Venus. Goddess of Love.

Carter was in his bedroom. His sanctuary. It didn’t stop the music from below from penetrating the walls and floor. It was almost morning and they were still at it downstairs.

It was the annual holiday party he hosted at his place after each baseball season. It was usually only attended by the bachelors and single male friends of the Sluggers, for very good reason. That was because it was also usually very well attended by a flock of females.

He bent his head down to look through the telescope again. As bright as Venus was this time of year, he didn’t really need a telescope to see it. He just wanted it up close and personal.

It reminded him of someone special.

The long distance thing with Jordan had ended up being mostly texts and phone calls, with the very occasional conjugal visit, due to both their busy schedules. She would be back in Houston for the holidays, and a full week was dedicated to just the two of them.

It made his dick begin to twitch. Frankly, her graduation and permanent move back to Houston couldn’t come soon enough.

Usually by this time at his party, Carter would be in the downstairs bedroom at the other end of the house enjoying his own happy ending to the party. It was designed with the very sexually active bachelor in mind.

One day these parties would have to end. More and more of his teammates had managed to get themselves hitched. Wives knew what went on at these parties. No married man would ever expose himself to the ire that would ensue should he dare make so much as an appearance at a Carter Fox party.

He heard the commotion downstairs make an abrupt shift. The music still blared. But now there was a louder, more angry ruckus going on.

“Dammit,” Carter muttered to himself, figuring an anthill of a spat had turned into a mountain of a fight between a few the players, probably over some girl. His house, his responsibility. He sighed and made his way downstairs.

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs as soon as he saw the real reason for the change in the mood of the party.

“Well, there’s the man of the hour,” Bobby Joe Fox yelled. “The boy who can’t even answer the phone when his daddy calls.”

Carter had made good on his promise that the last payment to whomever, was indeed the last. Which meant, yes, ignoring his “daddy’s” phone calls. Eventually, they stopped coming, Bobby Joe finally taking the hint. And Carter hadn’t regretted it a bit. Good riddance.

Now it seemed like the old man was changing tactics. If Carter wouldn’t take his calls, he’d just show up in person.

Carter managed to keep his cool, but his fists tightened at his sides. Several of his teammates stood ready at the sides, while the women just looked on in startled fright.

“What the hell are you doing here, Bobby?” Carter asked, as if he didn’t already know the answer.

“What? A father can’t come to see his son durin’ the holidays?” Bobby Joe said, with a sinister grin. “You won’t take my calls, so I thought I’d drop in. Wish you a Merry Christmas personally.”

He looked around and his eye fell on a ginger-haired bombshell in a silver dress that looked like duct tape wrapped around her generous curves.

“It looks like I came at just the right time,” he growled, ambling toward the woman, whose eyes grew large once she saw the direct route he was making her way. “I always did have a weakness for redheads.”

Bobby Joe wasn’t a bad looking man. Anyone looking at the two of them could see he had contributed to Carter’s daring green eyes and full head of wavy blond hair. If the years of alcohol, and God knew what else, hadn’t muddled the edges, he would still have it. Now he was just a pathetic loser chasing after one pie in the sky after another.

Carter was the first to reach him, taking three long strides, even as two of his teammates stepped in to block the way.

“I don’t think so,” he said grabbing the man by the arm.

Carter had also been gifted his height from Bobby Joe, who stood eye to eye with his son. Once upon a time, he might have been able to hold his own, strength-wise, against Carter. Years of Carter playing in the majors had ended that, and now Bobby Joe simply struggled helplessly under the one hand that held him firmly in place.

Bobby Joe gave his son a look that suggested murder. “Don’t you put your hands on me, boy! You forget who taught you how to swing that bat?”

Carter said nothing, simply holding him in place.

“Well, since we’re getting all intimate, let me show you what your daddy had to go through thanks to his good for nothing, ungrateful son.”

Bobby Joe pulled up the sleeve to the arm Carter was holding. A series of what looked like cigarette burns, ten in total, ran up his forearm. It was enough to cause Carter to loosen his grip in surprise. He had known there would be consequences to his inaction, but it was a bit of a shock to see it in person. He could hear a few of the women gasp behind him.

“That’s what they called ‘getting off lightly,’” Bobby Joe growled. “Only because I assured them that my dear, sweet son would step up to the plate.”

“Bobby,” Carter sighed. It was time to end this.

“But, noooo,” Bobby Joe continued. “My ungrateful bastard of a—”

“Enough!” Carter said, getting angry again. It wasn’t his fault his dad couldn’t keep his nose out of trouble. It certainly wasn’t his responsibility to bail him out every time. Not anymore.

He began dragging Bobby Joe back toward the front door. That’s when the man took a hard swing at his son, busting his lip wide open. It was enough to shock Carter into letting go. Bobby Joe took the opportunity to pull away in a rage, only to run at his son again, swinging for his face.

Carter backed away quickly enough to avoid the brunt of it, but the knuckle managed to get his nose hard enough to draw more blood. Thankfully there was no indication it was broken. That’s when his teammates came running into help out, grabbing the man and holding him back.

His fellow Sluggers held Bobby Joe in place as he struggled. They looked at Carter questioningly waiting for his direction on what to do with him.

Carter strode over and grabbed Bobby Joe by the collar of his shirt and pulled him out of the hands of his teammates, literally dragging him to the front door. His father kicked and screamed the whole way. With one hand, Carter opened the door and dragged Bobby Joe outside.

He did a quick scan of the large circular driveway in front of his house, searching for the car that was most likely tied to the man in his hands. He’d left the front gates open so he wouldn’t have to buzz in every attendee. In the sea of Escalades, BMWs, and brand new pick-up trucks, the dirty, beat up, 10-year-old truck wasn’t too hard to find.

The only thing saving Bobby Joe from a trip to jail was the fact that Carter was sure the man wasn’t drunk. Carter was quite familiar with a drunk Bobby Joe, and there was a distinctly sharp lucidity in the man’s eyes that belied having had a sip at all tonight, oddly enough. Perhaps the man wanted to be sober enough to actually remember giving it to Carter the way he had.

Carter could taste the blood on his tongue, and it only served to piss him off. Carter pulled him up by his collar and slammed him against the driver’s side of his truck and held him there.

“You listen to me, and you listen good,” he growled in his face. “I don’t ever want to see your damn face or hear your damn voice again, you hear me? No phone calls, no text messages, no contact whatsoever. We are done!”

Bobby Joe just gave his son a sullen look.

“You got off lucky tonight,” Carter continued. “Next time I’ll beat your ass to a bloody pulp. Understand?”

Bobby Joe struggled underneath him, pressing his hands into Carter’s bloody face to push him away. Carter was more than happy to oblige, twisting away but waiting until the man was actually in his truck. He waited while the man fiddled around inside, looking for his keys or whatever. He wasn’t going to go back inside until he was sure the man was gone. Carter jumped back in surprise as Bobby Joe started the ignition and squealed out of the driveway in a hurry.

Carter took a moment to cool off in the chilly morning darkness.

Merry fucking Christmas.