Drive You Wild: A Love Between the Bases Novel (30 page)

Home run number seven
. Tie game.

The crowd sat in awed silence for a long moment, suspended in disbelief at what they were witnessing. Trevor jogged around the bases, not cracking a smile. Even the Storm Chasers offered tips of the cap as he passed. At third base, he held up, just for a moment, to look at Paige. Tears streamed down her face.

Crush had finally come to his feet, clapping slowly while the rest of the crowd exploded into an ovation.

Trevor put his hand to his heart, held Paige’s misty blue gaze, then dove into the dugout.

“The display of power and consistency we’ve seen tonight is unlike anything I’ve seen in this game,” the play-by-play guy raved from a radio within Trevor’s hearing. “We always knew Trevor Stark possessed the sheer strength and ability to hit homers. But what we have here isn’t about strength. It’s about focus and will and consistency. If the Friars don’t call him up to San Diego, stat, they’ll have a fan rebellion on their hands.” Someone’s radio was turned to maximum volume. In baseball, when something historic happened, everyone gathered around their radios or TVs or streaming feeds, whatever they had available. It was a shared experience, and it humbled Trevor to have inspired this moment.

He put his elbows on his knees, leaned forward and stared at the dugout floor, which was littered with sunflower seeds and infield dirt from people’s cleats. The weight of what he’d done pressed onto him. He’d just grabbed a piece of history. Forevermore, he’d be in the baseball annals. Never again would he be able to hide.

He looked right and caught the eye of Benny, the equipment assistant who traveled with the team. He’d gotten to know Benny at the Boys and Girls Club, and got him the job with the team. Even though Benny had slow speech from being abused as a kid, he was the most dedicated equipment assistant the Catfish ever had. Right now, he was staring in awe at Trevor, blinking back tears, as if he was witnessing an angel.

Trevor tried to smile back but his face felt frozen. It was too much. That wasn’t him, that guy Benny looked up to. He turned his head away and caught Dwight’s eye. Dwight winked and made a “shaka” sign—
hang loose, dude. It’s all good.

When the Catfish took the field for the top of the eleventh, Trevor had found his calm again. With a strong inning, the Storm Chasers could put things out
of reach. Trevor might get more at-bats, or he might not. That was baseball. You took what it gave you and gave it everything you had.

A two-run homer put the Storm Chasers in the lead, but “Killer” Garrett shut them down for the rest of the inning; 13-11, Storm Chasers.

The home team Catfish came to bat in the bottom half of the eleventh, which turned into a grind-it-out battle for every out, every base. Trevor watched with his heart in his mouth, just like everyone else in the stands. With every particle of his being, he rooted for his teammates, every swing and miss feeling like it was his. He screamed encouragement until his throat was raw. Three times the Catfish were one strike from losing, but each time they fended off defeat. They got one run back when Ramirez hit a home run. T.J. hit a pop fly for out number two. Leiberman beat out a dribbler to first. Dwight walked, sending Leiberman to second. The Catfish now had two men on base with one out left.

And then it was Trevor’s turn. If he made an out, Omaha would win. If he hit a single, Leiberman would score, tying the game. Anything more than a single would score both Leiberman and Dwight and win the series for the Catfish.

Trevor’s hands shook as he stepped into the batter’s box. He looked over his shoulder at Paige. She deserved to be with the best. She deserved a major leaguer. She deserved whatever he could lay at her feet. She’d put herself on the line for him, and then again for his sister. Paige was all heart and light and she deserved something spectacular.

Barely aware of what the pitch was, he put his entire heart into his swing. The ball rose off his bat and traced an arc as graceful as a rainbow, a towering
parabola. Was it too high? Would it come down short of the outfield wall? The whole stadium went quiet as the ball reached the height of its rainbow arch and headed toward its pot of gold. Amid a breathless hush, it touched down just past the right center wall.

Home run number eight.

As Trevor rounded the bases, he heard people crying in the stands—and not just Paige, who was sobbing openly.

Record-tying number eight—a walk-off homer—wasn’t a home run so much as a love letter.

His yelling, exuberant teammates poured onto the field. As they gathered him in a mass embrace, he felt tears soaking his face. Where had so much unleashed power and drive come from? It felt almost mystical, as if it came from someplace beyond him. From love, perhaps. Who knew? All he knew was that whoever said there was no crying in baseball would have to eat their words.

T
WO DAYS LATER
Trevor took a break from the deluge of interview requests for something even more important. While Paige chatted with the director of the Boys and Girls Club about the fund-raiser, set to take place right after the championship game, he faced the group of teenagers gathered in the common room. It was a bigger than normal group, which made him a little nervous because of what he had to say.

“I owe you guys an apology,” he told them. The kids stopped messing with their cell phones and fixed their eyes on him in fascination. “I’ve been coming in here talking to you like some kind of big shot, but I haven’t been telling you the truth. The truth is, I spent the last three years of high school in juvenile detention. I was scared shitless most of the time. I got into trouble, I fought, I learned some bad habits. You guys know the kind of thing I mean.”

“Did you do drugs?” one kid asked.

“No.” Keep it real, no matter what. “My father was a drug addict. I know what that’s like, and I hated it. Besides, I had baseball and I had a coach who would have kicked my ass.”

Snickers and eye-rolls all down the line.

“What’s it like in juvie?”

“Sometimes it’s boring. Sometimes it’s scary. You have no freedom. You don’t know who to trust. I kept to myself a lot. The food sucks.”

The kids laughed, but they were hanging on every word.

“I was ashamed, and I started feeling real bad about myself. Like I’d never be or do anything good.” He scanned the room, meeting each teen’s gaze. This was the key point, for him. The one thing he wanted to get across.

“That might have been what happened, if it weren’t for my coach. He didn’t let me get too far down. He’d always bring me back and make me work even harder. So that’s what I’m here for. Even if you don’t play baseball, I want to be your coach. If you start feeling down, or like you aren’t worth anything, I want you to call me. I’m going to give all of you my phone number.”

A goth kid wearing black lipstick snickered. “You’re getting out of this hell pit, unlike us. They said on the Internet you’re going to California. What do you care about us?”

Trevor hooked his thumbs in his jean pockets. “Yeah, you’re right, I am going to San Diego. I finally got the call. But phones work in San Diego, don’t they? That’s why I’m giving you my number, so you can call me wherever I am. You think I don’t care? Do you get a lot of major league baseball players in here giving out their cell numbers?”

The kids, even the goth skeptic, shook their heads and laughed.

“Besides, I fell in love with a Kilby girl. I’ll be back.”

That statement really broke the ice, and Trevor spent the next hour talking with the kids, answering questions and handing out signed baseballs.

On their way out of the Boys and Girls Club, Trevor pulled Paige right up against his side so he could bury his nose in her hair.

“Why do you always smell so good?” he murmured. “Like apples and raspberries. Drives me wild.”

“You know what drives me wild?”

“I have a few ideas.” He let his hand dangle perilously close to her breast.

She swatted it lightly. “You’re impossible.”

“Impossible is my middle name. I did just tie the unbreakable record.” He grinned, still amazed by how everything in his life had changed. “Okay, tell me, what is it that drives you wild?”

“When you play, you’re so stoic. I know people say you’re ice cold on the baseball field, but I don’t see it that way. I always knew that all sorts of stuff was going on inside you. So when you look over at me during a game, and just for a flash I see the real Trevor, the one I know, the one you are with me, it makes me want to run onto the field and jump your bones. Drives me absolutely wild.”

He smiled with the softness only Paige could bring out in him. “I hope you don’t mind if we keep that Trevor your private, personal secret. No one in baseball needs to know about him.”

“It might be too late for that. Your teammates have your number. So do all the batboys and vendors and the kids here. I just wish Crush would get on board. Do you know what he admitted? After I had all those margaritas and announced to him and my mother that I loved you,
he
was the one who told the Friars they should release you. How dare he interfere like that?”

He steered her toward his Escalade. “Don’t worry about Crush.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve got Crush handled.” He and Crush had worked out all the details of the “challenge” and agreed to keep it quiet until the right time came. He clicked the remote key, and the rig answered with a beep. He still hadn’t replaced the sideview mirror. It had sentimental value at this point.

“How? When? What do you mean?”

“Championship game, seventh inning stretch. All will be revealed.”

T
he Triple A National Championship game took place in a different city every year; this time it was El Paso’s turn. Southwest University Park was jam-packed with fans of the Catfish and their opponents, the Durham Bulls. Even Caleb Hart and Mike Solo had flown in from San Diego for the event. They came by to shake hands with Crush and meet Paige. She was happy to find out that Trevor was going to have such cool—not to mention good-looking—teammates.

Riding the high of Trevor’s incredible performance, the Catfish took command early. By the seventh inning, with the score 10-3, there was little doubt about who would win. Paige celebrated for her father, who would get to keep the team. But mostly she wanted to know why he disappeared at the start of the seventh inning, and what the heck he and Trevor had up their sleeves.

After the stadium had sung the traditional, seventh-inning stretch, “Take Me Out to the Ballgame,” Donna McIntyre skipped onto the warning track near the visitor’s dugout. She had a cordless microphone with her.

“We have a special treat for you today, ladies and gentlemen! As you know, the Kilby Catfish are owned by baseball legend Crush Taylor, but it’s been ten years since anyone got to see him pitch. That’s about to change.”

A gasp went through the crowd.

“That’s right, Crush Taylor has been lured out of retirement in order to pitch to
one batter only
. He’s been challenged by one of the Catfish players, or maybe he issued the challenge, I’m not completely sure about how that came about. Do one of you guys want to explain it?”

Trevor and Crush stepped forward to join Donna at the mic. In the stands, her heart racing, Paige clenched her fists so hard she dug crescents into her palms. Crush bent toward the mic. “Apparently this young man here, Trevor Stark, isn’t satisfied with making history and hitting eight home runs in one game. He has his eye on something else.”

He paused for a dramatic moment of silence.

“My daughter.”

The crowd roared and stomped their feet. Trevor grinned and turned toward Paige to blow her a kiss. Crimson with embarrassment, she covered her face with her hands.

Crush continued. “Now, my daughter Paige is a strong, smart, kind young woman who can certainly make up her own mind about who she dates. But for my own peace of mind, I wanted to make sure Trevor knows what a prize he’s after. So here’s the challenge. I pitch to him for one at-bat. If I strike him out, he spends another year proving he’s worthy.”

The crowd roared again. Trevor took the mic from Crush. “And if I get a hit, Crush will stay out of it.”

Laughter rippled through the stands. Paige peered over the tips of her fingers as Donna claimed the mic again. “What if you hit a home run, Trevor? Chances are pretty good, right?”

More cheers from the crowd. Crush answered that one. “If Trevor hits a home run off me, I’ll throw them the biggest wedding Texas has ever seen. As long as he
can close the deal and get Paige to say yes.” He squeezed Trevor’s shoulder, then left his hand there while camera flashes rained down. Paige drew in a breath. That one gesture, that companionable hand around Trevor’s shoulder, told her that Crush had accepted the man she loved. The sweetness of that moment, after three years of estrangement, nearly melted her heart.

Trevor jogged to home plate, while Crush took his place on the mound. Two baseball greats, one barely at the start of his career, one past the end, facing each other on the field of battle—what a moment.

Yeah . . . baseball was a great game. She could no longer deny it.

Wendy Trent, Crush’s date, whispered in Paige’s ear. “I think your man is blushing. I thought Trevor was known for his icy manner on the field, but he must be a little rattled.”

“I’m going to murder them. Both of them.” She sank down in her seat, hoping that everyone was watching the field and not her.

“I think it’s extremely romantic. You know this is going to make all the papers. You’re going to be the talk of the sports world. Two baseball legends clashing on the field, all for the love of Paige Mattingly Taylor.”

Well, when you looked at it that way, maybe it was pretty cool. It was certainly better than being known as an NBA player’s rejected wife. But then something else occurred to her. “How do you know my middle name?”

Now it was Wendy’s turn to color. “I . . . might have done a little research.”

Paige swallowed her smile as she watched Crush go into his windup. Maybe Crush had an ulterior motive for this stunt. Maybe he wanted to show Wendy something of the old Crush Taylor, the one who had dominated the American League for so many years.

Trevor took the first pitch for a strike. Paige knew he could have annihilated that pitch. But he didn’t. The next pitch was a ball, which he also let fly past him. He got a piece of the next pitch, fouling it off into the stands. Same for the next two, leading Paige to wonder if he was doing it on purpose. Three fans now held souvenirs from this once-in-a-lifetime event.

The next pitch was just low. Two and two. Paige’s heart fluttered in her throat. If Trevor struck out, he’d feel honor bound to give things another year. But she didn’t want another year. She wanted him now. And tomorrow. And next week.

The next pitch from Crush cruised down the middle of the plate right where Trevor liked to feast on fastballs. The slugger didn’t hesitate. He smashed it long and hard, an emphatic, unquestionable statement of intent. The ball flew like a rocket smack into the middle of the right field stands. Paige let out a wild cheer, then held her breath in shock as Trevor jogged to the section where Paige was sitting about three rows back. Under her astonished gaze, he lowered one knee to the field and spread his arms wide.

“We have the best diamond in the world, right here.” He grinned, his heart shining in his eyes. “Paige, I love you. Will you marry me?”

A din of noise rose up around her. On one side, Nina uttered a little scream of excitement, while on her other side, Wendy put a supportive arm around her. Strangers assisted her over the rows, transported her to the edge of the railing. She leaned over, feeling like Juliet addressing Romeo, hoping she didn’t tumble right over. Breathless, head spinning, she searched for the right words. “Nice hit,” she finally said. “Took your time getting it, though.”

“You know I like to work the count. Besides, your
father’s no pushover.” He was so beautiful, kneeling on the field, that she wanted to climb down and fling herself into his arms. In his expression she saw all the contradictions that made Trevor Stark so fascinating. Confidence warring with vulnerability, brashness with caring, ice with fire.

But more than anything else, she saw love, hard won and unshakable. “Yes,” she said simply. “I’ll marry you.” Leaning forward, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “Do you think maybe we could finish this conversation in private?”

His eyes darkened in that way that drove her absolutely wild. “Count on it.”

No one who saw the look on Trevor’s face at that moment—which included a lot of people, since several hundred smartphones were recording it—ever again used the word “icy” to describe him.

F
rom the first moment Trevor Stark set foot in Friars Stadium, he was known for his intensity and drive on the field. In his very first season in the major leagues, he set records, and he continued to do so as the years passed. Paige Mattingly Austin Taylor Stark, MSW, Ph.D., also set a record—for the highest graduation rate among the teenagers she worked with. No one knew about that record, but that didn’t make it any less satisfying. A few people knew about Trevor’s contributions to the Boys and Girls Club, and plenty knew what a devoted father he was to their three sons.

But no one else knew that her husband’s passion on the field paled compared to his passion off the field.

She kept that secret all to herself.