Single (Stockton Beavers #1) (5 page)

He shakes his head helplessly. "I don't know, but I'm not going to lose her. Roberta, I'm all that she has."

I blink, overcome by the emotion on his face.

"Lukey!" his mom wails again.

"I'm sorry. I know you mean well. But please…just go."

Before I can stop him, he shuts the door and I bang on it with my fist. "Luke, let me in! Luke!"

But he just turns out the light.

I don't need an official diagnosis to see what's going on. His mom needs round-the-clock care, and he thinks he can give it to her. But based on my past experience with other families facing the same situation, he's only setting himself up to fail. Most likely heading toward a tragic outcome, one that I may be able to prevent.

I have a responsibility here that I just can't ignore. He came to Landry's office to tell him that he couldn't play, and I stopped him. He was trying to bow out gracefully, and I wouldn't let him. Whether I like it or not, I'm involved now.

Yet if Luke only knew who I really am…
who I was
… God, he'd have every right to slam the door in my face.

Right now, the easiest thing would be for me to stay out of it. Tell Landry. Let him handle it. But now that I've seen what Luke's coping with, can I really do that? Can I just walk away and convince myself that it's not my problem, that I'm not the one who can help him?

Chapter Five

Luke

"Dude, you look like you got run over by a Mack truck," Danny says the next day as he leans forward and spits over the rail of the dugout.

"Rough night," I groan, failing to stifle a yawn.

But the truth is, it's become my nightly routine. Run Mom a second bath. Take a clean nightgown out of her drawer. Change her sheets while she's in the tub. Sit by her bed until she falls asleep.

However, last night was different, so I texted Danny.

ME: Roberta was just here.

DANNY: What
???

ME: Yeah, stupid me asked Landry for some comped tickets and he had her bring them over. Mom freaked and Roberta heard her.

DANNY: Is she gonna tell Landry
?

ME: I don't know
.

We texted back and forth, but it's not like it helped or anything. I tossed and turned all night, afraid of what Roberta's going to do. I want to keep talking to Danny about it, but based on the amount of muttering that's coming from behind us, it's clear that our catcher Eddie "Hoff" Hoffman isn't too thrilled about having to sit on the bench.

But Danny's smart. He knows how to keep the conversation going on the down low. In case Hoff, or any of the other guys, happen to be listening to us, they'll think we're just talking about some girl.

Danny leads with, "Was she…?"

"Yeah." I tug on the brim of my cap. "It was pretty bad."

Danny turns and rests his back against the rail, giving Hoff a quick nod before scoping out where Mom and Mrs. Jenkins are sitting. "Well,
she
looks none the worse for wear."

I sigh. "She slept like a baby."

Danny plays with the end of his beard thoughtfully. "So you're saying, after today, you're putting an end to…
it
." He pats the front of his jersey to indicate his meaning. "It's only ever gonna be a one-time thing?"

I shrug. "How can it not be? There's no way I'm letting
her boyfriend
find out about it." I grip the rail and duck my head between my outstretched arms. "That is…if he doesn't already know."

Hoff grunts. "You two are talkin' 'bout Landry's little side dish, aren't you?"

"No, we're not," Danny says a little too quickly.

Hoff leers at us. "She sure didn't waste any time before wading into the shallow end of the Beaver pond."

I push away from the rail and stand in front of him. "Don't talk about her like that, Hoff."

"Quit griping, little man. I saw the two of you go into Landry's office yesterday…
alone
."

"And how do you know Landry wasn't in there with them? What, do you have X-ray vision now?" Danny challenges him.

Only to be put soundly in his place. "Maybe because I'd just left him, taking a leak in the men's room."

At age thirty-two, Hoff's a wily veteran. He's been around a long time, and his voice carries a certain amount of weight in the clubhouse. Dad was in a similar position back in the day, but he took his leadership role very seriously, choosing to go out of his way to mentor the younger guys who were coming up behind him. But Hoff takes a much different approach, feeling the need to keep us in line through pure intimidation tactics.

"Just what exactly were you doing in there with her all that time, huh, Single?" he needles me. "It sure sounds like something I need to tell our new boss about, since whatever you two started in his office seemed to continue well on into the wee hours of the night."

He gets up off the bench and snickers when I have to raise my chin in order to glare up at him. "Watch yourself, Single. If she's already checked you off her scorecard, the little minx isn't gonna wanna have anything more to do with you."

He bumps into my shoulder, chuckling under his breath as he walks away.

"Forget about him, man," Danny urges. "He just has his panties in a wad because Landry cut him out, choosing for whatever reason to throw to Roberta instead of him. But Hoff has to realize that Landry's not one of us anymore. He's our boss. He has the right to make any decision he wants." He deliberates. "But I guess if I were a catcher, and I couldn't catch Landry, I'd be devastated too. Landry's the greatest. He's—"

"Please, Danny, not another Landry lovefest, not now."

The majority of the team is crowding around the Gatorade cooler, getting hydrated before the start of the game. I nonchalantly scan the field. Despite everything, I'm still eager to snag a glimpse of her. And there she is—with another one of Hoff's masks over her face. And my heart starts to throb painfully, knowing that she knows about Mom.

Danny follows my gaze. "She's pretty badass if she can get Hoff all rattled like that. Don't tell him, but I think she's gunning for his job," he jokes, managing to get a reluctant smile out of me. "Don't sweat it, Single. Are you forgetting what your dad always told you?"

"Danny, don't start."

He grins while repeating the message that was instilled in me throughout my childhood, "Never let anybody tell you that you can't do something."

I groan in response, "C'mon, Danny. You know how it is."

He turns to me. "Nope, how is it?"

I peer back at Mom just to reassure myself that Mrs. Jenkins is keeping an eye on her. She has a tendency to wander off in crowds, which is why, until Roberta conned me into it, I had zero intention of bringing her to Beaver Field today. I don't even take her with me to the grocery store anymore—not after the time she got away from me and ended up setting off every car alarm in the parking lot when she couldn't remember which one was mine.

"I shouldn't even be here, man."

But based on the way Danny's looking at me, he's not buying it.

"What?"

"You're hoping she didn't tell Landry, because then maybe, just maybe, she might be thinking about helping you."

I can't let Danny go putting these ideas in my head. It's crazy. Why would she even consider helping me after I told her to get lost?

"Yeah, well. That's not gonna happen."

"Single, wake up. She's the answer to all your problems."

I narrow my eyes at him. "So what do you want me to do? Come right out and ask her if she'd be willing to take care of Mom so I can keep playing?"

Danny cuffs me on the back of the uniform. "Either that, or ask her if she's capable of holding on to my wicked split. Tell me, Single. How soft are her hands?"

I give him a shove. "And what are you still doing up here anyway, southpaw? Aren't bullpen pitchers supposed to be
in the bullpen
?"

He muscles his way back to the rail. "Are you kidding? Not when I can see Landry up close and personal. Look at him out there. You gotta love how seriously he's taking a ceremonial first pitch."

My eyes follow Landry as he takes the mound in full uniform. There's no doubt about it, he's a stud, a thoroughbred. By his stance alone, it's clear his competitive mind-set is still there, burning beneath the surface. With enough World Series rings to adorn every finger on his pitching hand, he's a man who goes after what he wants—and gets it. There's no chance he's going to accept my resignation after the game. If I go up against him, plain and simple, I'm going to lose. He'll just strong-arm me until I agree to put Mom in some facility.

If Roberta hasn't said anything, hiring her may be my only way out of this mess
.

She dusts off home plate with her foot before squaring off in front of it, ready for Landry to set, wind, and deliver.

Danny laughs when she puts down a sign. "Now that's what I call one sweet battery mate. Only Landry could pull off throwing to his smokin' hot girlfriend. He must have balls of steel. Man, I wouldn't be able to concentrate, having a catcher out there with me who looks as good as she does."

But if she's Landry's girlfriend, how long is she going to be able to keep this from him? Will she even want to
?

Landry fires in his signature cutter, and she doesn't even flinch; she just closes her mitt around it. Flipping up the catcher's mask, she casually jogs out to Landry with the ball. Once she arrives, he reaches out to give her a congratulatory thump on top of the helmet, but she just steps aside, not wanting any part of it. And I take heart in her willful display of independence.

Sliding my glove off the bench, I stretch the leather over my fingers, needing confirmation of what I just saw. "Danny, do you think there's anything going on between them…really?"

"I don't know. You had the perfect opportunity to ask her yesterday when she was kissing your elbow and making it feel all better," he taunts. "Just so I'm not mistaken, you are the resident sympathy case around here, right?"

I smirk at him. "Thanks, man. Keep on pumping me up."

"Yeah," he chides. "Your knees will start knocking soon enough, once it's your turn to hit."

He smacks my butt with his glove before climbing the dugout steps, not realizing the full effect his parting comment has on me. Ballplayers talk smack all the time. It's how we show we care about each other. But up until now, it's like I'd pushed to the back of my mind the real reason why I'm here.

Dropping down onto the bench, I lower my head between my knees and breathe. I take off my glove and lace my hands behind my back, doing anything I can to remove the tension from my body. I'm playing today. I'm
actually
playing today. And I have to stay loose. Yet, underneath my uniform, I'm already breaking out in a cold sweat. The doctors said if I ever sustain another injury like the one I suffered before, it could very well be lights-out for me. And then who's going to be there for Mom?

If I didn't let Danny talk me into coming yesterday, then Roberta never would have found out about her. It was selfish, reckless, risking everything just to feel normal again, to be back on a baseball field, back where I belong.

But today, I came back for a different reason, for a chance
to see her
. Last night, for a brief moment, I saw something in her eyes, a connection, like maybe I wasn't all alone in this anymore.

And the hope that stirred within my lonely heart scared me more than getting hit again. She holds my fate in her hands. The question is: what's she going to do with it?

Chapter Six

Roberta

A drop of rain hits my arm, and then another. I grimace at the sky as storm clouds converge above Beaver Field.

It's only the top of the fourth, and Landry's going to kill me for leaving. But last inning, Luke kept tripping over his feet to get away from the ball, going down on three strikes without even taking a swing. And I knew I was a fool to believe I could help him.

Which is why I'm getting in my car and taking off. I'll meet Landry at the airport. Go back to Texas with him. Figure out what I'm going to do from there because I'm not staying in Stockton. Not now.

I ignore the stab of guilt that's pricking my conscience. Why stick myself where I don't belong? Luke looked terrified at the plate. He's too shaken up. He can't play.

All because David had to go and mess with his head.
Just like he did with mine
…

As the smattering of rain turns into a full-on deluge, I turn the key in the ignition and flick on the windshield wipers. Stockton would've been a nice change of pace for me—not like Arnold's snooty Westchester enclave or Landry's sprawling acres out in the sticks. It feels homey, a small, blue-collar town like the one I grew up in. I liked Luke's neighborhood. It reminds me of the hopes and dreams I had when I was younger, the kind of life I'd pictured myself living someday—a husband, kids, a big backyard with a dog.

Until I glance at the charter bus that's waiting to take the Jackalopes back to the hotel, and all I feel is revulsion. I lived that life once before and I'm not doing it again—the ups and downs, the constant sense of uncertainty. I shift into drive. What was I thinking? I have to get out of here—
now
.

I maneuver around the hordes of people who are starting to pour out of the stadium. Apparently, they don't care if the game resumes or not. They already got what they came for—the star power of Landry combined with the spectacle of Luke's disappointing return. What more could a Beaver fan want out of opening day?

I beep my horn and receive a lot of dirty looks, but I'm in no mood to wait for these people to stream by me. Coming up on my right, I spy a narrow little access road. The gate's open, but no one's using it, probably because of the "Employees Only" sign. But if anyone stops me, I'll just drop Landry's name.

I turn onto it, hoping it's a shortcut that'll somehow lead me back to the highway and away from Beaver Field. Right now, anywhere is better than sitting in a logjam of traffic. I have to keep moving, put as much distance between myself and Stockton as possible.

Luke will go back to taking care of his mom. Landry will find a new second baseman. And no one will have to think about David Nichols again, myself included.

But I soon come to regret my decision when, after not even a quarter of a mile, the pavement comes to an abrupt end. Frustrated, I slow to a crawl over the dirt road. It's muddy, rocky, and skirting a forested area right behind the stadium. With the rain coming down hard, I can't see two feet in front of me. I should turn around, but I'm not going back.
I'm not
. I'm moving forward for good this time. And despite the hazardous conditions, I stubbornly press on.

When suddenly, from up ahead, a flash of red appears in the corner of my vision, and I'm forced to slam on the brakes.
What the
…? I'm thrown back in my seat, my heart in my throat. Shaking, I peer through the windshield. Whatever it is, it's still plodding forward. I don't think I hit it. I clutch my throat, breathing fast because it appears to be…a woman, a woman wearing a red jacket.

I don't even hesitate. I'm out of the car in two seconds flat.

"Hey!" I call out. "Wait!"

Within one or two steps, I'm soaked to the skin, but based on the three inches of mud coating the bottom of her shoes, and the bits of leaves stuck in her hair, she must've taken the more scenic route, struggling through all the brush and undergrowth between here and the stadium.

I approach her from behind, and she stops but doesn't turn around. As I get closer, her breath becomes visible on the damp air. Her jacket is hanging open and her whole body is trembling with cold.

"Where's my little Lukey?"

I go rigid.
Oh my God, it's Luke's mom! What in the world is she doing out here
?

"Mrs. Singleton?" I cry out. "Are you okay?"

I lightly place my arm around her shoulders, and she shrugs me off. "Mrs. Singleton?" she grumbles. "All of Lukey's friends call me Mrs. S."

She doesn't know me, and she's probably afraid. But her teeth are chattering and her lips are turning blue. I don't have time to stand around and argue with her. I need to get her out of the rain.

"Lukey sent me to pick you up," I respond, using the name of the person she just mentioned, a little tip I picked up from working in the Alzheimer's ward.

And for a second, the deadness leaves her eyes. "He did?"

I nod. "Yeah, he's worried that you're not gonna get to see the end of the game."

"Lukey's here?" she asks, angling her head to look at me as the rain trickles down her face. "Where's my little Lukey?"

My heart contracts at hearing her call him that, just like she did last night when she was scared.

I reply using key trigger words to get her to respond to me. "No,
Lukey's
back at
Beaver Field
. He asked me to take you there. How does that sound, Mrs. Single— Mrs. S.?"

She knits her eyebrows, her wet hair plastered to her face. "Okay…" she answers uncertainly.

I smile at her. "Good. Follow me."

This time, I don't touch her. Instead, I just start walking toward the car. Holding my breath, all I hear is the drumbeat of rain hitting the ground, so I slow down until it's eventually accompanied by the welcome sound of her shoes slogging through the mud behind me. I proceed on ahead and hold the door open for her, and thankfully, she gets into the car without any fuss.

"Buckle up, please," I say as cheerfully as I can, testing to see how much she trusts me.

When she complies, I quickly shut the door and scoot back behind the wheel. Not liking how her hands are so red while the ends of her fingers are turning white, I crank up the heat full blast. The temperature outside is hovering around forty-five degrees, well above freezing, but she's frail and hypothermia still poses a danger. She's so thin, making me wonder what her diet's like and if it's hard for Luke to get her to eat.
I should see if she likes
…

I stop myself. No, just because I found her doesn't mean I'm staying. Nothing's changed. Luke obviously didn't want my help. If he did, he would've asked for it, and I'm not going to force myself upon him. It wouldn't be right
for so many reasons
.

The road's narrow, and I'm inwardly debating if I have enough room to turn around or if I should just back all the way out when she asks, "You said Senior's playing today?"

"Senior?"

"Yeah, Senior," she mutters impatiently. "My husband."

I bite my lip, turning the wheel as far as it will go. "No, not your husband, Mrs. S. Your son, Luke Singleton, Junior."

"My son doesn't play baseball anymore," she mumbles as my tires start to spin in the mud.

Great
… The last thing I need is to get stuck out here when she's in desperate need of a warm change of clothes.

"Oh, is that right?" I respond, distractedly.

"Yes, he plays T-ball with his father," she says, beaming with pride. "You should see the nice little field he made for Lukey out in the backyard. Do you play T-ball? Maybe you could play with them too."

I take one look at her glowing face and put the car into park, placing her left hand in both of mine. "I got this one. Now hold the other one up to the vent."

She does as she's told, staring at me with her big, doe eyes. "But it hurts," she whimpers.

"That's good," I encourage. "That means the circulation's coming back."

My fingers run over a blister on the inside of her palm, and I turn it over. It appears she's burned herself, and quite recently, by the looks of it. "What happened here?"

But all she does is sigh before playing with the zipper on her jacket, already forgetting to keep her hand up next to the heat.

Luke obviously has his hands full with her. She's still communicative, but barely. Her mind is unable to grasp any sense of the present, except when it comes to extreme instances of pain or discomfort, which makes her a hazard to herself and to others. At this stage, she really should be in a qualified facility, not living with a son who's not trained in providing adequate, twenty-four-hour care.

It's not his fault. It's amazing he's gotten her this far without encountering any major catastrophes. But the burn on her hand, and her running away today, are two serious signs things can't go on as they are.

I release her hand and turn my attention back to the road, feeling unsettled. Whether or not Luke can play has nothing to do with it. His mom needs me. I'm a caregiver. I take care of people. That's what I do. And my heart is crying out for me to help them.

The sound of my car is what lured her out, causing her to stumble onto the road. If we didn't cross paths when we did, she probably would've wandered deeper and deeper into the woods, with a very real possibility of not being found until it was too late.

I hold my foot over the gas, ready to give it another try. But before I do, I gaze over at her as she begins to rock back and forth, humming to herself. Her eyes are shut tight, and she has her arms wrapped around her body. With my eyes welling up, I look away.

Do I really have it in me to turn my back on her now?

"C'mon," I whisper, choking up. "Let's go find your little Lukey."