushed into the nearest bathroom. Tearing off my beer drenched top, I reached for the faucet. I placed my black top into the basin and allowed the warm water to drench it. I wrung my shirt out before filling it with more fresh water, repeating the cycle numerous times until I was satisfied that the beer smell had dissipated. Soaking the shirt with water one last time, I scrubbed my body with it the best I could. I tried to get the stickiness and stench off of my back, but it was hard to reach.

“Do you want me to help you?” a lady around my mom’s age asked from behind me. Her brown eyes looked sorrowful as I viewed her in the mirror.

I turned on my heels to face her, thankful for the kindness. “Please?” I refused to let myself cry from the frustration, embarrassment, and sadness. “Thank you,” I said, turning back toward my reflection.

I watched as she scrubbed at my exposed skin, taking extra care to not get me too wet. Once finished, she grabbed some paper towels and patted my back dry.

“There you go.”

“Thank you so much,” I smiled before pulling my new shirt out and slipping it over my head. I shoved my wet shirt into the bag and pulled the drawstrings tight. Glancing into the mirror, I ran my fingers through my damp hair and knew Jack would smell the beer on me if I didn’t wash it out.

I twisted my head down toward the sink, allowing the warm water to penetrate the beer soaked ends of my hair. Walking over to the hand dryer, I pressed the start button. It roared to life and I placed my wet hair under the heat. Once dry, I quickly sniffed at my hair, satisfied that no one would smell the beer unless you were searching for it. I pulled out a small bottle of scented vanilla lotion and rubbed it on my arms and my neck to help mask any lingering smells.

Shoving the bag that contained my damp shirt into my purse, I headed out of the bathroom and in the direction of the locker room. I prayed Jack wouldn’t be able to tell that anything happened and that I’d be able to hold it all in. I knew keeping this from him was probably wrong, but I convinced myself that it was in Jack’s best interest. He needed to keep his mind on the field and his head in the game at all times. He wouldn’t be able to do that if he knew this kind of shit occurred. And I’d never be able to forgive myself if anything happened to his career because of me.

Jack

A
fter the game and the team meeting, I changed, took a quick shower, and headed out of the navy blue locker room doors. I burst through, looking around for her face. The minute I locked on her tired green eyes, I knew something was off.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, as my protective instincts flared.

Her lips formed a tight smile and I eyed the Mets shirt that hugged the curves of her body. “Nothing’s wrong. Like my new shirt?”

She turned around, lifting her hair to proudly display my last name and jersey number written on the back of the shirt. Carter 23.

“Like it? I fucking love it,” I answered and her face softened, but the worry lines between her eyes remained.

My mind instantly flashed back to the night she was mugged at Fullton State. She was with a group of my teammates heading toward campus to meet up with me when a guy high on drugs and alcohol assaulted them and claimed to have a gun. I was scheduled to throw out the first pitch for the softball team that night, but I left the second I heard whispers about what happened, running into Dean and Brett along the way. I remember sprinting across the parking lot as quick as my legs would move me, toward the street searching for any signs of her. When I saw her silhouette, being helped up by my buddy Cole as they walked, I nearly crumpled
with pain. It was my job to protect her and keep her safe, and I failed.

Seeing her beautiful face bruised and beaten in my mind caused my blood to start boiling. I promised her that night that I’d never let anyone hurt her again, and I meant it. The thought alone could make me come completely unglued. No one could fuck with my Kitten like that ever again.

“You going to tell me what’s wrong?” I pressed again and she avoided my eyes.

“Really it’s nothing. I just want to go home. I’m exhausted.”

I leaned my head toward her, my lips grazing over her ear as I whispered, “I know you’re lying. Tell me in the car.” I kissed her ear before pulling my lips away and throwing my arm around her shoulder.

I relaxed the moment she pulled her body into mine and confessed, “I love you. I’m so fucking happy that you’re here. That we’re here together. You know that, right?” She smiled as the words left her lips.

God I loved that smile. I loved everything about this woman.

“I am too. I love you.”

I refused to stop for any fan autographs or pictures, instead walking straight to the car, my arm around my girl. Cassie’s body tensed as small flashes of light exploded around us. I was used to this, but she wasn’t. I squeezed her tighter, longing to reassure whatever bothered her.

“Hey, Matteo.”

“Hi, Jack. Cassie.” His smile quickly faded when he said her name. He sensed it too. Something was wrong.

Once in the privacy of our car, I reached for Cassie’s hand, stroking the top with my thumb. “Tell me what’s wrong, Kitten.”

The car sped forward and Matteo glanced at us in the rearview.

“I’m just really tired, Jack. It’s a long day when I come straight here after work, you know?”

She had a point. Cass was gone in the mornings before I woke up, and we didn’t get home until well after eleven.

“You don’t have to come to all the games.” I offered her a way out. Did I want her there? Of course I did. I wanted that girl everywhere I was. But maybe I was being unreasonable by asking her to come to the games when I don’t even play.

Her eyes softened, and I had to touch her. I cupped her chin in my palm, her eyes closing. “I want to be at your games, Jack. I’ll miss plenty of them because of work. I want to watch every one that I can.”

I sighed.

Actually fucking sighed.

Matteo was probably thinking about what a giant pussy I was. Hell, I was thinking about what a giant pussy I was.

I changed the subject. She was avoiding my question for a reason, and I refused to push her about it in the car. I’d ask her again once we were home…and alone. I handed her a manila envelope filled with paperwork.

“What is this?” She scrunched up her nose, and it was so goddamned cute that I instantly hardened.

“It’s my travel schedule for the next three weeks.”

Her eyes widened, “Oh! I meant to ask you about that the other night, but I completely forgot.”

“Well here it is.” I slid my hand up her thigh. “Part of it anyway,” I added before she swatted my hand away.

“Stop it,” she whispered, her cheeks turning pink.

I loved the way I affected her. It made me even harder, and I adjusted my jeans, attempting to relieve the pressure. She flipped through the papers, pausing to read some pages more thoroughly
than others. I leaned into her neck, the smell of her skin overwhelming my senses. I kissed her softly, allowing my tongue to glide up her neck as she released a slight gasp.

“I’m going to fuck you in the back of this car while Matteo watches if you don’t stop making those noises.”

Her jaw dropped open, her eyes falling to the bulge in my pants before widening with embarrassment. “Jack!”

“Screaming my name isn’t going to help you,” I teased, my tongue sliding around her earlobe as I sucked it in my mouth gently.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “Stop.” She adjusted her body, moving my face away with her hands. “Wait ’til we get home,” she begged, casting a glance in Matteo’s direction.

I moved my hand up her thigh again, stopping before I reached her spot. Want filled her eyes, even through her constant pleading for me to stop. I pulled away swiftly, putting my hands behind my head and leaning back into them. “OK. I can wait.”

Her chest heaved, her breathing uneven.

Fuck. I couldn’t wait, but teasing her was worth it.

She attempted to distract herself by flicking through the paperwork again, her hands shaking. “So this is all your travel information. Flight, hotel, bus, and game times?”

“Yep. It’s all there.” I tried to ignore the throbbing between my legs.

“I have a question.”

How the hell do females just turn off the ability to be turned on? It’s like they’re superheroes or something. Can go from worked up to shut down in two seconds flat! Guys don’t work like that.

“I have an answer,” I said as evenly as possible.

“Who does all this for you guys? Someone has to book all your flights and coordinate all this. I’d freaking die if I had to do all that administrative bullshit,” she admitted, shaking her head.

“We have a travel secretary. Her name’s Alison, and I’ll give you all her contact information in case you ever need to reach her.” I tilted my head to each side, cracking my neck loudly.

“What happens when I want to go to an away game? Do I call her for my travel too?”

I laughed. “No. She only books the team’s travel. All the wives, girlfriends, and kids are on their own.”

“Jeez. But if I wanted to get on the same flight with you, I can, right?” she asked as two worry lines appeared above the bridge of her nose.

I shook my head. “No. We have a team plane that—”

“You have a team plane? Like a Mets plane?”

I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand. “No. If you’d let me finish.”