Chapter Four

Rhett

The next hours set my already frantic nerves on fire, and for the first time ever, I was glad I was in the dugout and not scheduled to pitch that night. We won, barely, and after the game, my coach, told me to go home and get some rest, but the way Don said it implied I needed a lot more than just rest. I felt like a fucking prize idiot for causing Brenna’s injury.

Cursing, I stabbed my finger at my phone the next morning, needing to call Ernie to talk me down from the ledge. Even though our relationship bordered on the superficial with plenty of boozing, whoring, and laughing together, I knew I could unload my worry on him, and he’d take it. I cursed again as the phone rang in my ear because prior to today, I hadn’t exactly had any. Before knocking out Brenna Sinclair, the only thing I’d really had to worry about was knocking up some random due to a condom disaster and having to deal with the fallout, not to mention the hit to my wallet.

Still, this felt worse than dealing with the possibility of fathering a million bastards. I’d really hurt someone – someone who hated my guts. It reeked of retribution, and I could almost feel the tepid breath of the publicity hounds breathing down my neck and calling me out.

“Hey,” Ernie said, answering on the first ring. “What’s up, Rhettinator? You feelin’ any better?”

“Not really,” I grumbled, wincing at the nickname. I used to love it since it inferred I was a badass. Now, it just made me feel like a jackass. “I feel like shit. She’s gonna really hate me when she recovers, Ern. She’s gonna write something that makes that last piece look like a Bible verse. And she’d be right. Look what I caused with my massive ego. I knew dipshit Andy couldn’t hit my sinker but threw it anyway because I thought he’d just be catching air.”

Ernie laughed, and I rolled my eyes, suppressing a groan. He might’ve been my best friend, but he’d ride my ass for a few tortured minutes before I’d get any sympathy out of him.

“Why not go see her? I mean, maybe she won’t remember you.” Ernie’s voice took on a humorous lilt. “What’s the worst that can happen? I know you. You won’t feel better until you’ve seen for yourself that she’s okay. And if the paparazzi gets wind of it, the photo op won’t hurt your cred.”

I gnawed at the inside of my lip until I tasted blood. “I’m not sure I want my picture taken in regards to this,” I said. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“Yeah, man,” Ernie said and chuckled. “Besides, some of those nurses are hot as hell, and they know just how to take care of a man. Maybe you can pick one up for me, eh?”

I had to admit, the idea of seeing a bunch of sexy nurses flit around was pretty damn appealing. Those tight white uniforms, bright red lipsticked smiles.

And possibly, the chance to make it up to Brenna. Killing two birds with one stone. I gave myself an A for expediency.

“Okay,” I said. “I’m going.”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you at the field, then after the game, we’ll throw some back, and it’ll calm you the fuck down. Stress, especially female induced stress is bad for your mojo.”

“Thirsty” was our code for going out, getting bad decisions wasted, and picking up the two most beautiful women in sight. It was almost like therapy, except better…even when dealing with the residual hangover the next morning.

“Yeah,” I said. “See you.”

We hung up, and I shoved my phone back in the pocket of my jeans. Before last year, people on the street rarely recognized me without my uniform. But ever since I hit it big – really big – I’d taken to wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap pulled low over my face on the rare occasions I left my condo and didn’t want to shake hands and pose for selfies.

On my way, I grabbed a newspaper. The headline on the front page of the sports section made me cringe. My latest mistake spelled out in bold black letters:

“THE HIT MAN: STAR PLAYER BRADSHAW KNOCKS ENEMY JOURNALIST FOR A LOOP!”

The article caused even more regret to kick me in the balls. I didn’t recognize the journalist’s name, but I felt like I was reading something from the National Enquirer instead of The New York Times. It was lurid and sensational. By the time I was finished reading, my stomach rumbled its displeasure. Brenna had been portrayed as some ditzy wannabe journalist – definitely not a skilled professional. And I came across as a sleazy playboy, who’d do anything to seek revenge against the rogue writer who’d done me wrong. It was pretty fucking nauseating.

Just then, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I groaned when I pulled it out. There was a text that couldn’t be ignored no matter how much I might want to. Don. And he sounded pissed. Make sure your head is in the game tonight. We need you.

That wasn’t good. I gritted my teeth as I rolled up the newspaper and shoved it in my back pocket. With my luck, I’d now be on Don’s shit list for at least the next two seasons, running laps and staying late at practice.

The hospital turned into a major disappointment. Of course, none of the nurses buzzed around in cute little white uniforms. They all wore baggy scrubs, no makeup, and some of the worst shoes I’d ever seen in my life. Like Crocs, only uglier. Still, I put on my biggest smile and waltzed up to the nurses’ station like I owned the damn joint.

“Hey there,” I said, turning my charm up to an eleven. “What’s your name?”

The girl behind the desk sighed. She looked young – maybe all of twenty-two or twenty-three – with shiny black hair pulled into a loose ponytail. But the hair seemed to be her only saving grace. A mottled complexion became even ruddier as she stared at me through glassy brown eyes. Dull. Lifeless. She didn’t recognize me. Shit. If it hadn’t been for the scrubs, I would have taken her for a patient who had wandered out of their room.

Instead of responding, she stared at me with a blank look and tapped her name tag with a ragged nail.

“Hi, Elaine,” I said warmly, raising my eyebrows, and giving her my best grin. “I was just hoping you could help me find a friend. I’m looking for Brenna Sinclair – she might be in the head trauma ward.”

Elaine stared at me, working the tip of her tongue over her teeth like she was on the verge of an important discovery. Her eyes narrowed, and finally, her face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Oh my god,” she breathed, nostrils flaring. “You’re Rhett Bradshaw!”

I nodded, wincing at the loud way she’d announced my name across the hospital. Anyone scrambling about within earshot turned to stare at us. At me.

“Don’t wear it out,” I said, leaning closer and winking. A deep flush appeared on Elaine’s cheeks, and she bit her lip.

“Oh my god,” Elaine repeated. “Um, I’m so sorry. What did you say you needed?”

I laughed. “I’m looking for Brenna Sinclair. I think she had a light concussion. Can you help me out, Elaine?” I made sure to lower my voice when I said her name – it was a trick I’d used on countless girls before, and when Elaine’s blush streaked from her cheeks to down her neck, I knew it had worked once again.

“You mean the girl you knocked out?” Elaine tittered. She tapped a folded copy of The New York Times lying beside her paperwork on the desk. “I read about it this morning,” she squeaked in excitement. “Wow, Rhett. You really know how to get in the papers.”

I tried to laugh along with her, but it stilled in the back of my throat. “Yes,” I said after a long pause. “Now, can you tell me where Brenna is?”

“I swear, oh my god, if it had been me, I’d have been so happy to be hit by a ball that you threw,” Elaine gushed. She started giggling and clasped her hands to her ample chest like I’d just given her a prize. “I mean, can you believe it? It’s like something out of a romantic movie. And here you are, visiting her.”

“Yeah,” I said, suppressing a sigh. “Look, I’m kind of in a hurry, and–”

“I mean, the paper was totally unfair. You’re not a loose cannon at all, and if your manager thinks that, well, he should be fired.” Elaine’s eyes glowed chocolate, and now that she was excited, her entire body had turned the same shade of crimson. All I wanted her to do was shut up, stop drawing attention to me, and tell me where I could find Brenna Sinclair.

“Right.” I leaned forward. “So, Brenna Sinclair? Which room is she in?”

“I’ll take you,” Elaine said, standing up so fast she flung some of the errant papers onto the white tile floor. Without bothering to pick them up, she skittered around the desk in a flurry of excitement. “This way, Rhett. It’s not far.”

“Yeah, of course not,” I mumbled, too low for Elaine to hear. “We’re in a fucking hospital.”

“The doctors are really optimistic about Ms. Sinclair,” Elaine said as she led me down a hallway crowded with wheelchairs, patients, and nurses, apparently having forgotten that HIPPA exists. “They think that she’s totally fine, aside from her mild concussion and temporary memory loss.”

That news should have filled me with elation, but fear clasped my gut in an iron grip. What if Brenna started screaming at me about the pitch? Shit, she already hated my guts. I’d just given her a whole new round of ammo to use against me, as if I’d personally adjusted physics and forced that ball to hit her skull. The thought of all that attention after such a damning newspaper story made me want to groan.

“Are you a friend of Brenna’s?”

“What?”

Elaine spun around in her clunky shoes. “Are you a friend of Ms. Sinclair?”

“Uh, yeah,” I lied. “Definitely.”

Elaine’s worshipful gaze faded into a slight grimace, and she gnawed at her chapped lower lip, frowning. “Oh,” she spit out on a sigh. “That’s nice.”

I smirked. The jealousy radiated off Elaine in hot, powerful waves.

“She’s in here,” Elaine said, pointing toward the door. “Have a nice visit.” She walked away, clearly pissed by the fact that I didn’t want to linger and feed the beast of womanly adoration. I rolled my eyes. Chicks were so easy to read – it wasn’t even fun anymore. Maybe it was high time to grow the fuck up.

Brenna looked terrible. Prone on the bed with a magazine on her lap, she slept or at least tried to over the blaring of the television broadcasting Dr. Phil. The cover of her reading material remained closed, and I snuck closer, trying to read the headlines. As I approached the bed, Brenna’s eyes snapped open. They were still a radiant green despite the dim, dull lighting of the hospital. A big purple-blue bruise covered half her face, starting around her eye, kissed her temple, then spread down her cheek all the way to her sculpted jaw. Gorgeous, even with a shiner. No wonder the nurses hated her.

“You’ve got one hell of a bruise there,” I said, easing myself into a chair by the side of the bed. “How are you feeling today?”

Brenna stared at me with open curiosity, then chewed her lip. “I’m fine.” Her voice sounded a little distant, almost like we were communicating by iPhone instead of face to face. “How are you?”

“Oh, you know,” I said, throwing a hand in the air because I had no damn idea what to say to this woman. “Same old, same old.”

Brenna cocked her head to the side and blushed, looking adorable with her thick, chestnut hair piled into a messy knot on top of her head.

“I’m sorry,” Brenna said and offered an embarrassed laugh. “I know I should know who you are, but…”

I chuckled, battling through my nerves. “I’m Rhett. Rhett Bradshaw. And you know, we…” I trailed off, rethinking my strategy. At first, I’d thought it would be a good idea to waltz in and spell out our history in bold, black letters. But seeing Brenna address me like a stranger intoxicated me in a feral way. A do-over where I could charm her pants off. I’d be an idiot to let that go.

“What?” Brenna asked. “What were you about to say?”

“Nothing,” I said, stopping myself before I ruined the moment. I grinned. “Just wanted to see how you’re doing. The doctors said you should be fine soon. How’s that head?”

Brenna laughed again. “It hurts,” she admitted. “But I’m doing okay.” Her smile hit me hard in the solar plexus. She’d never given me her whole smile before, and I couldn’t believe how it made her look. Radiant and glowing as if the entire world were at her fingertips. “It’s nice to see you again. We met at the field, didn’t we?”

Even though it was wrong, curiosity won the day. I just had to see what would happen if Brenna suddenly forgot about our…well, shall I say, our not-so-cordial relationship.

“Yeah,” I said after a long pause. “I was there as you were being taken to the hospital.”

Brenna nodded, looking satisfied. “Good,” she said, sighing and flopping against the pillows. A flowery, almost musky scent wafted under my nostrils, and against my will, my cock twitched in my pants. I wanted to crawl into her hospital bed and kiss her senseless, so she’d never remember how she really felt about me.

I stared at her as an idea began to take form. Maybe if I could create some goodwill now, our relationship wouldn’t go back to being as bad as it was before she got nailed with my ball.

Was that even possible? Was it worth finding out?

“It feels good to remember things. I’ve been struggling ever since the accident.”

“I bet.” Conflict battled within my head like I had an angel and a devil on each shoulder – lying was never a wise choice with a woman. But I couldn’t deny that despite her condition, I was attracted to Brenna and more than a little interested in seeing where this idea could go. The loose hospital gown she wore couldn’t conceal her petite curves, and when I realized that her nipples were hard, my cock flickered to life again, straining against my zipper.

I’ll just fuck her once and get her out of my system, I decided. No harm, no foul. If she finds out who I am, well, whatever…it’s bound to happen eventually. But in the meantime…

“It’s so nice to have a visitor that isn’t another reporter,” Brenna said. She smiled at me, showing off pearly teeth. I could get lost in that smile now that I’d experienced it. “This place gets really boring. I wish they’d let me go home – I know I don’t need to be here.” She cringed. “And I’m about to die for a shower.”

I raised an eyebrow and gave her a lazy grin. “I could always give you a sponge bath. I’ve been told I’m really good at playing nurse.”

Brenna blushed the most beautiful shade of newly fucked pink. “I don’t think–”

The swinging of the door to her room interrupted her just when our conversation had been getting good. Riley Buxton, Brenna’s co-worker, walked in, her high ponytail bouncing behind her. An unflattering maxi dress hung from her trim figure. When she saw me, she gaped. I smiled and waited for her to throw me straight under the bus.

“Hello,” Riley said. She eyed me from head to toe, making no secret of the fact that she was enjoying every second of my discomfort. “How are you, Rhett?”

“Great,” I said and winked at Brenna. “I was actually just leaving. Brenna, I’m sincerely glad to hear you’re doing better.”

Brenna looked stricken. “No,” she said in a rush. “Please don’t go. You just got here.” The desperation in her voice tickled my ears and every other cell in my body.

I know she wants me. If only Riley hadn’t waltzed in here at the worse time possible, I could have done something about it.

“Yeah, Rhett,” Riley echoed, her smug smile like a beacon of triumph lighting the dim room. “Why are you leaving?” She raised her eyebrows, and I stared into her brown eyes. Riley smirked again, and something about her beady eyes reminded me of a weasel.

“Gotta run,” I said. “I’ve got to get to the field soon.”

“Well, bye, then,” Brenna said, disappointment settling into her expression. “Will I see you again?”

Gotcha.

“Of course,” I said, grinning my panty-melting smile. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’ll call you, Brenna. Bye, Riley.”

Turning on my heel, I walked out of the room feeling better about myself than I had in at least twenty-four hours.

“Rhett! Rhett, wait!”

I groaned and turned around in the hall, only to see Riley trotting toward me, a devilish gleam in her eye that put me on warning.

“So,” Riley said, crossing her arms over her chest and smirking. “Why so quick to leave, huh? Brenna sure seemed to want you there. Knowing you, that’s an opportunity you’re not going to let pass. Think how much offering Brenna an olive branch during this difficult time would raise your credibility with the press.”

“Yeah,” I clipped out, wanting to flee the censuring glare of this snotty woman. “She did want me to stay, didn’t she?”

“So,” Riley repeated, raising her eyebrows. “Why didn’t you tell her about your, ahem, past? You know – the whole part where you two are mortal enemies?”

Fuck.

“Just like you suggested. I want a second chance,” I said with a lift of my shoulder. “You know. A do-over. A chance to make things a little easier between us. I’m not leaving the Yankees, and she’s not leaving Sport Taste. There’s no reason not to get along. If something good can come out of a bad situation, why wouldn’t we all be satisfied with that?”

“Right,” Riley said, snapping her fingers a few times. I wanted to reach out, grab her annoying digits and crack them in half. “You think it’s that easy to make Brenna stop writing shit about you and trashing your reputation? It’ll take more than a five-minute hospital visit and a flash of your charming smile.”

I grimaced. It had sounded like a great plan moments ago when it was roiling through my brain, but now, on Riley’s lips, not so much. “Not exactly,” I said. “More of…well, you know. A fair chance for us to be friends.”

To my utter shock, Riley nodded and wrinkled up her pert nose. “That might be for the best,” she admitted. “What if I agreed to help?”

I frowned, unclear as to her motives. Any journalist with good instincts would be all over this. What in the hell was in it for her to hold off on the big reveal. “Why would you do something like that?”

“Because I’m only a junior reporter, and I’m dying for more work,” Riley said in an annoyed huff as if I were addled. She sighed like a moody teenager and pointed in the direction of Brenna’s room. “And if I…help you, you know, then maybe I could write about you in the future. You could give me an exclusive interview in exchange. I bet that would help me get my own career on the right path, or at least take me out of the shadow of her highness.”

I raised my eyebrows, picturing me on the other end of Joe Buck’s hard-hitting questions. “What kind of exclusive?”

Riley shrugged. “The idea just came to me, but I promise it’ll be more…flattering than what Brenna’s written. Like, maybe we could do a thing where you go to a charity and help out, and then I write a piece about it?” She nodded, eyes sparkling at the sound of her own idea.

I thought about it because I knew I had to make a split decision. I honestly didn’t love the idea of working with Riley to deceive Brenna, something about the younger woman seemed off. But hadn’t I been just about to fuck with her on my own, anyway? What harm could it do if Riley helped me? Any little bit of positive PR would get me out of Don’s doghouse. And a little retribution never hurt.

Just then, Elaine’s words crashed back to me: “You’re not a loose cannon at all!” She was right – I usually wasn’t. But if the papers got wind of me playing like a rookie, it would hurt the reputation of the entire team, and the front office might think I looked good for a trade, no matter how hard I threw the damn ball.

I blew out a breath. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll take the deal.”

Riley grinned and held out her tiny hand for me to shake.

A good deal. So why did I feel like I’d just handed over my firstborn to the devil?