Colby (Season Two: The Ninth Inning #6) (12 page)

When I get home, I do exactly as I planned, and I snuggle in the couch, with Buster at my feet; my mind wanders in thought about Colby’s job. He’s been traded several times in his career and I know a professional player isn’t guaranteed to be with the same team the entire team. However, Colby’s older, but does it make a difference? I’m not even sure.

What if we do get really serious and he’s traded, then what? My life is here in Memphis. My job, my family, it’s all here and I’m not sure I want to give it up. But, would I if I truly loved Colby, and we became
that
serious?

I don’t know.

I just don’t know.

“I’m going insane, right?”

Sure, I can talk to my mom, my sister, or even my dad, but their opinions matter to me, but sometimes I need to vent to someone who will tell me the truth.

“I don’t think you’re insane.” Duke takes a bite of his burger.

I told him everything about Colby and me. He’s my partner, my brother-in-law, and my friend. Actually, he’s my only friend. I need to remind myself that I don’t have much of a social life.

“I will say this,” he sits down the burger and wipes his mouth. “I think you’re jumping the gun a bit.”

“I already said I was,” I remind him.

“Listen, why don’t you just enjoy him in the now and don’t worry about the future. You’re thinking about something that’s not even happened yet. You and Colby haven’t even truly finished a date yet. Why don’t you have fun? You both seem to enjoy each other’s company. He survived Fletcher, Allison, and Alizeh; I think he deserves a cookie dealing with all three of them at one time.”

I giggle. “True.”

“Colby seems like a nice guy. If I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t worry about anything until it happens. You deserve to find someone who cares about you and supports your career. I think Colby will.”

I give my brother-in-law a small, grateful smile. “Thank you. You’re right. I need to stop worrying about anything until it happens and just enjoy Colby.”

“It’s sound advice.”

We both go back to eating our late lunch. Duke went with me to Ce-Ce’s funeral, and we tried to see if it would provide the next clue, but sadly, there was none to be found.

When we get back to the station, our Lieutenant tells me there’s someone who wants to talk to me and he is waiting in the small conference room. Usually, in that room, there isn’t anything serious. Typically, family wanting updates on the ongoing cases.

I walk into the room to find a large black man sitting there. He has to be as big as Dad, if not a bit bigger.

“I’m Detective Craft.” I reach out my hand and introduce myself. Big guys don’t intimidate me.

“I’m Mouth.”

Street nicknames don’t phase me either. I think I’ve heard them all. “How can I help you, Mouth?”

“I saw you at Ce-Ce’s funeral.”

I nod. “Yes, I was there.”

“Ce-Ce told me she told you what happened with Hotty.”

I nod again, confirming. “Do you know anything about Hotty’s death?”

“I’ve been on the streets since I was thirteen years old when my mama heard I stole a car and kicked me out. I’ve seen a lot, heard more, and probably done more than that. However, you learn who is born to be on the street and who will die young on them because they don’t belong.” He leans back in his chair and rests his hands behind his head.

“Which one was Hotty?”

“He belonged there. He was a little fucker, always in everyone’s business because he thought being nosy would help him climb up the ladder of the street thugs.”

“What was Ce-Ce?”

“A good kid.”

“Are you her pimp?” It’s a valid question. I need to know about this guy and see if he’s on the up and up.

Mouth laughs loud and brings his arms down resting them on the table. “Hell no, I don’t get involved in that shit.” He pauses. “She was a good kid in the wrong crowd. I just looked out for her.”

I nod. “What can you tell me about Hotty and his death?”

“One, he probably deserved it. I hate to say it, but it’s true. He had a lot of hands in a lot of different cookie jars if you know what I mean?”

“He was playing territories?”

Mouth smirks. “The little fucker thought he was good at it, but he wasn’t at all.”

I wait for him to go on, and we both stare at each other.

“Ce-Ce told you she thought Dice pulled the trigger.”

“Possibly.” Ce-Ce did tell me about Dice who’s another young kid who is moving up fast in the gang.

“Well, she’s right.”

“What do you know? What can you tell me so I can put Dice away?”

Mouth doesn’t make a sound. I can’t even hear him breathing. “You have a pen?”

I hand over my pen and small note pad I keep in my pocket. I study Mouth as he writes down something and slides it back to me.

“That there is Dice’s baby mama. My girl is watching the baby because she’s currently going to college to try and get off the streets. She’s one of the good ones. She’ll probably help you out.”

I take the pad back. “Thank you, Mouth.”

“I hope it works out so you’re not investigating my murder for snitching.” He stands and walks out of the office.

I take a second and hope he’s right, but right now, I need to get this case solved.

I spend the rest of my day and most of the night trying to contact Dice’s girlfriend, but I have no luck. I don’t want to become discouraged since I have just been handed this new piece of the puzzle, so I decide to go home and chill for a while.

Once I’m in my pajamas, I curl up with my book in bed, but my phone alerts me to some texts.

Colby: Hope your day is going well. Sorry, I didn’t talk to you yesterday; I hung out with the team.

Colby: I’ll be home in the morning. Are you going to the game tomorrow? Want to grab some dinner afterward?

Colby: Let me know.

I’m taking Duke’s advice. As much dark surrounds me, I need some light and right now, it’s Colby Wilson.

Me: I can come to the game, and I’d love to have dinner with you.

THERE ARE SOME days when I appreciate how lucky I am to play a game for a living. I love how committed I am and how baseball has always been a source of goodness in my life.

Then, there are days like today.

Maybe I’m a little too invested. Maybe I’ve been enjoying how well we’ve been doing lately a little too much. There’s a possibility we all took it for granted and started absentmindedly slacking just enough for it to fly under the radar. So, the disappointment is that much bigger when we gare dominated and outplayed.

Of all days for us to suck, it had to be one with Ariella watching. As a fan, she’s probably seen it plenty of times before, but that’s beside the point. Hell, she’s probably wincing right now as Roman makes a throw to Hector who misses, and the runner makes it to second. It wouldn’t sound quite so bad if there hadn’t been a runner on third, who made it home thanks to that mistake.

We were already down by three.

Even Hector is affected. His usual smile and fun attitude disappeared during the last inning. This game can’t end soon enough. When it is over, the locker room is quiet. We definitely could have won, but we botched it. I go over all the mistakes in my head, think of what I should have done differently or should do better, and start making declarations of improvement for the next game. When I walk out of the room and over to where Ariella is waiting for me, I don’t want to have that mood affecting us.

I want to leave it all in the locker room.

“Hey, you want to grab dinner with us?” Jordan asks as we dress, losing the towels from our showers. “It’ll be Trent, Scarlett, Heidi, and me.”

“Thanks, but I’m going out with Ariella.”

“She can come.”

I almost agree, but then I think about how little time I’ve actually had with Ariella by myself. “Maybe next time.” I put my shoes on, grab my things, and throw up a hand to wave goodbye.

Ariella is sitting on the couch with Scarlett and Heidi. She smiles and stands when she sees me. “Hey.”

“Hey, beautiful.” I kiss her quickly, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Hey, Scarlett, Heidi.”

“We were just telling Ariella that y’all are more than welcome to join us for dinner,” Heidi explains.

“Thanks, but I already turned down Jordan when he asked me.”

“Next time, for sure,” Ariella hurries to add.

“Fantastic,” Scarlett exclaims.

“All right, well, we’ll see y’all later.” I usher Ariella out of the room and toward the parking lot.

“How come you didn’t want to go with them?”

“Because I didn’t want to share you. There will be plenty of opportunities to hang with them in the future.” My answer seems to satisfy her and we walk to my vehicle. Duke was kind enough to bring her to the stadium. Now, we don’t have to worry about her vehicle or driving separately, and I can just take her home. Hopefully, I’ll spend some time with her there as well.

About halfway to the restaurant, Ariella comments, “So, this is Colby Wilson after a disappointing loss.”

I glance over at her. “What do you mean?”

“You’re quieter than usual, your left leg is bouncing, and your grip is tight on the steering wheel. After a win, you’re pretty much the same, except you smile a little more. I guess I never thought about how you might be different.”

As she says it, my leg stops and my grip loosens. I didn’t realize I was doing it. “Sorry.”

Ariella laughs. “What for?”

“For being quiet and not leaving it on the field.”

“It’s okay; it’s just interesting to see this side of you.”

If she says so. To get us back to normal, I ask, “How was your day?”

“Good. I made some progress on the case we’re working on. Not much, but progress is progress. Oh! I’ve heard of this place. I’ve wanted to come for forever. This is where we’re eating?”

My grin can’t be helped. “Yes, this is where we’re eating,” I confirm as I park. The restaurant is a relatively new high-end place that has been raved about since the day it opened less than a year ago. The last time I was here was during the offseason when my family came down to visit. “You’ll love it,” I add when we get out of the car and meet around the front.

“You’ve been here before?” She takes my hand.

“Yes, just once. My family was visiting.”

Once we’re inside and I give the hostess my name, she leads us to a table. A reservation isn’t needed, but it’s helpful. I called ahead and for possibly the first time ever, used my career to my advantage. I couldn’t give a solid time, so they were going to be flexible and promised a table would be available whenever I arrived.

“God, it all looks so good. How am I supposed to decide?”

“What are you looking at?” I ask. Ariella points to a chicken dish and then a pasta dish on my menu. “I can get the chicken, you can get the pasta, and we can share both, if you want.”

“No, get whatever you want. I’ll pick by the time the waiter comes back.”

I watch her eyes switch back and forth on the menu. She still seems indecisive, so when the waiter returns, I order them both for us. “I wanted chicken,” I explain when Ariella gives me an odd look; I can’t determine if the look is good or bad.