Intentional Walk: Dating Mr. Baseball Book 3 Page 14

  “No.” He ran his hand through his hair. He wasn’t really hungry.

  “Me neither.”

  He stared at her. “Do you have plans?”

  “I was thinking of going to that new steak house, but I don’t want to go alone. I feel like a loser sitting at a table by myself.”

  “I hear that.” He hated sitting alone in public, always feeling like he had to excuse himself for taking up a table or blurt out things like “I have a girlfriend” to prove he wasn’t a loser. “I’ll go. I went with my dad the other night. They have decent food.” Yeah, he could use some time out too. Away from home, where the ghost of his girlfriend greeted him when he walked through the door. If he happened to get past her, his dad was happy to point out that Tilly was just a few doors down and an apology away. Although he was beginning to wonder if she was that close. He didn’t think an I’m sorry would be enough to bring her back into his arms.

  She motioned to her car. “I’ll drive.”

  This all felt weird. Like he was three steps behind the social cues and wearing the wrong size jersey. “Yeah. Okay.” Her car was low to the ground and he had to adjust the seat to fit. Once he was settled, they headed over to the restaurant.

  They were seated as soon as they arrived and ordered quickly, both getting steaks. Tilly would have tried something new, and he would have ended up eating half of her meal. She had a gift for finding enticing flavors. He usually ended up ordering that item the next time they visited the restaurant, and the cycle continued. When the server placed a steak in front of him, his taste buds sighed heavily.

  He cut a bite and glanced across the table. Natalie was staring at her plate, her head bent. He wasn’t being a gracious dinner companion. The thing was, he didn’t ever have to try with Tilly. From their first date, they’d had a hundred and ten conversations going on and could jump from one to another seamlessly. Like right now, if he said “fried chicken,” she’d smile up at him and ask if he wanted coleslaw with that. Then they’d laugh, because she knew he hated coleslaw. No one would think that was funny but the two of them.

  Or, they could eat in silence for a while—comfortable enough not to have to talk.

  Natalie wasn’t like that. He could see the color on her cheeks and the furtive looks at the people around them.

  “So, you’re a nurse.” He threw another bite in his mouth to keep himself from saying something else that sounded stupid.

  She bounced up in her seat. “Yep.” When he didn’t jump right back in, she kept going. “I used to work in pediatrics, but that was too hard on my heart. I would go home crying. My supervisor suggested I move over to the trauma wing.”

  He nodded to keep her talking and ate faster. The sooner they were done, the sooner he could get home.

  She prattled on for a few more minutes and then asked, “What are you doing now?”

  “Coaching,” he choked out. The word was foreign on his lips as an identifier for his life. He took a sip of water and set his cup down. When he did, Natalie’s hand touched his, lightly, hesitantly, as if she was asking permission. He froze.

  “Brayden, you’ve been through so much. You’re in a fog right now. I can see it in your eyes. But you’re going to wake up from this, and when you do, I’ll be here.” She smiled. “I’m excited to see you attacking life.”

  He pulled his hand away from the glass and hid it under the table. “Thanks. I’m feeling better and getting stronger every day.”

  “I can see that.” Her eyes danced over him.

  That signal he got. “Listen, Natalie. I hope I haven’t given you the wrong impression. I’m not looking for a girlfriend.” I have one. Had one.

  She nodded slowly. “I understand. I’m not looking for a boyfriend either.”

  “Oh. Good.” He relaxed. Their server rushed by, carrying a tray full of empty cups. “Can we get our check?”

  The guy nodded.

  Brayden smiled at Natalie. “I’m beat. You know, still trying to get my energy back.”

  “Of course.” She grabbed her purse. “I’m going to run to the restroom, and I’ll be right back.”

  That would work. He could get up and wait for the bill up front, pay, and be ready to go as soon as she got back. “Perfect.”

  She blinked at him, and he realized that he’d said the wrong thing. Shoot. He wasn’t trying to be a jerk; he just wasn’t interested in her and didn’t want to lead her on. “I’ll get the check.”

  She smiled and hurried off, running her hands over her hair.

  He paid for dinner, because he did feel like a jerk. A few minutes later, she pulled into his driveway and moved to get out of the car with him. He stopped her with a touch on the arm. There weren’t fireworks or electricity or a growing heat in his body when he touched her. There was just the coolness of her skin on his fingers. “Thanks for the ride.” That should let her know that he wasn’t looking for more. “I’ll see you around.”

  “Sure.” She grinned, perky once again.

  Crap, he shouldn’t have touched her. But he’d told her he wasn’t looking for more than a friend. He’d been honest. That was the best he could do and the most anyone could ask for—yet she still had a hope in her smile that made him nervous. He ambled up the front walk, being sure he didn’t turn around to watch her go.

  He jumped when he almost bumped into his dad. “How long have you been standing there?” From the way Dad shifted his weight, it may have been a while.

  “Not that long.” Dad looked down at the large box in his arms. “Here.” He shoved it at Brayden.

  “What’s this?”

  “Tilly dropped it off.”

  Brayden set it on the ground, carefully. He still wasn’t all that steady when it came to bending over. It’s amazing how much the head and neck do to maintain balance. He was getting there; squatting was easier, because he could keep his spine straight. He lifted the flap and saw his old T-shirts, folded perfect. Only Tilly could fold T-shirts like that. She had a gift. A white plastic bag had the hospital logo on the front. His mouth went dry. He stuck his hand inside and felt around until he found the small square box. His fingers tingled as if he’d been shocked, and he jerked away.

  He pulled out a pair of Redrocks socks. On him, they reached mid-calf. On Tilly, they went up to her knees. She’d worn them with cutoff jeans, a T-shirt, and a pair of running shorts one day when they hiked Weeping Rock. The whole box smelled like her fabric softener. He used the same kind but could never smell it on his clothes like he could on hers. She had a magic touch. Dang, he missed her.

  “Why did she bring this over?”

  Dad glared, his steely blue eyes boring into Brayden. “That’s what people do when they break up. She’s cleaning you out of her life. You need to fix this.”

  Brayden flipped the flap closed, put his hands on his knees, and stood. “I can’t. Not now.”

  “Brayden, she’s the one. Not this nurse woman, not some girl you’re going to meet in the future. Her.” Dad rarely lectured. He was more of a sit-down-and-talk-things-through kind of parent. To see this much raw emotion, directed like arrows right at his chest, was unnerving.

  Brayden could see the ring in his mind, the large center stone surrounded by a halo of smaller stones. He’d picked that one because it reminded him of the two of them, his arms wrapped around her. Even though he was technically the bigger-sized person, she was the brightest—her happiness filling his life.

  He’d broken up with her to protect her. Why was that so hard for everyone to grasp? He had a chance at a job, but if he messed it up, then he was back to having nothing, to being nothing. And he couldn’t ask Tilly to take him on, and all the hassle that was a part of his life and injury, without some stability. “You taught me that a man takes care of his family.”

  Dad nodded and folded his arms.

  “I can barely take care of myself. I had to have my dad move in with me to help with simple things like laundry and cleaning the bathroom.” Although he wa
s getting to the point that he might be able to lean over the washing machine to pull clothes out.

  “So?”

  “So, how can I take care of Tilly if I can’t do simple things like empty the dishwasher?”

  “There’s more to taking care of a person than cleaning up after them. It’s more important to take care of their heart.”

  Brayden shook his head, the weight of what he’d lost lying heavy on his soul. “She was beat up, Dad. That week before you got here, she hobbled around, favoring her side. It killed me to see her in pain, and I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t even get out of bed.” He kicked the box into the corner by the front door. “I have film to watch.” He headed to his room, where he had a desk and a computer set up to watch game film.

  He had baseball in a much different capacity than he’d had before, but he still had it. And he could coach because he knew what he was doing on the field and could share that knowledge. But he had no idea how to be half the husband he’d planned to be, or half the man she’d planned on having.

  He knew what Tilly wanted in life, how she wanted to raise active kids who loved the desert and the sun and the sand and the wind as much as she did. Was he supposed to wait in the car while she led their family on adventure after adventure?

  There wasn’t a backup to marrying Tilly. There was only letting her move on—no matter how much it killed him to do so.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Tilly

  Tilly breathed in the smell of a full ballpark on a late summer afternoon. Hot dogs. Super-sweet lemonade. Buttered popcorn. Sunscreen. Grass. They all mingled together with the symphony of sounds. Baseballs smacking gloves. The players’ chatter on the field. The fans talking to each other and calling to the players. Tilly adored it all. She especially loved the heat that baked everything together. It hit her arms and the top of her head with a force that was both undeniable and comforting as she worked the section behind home plate.

  From here, she had a great view of Gunner on the field. He’d been brought in for the seventh inning. The Redrocks were behind by one. His job was to keep Atlanta from getting a hit and close out the inning. If he was nervous, he didn’t show it. Brayden would be proud of his reluctant protégé. Rumors floating around the front office were that the two of them butted heads more than they collaborated on pitching. Which was a shame. Gunner could use a little more Brayden in his delivery.

  “Hey, beautiful!” called the guy on the third row from the top. He and his group of three friends had already asked for two bottles of water, provided free for the expensive seats. She’d given them her spiel about ordering drinks and snacks for delivery on their phones, all the while feeling their eyes on parts of her she’d rather they didn’t admire. Maybe they wanted nachos.

  Her hand connected with the walkie-talkie at her hip, ready to call in the order herself rather than lean over one of their screens. “What can I help you with?”

  The guy didn’t get up. His wolfish smile sent a cold chill down her neck. “I saw you giving out sunscreen.”

  Another perk of paying to sit here. She had a bottle in her small apron and had squirted some into a mother’s hands, who then applied it to her children’s necks and ears. “Would you like some?” She fished it out of her apron.

  “You bet.” He yanked his shirt over his head. “Right there, baby.” He jerked his chin over his shoulder, indicating she should start rubbing it into his fleshy skin.

  Um. No.

  His buddies snickered.

  Tilly’s ears burned as she took in the thick layer of hair on the man’s pasty white shoulders. Nothing in her job description said she had to do this. She wasn’t going to touch him. The son of a jack-in-the-box could throw a fit; she didn’t care.

  “Come on, beautiful. I haven’t got all day.”

  “Sir,” she began in a purposeful tone.

  “Put your shirt back on.”

  Brayden, her heart whispered with a gusty sigh. She longed to lean against him, to let him be her knight in shining armor and to reward him with a kiss.

  Yes, she was an independent woman. Yes, she could handle this guy on her own. And yes, she was kind of upset at Brayden for stepping in like he had a claim on her. But she was also in a pleasant state of shock that he’d come to the rescue at all. Just like he’d done when they were together and that guy who had too much to drink had put his hand on her thigh.

  “Oh my heck!” exclaimed the man sitting next to Shirtless Joe. “It’s Brayden Birks.” He stood up, his hand outstretched. “This is so cool.”

  Brayden ignored the hand and the man who smiled like one of the kids on her field trips. “I said, put your shirt on. This is a family park.”

  Shirtless Joe about swallowed his tongue. “I didn’t mean anything.”

  Brayden put his hands on her arms, and Tilly’s knees went weak. Her traitorous body responded to him as if they hadn’t spent a month apart. Scratch that—it responded as if it had been thirsting for Brayden for a month and had finally gotten a drop of him. She licked her lips. So thirsty.

  “Tilly’s not a pretty face here to entertain you.” His hands kneaded her arms. Heaven. “Treat her right, or you’ll have to deal with me.”

  They looked him up and down, their soft bellies quaking. Broken neck or no broken neck, Brayden was a presence to be reckoned with. Even though she hadn’t turned around to look at him, hadn’t dared to make eye contact, she knew every rounded muscle, every ripple, and every bone. His chest brushed her back, and she lost the ability to breathe.

  He gave her one final squeeze and then was gone, the air hitting her skin like an ice cube. She sucked in through her teeth.

  A woman sitting in front of the rowdy boys tapped her calf. “Do you know him?” she asked in awe.

  Tilly swallowed the attraction burning through her like wildfire. “I, uh, used to.” She stared after him, his broad shoulders cutting through the crowd with ease. The Brayden that emerged from the accident had been a stranger. He’d looked at her like she was a problem to solve or someone he had to deal with, not the love of his life as he’d looked at her before. But this moment, the feelings in his touch, the concern in his voice, the protective growl—that was the old Brayden. That was the man she’d fallen in love with and the one she thought she’d lost.

  More confused than ever, she moved to intercept a latecomer and ask for his ticket. People tried to sneak into these seats, and she was supposed to keep them out. If only she could turn Brayden away as easily as a seat jumper. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to rid him from her system. She might just be hopeless.

  It was time to take more drastic measures.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Brayden

  Brayden walked out his front door, intent on taking the garbage can to the curb. He should be able to do this one simple household task. Ever since that box had ended up in his front entryway, he’d felt this need to prove to himself that he was capable. Okay, maybe he needed to prove it to Tilly too. But he wasn’t sure what good that was going to do either of them when he still didn’t have a secure job.

  At least he’d been able to protect her from the group of rowdy fans. His blood boiled at that memory of the guy whipping his shirt off in front of her. It was all he could do to keep from hauling his sorry butt up the stairs and tossing him into the parking lot. He shook out his hands, straining with aggravation. To further calm himself, he called up the feeling of holding Tilly’s arms, kneading them gently. They were every bit as strong as he remembered—curvatious, he used to say. She’d giggle over that.

  He had to stop thinking of her as his. She’d never really been his, he argued with himself. She belonged to the sunshine and cacti to the wind and the wilderness. Having held her for a short while was his miracle.

  Baseball was where he belonged.

  Gunner did fine last night. His curveball was on line, which was excellent for the team. Youonly swung at the bad curveballs. To swing and hit a
good curveball was to ground out. But a bad curveball didn’t have enough spin, and you could pop that baby up. They ended up winning by one run and the team congratulated Gunner, rallying around him on the mound and jumping like circus bugs. Brayden had watched the whole thing from his vantage point in the stands, where he could keep an eye on Tilly and the game.

  He grabbed the handles on the garbage can and leaned it back so that it would roll on the two wheels. The tricky part of this chore was not yanking on his shoulder muscles as he pulled. He made it to the curb, a disproportionate sense of accomplishment spurring him on. Clapping his hands together, he turned to see if Tilly was outside. He wanted to share this victory with her.

  Parked in front of her house was a white sedan with York Realty printed on the side in bright blue. He blinked and stepped closer. Under the logo was the phrase “We’ll help you find your next home.” He rubbed his eyes, wondering if he’d gone mad. Tilly was selling her house?

  The front door opened and a woman dressed in a cream pantsuit and teal blouse stepped out. She had highlights and hair that didn’t move. Her beaded jewelry was huge, and she carried a briefcase. Tilly shook her hand and said goodbye. She was about to shut the door when Brayden called her name.

  He hadn’t meant to, but his instincts were always faster than his brain. He stormed across the street, ignoring the woman getting into her car. “You can’t sell your house!” he bellowed. Things were spiraling out of control. First the box of his things, and now Tilly was moving. He stopped at the bottom of her steps and planted his hands on his hips. “Tilly, this isn’t healthy. You can’t sell your house because you’re mad at me.”

  Her mouth fell open.

  “You love this condo. Heck, I love this condo.” His voice dropped to normal conversation levels. “I’ll leave. If it will make you happy, make all this easier, I’ll sell.”