IN THE SHORT time that Trevor had known Paige, he’d learned that telling her what to do didn’t usually turn out that well. Maybe he should have begged her to bring Nina to a game. Begged to let her come to the shoot at the Children’s Hospital. But Paige wasn’t easily manipulated in any direction, which was why Nina spent the next day hanging around Baseball’s Hottest Outfield.
At the hospital, Trevor grudgingly introduced Nina to the other players. Dwight bowed over her hand, then directed a glare at Trevor.
“I told you all about my baby brother, but I was thinking you were hatched in a lab or something. This is what I’m talking about, dude. This kind of thing. Secrets.”
“My sister and I haven’t seen each other in a while,” he muttered, feeling like an ass, once again.
“Don’t be mad at him,” Nina begged. “If you knew the whole story, you wouldn’t be mad.”
“Nina.”
“Sorry.”
The way Nina was spilling things, he was shocked she’d managed to keep their secret this long. He had to get her back to Tucson before she made any fatal mistakes.
“Just so you know,” Paige whispered as they walked into the Children’s Wing of the El Paso Memorial Hospital, “I arranged this shoot. It’s a PSA asking for donations to the children’s programs. I thought that might make you happy.”
“It would make me happy if Nina went home.”
“Are you worried about all the ballplayers who might fall in love with her?”
Trevor gave a double-take. With all his other concerns, that one had never come up. “She’s just a kid.”
“Isn’t she twenty-one? Just three years younger than me. How old is Manny Becker?”
Manny Becker didn’t even own a razor yet. “Oh shit.” Panic seized him. “We have to get her out of here.”
“Would you stop? You’re worse than my dad. She seems like a sweet girl who deserves to have a little fun.”
Marcia joined them at that point, and bustled Trevor toward the play area where a large Catfish banner had been set up as a backdrop. Five or six kids were grouped in front of it, two with shaved heads, one in a wheelchair. Shizuko and Dwight were already in position, chatting with the kids and signing baseballs.
Trevor took his usual “left field” positioning. Too bad he hadn’t brought his baseball collection. But that would lead to too many questions anyway. He slipped on his shades and assumed his usual badass pose. Nina stood next to Paige, watching with her hands clasped under her chin, looking as thrilled as if it were a real movie set.
Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all, Trevor reflected. Since Nina was here, why not show her what her big brother’s life was all about? As he posed, he stole a glance at Paige and his sister. Nina was whispering something to Paige as if the two had known each other forever. Warmth blossomed in his chest. It felt so good to be near Nina again. And Paige . . . always so warm, so welcoming, so . . . kind . . .
A smile must have snuck onto his face. “Stay in character, Trevor,” Marcia warned as she took another shot. “Don’t mess with perfection.”
Right. People wanted nasty Trevor, and that’s what they should get. He erased all trace of that smile off his face.
After the shoot, the kids, all wearing huge grins, were escorted back to their rooms.
“Don’t go anywhere yet,” Marcia told the players in her rat-a-tat voice. “There’s one more shot I want to get. We’re aiming for viral, and a big piece of that is interactivity. We asked fans for ideas on the team Facebook page. The biggest request was that we do a shot without those shirts. What do you say we give them what they want?”
Trevor went cold as a walk-in freezer. Taking off his shirt in the clubhouse was one thing. The guys were more focused on their showers than anything else, and no one noticed how quickly he showered, how he spent the minimum amount of time getting dressed. But stripping down, right here, right now, with this audience of hospital workers, not to mention Paige and Nina? No.
“Sorry, I have a nudity clause in my contract,” he joked.
But Dwight had already ripped off his shirt and was showing off his chiseled form. “Anything for the fans. They want us to lose the pants too? Just say the word.”
Nina giggled. In Trevor’s opinion, she was doing entirely too much of that around the Catfish.
Shizuko slowly removed his shirt, revealing a golden expanse of hard chest muscles, with some inked letters. “Make sure you get my tattoo in the shot. It’s a Japanese love poem from the twelfth century.”
“Mine’s a quote from Jackie Robinson.” Dwight rolled his shoulder forward to demonstrate. “T, you got a bird or something, right?”
Marcia clapped her hands. “Brilliant, guys! We’ll do one frontal shot, then another in which we can see all your tattoos.”
“You don’t want to see all of mine,” Dwight winked. “Gotta keep this R rated.”
Laughter from the audience. Even Paige was smiling, while Nina had gone bright pink. Trevor stood frozen. His hawk tattoo, which covered nearly his entire back, had been carefully designed to hide the scars he’d acquired in juvie. He refused to let Nina see them. How could he get out of this?
“I’ll do the shirtless thing, but not the ink,” he said, pulling his shirt over his head. “That’s private. And make it quick, my sister’s here and I want to show her around.”
Making sure his back was to the banner, he flexed his arm muscles and glared at the camera—not hard to do, since he was pissed as hell. Dwight and Shizuko struck their poses, and Marcia clicked the camera. Trevor refused to look in Paige and Nina’s direction. Just get this over with, quick quick quick.
As soon as Marcia stopped taking photos, Trevor bent to retrieve his shirt. But Dwight was doing the same thing at the exact same time, and they collided halfway down. He nearly fell forward, catching himself with one hand on the floor. In the process, his back rotated forward, just for a moment.
He straightened up and yanked his shirt back on. Finally daring to glance in Nina’s direction, he saw that her face had gone completely white. How? she mouthed.
He went with the Face of Stone. No explanations, no discussions. “Can we get back to playing ball now?”
For just a second he caught Paige’s eye. Damn, that girl was sharp. Her arms were folded across her chest and she was looking from the still-shaken Nina to him. He was going to have to be a lot more careful around her.
Although he tried like hell to avoid her, Nina managed to maneuver him into the men’s bathroom on their way out of the hospital. “That’s the Wachowski emblem, isn’t it? The same one Dad had on his shoulder.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I know you didn’t have it before you went to juvie. They did it to you, didn’t they? You never would have done that to yourself. You hate those guys. They found you and they did that to you.”
“It’s over, Nina. It happened, now it’s over.”
She shoved at his chest. “You got branded when you were in juvie. You didn’t even tell me. How am I supposed to live with that?”
“You just have to.” He made every word count, as if each one was final. “Do you want to make it up to me? Just keep your mouth shut about anything to do with us. I’m begging you.”
Tears swam in her eyes. “It doesn’t feel right, Trevor. It just doesn’t.”
“I’m sorry. Now come on, sweetheart.” He hustled her out of the bathroom before she could have a meltdown. “Just stick with Paige, enjoy the ball game, and we’ll have dinner tonight. Then you’re going home. That’s all I want. Promise to give me what I want?”
Sniffling, she wiped away tears with the heel of her hand. “I don’t know, Trevor.”
“Making your sister cry, Trevor?” Paige emerged from the women’s bathroom next door, suspicion drawing her face into a frown. “Why am I not shocked?”
Before Trevor could lob a comeback, Nina erupted. “Why does everyone think everything has to be Trevor’s fault? My brother is a good person. Better than that! He’s a great person. It’s not his fault that I’m crying, I mean, I’m crying because of him but not because he said or did anything, just because it’s wrong that people automatically blame him no matter what, it’s just wrong.”
Trevor gritted his teeth through her entire outburst, just waiting for Nina to spill the words that would alert Paige. But Nina was used to hiding the truth. They’d both been doing it for so long, it was second nature. Nothing she said would point Paige toward Detroit or the past.
When Nina was done, Trevor attempted a smile at Paige. “We were reliving some childhood shit and it got a little heavy. Right, Nina?”
His sister nodded, still looking seriously unhappy. But he had an idea of what would cheer her up.
“Paige, is that offer of front row seats still good?”
“Of course.” Speculation shimmered in Paige’s wide blue eyes, but she left it at that.
“Great. Go with Paige, little sis.” He kissed Nina on the top of her head. “All I ask is that you don’t draw too much attention to yourself and that you don’t look at any of the players.”
“What? How am I supposed to do that?”
Paige shook her head and took Nina’s hand. “Come on. I’m going to teach you every trick I know about dealing with bossy, interfering family members.”
In the field level box, Paige introduced Nina to Crush. Like everyone else, he did a surprised double-take at the news that Trevor had a sister.
“Why do the players seem so shocked that your brother has a family?” she asked Nina as they took their seats. “Everyone acts like he’s a marble statue come to life or something.”
“He definitely has a family,” said Nina. “But not exactly a normal one.” She snapped her mouth shut and clamped her hand over it.
“Well, don’t worry, girl,” Crush said. “You and Paige ought to have a lot in common, then. No normal families around here.” He winked, and Paige experienced a rush of affection for her cynical father. He had many, many faults, but at least he never put on a false front.
Unlike Trevor, whose front was more like a glacier.
She scanned the crowd, spotting signs for Baseball’s Hottest Outfield even here in enemy territory. She also noticed a “Baseball’s Horniest Outfield” and a “Baseball’s Sluttiest Outfield” sign. Well, that sort of thing was to be expected—all part of the viral nature of the campaign.
They all stood for the National Anthem. Paige watched Trevor, noticing how his eyes kept wandering to their section, and how his face would lighten at the sight of Nina. This slim blond girl must know all sorts of secrets about the man of mystery who had fascinated her. Was there a way to pry them out of her without alarming her?
They sat down as the Catfish pitcher—Dan Farrio, according to the announcer—began warming up. She decided to do the same. Start with some simple warm-up pitches.
“So,” Paige began casually, “how long do you think you’ll be staying?”
“I don’t know. It depends on Trevor.”
“I hope you can come to Kilby too. You can visit us at Bullpen Ranch.” Keeping with the pitching analogy, Paige thought of this as a setup pitch, something to lull and misdirect the batter. Maybe some of her father’s baseball talk was rubbing off on her.
“That would be awesome!” Nina’s face dimmed. “But I’ll probably just go back after this.”
“If it’s a long trip home, you should probably wait until tomorrow.” Slider, inside. A sneaky question disguised as a kind statement.
“It’s not too long,” Nina said warily.
Paige decided to change tactics. “You know, the first time I heard Trevor’s last name, I thought ‘Iron Man.’ Where does the name Stark from?”
Nina giggled. “He chose it because of the movie, how’d you guess?” She clapped her hand over her mouth again. “I mean, it’s just a coincidence, and I guess it’s Russian or something, because—” She clapped her other hand on top of the first, her eyes wide with distress above them.
So . . . Stark wasn’t Trevor’s real last name, and they came from a Russian background, which made sense given their blond, Northern European good looks. Paige filed the information away, but felt so awful about upsetting Nina that she decided to ask no more questions.
She put her arm around the girl. “Nina, listen to me. Trevor’s a Catfish, and that makes him a member of the family. You’re among friends here. You have nothing to worry about.”
But Nina was looking into left field, where Trevor patrolled the grass like a six-foot-three panther. “He’s a really good player, isn’t he?”
Crush leaned over. “He is. You should be real proud of your brother.”
“Does he always look so mean?”
“That’s his game. He plays to win. If you could get your brother to behave himself off the field, he’d be starting for the Friars before you know it.”
“Oh, that’s not going to happen,” said Nina wistfully. “Not for a long time, anyway.”
Paige exchanged a confused look with her father. Why on earth would Trevor not make it to the Friars? Wasn’t that the entire purpose of a baseball career? “Why not, Nina?” Paige asked gently, breaking the promise she’d just made. “He’s got the skills, even I can see that.”
Nina looked like she wanted to cry. “Nothing. I just mean, it seems like it’s taking forever, that’s all, and I shouldn’t have come here.”
“No, sweetie, it’s all good.” Paige squeezed her shoulder in comfort, but a roar from the crowd interrupted her. The Chihuahuas batter had fouled off a pitch. The ball was plummeting toward their section. A kaleidoscope of players moved after it, with Leiberman, the shortstop, closest to it, motoring across the infield lines. The third baseman and Trevor were also running toward the action. Trevor yelled something, and Leiberman yelled back, “I got this!”
He closed in on the stands, his eyes riveted to the ball. Paige looked up and saw that it was dropping more or less toward their heads. Acting on instinct, she plastered her body over Nina’s. More shouts from the field, gasps from the crowd, and then—with a loud thump, Jim Leiberman tripped on the barrier between the field and the stands and flew across the top of the seats. The occupants had already scurried out of the way, leaving the seats clear for him to land across the seat backs, belly down, like a young whale beached on rocks.
He stared at them, his face only a few inches away.
“Hey, Bieberman.” Shakily, Paige peeled herself away from Nina. “Nice play.” Emerging from behind Paige, Nina blinked in complete confusion at the scene around her.
“What just happened? Who are you?”
Leiberman blushed. “I’m . . . uh . . . Jim Leiberman and I’m the shortstop for the Catfish. Hi Crush, hi Paige. I was . . . uh . . . looking for the ball.”
To their left, Crush burst out laughing. “Did you check your glove, boy genius?”
“Oh.” Leiberman seemed to have trouble pulling his gaze away from Nina’s flushed face. Finally he opened his glove. The ball nestled inside like a pearl. “I got it!” he yelled behind him.
“Head’s up, Bieberman,” Trevor called. He and the third baseman grabbed him by the legs and lifted him away from the stands. The shortstop held the ball triumphantly into the air, to wild applause and some boos from the El Paso fans.
As the Catfish players set Leiberman’s feet on the ground, he took one peek back at Nina, who sent him an adorable little wave. Trevor gave Leiberman a cuff on the shoulder. On his way back to the outfield, he shot a look at Paige, one scorching glance that seemed to sink right into her soul.
On someone’s handheld radio, the announcers were going nuts. “Take that, Baseball’s Hottest Outfield. An infielder makes the play of the game. It’s not a guy who gets a lot of attention, usually. Jim Leiberman is one of those low-profile players who doesn’t necessarily grab the headlines, but holy Catfish. That was some play. Looked like he was body-surfing out there.”
“Sure did. If he was trying to get Crush Taylor to notice him, he picked an interesting way to do it. Just crash into the seats right in front of him. Was it my imagination, or was he making a little light conversation with some ladies out there?”
“Well, we are talking about the Catfish, after all. You never know with these guys. They’ve always been on the quirky side, but that could change if Crush is forced to give up the team.”
“True that. So far, the Catfish seem to be rallying to the cause. Since Crush made his famous vow, they’ve been steadily inching up in the standings. Should be an interesting summer down in Kilby. Up next, we have El Paso third baseman . . .”
Nina had been listening closely. “Why did you call him Bieberman?”
“Oh, that’s just a nickname. The team thinks he looks like Justin Bieber. You know ballplayers, they love nicknames.”
Nina sighed. “Justin Bieber? Oh, he so looks like him. Except better. More muscles, you know?”
Paige bit her lip to keep from laughing. How could this innocent-seeming girl, with her wide eyes and habit of blurting things out, possibly be related to tough, icy Trevor Stark? Except that as it turned out, “Stark” wasn’t his real last name, and he wasn’t icy at all. Every layer she peeled away revealed something more fascinating.
“Does Trevor have a nickname?” Nina asked.
Paige thought hard but couldn’t remember hearing the guys call Trevor anything other than T, occasionally. She turned to Crush. “Dad? Does Trevor have a nickname?”
“Absolutely. I just can’t say any of ’em in mixed company.” He winked at Nina to take the sting from his words. The girl giggled, then stole another glance in the direction of the shortstop.
Settling back in her seat, Paige decided she’d played CIA interrogator long enough. Nina was too innocent, too appealing, too vulnerable. She refused to use her as a way to gain information about Trevor. She’d just have to use more old-fashioned methods. The Internet. Conversation. Luring him into bed.
Sweet Lord, where had that thought come from? Her face burned as if she’d said it out loud. Of course she wouldn’t do anything so underhanded. If she went to bed with Trevor Stark, it would be because . . . oh God, because she wanted to. She couldn’t stop thinking about it. Trevor made her feel sexy and wanted. When he touched her, she forgot everything else. She forgot about common sense, caution, their pact of denial. She forgot that he kept secrets from her. That getting involved with another professional athlete was a terrible idea. That he was trying very hard to keep distance between them.
She heaved a sigh. Trevor had amazing powers of control. But she had unbelievable powers of persistence. Just ask the baseball legend on her left.