Erica

“Oh, Jesus Christ, man,” Ren said as he jumped back in time to dodge the puke spewing out of our sickly reporter.

It was Ren’s worst nightmare, and I could see the terror in his eyes as he watched Nick toss his cookies on the floor. It would have been comical had Nick not been so pitiful.

“I’m so sorr—” Nick began to apologize but was cut short by another wave of nausea.

The smell was repugnant as he panicked, wiping his mouth and working out another apology before he retched again. Unable to contain my surprise, I covered my mouth to hide my laugh as Ren’s furious eyes found mine.

“Are we done here?” he snapped, as if to insinuate that the situation was somehow my fault.

I walked toward Nick, who was turning green. “Nick, I’m so sorry you’re sick. We can reschedule for another day, okay?”

Nick nodded, his humiliation apparent as he left the locker room and the cameraman followed. I turned back to face Ren.

“What an asshole you’ve turned into,” I scolded. “Are you such a miserable bastard now you can’t even find any concern for the poor man or at least find a little humor in the situation?”

“Yep, we’re done,” Ren said as he slammed his locker.

“Actually, we’re not,” the cameraman spoke up as he rejoined us with a cell phone to his ear. “Not enough time to divert. We’re live in thirty-seconds.”

Ren froze as the guy lifted the camera toward him and held out the mic to me.

“Think you can swing it? You’re his rep, right?”

I nodded.

“It’s a three-minute segment,” he instructed. “Just the usual questions. We’re at fifteen seconds.”

I hesitated briefly before I grabbed the microphone and lunged over the mess on the floor toward Ren, who caught me just in time.

Composing myself the best I could, a nervous laugh threatened to bubble up as Ren’s eyes watered with disgust. I braved looking into the camera with a smile as the man behind it cued that we were live.

“I’m Erica Wild, filling in for Nick today in Paradise Valley. I’m standing with Ren Makavoy, an asset to Denver since he was signed two years ago.”

Ren stood stiffly next to me, and I saw the surprise in his eyes when I rattled off a few of his highlight plays over the last two seasons. I turned to see his warm eyes on me.

“Ren, how are you feeling about the team this year?” Temporarily stunned with my recap of the last two years of his career—footage I’d watched on my downtime at the field—he studied my face as I gave him wide eyes to let him know he was stunting the interview.

“I’m feeling confident,” Ren spoke evenly, his eyes darting from me to the camera.

He was visibly shaking, which I found hilarious, all the typical smugness wiped away by a sickly reporter and his ex-girlfriend grilling him on camera. It was all I could do to keep from laughing. I began to go over our rehearsed questions.

“Tell us, Ren, what do you see happening for Denver this season?”

“Collectively, I see us winning games, breaking records, and going all the way. Denver deserves a winning team, and we plan to give them one.”

After a few more questions, I went rogue. Ren was still on edge, and I wanted to use it to my advantage.

“I’m curious, as I’m sure other fans are, to know if you have any superstitious habits?”

His jaw tick was the only sign of his irritation. “None to speak of,” he said, and I had to fight the urge to roll my eyes.

“No pre-game rituals?” I pressed, feigning innocence.

Ren gave me a murderous glance before he relented. “I guess you can say I have a little ritual. I like to fool around with a deck of cards before the game. It keeps me sharp, focused.”

“Care to demonstrate?”

Ren stiffened as I looked pointedly at his pocket. I knew his card tricks would wow his fans. It was something he only shared with me, but to get the point across to the rest of the world that he was a man with a little more substance and not just a pretty playboy with a bad temperament, they needed to see it for themselves.

“I think I can manage one trick,” he said with a hint of ice in his voice before he gave me a half-assed wink that told me I was in deep shit.

He pulled the deck from his pocket and split it in half, shuffling the divided cards with skilled fingers. I saw a few lingering guys in the locker room pause to look on.

Ren didn’t pull simple card tricks. He was an expert at it. He’d got a magic set for Christmas one year at one of his foster homes and had only been interested in the cards.

I could never get enough of seeing his face light up when he performed them. It was a peek of Ren in his best form, relaxed, confident, and smiling.

And while we were together and in bed one night, after hours of memorizing each other’s bodies, I’d laid with my head on his shoulder while he performed trick after trick for an audience of one. It was one of the best nights of my life.

In that locker room, inches away from Nick’s lunch and feet away from a few of his teammates, I watched him slowly come into himself on live television. And he wowed us all. Even the cameraman moved his head from behind the lens to get a better view. It was magic. A glimpse of the genuine Ren Makavoy.

“That’s really something,” I said, as if I wasn’t the woman he’d manipulated into a first date with those cards.

The woman he hadn’t ravaged on that very deck seconds after I told him I loved him.

As if he hadn’t pushed into me with our hands clasped and our chests together, our mouths molded, and our hearts on fire.

I stared at the deck with longing as Ren packed them away and put them back in his pocket. His confidence returned as he looked over at me with a smug smirk.

In an instant, I was devastated and furious as I pictured him with Natasha the night before. Once again, I’d been blindsided with too much of who he was after us.

I white-knuckled the mic as I commanded the interview.

“So, tell us, Ren, we’re all interested to know. Will there be anyone special in the seats for you this year?” I thrust the mic toward him, smacking him in the mouth and tapping his teeth, hard. Ren jerked back in surprise before he composed himself enough to answer.

“The fans,” he said carefully, looking me over as if to ask what in the hell I was doing.

“Any special lady in your life?”

Ren blocked the mic midway to his mouth to spare his reddening lip and teeth from another blow.

Somehow, he read me and worked the camera like a pro. “Every lady with Denver gear on to show their support.”

I was on dangerous ground and found relief when the cameraman gestured for us to wrap it up.

“Well, we wish you the best of luck this year, Ren.”

“Thank you,” he sneered as the camera cut off and he touched his finger to his swelling lip.

“What the fuck was that?”

The locker room was empty now save for the camera guy packing up his equipment, who chose that moment to compliment me.

“You did a great job,” he said, giving me a wink.

Ren looked between us and his eyes dulled. “I beg to fucking differ.”

“I’m Lewis.” He held out his hand to me, completely ignoring Ren’s tantrum, to take mine and I gave it to him. “You really should consider doing something in media.”

“Thanks,” I said as a sickly Nick reappeared, spitting out more apologies before Lewis began to whisk him out the door, but not without extending an invitation to me first. “Can I call you sometime?”

“Are you fucking serious?” Ren scoffed, looking between us.

Lewis wasn’t half bad looking. In fact, in all the chaos I hadn’t noticed just how good looking he was.

“I’m pretty fucking serious,” Lewis retorted as Ren shot him daggers.

“Nice to meet you too, Makavoy.”

Ren’s voice was a full-on threat. “Fuck yourself.”

“I knew you were full of shit, and that was all just for show,” Lewis sounded off snidely as a vein in Ren’s neck popped out.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

I grabbed Ren’s arm and he shook me off as he took a threatening step toward Lewis.

“Ren, chill out,” I said pointedly before I pleaded with Lewis, who was still holding Nick up, waiting on my answer. “Please, just take him and go.”

Lewis looked between Ren and me. “Sure, but just so you know, you can do way better than this asshole.”

Ren’s body coiled as his eyes went to ice.

“Jesus Christ, man, do you have any intention of keeping your fucking teeth today?” He was about to snap, and I braced myself for it when Lewis finally disappeared out of sight.

“You can’t engage in that crap, Ren,” I said calmly.

He turned on me then, cold fury in his eyes.

“Don’t engage? Says the woman who asked every question I’m supposed to be avoiding?”

“That was the first of several thousand inquiries this year of who you’re sticking your dick in, boss. I’m just prepping you.” I shrugged and began to head for the door as a janitor walked past us to mop up the mess between us.

“No, that wasn’t prep. That was jealousy, pure and simple,” he whisper-yelled, closing the space between us. I glanced around us as he closed in.

“Stop it,” I hissed, on edge with anger threatening to get the best of me. I moved to get around him, and he caught my wrist.

“I don’t think I will,” Ren said, his voice ice. “You don’t get to pull that shit on camera.”

“You did,” I reminded. “And I was blessed to witness it all!” Disgusted, I shook my wrist loose as he followed me toward the door of the locker room.

“I didn’t fuck her. I had dinner with her. I was trying to do right by her, which she deserved. I’m trying to do the right thing by everyone.”

I turned to him then and let my anger feed. I might have walked out on him, but he made damn sure I felt his wrath.

“You didn’t even give me a chance to regret walking out on us, Ren, because a minute later you became exactly what I feared you would. I hated the sight of you. I resented us.” I saw him flinch, and I took a step forward, gaining ground. “I resented everything that happened between us.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“You think that back there was jealousy? That wasn’t jealousy.” I said as I crossed my arms.

“I’m sure of it,” he snapped. “But why don’t you lie to me and tell me what it was.”

“That was assumption because that’s all you ever grace us with, your adoring fans, those of us who want to see the best in you. But now we can only assume the worst. You put a sick taste in our mouths by becoming the epitome of the cliché. I had a grudge against baseball when I left you, but you made sure I was finished with it.”

Ren stood, eyes widening as I let my anger reign. “You made it a joke, a disgusting ego sport on and off the field. And I pity anyone who idolized you for the man you were the last two years.”

I saw the visible rip in his chest but refused to let up.

“You want a reason for why I left you? Here’s a good one. This fucking sport. It destroys things; it destroys relationships and people.”

“No, that was you,” Ren accused as he stared down at me.

“Was it me? Or did I get out just in time, before you turned into this self-important asshole who thinks he’s the only one with talent? Look at what you’ve become! There was no way I could watch it change you or what we had. And you are so much like him, Ren. So much.”

“What in the hell are you talking about? I’m so much like who?” Ren demanded, his eyes full of hurt.

“I hate this fucking sport! That’s what I’m talking about. How could I ever be the woman for you when I hate baseball, Ren? It ruined my family, my mother. It ruined everything!”

“ERICA!”

I stood there, stunned, as my father’s voice snapped me back into the room full of watchful eyes. I had the attention of every person in the room, but I kept my eyes on Alice, who had just walked in with the purse I had left in her Jeep. She nodded in encouragement as she watched me cower at the sound of authority behind me.

I turned to face the great Lucas Wild. A Hall of Fame inductee and career sportsman. A man who put baseball above everything, especially his wife, his sons, and his daughter.

My mother was a martyr to the sport I loathed.

She’d sacrificed her life to it, for only stolen moments when my dad felt like throwing her a bone and treating her like a stray dog afterward.

Full of contempt, I stared into the eyes of my father while his jaw ticked. I was the first to speak.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was invited,” he said sternly as he eyed Ren behind me. “Good to see you, Ren.”

“I invited him,” Ren said behind me.

“Hey, Lucas.”

I laughed without humor and looked back to Ren. “Of course you invited him. You two were thicker than thieves when we dated. I’m guessing the end of us wasn’t the end of everything,” I said, looking between them.

“You two have a lot in common,” I said with a shaky voice, the exhaustion taking over. “So much more now, don’t you think, Ren?” I asked as the first tears fell down my cheeks.

“I mean you idolized him for being a ball player and a family man. You couldn’t wait to live a life like the great Lucas Wild.” I shook my head and swallowed a threatening sob. “Little did you know, the life you’ve lived the last two years are more his style.”

“Erica,” my father said with bite as he glared at me with contempt.

“Sorry, Dad. Not this time. I won’t keep quiet.”

Ren looked stunned as he took a step forward. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Erica, you need to go collect yourself,” my father snapped as I stared on at the love of my life.

Ren’s eyes were filled with confusion, and I was done being the source of it.

“I couldn’t make you choose,” I confessed with a broken voice. “I loved you too much. But I couldn’t get over it, Ren. I couldn’t make peace with the game. Not even for you. I was terrified of becoming like her, like my mother. I tried so hard to get over it. But I watched it go on for years and years. I watched him use her and discard her like she was nothing. And she loved him just as much as I loved you.”

“Damn it, Erica!” My father finally lost his composure, his tall frame going taught in his dressed to impress Armani suit.

He looked around the room, fuming and humiliated, his olive complexion turning beet red. I’d never been so satisfied as I was at that moment, seeing the look on his face. We had a small audience, but the audience we had was enough.

Ren’s opinion of him mattered. It mattered a lot. When I introduced Ren to my father, I could see it in his eyes. My dad was excited about having another player to mentor, and I quickly realized that Ren idolized my dad.

I never had the heart to tell Ren that the man he looked up to was a completely different man off the field and out of the press. He wasn’t the family man he portrayed himself to be. At all.

When it came to having a father, I was a baseball orphan. And I shared that burden with my brothers.

Lucas Wild was drunk when he was home and verbally abusive to my mother. Baseball had consumed him, body, mind, and soul. Even his precious induction into the Hall of Fame hadn’t satiated anything for him. His unhealthy obsession with the sport had cost him everything, including the admiration of his sons and the respect of his daughter.

I looked at Ren, who was lost to me. Not because I had left, but because I never showed him my fear. I’d named it. I told him countless times I didn’t want to have to compete with the sport for his affection, and though he gave me assurances, he never quite got it. I’d spent years playing along with my father’s charade that we look like the perfect family, and it cost me the confidence I needed to be with Ren. I didn’t believe in happily ever after with baseball. My father’s example was far too prominent to pay attention to other examples like Rafe and Alice or Andy and April. And to be honest, I had never seen that growing up. I had always seen my father’s teammates behaving like idiots among other things no kid should ever see. I’d been surrounded by good-looking liars all my life. My father included.

And when he left for another season, it was me who had to deal with my mother when she withdrew. He ruined her with his absence and half-assed love. I wouldn’t, couldn’t let myself deal with the same fate.

I was just another girl with daddy issues. But those issues were enough to make me run away from a life with Ren.

And though I knew deep down Ren was different, I still couldn’t subject myself to a life filled with baseball, dedicated to a sport I felt had robbed me. At least that’s what I thought when I walked out.

Ren deserved a cheerleader. Someone who could be a decent club wife and give him all the support he needed.

“I could never make you choose,” I said as one tear traced another down my cheeks. “So, I chose for you.”

Ren swallowed as I turned to face my fear.

“Don’t worry, Dad,” I sniffed as I glared at him. “I wasn’t invited, and I’m not staying.”

I looked over to Alice and gave her a pleading look. “Please get me the hell out of here.”