Keeping Score Page 13

  He didn’t have to try very hard though. There is seriously nothing better than watching a baseball game in person. The camera usually doesn’t focus on the best part—the player’s asses.

  Braxton: Awesome! Laura will be so excited. I’ll have her pick you up at 6? She has the tickets already.

  Braxton gives me Laura’s phone number before telling me he’s turning off his phone for warmup.

  Well, there goes the ice cream plans tonight, but I can’t say that I’m upset.

  20

  * * *

  BRAXTON

  We’re just about an hour out from the first pitch being thrown, and I’m in the zone. We baseball guys tend to be superstitious, even when we insist we aren’t. Each of us has a routine, a specific way we go about our business on game day. I admit that I drink from a specific cup in the morning and drive a particular route to the stadium. Aces’ starting catcher, for instance, wears the same T-shirt under his uniform every game. We’ve all seen it; it’s worn out and has holes all through it, but he swears by it.

  Once we’re at the stadium, it’s no different. I have to tune everyone out, lose myself in a playlist full of random music from all genres—rap, classical, country, pop, boy band, all of it. It’s a full two and a half hours long, and I listen all the way through before each game. When I first arrived, I expected to be hazed for my routine, for the veteran players to think I was a schmuck for needing to clear my head. Thankfully, they were all consumed with their own routines, so they didn’t take much notice.

  I tell myself it’s also why I wanted Sophie here tonight. It isn’t because I haven’t seen her in a few days, or because I miss her smile in any way.

  Tonight is different than most nights. For the third time in my career, I don’t focus on my teammates or the other team. Instead, I look up into the stands where Sophie and Laura sit. This is the second game she’s been to this season, and I quite like her being here. She’s sitting next to my sister in the same seats she had with her dad. Her seat.

  “Lee, did you just look up into the stands? What the fuck, man?” Spencer grumbles. He knows I broke my focus and my ritual. Baseball players are very superstitious and breaking any part of game day ritual is bad luck.

  I rub the back of my head. “Uhhh, yeah, I guess I did.”

  “What are we looking at? Your mom and sister here? Wait. Isn’t that the chick from the bar? You hit that?”

  When I turn to glare at him, he holds his hands up in surrender while laughing. “Whoa, dude. Don’t kill me. You seein’ her now? Got yourself a little pussy-whipped?”

  Without giving me an opportunity to respond, he jogs off laughing like he’s heard the best joke of all time. He’s not wrong. This woman has consumed my thoughts. Not only does she take my attention off baseball for the first time since—well, ever—but she’s on my mind constantly. I don’t hate it. I mean, I love baseball, but for once, I don’t mind spending time with someone not baseball related. Tonight, I plan to tell her how I’m feeling. I want her to know this friends setup isn’t working for me.

  When we’re at the bottom of the ninth, it doesn’t look like I’ll be batting again, so I call for one of the ushers to get Sophie and my sister escorted to the friends and family holding area before the game ends. I watch as Sophie starts to object, but my wonderful sister talks her into just going with it. Thank God. I’ll be celebrating this win with two of my favorite women.

  We make it to the locker room, and the usual press and jersey chasers are outside the door hollering for an interview and yelling out expletives to get our attention. The team takes it in stride, answering the media’s questions and fielding advances from the women just wanting to hook up with—or trap—a professional athlete. To many of them, it doesn’t matter who. They just want the money and fame.

  Before opening the locker room door, I spot Sophie and Laura and smile. My guard is down for the briefest moment, and a damn jersey chaser takes the opportunity to cling to me.

  “Hey, baby,” she says. “What about me and you go out tonight?”

  “I’m good, but thanks,” I say as I try to push her off me.

  She sticks her lip out in a pout. “But, Braxton, baby, we had so much fun the last time.”

  “I’m sure we did.” Nodding at the security officer who catches my eye, I smile down at her and hold her at arm’s length. Before he’s able to peel her off me, she flanks her body flush with mine, and I freeze. Her arms are wrapped around my waist as she purrs something sexual. My eyes fly to where Sophie and Laura are standing. Or should be standing. Instead, I only see the back of Sophie’s head as she’s walking through the crowd—away from me. Shit.

  I push the jersey chaser off of me and yell, “Sophie!” She doesn’t stop. In fact, she seems to be moving faster. My efforts to move through the crowd are to no avail. Security pulls me back and escorts me to the locker room.

  As soon as I get to my locker, I pull out my phone and immediately call Sophie. When she doesn’t answer, I shoot off a text to my sister:

  Me: Don’t let her leave. I’ll be out in 10 minutes. Meet me by the south gate.

  Laura: I lost her and can’t find her. She took off when that dumb jersey chaser was hanging all over you.

  Goddammit.

  I shower and dress as quickly as possible and then hightail it to my truck. My name is shouted in the distance. Whether it’s press or fans, I don’t know. My focus is on one person. Leaving the stadium at this hour is a clusterfuck. Thankfully, the players park on the opposite side from the fans, and I’m able to cut across a few side streets while the rest of the cars crawl along in the direction of the interstate.

  Forty minutes later, I’m pulling into Sophie’s apartment complex parking lot. Her car is here, and I sigh in relief. Of course, just because her car is here doesn’t mean she is. Taking a chance, I rush to her door.

  My knocks go unanswered. Her blinds are closed tight, and there’s no way to tell if she’s here and ignoring me or not home at all. I give up hope before her neighbors call the cops. When I’m safely in my truck, I pick up my phone to call her. Again, she doesn’t answer, so I shoot off a text.

  Me: Sophie, it’s not what you think.

  Sophie: I can’t do this, Braxton.

  Me: Where are you? Tell me you’re safe.

  Sophie: I’m in an Uber.

  Me: Please let me explain.

  Sophie: I’ll be home in ten minutes. Meet me there?

  Me: I’m already here.

  These ten minutes feel like an eternity as I pace the area near my truck, waiting for her. A pair of headlights comes into view, and I walk to where Sophie exits the hatchback. My gut twists as I approach. She isn’t smiling like usual. She looks exhausted. Without saying a word, she begins the short trek to her apartment, and I follow dutiful.

  I notice she’s wearing an Aces jersey with my number on it. Knowing she’s supporting not only the team but me specifically fills me with hope. I want her. Not just physically but in my life.

  Once we’re in her apartment, she kicks off her shoes and tosses her keys and purse on the counter. With her back to me, she moves about the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of water.

  Turning to face me, her expression is devoid of emotion. She is the first to break the silence. “Braxton—”

  “Wait, no let me go first,” I cut her off. “Look, I know what you thought you saw out there, but let me explain.”

  “What you thought I saw?” she asks with disdain. “What I saw was you and a woman basically dry humping in front of the reporters.”

  “That’s not what it was, Sophie.” She opens her mouth to interrupt, but I continue, not giving her a chance. “Look, I know that’s what it looked like, but I have no clue who that woman was. She’s a jersey chaser. They don’t care who or what kind of athlete they get, so long as they get their fifteen minutes of fame. Or better yet, a ring on their finger and a baby in their belly.”

  “Gross,” she whispers. Somehow, I
don’t think she meant to say it out loud.

  “Yeah, it is,” I agree. “I’m not going to lie to you and tell you I’ve never slept with one of those women, Soph. I have. Many of them start in the minor leagues and go after the players they think will rise. If they can catch one at the start of their career and ride the wave with them, they’re set for years to come. Some, not all, aren’t bad. They’re just looking to hook up with an athlete. Others want the fame and money. They want to be the arm candy that’s photographed and written about in the press. There have been many players who have fallen into the trap and found themselves tied to these women for life because of a child.”

  I flinch, remembering all the hell I went through last year. While she processes what I’ve said, I round the peninsula and step in front of her. She sets the glass on the counter and pays close attention to her nails, never looking at me.

  “And you’ve slept with these women?” she asks.

  I’ve never been ashamed of my choices. I’m a young guy who had one of the largest major league signings in the last ten years. The fame and attention were a given. I never cheated. I never slept with a woman who didn’t consent. None of it mattered. Until now.

  “Yes, at the beginning of my career and up until last year.”

  “Not this season?” she asks, finally looking at me.

  I pause, just looking into her eyes. Her gorgeous and hopeful eyes, the kind a man wants to wake up to every morning. The eyes of a woman who is strong but afraid. Overwhelmed and uncertain.

  Taking her hand, I move us to her living room. Not letting go, I hold her hand in mine and exhale. Here goes nothing.

  “Last year, I took the offer like the one tonight. I went out with a woman, and for a few weeks, we were seeing each other. She showered me with attention, fueled my cocky ego like it was her job. Then she claimed to be pregnant. I was scared and didn’t know what to do. We barely knew one another. Yet, she had all these plans for our future.”

  I twist our hands so they’re palm-to-palm. Looking down, I note how small and fragile Sophie’s hand is compared to mine. It’s a reminder of how different we are. How different our lives are.

  “What happened?” she asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

  “I told her I was going to quit baseball and get a job using my degree.”

  Sophie lets out a whistle. “I assume that didn’t make her too happy.”

  Chuckling at the understatement, I say, “Oh no. She freaked out on me and told me not to quit, that we’d figure it out and she knew I’d be in the majors soon.”

  “What about the baby?”

  “Well, that’s the kicker,” I begin. “She was pregnant.”

  “Wait, what?”

  Shrugging, I lean back and rest my head on the back of the sofa. I feel Sophie’s gaze on me as I sit with my eyes closed. The cushion next to me dips, and she turns to face me.

  “Brax?”

  “I agreed to hold off quitting baseball. She had a point that there was a chance I’d get pulled up. I was making a name for myself in the minors, and there was chatter I would get the call. So we just fell into a relationship. Looking back, I see it was surface. That she was planning a life around my career and potential earnings. Her days were filled with looking at houses and planning a wedding while I was trying to figure out how we were going to pay for it all.”

  I take a deep breath, hating to relive this. Not only did this affect me but my family and the team. Amber was such a dark cloud in my life that even retelling this story sends me back to those emotions.

  “Amber and I fought constantly. She was pissed, because I wouldn’t marry her quickly. I told her I wanted to give her a real wedding, not some rush to the altar in Vegas. Truthfully, I wasn’t ready. I didn’t see myself married to her, but she was pregnant, so I was willing to try.

  “We continued on like normal, with the help of her family and mine. I rented us a two-bedroom apartment, similar to this one. My parents basically bought out a baby store, ready and willing to spoil their first grandchild. But… it never felt right. Something seemed off, and I didn’t trust her. Eventually, I sat down with my parents and told them how I was feeling. They supported my decision to break off the relationship but remain in the baby’s life. I would never walk away from my child.”

  Sophie sighs and rests her head on my shoulder, keeping my hand in hers.

  “I imagine that was a difficult conversation to have with your parents.”

  “In some ways. All they’ve ever wanted for my sister and me is for us to be happy. Shortly after that conversation with my parents, I broke it off with Amber. Laura joked that she had the tabloids on speed dial. Within twenty-four hours of us breaking up, she had gone to the press, claiming I told her I wanted nothing to do with her or our child and I had paid for her to have an abortion. Which is not true.”

  Sophie sighs, like she’s relieved. I’m sure she searched me online. There is a reason I’ve been doing so much damage control with that awful PR tour Karen has me on. Headlines are meant to entice people to click the article, and each one is more exploitive than the next.

  “As this was all breaking, I got the call to move to Clarence and join the Aces. Truthfully, I was surprised they’d want me after the bad press, but here I am.”

  “And the baby?”

  Dropping my arm so I can pull Sophie closer, I take a deep breath and continue. “I moved out of our apartment but continued to pay her rent. If that was my child, I wanted to make sure they were both taken care of. She didn’t tell me when she went into labor, and I learned her little girl was born by an online alert. Then I contacted my attorney and demanded a DNA test.”

  21

  * * *

  SOPHIE

  I’m sitting here listening to Braxton tell the story about the time he might’ve knocked someone up, and my mind continues to drift to all the questions I have. Instead of voicing those questions, I listen, waiting for him to tell me what happened to that child. I’m desperate to know if he as a kid out there he’s never mentioned.

  At some point in his story, I snuggled into his side, my head resting on his shoulder. While the topic has me on edge, and the scene I witnessed at the stadium had my blood boiling, my soul is calm this close to him. Why is our timing so off?

  “The DNA test results came in about two weeks after the baby was born. Of course, Amber didn’t offer that information. After a few days of dropping hints that I knew the results were in and her ignoring me, pretending all was well, I left the report on her counter. There was a zero percent chance I was the father of her daughter.”

  My reaction is mixed. The sound is somewhere between a gasp of shock and sigh of relief.

  “It was a strange time in my life. I was prepared to give up my dreams and career to care for her and our child. To marry her and build a life. My parents were thrilled at the prospect of having their first grandkid. That was probably the hardest part. Calling my parents to tell them it was a lie. Admitting that the woman I supported financially and emotionally for all those months had deceived us all.”

  “What happened after that?”

  He scoffs, and his left hand grips my hip while the right runs down his face. “She accused me of altering the results.”

  I push up to face him, my eyes wide. “No.”

  “Yep. It was her last-ditch effort, but in the end, I held my ground, and my attorney threatened her with a lawsuit.”

  With his hand still on my hip, he nudges me back into his side. This time, my arm rests across his stomach. The move causes him to contract his abs, making me smile.

  “Brax, that’s awful. Did she ever admit who the father was?”

  “Kind of. A letter from Amber appeared in my mailbox about six months later. Turns out she didn’t know who the father was and knew I would step up and take care of them. After her efforts failed, she was forced to move back to the small town where she grew up to live with her folks.”

  “Wow.”

&n
bsp; The word seems too simple for the story, but it’s the best I can do with the array of emotions I’m feeling. Relief that what I read online was false is at the forefront. In my heart, I knew there were too many holes and assumptions in those articles, but there was a slight chance part of the scenario was true.

  “Yeah, so I haven’t slept with a jersey chaser since.”

  “I don’t blame you.”

  We’re both quiet, just sitting together, our arms wrapped around one another. I want to broach the topic of the woman tonight but chicken out, and ask, “So, what about all those headlines?”

  “You did search me, huh?” he asks with a nudge and a chuckle.

  Even though he can’t see me, I roll my eyes. “Well, Kendall did when she was worried that I was fall— I mean, spending more time with you.” Good save, Soph.

  “Yeah, those headlines are killer. When people search my name, that’s all that comes up. Not my batting stats or anything baseball related. Just that I paid for my kind-of girlfriend to get rid of a pregnancy. Even after Karen put out a press release stating that the child was not mine, nothing changed. You cannot change the public opinion easily after they read the first story. That’s all they need. So right now, that’s why I’m doing all this extra PR stuff. The magazine. Late Night with Mike. And all the other interviews Karen has me doing once the season is over.”

  I knew in my gut there was more to the story. The man I’ve spent time and come to know these past weeks, the one who has consumed my thoughts and managed to burrow his way into my heart, isn’t anywhere near who was portrayed in the media.

  Before I can say anything further, Braxton jumps in. “That woman you saw hanging on me earlier, I have no clue who she is. I’ve never slept with her, nor do I ever want to.” He takes a breath, “She said we had been together before, but that’s a tactic many of them use to make us feel bad for not remembering who they are.”

  “Okay.” I click my tongue, trying to think of what else to say.