Single (Stockton Beavers #1) (8 page)

Chapter Eleven

Roberta

When it comes to men, look at how they treat their mother, and you'll have a pretty good idea of how they'll treat you.

I scribble furiously across the page of my journal. It's not really a diary, per se, more like a compilation of life lessons I've been keeping for my daughter, the one I'll never have. I run a hand across my stomach. I've lost two babies, one stillbirth, one miscarriage. Yet a deep, maternal yearning remains, even though I swore I wouldn't allow myself to think about it. But right now, that seems just as unlikely as starting over does.

I close the cover of my journal and stretch out in bed, waiting for Luke to call. So far, I haven't had to call him, but he's checked in faithfully with me every night after the game, once he's back at the hotel. Occurring well after midnight, our conversations have been brief, mostly about his mom. Up until now, we haven't talked at all about baseball, but I intend to change that tonight.

I reach for my phone and scroll through the Beavers' Twitter feed again, tapping the update from three hours ago:
Singleton doubles to right center field
. He finally got a hit, his first of the year, and I'm really looking forward to congratulating him.

But it's going on one o'clock in the morning, and my eyes are starting to close. I really wanted to hear the excitement in his voice, but it looks like I'm going to have to settle for sending him an emoji-filled text. The Beavers are traveling to another city tonight, and I'm guessing he doesn't want to talk to me on the bus within earshot of his teammates. He doesn't want it getting back to Landry that he hired me, so the fewer Beavers who know I moved in with him, the better.

I run a hand through my hair, pulling my curls away from my face. It all went down so fast. I agreed to go along with Luke's plan without really thinking how it would affect things between Landry and me. The poor guy's been leaving me all these lengthy voice mails, wanting to know how I'm adjusting to Stockton, telling me what the kids are up to, and all I've done is send him a few short texts in response. I haven't exactly been a good friend to him lately.

Out of habit, I switch to a window I have saved in my web browser, the one displaying the latest search results for David Nichols. Ever since I left the ranch, the need to know where he is and what he's doing at all times is always in the back of my mind. Keeping tabs on him now that he's out of prison is the only thing that helps me feel safe and in control of my life. I hit refresh, but tonight, the headlines that pop up aren't his usual pitching line after a game. Oh, no, the news is far more disturbing than that.

Nichols hits three batters in one game
.

Nichols sent down after anger issues resurface
.

New York Titans' look foolish for taking a chance on ex-con.

I click link after link, each confirming my worst fear. David's back in Triple-A which means he'll eventually have to play a game in Stockton. And suddenly it's hard to breathe, like the world's caving in on me.

Shaking, I raise a hand to my mouth. I can't believe this is happening. All I wanted to do was make a fresh start in some sleepy, out-of-the-way town, instead of hiding behind the gates of Arnold's mansion, or for that matter, Landry's ranch. I couldn't stay in the Kings' universe, not after David got out and was immediately picked up by New York's other major-league team, the Titans. And when Landry started talking about Stockton, I thought, why not? But now, everything's coming full circle, converging in a perfect storm.

In the baseball world, secrets rarely die. I was only married to David for six months, right at the start of his career. And even though I routinely color my hair from blond to brown and go by Roberta Bennett, my mother's maiden name, instead of Bobbie Jo Nichols, somewhere along the line, I have no doubt David will find me. He has before.

The phone vibrates on the bed, and for a split second, I hesitate in answering it. But I can't do that to Luke, not when he's so worried about his mom. Not when he's finally had a good night.

"Hey," I manage to croak out.

"Hey, yourself," he chuckles in my ear. "I finally got a hit!"

My eyes dart around the room, my mind a million miles away. "Yeah, that's great."

"Oh, c'mon. Doesn't that warrant a 'Gooooo Beavers'?"

"It's late, Luke." I put him off. "I don't wanna wake your mom."

Although, as I listen to the baby monitor I have set up on top of the bureau, it's clear she's snoring away peacefully in her room.

"How's everything going?" Luke asks, concern quickly replacing the teasing quality in his voice.

"She has her moments…but on the whole, pretty good. She only asked where you were today forty times instead of fifty."

He groans heavily, "You should've called me."

"It's all right." I massage the tension out of my forehead. "She was nowhere near meltdown territory."

"Yeah, but you sure sound beat," he sighs. "Three more nights and I'll be home. And don't forget, I have a day off on Monday. How about I get in touch with Mrs. Jenkins so I can take you out for dinner or something? It sounds like you could use a break."

"Ah, Luke. I dunno." I trace my finger along the stitches of the patchwork quilt that's covering my lap. "I don't think that's such a good idea."

"Why…why not?" And I swear I can hear his voice shake as he swallows, even over the engine of the bus.

But before I have a chance to answer, we're interrupted by some agitated mumbling followed by some pretty colorful language.

"What is it?" I whisper. "What's going on?"

"God, Danny just showed me something on his phone. That's why you've been so quiet, isn't it? You knew, and you weren't going to tell me."

My stomach turns over. "Luke, let me explain—"

"There's nothing to explain," he huffs, and it feels like my heart is going to ricochet right out of my chest.

I falter. "Luke, I—"

"I don't want your pity or anyone else's," he says defiantly. "I'm not afraid to face David Nichols again."

And I feel terrible, because up until now, I didn't even take into consideration how the news about David would affect Luke. I was too caught up in thinking about myself.

"Nichols nearly beats a guy to death in a bar fight and only ends up serving ten months for it?" Luke seethes, all fired up. "My dad played his entire career in the minors, and the Titans offer a jerk like that a major-league deal right out of the slammer? I'm glad he got sent down. As far as I'm concerned, bring it on."

A cheer goes up in the background, his teammates, no doubt, egging him on. He's certainly not about to cower in front of them.

But unlike all of them, I know what it feels like to get hit by David. Not with a ball, but with his fists. That type of fear doesn't go away. It stays with you.

And I don't want Luke going anywhere near him.

Chapter Twelve

Roberta

Seven years earlier

"Where were you?" David asks the minute I step through the door.

He's slouched in the recliner, and from this angle, I can only see his knee bouncing up and down, the heel of his cross-trainer pounding against the floor—a clear signal that I should stay away,
far away
. But I didn't do anything wrong, and his implication that I did rubs me the wrong way.

Tossing my purse and keys onto the table, I make my voice heard over whatever game he's watching. "I went to the movies. I wasn't about to sit around all day, waiting for you to get up."

"
I went to the movies
," he mocks me in a grating, high-pitched voice. "So that's what you do around here when I'm gone—absolutely nothing."

When I move to stand beside him, he stares straight ahead at the TV, clenching his jaw. He's still in the Hooters tee he was in last night, the one he knows I can't stand. And based on the amount of stubble on his face, he still hasn't showered or shaved yet, even though it's almost three in the afternoon.

I see red, unable to stop the words from flying out of my mouth. "Don't you dare say I'm lazy when you're the one who's been lounging around in front of the TV all day!"

"I just got back from spending two weeks on the road," he growls under his breath. "I think I have the right to kick back and relax a little."

I cross my arms, my hands coming to rest atop my baby bump. "Give me a break. You didn't even pitch last night."

He sits up with a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Well, I'm not exactly well-rested after you made me sleep on the couch—
again
."

I shake my head as I walk away from him. "Tell it to the woman you had draped all over you in Jacksonville 'cause I don't wanna hear it."

He turns off the TV, flinging the remote across the room. "I was just having a drink in the hotel bar.
She
came on to
me
."

"Sure, she did," I spit back. "And I bet she just so happened to stumble back to your room with you too."

He slaps his hands against his thighs before getting up and coming toward me.

But I don't back away. I stand my ground. "Yeah, that's what I thought. You can't even bother to come up with a halfway decent excuse anymore." He towers over me, clenching his fists and breathing hard. I shouldn't provoke him, but I can't help myself. "If you're gonna lie to me, David, at least make it somewhat believable."

Wham
! Before I know what's happening, the back of his hand collides with my face and I'm sent sprawling to the floor. For a moment, I just lie there, too stunned to move. He's hit me plenty of times before, but not like this, not since I told him I'm pregnant. I lick my lips, and the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth. Gingerly, I reach up and touch my cheek. It's already beginning to swell, and one of my front teeth feels like it's loose. It's sad, but the first thought I have is,
How am I going to be able to hide that
?

"Get up," he orders, looming large above me. I moan, unable to move, and that's when he really loses it. "I said, get up!" He grabs me roughly by my elbow and pulls me to my knees. Dizzy, I'm unable to stand as the room starts to spin. But he doesn't care, he continues to wage his assault. "Since you can't seem to get off your ass and find yourself a job, I'm the one left paying all the bills around here—me! So that gives me the right to do whatever I want. You got that?"

I clutch my stomach, staring up at him. "Please, David…
the baby
."

He runs his hands through his hair before dropping them to his sides. "That's what I mean—more pressure! That's all you ever do is give me more headaches, more things to worry about."

"Then why'd you marry me?" I confront him with the question that's been on my mind for so long now. "How come you couldn't just screw me and leave me like the rest of the women you keep picking up in bars?"

He leers down at me. "'Cause I thought you were a caregiver. You were supposed to take care of me. I'm your husband, yet you turn me out of our bed, flat-out refusing to perform your wifely duties, leaving me to seek comfort elsewhere. It's all your fault. You did this, Bobbie Jo. Not me!"

"And I'm just supposed to go along with your infidelity and keep my mouth shut? Is that what you're saying?" I glare at him. "I don't think so. You went too far this time, David. I don't have to put up with this anymore. I'm done!"

Scooting away from him, I lean back against the wall, panting. I swore to myself the moment I found out I was pregnant, I'd leave him if he ever laid a finger on me again. For months now, I've had to tiptoe around him, turning a blind eye to his endless philandering. But today, he's gone above and beyond the amount of heartache I'm able to endure. He may think he can walk all over me, but I'm not about to stand back and let him hurt our baby.

"And where are you gonna go, huh?" He quirks his mouth at me. "You have nothing—no job, no apartment, no car, no friends,
nothing
. So don't even think about it, Bobbie Jo."

I hold my fingers up to my bleeding lip. "I'm a caregiver, not a slave, David. You can't treat me however you feel like treating me. That's not what I signed up for. That's not what marriage is."

He nudges my leg with the toe of his shoe. "Oh, really? 'Cause if anyone's being taken advantage of, it's definitely me."

"What…?" I sputter, but I stop when he grazes his foot along the length of my calf.

Aware of the fear he's building inside me, he plays with me, taking his time. "Don't you remember the night we first met…and how I told you I was so close to making it to the majors?"

"Well, you still haven't made it…have you?" I throw back in his face, hating how weak and vulnerable he's making me feel, and how there's absolutely nothing I can do about it.

"Yeah, but I watched your eyes light up at the thought of the millions that are bound to come my way." He gives me a wicked grin when, without warning, he steps down hard on my ankle, making me cry out in agony. He continues to twist his foot, grinding it back and forth like he's putting out a cigarette, relishing the pain he's inflicting on me. "That's how all women look at me, like I'm their meal ticket. I don't know why I thought you'd be any different."

When he pulls me up from my knees by my hair, I realize what a terrible mistake I've made in provoking him. I just should've kept my mouth shut. "Please, David," I beg, tears beginning to fall. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

"Really? 'Cause I think you did."

I just about stagger to my feet when he grabs hold of my shoulders and hurls me into the wall. The back of my head collides with it, hard. I see stars when he wraps his large hands around my neck and begins choking the life out of me. I brace myself against the wall, trying to generate the force I need to break free of his grip. But I can't breathe. A strange gargle issues from my lips, and still, he doesn't stop. And by the savage look in his eyes, I have no doubt he's going to kill me. Yet right at the brink, right when I feel like I'm drowning with my head being held underwater, he releases me and I sink to the floor in a heap, gasping and coughing.

With a groan, I don't move, hoping it's over, but instead, he bends down and starts pulling me out of the living room by my legs. I kick and flail, doing anything I can to resist, but he's too strong. He clasps my ankles together and starts dragging me back with him toward the bedroom.

"David, no! Please! Not like this," I wail as the rug chafes against my stomach.

But he doesn't listen. He's in the zone now. There's no stopping him when he gets like this, his thirst for violence driving him, fueling his rage. As he hauls me around the corner, I grab on to the doorframe for dear life. He's done a lot to me in the past, but I can't let him do this…
I can't
.

Incensed, he flips me onto my side. "Come on!" he seethes, trying to yank me free of the door. "Let go!"

But I can't talk, my throat is too sore, so I dig my nails into the wood even harder. His eyes darken and there's a lethalness to his gaze, the same kind of detachment he shows whenever he drills a hitter on purpose. I shudder because he's looking at me like that,
his pregnant wife
, like it makes no difference to him, like I'm no different to him.

But still I don't expect it when, frustrated at not getting his way, he rears back and kicks me in the stomach.

Instinctively, I crumple in on myself, but it's too late. By the second kick, I feel something warm start to trickle down my legs. And by the third, I black out completely. It's the only way my brain knows how to protect itself. It shuts off, taking me under so I don't have to experience this moment, so that I don't retain any memories of it.

I escape into a state of oblivion, a safe place where I'm no longer able to grasp what's going on outside my body, where I don't have to be conscious of the fact that the father of my unborn child is beating me to a pulp. I'll mourn the loss of my poor, innocent baby when I wake up. Right now, all I want to do is dream about the life I might've known.