Calling It (28 page)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

He did everything in his power to forget her.

The first week of spring training came and went with Nate working harder than he ever had before. Although he’d always been one hundred percent ready out of the gate, he jacked it up so much that even players who hadn’t had to report yet—both from his own and from other teams—were coming out to watch, just to see what was going on.

After four days of it, management brought him in and put him through every test they had because they didn’t believe he wasn’t on anything.

“Not even painkillers for the knees?” they’d asked amid rampant debate. His old friends Jim and Marco were having a field day. NateGate on Steroids, they were calling it.

Fucking assholes.

But his knees were freakin’ fine; it was his head that was the problem. Dorie was still his first waking thought every day; the last thing he thought about when he went to sleep.

Had he been that wrong about her? Was what he had to give her really not enough?

When working hard didn’t do the trick, he decided he may as well play even harder. He started going out with Rico and Troy after practice, just for dinner at first, but then, after a few days, to the bars afterward. He even spent a few nights partying with the new kids, guys in their rookie season, suddenly making more money than God and blowing it the only way they knew how.

Didn’t matter one goddamn bit. Every morning, every night, she was still there, haunting him.

By the middle of week three, he was bone tired just from the energy of trying to keep her out of his head. It wasn’t the easiest thing to do since, thanks to the drugs being a nonissue, Jim and Marco had moved on to the topic of Where Is Nate’s New Girl, and What Has She Done to His Career?

He wasn’t about to tell them that he no longer had a “new girl,” so instead he’d destroyed every radio in his house. The fact that it was a useless gesture—the only radio he listened to was in his car and he wasn’t about to smash in his dashboard no matter how tempting it was—hadn’t escaped him.

He’d been doing better, though—right up until he’d played his first few games in his new uniform and had gotten a text from Wash:
Nice
to
see
you
back
in
form.
Homestead
says
hi.

The Homestead. Did that mean his mom? Fitz?

Did it mean
Dorie
?

Christ.

For the next four days in a row he played worse than at any other point in his professional career, which, incidentally, was pretty hard to do during spring training. And now here he was in his big empty house, sitting at the island in a kitchen that was practically big enough to fit his entire childhood home—before it had blown down, of course—alone. Well, except for good ole JD.

Yep. Just him and Jack, although a lot less of Jack than when he’d started out.

When the doorbell rang, it took a few minutes to register. A few more for Nate to make it to the door and fumble it open.

“Oh, man,” Rico said, standing there and shaking his head. He turned to Troy. “This is even worse than I thought.”

No. Nate did not need this. Did. Not. Need. This.
Shit.

He started to close the door, but Rico easily brushed past him. Easily herded him down the hallway no less, directly into an ice-cold shower, with all his clothes on.

“What the fuck, Castillo?”

Shoving open the shower door, he probably would have thrown a punch if it wasn’t for the towel that flew at his face.

“Did that sober him up?” Troy asked as if Nate wasn’t even there.

Toweling dry his hair, Nate snapped, “Yes, unfortunately.” He stayed away from booze for the most part, but tonight he’d been planning on sinking into that haze. Tomorrow, well... That was another day.

“Good,” Rico said from where he sat against the vanity. “Because I’m jonesing for that hot tub of yours and I don’t need you passing out on me.”

The man had a hot tub of his own. Hell, everyone did. But Nate supposed it was better than getting piss-ass drunk all by himself.

Of course it only took ten minutes before Rico was on the phone, pulling up various pictures from throughout the week. Hinting that maybe it was time for Nate to get his cojones back. Going beyond hinting as he dialed the phone, started to invite someone whose voice was way too high-pitched and giggly to—

“No,” Nate snapped, snatching the phone out of Rico’s hand, fully ready to drop it in the water. “Not happening.”

Although Rico shrugged it off good-naturedly, there was no missing the glance he and Troy exchanged.

“Hey, man,” Troy said, taking over. “We just figured you could use some cheering up.” He took a pull from his beer as he nodded at the phone. “Swimsuit models, Nate. This year’s cover. They were at that party the other night, remember?”

Spreading his arms out along the cool tile rim at his back, Nate just closed his eyes and let his head fall back. He didn’t want to hang out with any models. He didn’t want to hang out with any women, period. Hell, at the moment, he was seriously reconsidering allowing Rico and Troy to stay. “Doing just fine, guys. Don’t worry about me.”

Which was bullshit, obviously. But he had no intention of acknowledging otherwise.

Goddamn it. When was this going to end? It really had to fucking end.

After a few more attempts to get him talking, Troy and Rico had gone on to dissect this afternoon’s game, and Nate was gratefully on his way to passing out when he realized that he wasn’t hearing a jackhammer in his head, but instead the click of heels along the stones.

“Nate! What the
hell
?”

His head came up and he opened his eyes to see the last person he’d ever expected standing over him. “Courtney?”

She was wearing something off the runway, no doubt. But even as he took in the bright red dress that showed off every curve, both natural and man-made, he thought of Dorie. Of how her curves—all natural—would fill it out. Of how it would feel to take it off her.

He let his head fall back to the tile again and closed his eyes. “Go away.”

Her steps—and voice—came closer. “6:30. You obviously forgot.”

Fuck.

Dinner. Right. She was broadcasting from Arizona this week, in honor of the opening games of the season, and she’d talked him into dinner with the reminder that it was after February thirteenth. As if he hadn’t realized that particular fact. “That’s tonight?”

“Yes,” she snapped, nodding curtly to Rico and Troy. “I’ll be in the car. Don’t make me miss the sunset.” She turned on her heel and walked away.

Under other circumstances, he probably wouldn’t have let her get away with that. She was long past the point where she could order him around. But, well...fuck. It was better than hanging here. Who knew what other brilliant ideas Rico and Troy would come up with?

He scrambled out of the hot tub and threw a towel around his waist. To Rico, he said, “Lock up when you leave.”

The restaurant was high-end, of course. Five-star rating, award-winning, gorgeous setting. The table they were shown to was right up against the railing with an unobstructed view of the desert on two sides.

They placed their orders and, since Courtney had clearly wanted to watch the sunset, he decided he’d be nice about it and wait until the show was over before bluntly asking, “Why are we here?”

Completely unruffled, she smiled. “I wanted to resume our discussion.”

Discussion? “What discussion? Last time we talked, you were attempting to seduce me into...” Shit. He’d walked right into that one.

“Exactly.” She smiled smugly. “Into getting back together.” She moved her salad around on the plate, then put her fork to the side. “If we pick things up where we left off, we can still have the October wedding we planned.”

Thankfully, the waitstaff swooped in to clear their first round of plates right then. It kept him from killing her.

“The World Series is in October, Courtney,” he said as calmly as possible. Pitchers and catchers, yes; it was completely believable that she hadn’t known that date. Unless you were a true baseball fan—which, incidentally, the fiancée of an MLB catcher should be, although that was neither here nor there—it probably didn’t cross your mind. But the woman wasn’t stupid. And she was being deliberately obtuse about this. “I can’t plan a wedding for then.”

She rolled her eyes. “There are so many teams in baseball,” she said. “The odds of you getting into the World Series are probably very small.”

He could tell her the exact odds of it if he took two minutes to check his phone, but that wasn’t the point. “We’re not getting married.”

Courtney leaned back as their main dishes came, throwing a shrewd look his way. “If I thought that I actually hurt you by sleeping with Ox, I’d apologize.” She lifted her wineglass and stared at the deep red liquid as she swirled it.

Stretching his legs out in front of him, Nate did pretty much the same thing with his water, albeit without the swirl. Leave it to Courtney to make it so that he was the one who felt like a jerk even though he was the only one of the three who was completely innocent.

Because she was right. Losing the baby he’d just begun to see a future for hurt. Finding out that one of his best friends had been with his fiancée hurt. And he’d been irritated as hell that it all came out so publicly that he had no choice but to deal with it. But if he was being honest, he’d have to admit that not once did he wish that it had turned out differently. It was almost a relief, in fact.

When he finally looked up into her eyes and saw the tears she was desperately trying to hold at bay, however, his chest tightened. It wasn’t that he’d never cared for her, he just...

Hell.

“Why did you do it?” he asked before he could stop himself.

Although it had taken him awhile to remember details about the car accident itself, the one thing that he’d been able to recall with absolute clarity was the moment Courtney had turned to him and told him the baby wasn’t his. It was only the next moment—when Marcela’s car swerved in front of him—where everything had gone blank.

Her lips quivered slightly as a single, perfect tear slid down her cheek. She turned to look at the darkness rapidly falling beyond their table. Though she brought the wineglass to her lips, she didn’t drink from it. After a minute, she put it back on the table, still not looking his way. Hand on the stem, she softly said, “I just wanted to feel
something
.”

“And you chose
Ox
?” Nate snapped. The man was ice personified. He was even colder than Courtney was.

But, Christ, no, Nate didn’t want to actually know the answer behind that question, so as Courtney started to say something, he held his hand up. Because he got it. Now that he’d had a taste of it he could see what he and Courtney had lacked. And Dorie had been right; what he’d given Courtney wasn’t enough. His voice even broke a little as he said, “Courtney...”

She shook her head to warn him off. Even now, in this moment that was probably more honest and open than any moment they’d shared while they’d been together, she refused to let him in. Unlike Dorie, who’d given so much of herself despite fighting him every step of the way.

Had he loved Courtney? Given how much the opposite had been true over the past few months, it was hard to think about what came before. She wasn’t a warm person. Wasn’t particularly nice, even. She had a wickedly sharp sense of humor, an IQ off the charts and was, as Dorie had said, “beautiful, seriously so.” And, as she herself had so recently said, they did make a good match. On the surface, at least. He’d just forgotten that what everyone else saw wasn’t actually who he was.

Or maybe it was that he’d lost himself.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do that for you,” he finally said. She’d mattered to him. He’d enjoyed their life together. Maybe if Dorie hadn’t happened, he wouldn’t even have known he was capable of anything more.

Obviously hearing even what he wasn’t saying, she turned to look at him, her eyes questioning. “You know,” she finally said, pulling her shawl around her as she leaned back, “this is probably the most romantic date we’ve ever had.” She gave him an oddly serene smile. “Are you sure you don’t want to marry me? We really are perfect together in almost every way.”

Settling into his seat, he actually laughed. “Almost.”

But no, it hadn’t been enough. It wasn’t even close to what he’d felt with Dorie. And he had no doubt that if they
had
had that she never would have strayed—despite what Dorie obviously thought.

He caught the waiter’s eye, handed over his credit card and was glad when the waiter had it back right away.

Just as he was signing his name, Courtney asked, “Why aren’t you fighting for her?”

The pen slipped out of his hand. “What?”

“That woman. The one in Chicago. Dorie.” Her eyebrow quirked up. “The Sox fan.”

Nate picked the pen up off the floor and laid it down on the table, suddenly unable to breathe. “I’m not sure what you mean.” That was a lie, of course. After Jim and Marco couldn’t get anything on Dorie—the town had closed ranks around her, apparently—they’d moved on to a daily comparison of his stats while with Courtney v those since. Dorie wasn’t faring well.

Even though he could feel Courtney’s gaze on him, he didn’t look up. Not until the silence dragged into a full minute and it would have been ridiculous not to.

A look came into her eyes, one that was both wistful and wicked at the same time. “I don’t take kindly to being second best. You know that.”

“According to the radio, you’re winning,” he couldn’t help but say.

Although she gave him a thin smile—yeah, he didn’t think it was that funny, either—she added, “If I didn’t know I’d still lose in the end, I’d fight harder for you. I’m just wondering why you’re not doing the same. I mean, that was the real thing, right? What we never had?”

His mouth opened and then closed, all on its own accord as a series of excuses ran through his head, the strongest of which was that Dorie didn’t love him. That she didn’t want him as much as he wanted her. Or, rather, “She fell in love with a picture on the wall,” he said. “Not me.”