Center Stage: A Hot Baseball Romance (Diamond Brides Book 8)
Read Center Stage: A Hot Baseball Romance (Diamond Brides Book 8) Online
Authors: Mindy Klasky
Tags: #baseball romance, #reunion romance, #sports romance, #sports hero, #secret baby, #instant family, #alpha male hero
CENTER STAGE
Mindy Klasky
Center Stage
Copyright © 2014 Mindy Klasky
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portion thereof, in any form.
This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published by Book View Café Publishing Cooperative
Cover design by Reece Notley
Book View Café Publishing Cooperative
P.O. Box 1624, Cedar Crest, NM 87008-1624
ISBN 978-1-61138-442-0
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the author’s work. Discover other titles by Mindy Klasky at
http://www.mindyklasky.com
Marry in haste, repent at leisure…
Ryan Green looked at his watch again. At least the bride and groom weren’t in danger of repenting any time soon. It seemed like this wedding was never going to happen—and the sweltering church had just reached a temperature that felt a lot closer to Hell than to Heaven. The ceremony should have started an hour earlier, and there was still no sign of the groom. For that matter, the best man, the matron of honor, and Brother Mike had made themselves pretty scarce for the past thirty minutes.
Figuring he’d make the most of the delay, Ryan stood up from the rock-hard pew on the left side of the church. After spending the last twelve days on the Raleigh Rockets’ disabled list, Ryan barely felt the lingering tightness in his strained right hamstring, but there was no reason to let the muscle seize up by spending extra time on the unyielding wooden bench.
That was his story anyway, and he was sticking with it.
As he reached the back of the church, Ryan realized he wasn’t the only ballplayer with the same idea. Braden Hart, one of the Rockets’ pitchers, nodded a greeting, automatically shifting over like he was making room for the center fielder in the dugout. But this little gathering was woefully short on sunflower seeds and Gatorade, and they didn’t have a fistful of bubble gum between them.
Hart nodded toward the pews. “Hell of a night off, isn’t it? If we have to spend hours on a wooden bench, we might as well get a game out of it.”
Ryan shrugged. “There aren’t any women in a dugout.”
As if in response, a tide of feminine voices rose. Ryan had caught sight of the women when he’d first arrived at the church, right before an usher asked him, “Friend of the bride or friend of the groom?” He’d almost said “groom” just so he’d have a chance with one of them. During the long delay, he’d learned that they’d all gone to college with the groom. Each was prettier than the last, with her hair done up and her fingernails painted and a tight little dress that showed off a hell of a lot more than it covered up. Ryan couldn’t have told one from another, not if he’d been offered a five-year contract and a roster with every one of their names.
Hart followed Ryan’s gaze, but he shook his head in disgust. “Never f—” He seemed to remember he was standing in the back of a church, because he caught himself and started over again. “Never pick up a girl at a wedding. They put out easy enough, but they want a ring on their finger in the morning.”
Ryan shook his head. “Spoken like a real poet, man.”
“Hey, I call ’em like I see ’em. It’s a social disease, this getting married thing. Look around the clubhouse tomorrow night, buddy. You know I’m right. Guys are dropping like flies.”
Hart had a point. Half the guys on the team had proposed to their girlfriends before the end of last season.
Hart went on. “We
shower
with those guys, man. If it’s contagious, you know we’re coming down with it. And I, for one, have no plans on settling down any time soon.”
Ryan rolled his eyes. “Keep talking about women like they’re served up on some buffet, and you won’t be settling down ever.”
Hart looked real serious. “What do you think that would be like?” he asked. “Getting one of those debutantes in the middle of a buffet table? Play my cards right, I could have a beer in one hand, a roast beef sandwich in the other, and dessert spread out in front of me, ready and willing.” He flicked his tongue like a lizard, just in case Ryan didn’t get the joke.
“You’re disgusting,” Ryan said, but he was laughing.
“Come on,” Hart said. “We single guys have to say it, because those whipped dudes sure won’t.”
Ryan mockingly bumped fists with the pitcher. “Long live the single man,” he intoned. “
Someone’s
got to do what’s right—treat weddings like the excuse they are for warm beer, bad food, and good men lost forever.”
Hart winced before the words were out of Ryan’s mouth. Without turning around, Ryan knew someone was standing behind him. And from the way Hart was shaking his head, it wasn’t just any old teammate.
Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Ryan pasted on a smile and turned around. “Zach,” he said, holding out a hand, like he hadn’t just taken first place in the competition for Asshole of the Week.
Zach Ormond was the Rockets’ former catcher. More to the point in this little church where the air conditioner was obviously on the fritz and the temperature was nudging eighty-five degrees, Ormond was the brother of the bride-to-be, Lindsey. He’d been Ryan’s closest friend on the team for years.
That had all changed, though, last season, when a string of craziness led to Zach’s hanging up his spikes
and
his getting engaged—to none other than the granddaughter of the Rockets’ owner. Zach had left playing the sport he loved, taking up a job in the Rockets’ front office. The whole time that crap was happening, Ormond had kept to himself, never once confiding in Ryan. The gulf between them had carried through the rest of the season, but Ryan had thought—had
hoped—
that the wedding invitation had been a sign that he and Zach were past their differences.
Fat chance of that, with Ryan cracking stupid jokes.
“You got a problem with weddings?” Zach’s question was deceptively mild.
“None,” Ryan said, forcing himself to meet his friend’s eyes. “Not for the right guy.”
Shit. Why did Ormond have to catch him being a jackass? And here, Ryan had been fooling himself that Lindsey’s wedding would be a perfect chance to talk to the guy about some front office business. Ryan had thought the whole thing through as he knotted his tie that afternoon. Show up at the wedding. Shake hands with the groom, kiss the bride in the receiving line. Wait until the reception, after the toasts. Then, when Zach was looking for a break from champagne and photographs and everyone telling him his sister made a beautiful bride, Ryan could talk to him, man to man.
There’d never be a
perfect
time to ask Zach Ormond for the biggest favor of Ryan’s professional career. But the wedding should have put Zach in a decent mood, and Ryan couldn’t wait much longer. Not when he’d promised his mother he’d take care of Dad. Not when his father was getting crazier every day, spending more and more time in front of his television, watching reruns of reality shows after the baseball games ended each night, watching infomercials when the reality shows ran out. Truth be told, Dad was halfway to batshit crazy in the little house he’d lived in for thirty-five years, lost like a little kid now that Mom was gone.
Ryan could drive down to Chester Beach during the offseason. He could call the old man every couple of days. But Dad needed a hell of a lot more than that—he needed a
job
. A reason to get up in the morning. And for an old baseball guy like Dad, the best possible job would be working for the Satellites, the Rockets’ farm team based right there in Chester Beach.
But that was never going to happen if Ormond thought Ryan was crapping all over his sister’s wedding—old friendship or no old friendship. As the guests’ murmuring rose another notch, Ryan cleared his throat and pretended he was innocent. “Hey,” he said. “What’s up?”
“What’s up,” Zach spat, “is that the groom must be caught in traffic, the A/C in this place died yesterday, and I’m pretty sure we’re going to have people collapsing from heatstroke in the next five minutes.”
Hart, the coward, shrank away. But Ryan said, “Dinner’s set up downstairs, right?”
Ormond nodded. “The caterers have been ready for a while. We’re supposed to be eating by now.”
“No problem, then. They have to have water.” Ryan jutted his chin toward the pitcher. “Come on, Hart. Let’s do something useful.” He headed toward the vestibule and stairs that had to lead down to the reception hall.
Ormond barked out an order. “Hold up, Green.” Ryan turned back. “I don’t want you going up and down those stairs. Not with that bad hammie.”
“My leg’s fine.” It felt strange for Ryan to hear commands coming out of Zach’s mouth. They were buddies. Teammates. Friends.
Nevertheless, Ormond shook his head. “Hart can get it.”
The pitcher shrugged and hit the stairs while Ryan stood there, feeling like an invalid. He was tempted to say something to Ormond, to explain that he hadn’t meant to say anything bad about
all
weddings, that he obviously hadn’t been talking about
this
wedding, that…
Yeah. He’d already stepped in it. No reason to smear the shit around.
Before Ryan could think of something else to say, Ormond took out his phone, but he scowled at the screen instead of placing a call.
“No signal?” Ryan asked.
“No battery. I’ve been trying to reach Will for the last three hours.”
Three hours. That sounded like more than crappy Raleigh traffic on a Monday evening. Ryan dug out his own phone and passed it over. “Go ahead,” he said. “It’s got a full charge.”
Ormond thanked him and stalked over to the church’s front doors. Ryan waited until some of the caterers came upstairs with cases of water, and then he ducked back into the church to help distribute the bottles. As he stared at the sweaty, bored, impatient guests, he asked himself again why
anyone
would ever want to get married.
~~~
In the church’s stifling coatroom, Lindsey Ormond watched bleakly as her brother managed the disaster. “Thank you, Brother Mike,” Zach said as the kindly man headed toward the door. “We’re just fine.” Once the preacher was gone, Zach turned back to her. “Come on, Linds. Drink some of that water.”
But Lindsey didn’t want to drink any water. She was pretty sure she’d be on her knees in front of the toilet in the tiny bathroom off the vestibule if she drank any water. If she drank any water, or if she ate one of the tiny sandwiches Grace had brought her, or if she took a single step away from the folding chair where she sat with her arms folded tight around her belly.
“Come on, Sweetie,” Grace said. “Zach’s right. Everything’s fine, but you need to drink something.” Lindsey could read the lies on her sister’s face. She could hear them as loudly as if her matron of honor was shouting from the church’s steeple.
Swallowing thick acid at the back of her throat, Lindsey reminded herself that she was a trained actor. She could pretend to be anything from Alice in Wonderland to the Velveteen Rabbit. She made a career out of acting every night of her life and twice on Sundays, and she wasn’t about to let all that practice go to waste. “You know what, Grace?” she said, finding the perfect tone of surprised wonder. “I would
kill
for a Popsicle right now.”
Grace laughed, but then she asked, “You’re serious?”
Lindsey nodded, letting the idea grow with the confidence she layered into her voice. “I know the caterers won’t have any. But there’s a 7-11 just down Martin Street…”
Grace looked down at her pink dress, at her matching peau de soie shoes and her wristlet of sweetheart roses. “I
guess
I could go.”
Lindsey made herself laugh, bright and easy, just like she was reciting lines from the very back of the stage. “Tell them it’s for Bridezilla. Maybe you can get Rachel to drive you? Or Beth?” She didn’t care which of her sisters drove. She just wanted all of them out of the church, away from her, away from the disaster that was unfolding in horrifying slow motion.
Zach smiled his thanks to Grace as he fished in his pocket for his wallet and handed over a twenty-dollar bill. Lindsey barely waited until her sister was out of the room before she dropped the character of Brave Bride, opting instead for Doomed Lindsey. “It’s happening again,” she said, every syllable trembling.