Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
“I … I’m speechless.” The depression clogging the receiver when I’d tried to shoot him down a minute ago had vanished. Lorenzo sounded baffled. “No one has ever done something so kind for her. For me.”
Oh, yeah. They grew up in foster care. Even so, it appeared that Rain’s caregivers loved her. I rubbed my palm on my chest, trying to stop an unusual ache. “I need a couple of weeks to get approval from the hospital board.”
“In the meantime, Natasha …” His voice seemed to drip with something low and morose. Something better addressed with someone who desired a deeper bond.
Since women naturally had a louder, squeakier voice, I played up mine and rushed him off the call. “Maybe I’ll see you on Monday. Chat soon—byeeee.” Dang those mixed signals. Yep, this was a conversation best had in person. My thumb tapped the Off button.
20
LACHLAN
Glendale, AZ
The Arizona sky faded into a deep, dusky purple. The last hints of daylight bled along the horizon like my bruises from stealing home. The stadium lights still glowed when I slung my duffel over one shoulder, the water from my showered hair dampening my team-issued tee.
Beside me, Montana let out a satisfied breath, cracking his neck to one side. “Man, you have your nose so wide open for the Black Widow—”
“Natasha’s not the Black Widow.” I groaned, unlocking the driver’s door of our rental.
It was Friday night. Should’ve arrived the night before. And tonight? I was supposed to take Natasha out, but I’d asked her to stay in LA until Saturday evening at the last minute. I needed to focus on the game and smooth things over with the coaches, like bringing everyone breakfast tacos before tomorrow’s practice game.
Montana chuckled, a deep rumble that shook his chest.
I smirked, crossing my arms. “Och, here we go. You think you’ve got me all figured out, Big Country. I’ve not yet proposed to her, officially. So now you’re gonna make a joke about us keeping our engagement under wraps when it was a promise ring?” I’d buy Natasha a hunner wedding rings.
He shook his head. “The bébé looking out for you, so I ain’t gon bring that up. But man, the media gonna label the Black Widow once the paramedics scoop your lifeless body from the LA River. ‘Baseball Star Found Floating Like a Foul Ball.’ ”
I slung my bag into the back seat. “You’re mistaken. The LA River ain’t deep enough for anyone to enjoy fishing for my body.” Nodding, I scratched my chin. “They’ll recover me. Easy, I’d say.”
He wheezed out another laugh, leaning against the roof of the car like he was about to collapse. “Boy, keep talking like that. I’ma start sellin’ tickets for the funeral now.”
“Och. You ain’t even funny. I thought the third greatest baseball player I know would sell more tickets doing stand-up comedy.”
His brow shot up. “Third to who?” While rubbing his beard, he transitioned to French Creole, chuckling under his breath. “We already established I’m king. Listen, I made you second best—made sense. But third? You keep tempting fate, third? Bronze gon be the color of your casket.”
“Nae. Third greatest”—I nudged my chin at him—“that’s ye. Sharpen those comebacks, bràthair.”
Montana tipped his head back, laughing low. “Bruh, ain’t no comedy club in the world ready for a six-foot-four slugger from NOLA with a tighter swing than his punchlines. You? You’d be my opener.”
“Och.” I rolled my eyes. “The third greatest baseball player thinking he’s a stand-up? Ye’d better keep practicing, or the Laugh Factory gon be taking reservations for yer wake.”
We climbed into the SUV. The drive from Camelback Ranch to our Airbnb, the same Airbnb we’d rented since we were rookies, was filled with more jokes, and Glendale’s desert streets dimmed under the scattered streetlights. Palm trees leaned toward the road as I drove.
“Give me five,” Montana said as I pulled into the driveway of our modern condo, “then you can take me to dinner.”
I snorted. “You got the tab.”
“Ain’t no idiot, bruh. You had plans with Natasha tonight, maybe not as spicy as I’d have made if she were my—”
Yanking the miniature baseball mitten from the rearview mirror, I hurled it at his head. “Low blow,” I growled. “You don’t get five minutes. You get two!”
The door slammed shut. The mitten slapped against the glass, then fell into the empty passenger seat. He ran toward the house that resembled the others, a stucco cube.
While waiting, I leaned against the driver’s seat, eyes half-lidded. A lone cricket chirped near the hedge that separated our condo from the neighbor’s. My mind drifted to Natasha. Desperation urged me to see her tonight. My coaches, though? I needed to regain their favor.
My cellphone rang, and I blinked to focus on the unfamiliar 323 number. Los Angeles.
I tapped the On button and answered hesitantly, since I had to change my number on occasion.