Throwing Heat dad-3 Page 21

  Yeah, maybe.

  Maybe that something new should be Leslie.

  Peter drained his glass of orange juice and set it on the patio table next to him. Then he put his hands in the front pouch of his hoodie and stepped onto the grass, enjoying the sunshine on his shoulders. The rays were warm and gentle when he closed his eyes and turned his face toward the sun.

  The sound of a door opening behind him had his eyes popping open. He swung his head around to see who it was and came face-to-face with an extremely pissed-off Mark Cutter. “You son of a bitch!”

  Uh oh.

  The catcher swung a fist and connected hard with Peter’s left eye, dropping him like a stone. Stars exploded behind his eyes as pain radiated from his cheekbone and he landed on his ass in the grass. He shook his head, clearing the daze, and looked up to find Mark standing over him with fisted hands and heaving chest.

  “You know.” It wasn’t a question.

  The catcher offered him a hand. As soon as Peter was on his feet, Mark clocked him hard again, his fist like granite. “Fuck!” That one connected with his lip, soundly splitting it and whipping his head back.

  “That’s for sleeping with my sister, asshole.”

  Peter swiped a hand across his split lip as emotions welled up inside him. “She slept with me too, man.”

  Mark cocked his arm again, eyes hard like diamonds, and let it fly. Peter was ready this time and dodged the swing. Unwilling to let it go, the catcher dropped low and slammed a shoulder into his solar plexus, taking Peter down hard. For the next few minutes they scrapped, threw elbows, and clipped chins. The only sounds were of them grunting and swearing.

  One of Mark’s elbows connected with his jaw, snapping his teeth together and making him wince. “All right, jackass. Enough.” Peter had let the catcher have at him, considering it his brotherly right, but he’d had enough now and rolled away.

  He sat up just as the blond-haired ballplayer did too. They were both out of breath and just sat on the grass in silence while they tried to slow their racing hearts. Mark sat staring straight ahead at the giant oak tree by the back fence, a tick working his jaw.

  Finally he said very quietly, “My sister acts tough, but she’s not. If you hurt her I’ll bust your jaw.”

  Fair enough. “Deal. Although I don’t think you have anything to worry about. She threw me out the last time I was around.”

  The catcher slid him a look. “Yeah?”

  Peter nodded. “Yep.”

  His lips twitched. “Good.”

  It hadn’t felt good when she’d done it. “How’d you find out?”

  Mark squinted into the sun and pulled at a few blades of grass. “Lorelei told me.”

  Figured.

  The two of them sat there in silence for another minute. Then Mark exhaled loudly. “Why did you do it, Pete? Couldn’t you have done your sniffing around someone else?”

  That was a good question. “No, man. I couldn’t.”

  Mark shot him a lethal glare. “Why the fuck not?”

  Another good question. “She gets to me, dude.”

  The catcher tossed the shredded blades of grass back down and bent his knee, resting his forearm on it. “Are you saying that you have feelings for her?”

  There it was, the moment of truth. Did he have feelings for Leslie? “Yeah.” Deep, profound feelings that more than bordered on scary.

  “She deserves someone who’ll take good care of her and treat her right.”

  Peter swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. “Yeah.”

  Mark stared at him with hard gray eyes. “Is that you?”

  He heard what her brother was really asking and it made his stomach squeeze. There was no turning back. Was he ready for this?

  Peter met his gaze, took a deep fortifying breath. “Yeah, it is.”

  “Yeah? Shit.” The catcher swore. “Then you gotta prove it, pal.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  LESLIE TOOK A break from balancing the club’s financial accounts and smothered a yawn. It was ten at night on a Tuesday, but she felt tired like it was already Friday. Leaning back in her padded leather chair, she took a good hard look around her office. From her framed pictures over the couch to her bookcases and unhappy foliage. She studied the exposed red bricks, the hardwood floor, and the piles of mail on her sleek wood desk.

  This was her life.

  “Oh for crissake,” she muttered and snatched up the cup of coffee in front of her. It’s not like what she had was bad. Most people would consider it a pretty sweet life. She really needed to stop feeling sorry for herself and just get over it. Get over him and move on.

  It’d be a whole lot easier though if she wasn’t still in love with the jerk.

  As much as she’d tried to lie to herself, her heart had known better. It had seen the truth that she was trying to hide from. Peter Kowalskin had a hold on her good, and it wasn’t going to let go any time soon. Like, never.

  She was stuck with love.

  Frowning, Leslie took a sip of the strong brew cut with half-and-half and considered the state of her life, trying to look on the positive side of things. So okay, she’d lost the bet and Peter wasn’t going to play in the club. That wasn’t so bad. And she didn’t get the down payment she needed to buy Mark out. Okay, fine. It just meant that it was going to take her longer to save up like she’d originally planned. It did not mean that it was over. She wasn’t a quitter.

  In the meantime, she had the club to manage. And it was great, really it was, building her brother’s business. She had sunk a lot of effort into it and turned it into something good. Mark was proud of her. She was proud of her. And someday in the far-off future it would be hers to own, so none of her effort was going to waste.

  Leslie had her work and her apartment and her kitten. Soon there would be a new niece or nephew to spoil too. Everything was wonderful really. Maybe not perfect, maybe things hadn’t worked out like she’d wanted, but that was okay.

  She could deal with it.

  And late last night she’d made a decision to stop beating herself up for her mistakes. Because the reality was that Leslie Cutter wasn’t perfect, not by a long shot. She made stupid mistakes and bad judgment calls. The bet was just one of them.

  Same with falling in love with Peter. It was a dumb thing to do given who he was and she’d known it. Known it and didn’t stop it. So she had nobody to blame but herself for her current situation. But she’d learned another hard lesson and she just wanted to let it go, to chalk one up for life and just be done. It was all so wearisome, always judging herself so harshly.

  And she was done being angry at Peter for lying about her apartment, for playing her. It was just who he was and she couldn’t blame him for it. All along she’d known he was a scrapper, an opportunist. Given how he’d grown up there wasn’t much chance of him being any other way. He’d learned how to work angles, how to exploit others for his own self-interest.

  It had been a matter of survival.

  Her heart couldn’t hold a grudge against him for that. Just like she couldn’t hold a grudge against him for not loving her back. Oh, she’d wanted to all right. At first. Man, when he’d stood in her apartment and stated that he didn’t love her with such cool, detached eyes it had taken all of her willpower not to clobber him upside the head with a frying pan. That kind of rejection stung, bad. And it had succinctly destroyed the idea she’d been growing about having her business back and Peter.

  Truth was, she had neither. Just herself and the determination to forge ahead alone. Maybe Peter would always have her heart, but she could go on. Would go on. Even if there was always a part of her that was missing.

  The sudden sting of tears surprised her. So did the pain in her chest that flared up at the thought of never being able to love him out loud and in the open. Because he didn’t want it, her love was going to get shoved down deep somewhere inside her where it would huddle, wasted and unused.

  Maybe given enough time it
would just disappear into dust. Then they would both be free. Yeah, there was always that hope.

  “Ugh!” But that’s not what she wanted at all. Not really. “God he’s such a stupid man!” Her heart swelled with sudden sorrow.

  All she wanted to do was love him.

  And she would have, if he would’ve let her. But that damn infuriating man wanted nothing to do with it. Too frigging chicken was what he was. Scared of a little thing like love.

  Commotion outside her office door turned her attention and Leslie slipped back into her heels before going to see what the fuss was all about. And yes, they were her purple suede Michael Kors. She was feeling sentimental.

  Sucking in a breath to steady herself, she stepped out into the hall and quickly made her way to the main floor. She was shocked when she got there and saw a dozen Rush players huddled around the bar talking over each other, the expressions on their faces ranging from disbelief to confusion. Her instincts went on high alert.

  The season was over. Why were they all here?

  “Hey, y’all,” she said casually as she stepped behind the bar. The new bartender, a woman in her forties named Marie, was busy mixing a cocktail. She looked up from the tumbler and gave Leslie a friendly smile.

  She’d just smiled back when Drake Paulson elbowed his way up to the bar. His afro was back to its normal color. And she had to laugh because even though it was thirty degrees outside he was wearing a bright red Hawaiian shirt opened almost halfway. It was enough to see just how much chest hair the giant man really had. Eeesh.

  “Did you hear the news, sweet thing?” the gruff ballplayer asked and then popped a handful of peanuts into his mouth. His brown eyes were watching her expectantly.

  Leslie shook her head and reached for a bottle of tequila when a customer hollered an order. Mixing drinks kept her hands busy and helped distract her from the dull ache that had taken up residence around her heart. She wondered if it was permanent.

  Probably.

  “I’ve been in the back, big guy, and haven’t heard a thing. What’s the breaking news?” It must be pretty good if it had a bunch of pro ballplayers in a tizzy.

  More than a dozen of them were deep in conversation, their voices blending into a constant drone of white noise under the heavy thump of bass coming through the sound system.

  Carl Brexler raked a hand through his hair and she just made out, “Huge-ass shocker.”

  What was a huge-ass shocker?

  Glancing up from the margarita she was blending, she hollered over the grating sound of the blender chopping ice. “I’m waiting, Drake. What’s up?”

  He set his beer down and opened his mouth to speak. Then he closed it again on a grunt. “What the—?” He spun around, ready for a fight. “Who was dumb enough to sock me in the back?”

  Her brother stood behind Drake, grinning evilly. “What are you whining about, Paulson?”

  “Hey!” Leslie rapped her knuckles sharply on the bar top. “Focus, Paulson.”

  He looked at her with big sad eyes. “Aww, but—”

  “Get revenge on Mark later. You were about to tell me what all the hoopla is about.” She waved her hand at the group of animated ballplayers. Then she slid the marg down the counter to the waiting customer with a smile. “There you go, darlin’. Enjoy.”

  Drake reluctantly turned his back on her brother, who shot her a grateful look. “You ain’t off the hook, brother,” he said to Mark, his voice full of warning. Then he looked back at Leslie waiting impatiently, and let out a long sigh. She could tell he was just dragging out the moment for dramatic effect.

  Leslie rolled her eyes and bit her tongue to keep from saying something snarky. She wasn’t in the best mood and it wasn’t fair to take it out on him. Her brother, on the other hand, was used to her mean streak.

  “Why are you here?” she demanded. By the way Drake was taking his sweet time getting to the news blast, she figured she could be standing there waiting for the rest of the night.

  Mark raised a brow, gave her a look. “What? I can’t be at my own club?”

  “Not when you have a pregnant wife at home you can’t.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder and met his look with one of her own.

  “Who says she’s home?” He tipped his head toward the Rush’s table. Sure enough Lorelei was there sitting next to Sonny, heads together while they chatted. When had they gotten there?

  The question must have been written all over her face because Mark said, “You were in the back.”

  Ah. That explained it. But it didn’t explain what everybody was doing there tonight in the first place. Usually as soon as the season ended the guys disappeared for a few months. Well, except Drake and Mark and Peter. JP, too, although Leslie fully expected not to see him again since this was his first off-season with Sonny and Charlie. But for now he was there, too, huddled together with the rest of the crew, talking about whatever this “big news” was.

  Speaking of . . . she looked back at Drake. The way he was procrastinating was driving her bat-shit. “Any day now, Paulson.”

  He glanced down at her, eyes twinkling, and suddenly she became very aware of just how much fun he was having at her expense. She shook her head. Jerk.

  She smacked him. “Just say it already!”

  He relented. “Kowalskin just announced his retirement.”

  What?!

  Everything inside her went still. It couldn’t be. Peter wasn’t retiring. He loved playing baseball. It was his life. No, Drake had to be wrong.

  Leslie set down the drink she was currently working on. Her hands started to shake and her heart began to race. She took a breath and scanned the ballplayers. They were all talking animatedly about something, and now she knew what. It was true. Peter was out of baseball.

  Holy shit.

  Mark cut into her shock. “I just heard, man. I can’t believe he’s out, either. It’s nuts. Nobody saw it coming. He’s got some eye thing apparently. Says he’s going blind in one eye and can’t pitch anymore.”

  Leslie’s stomach plummeted. Poor Peter. A flash of memory came back to her of the morning they’d fought about why he didn’t perform publically. She’d overheard the tail end of a conversation about some kind of surgery. It had confused her then when she’d thought it was about his shoulder because it hadn’t seemed that bad.

  Now it made sense. The surgery wasn’t for his shoulder. It was for his eye.

  And it hit her then, the stuff Peter must have been dealing with by himself. The fear and stress and worry. Terrible feelings that he’d borne alone. It made her sad and angry all at once.

  He didn’t have to be alone.

  Just like she didn’t have to let her life drift on by because she’d made a mistake. They both had choices.

  JP shoved his way in between the two ballplayers and said, “The guy was throwing heat like a true hall of famer. Whatever was going on with his vision, he did a damn good job hiding it.”

  “I know it, brother. Walskie was the best pitcher the Rush has ever seen. We’re going to miss him something fierce.” Drake shook his frizzy head sadly.

  “Now I understand why everyone here is all up in arms.” She said to no one in particular.

  “It’s a big deal, sis. Kowalskin stepping down really shakes things up.”

  “You think José is going to step up and become our new ace?” JP asked.

  Mark shook his head. “I don’t know, man.”

  Something occurred to her. “Okay. I get why y’all are upset. What I don’t get is why y’all are here?”

  Just then the music went dead and a thump thump thump sounded from the stage. A murmur rose from the crowded nightclub as everyone turned their attention to the unexpected interruption.

  “Excuse me, everyone,” came a tough, sexy male voice with a Philly accent.

  She knew that voice.

  “Some of you may know me, but for those of you who don’t I’ll introduce myself. My name is Peter Kowalskin.”

 
The crowd erupted into applause. The noise level was deafening. Someone let out an ear-piercing whistle that had her cringing, and Drake shouted something highly inappropriate.

  Her heart squeezed painfully and her stomach went wild with nerves as she stepped out from behind the bar, looking for a clear line of sight to the stage. She found it next to her brother, and when she looked up and saw what was happening, her heart rolled right on over in her chest.

  It was impossible to breathe.

  There, up on stage under the glaring lights, was Peter in his signature white T-shirt, leather bracelet, and jeans. Looking sexy and tough and so, so wonderful.

  And he was sitting on a stool. In front of a mic.

  With his Gibson guitar.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  PETER SPOTTED LESLIE through the crowd and felt his palms go sweaty. What he was about to do was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

  He needed Leslie to know how he felt.

  She might slap him in the face and tell him off for the way he’d treated her, but he had to take that chance. For the first time in his life he was willing to risk it all for someone else.

  For her.

  It had taken Mark’s fist upside his head to get him to see the truth. To have the balls to admit it to himself. And it was hella scary. But it was there and it was real and he damn well had to get used to it. He had to face the fact.

  He was in love with Leslie.

  And he was going to show her in the best way he knew how, by doing the one thing he’d sworn he never would, the one thing he knew she really wanted. Peter was going to perform live. In front of a hell of a lot of random fucking people. He was going to sit there and pour out his feelings to her through song. Exposed and vulnerable and wide open to rejection. All because his worthless heart was hers, if she still wanted it.

  The lights glared down on him and sweat trickled down his temple. He stared out over a large, cheering crowd and looked for the reason he was there. When he found her staring at him, hand in a fist at her mouth, eyes huge, his lungs locked up and he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t sing. But he had to push through it for her.