Chapter Three
At least my dorm room was on the first floor.
I opened the door and tossed my bag inside, grateful once again that Mom and Dad had gotten me a private room.
There wasn’t much to it: a single bed, a desk for my laptop and books, a dresser where I had my trophies, and the closet. Pretty much the size of the average prison cell. Dorm rooms weren’t made for comfort, but it was home. I hobbled over to the twin bed and fell back onto the blue and gold comforter. Dad sat beside me, staring out the window at the fading daylight.
“What happened to that poster you had over there?” Dad pointed to an empty spot between the closet and the window. Michael Arrington, a two-time gold glove centerfielder, had hung there.
I shrugged. “Didn’t want a cheater hanging on my walls.”
“Steroids are ruining the game.” Arrington claimed his first positive test was a fluke, but he took the suspension in stride. The second one he blamed on recovering from an injury and not paying attention to what the doctor prescribed him. The third time banned him from baseball for life. Nobody cared what bullshit he spewed from his mouth. Michael Arrington cheated.
“You’ll be fine, you know that, right?” Dad turned to face me, but the distant look in his eyes was enough to understand that he wasn’t really talking about me.
“Yeah, I know. I don’t want to redshirt this season, though.” I scooted up so my back was against the wall. This is what we’ve been waiting for, right? To get drafted again. To get drafted higher than the thirtieth round.
“Another couple of weeks and you’ll start PT with the trainers. Hummel’s already talked to the doc about getting you ready. We’ll see where you are after PT.” He slapped my good leg. “Don’t worry, Aaron. A knee injury isn’t the end of the world.”
Could be the end of baseball, though. Right, Dad? Like father, like son.
“Just don’t do anything stupid.” He tapped his bad knee and stood. With his hand on the door, he turned back toward me. His eyes darkened as a distant memory took over. “Be better than me, boy. With modern medicine, you can recover from this. You still have a shot.”
He left without another word. Dad wasn’t much of a talker, but I knew him as well as I knew myself. During his senior year in college, his drunk buddy knocked him down the stairs of the frat house they lived in. Dad broke his leg, blew out a knee, and almost broke his neck. The accident ended his playing days. He didn’t set foot on a baseball field until I started T-ball. Then our life was baseball and nothing else. He held out hope I’d be scouted as much as he’d been. When I got drafted, he was the first person I told. Dad celebrated. Until I decided to go to Westland instead. It was the right decision. I would’ve been eaten alive at eighteen. Now I was ready. Now I could hold my own.
Shaking off the feeling of disappointing him again, I took my computer out of my bag and powered up. The first email I saw was from MFine. I laughed at Mallory’s last name. She was pretty fine with that pixie face and hair a guy could get lost in. I opened it and smiled.
Dear Mr. Betts,
I hope you made it back to campus without any problems. We will meet in the library on the third floor by the microfiche. Nobody uses those except history majors and the area is always quiet. I’d like to meet on Mondays at three, Wednesdays at five, and Fridays at three. Our sessions will go no longer than an hour and a half; although I doubt we will need that entire time. Most of my tutoring sessions last an hour, but I always schedule extra time in case we hit a particularly difficult stretch. If these times are not going to work for you, please let me know immediately.
Sincerely,
M. Fine
I hit respond, amused by her formality. It was like talking to a character out of one of Chelsea’s silly historical romances. Not that I would know anything about that. Okay, not that I’d ever admit to reading one. Once.
Dear Ms. Fine,
Those times are acceptable. For now. In a few weeks, I’ll start physical therapy, so we may need to make adjustments depending on the doctor. Is there anything you want me to bring to the sessions?
Sincerely,
Aaron #4
I waited less than a minute for a response.
Dear Mr. #4,
Bring your books and your brain.
Leave your brain, and we may need the entire hour and a half.
Mallory
Maybe this girl wasn’t as stiff as she pretended to be.
Hobbling around campus wasn’t my idea of a good time. It didn’t help when I got to Modern American History and saw Trish cozying up with Trent Hilton, running back for the football team. Trent was an all-right guy who had the brain of a turtle but the speed of a cheetah. Her eyes widened as she watched me maneuver into the room. I planted myself in the front row by the door instead of my usual seat as far in the back as I could get with Trish right beside me. Dr. Monroe couldn’t miss my reappearance here.
“Hey, Aaron,” Trish said softly to my right. I glanced down at where she knelt by my desk before refocusing my gaze on the front of the room. “How’s the knee?”
“Fine.” One-word answers should’ve been enough to deter her. Or so I thought.
“Listen,” she whispered in a husky voice that I once found sexy. Now it cut me like a cheese grater against my skin.
I twisted to face her, not really wanting to hear what she had to say. My knee rotated along with my body, sending spikes of hell along my inner thigh and down my calf. Keeping the pain off my face was harder than Monroe’s class, but I somehow managed it. Or Trish didn’t notice. Either way, she didn’t say a thing about the injury.
“Are we okay?” Trish shrugged her perfectly shaped shoulder. “I mean, I know that things are…awkward now, but we can still be friends, right? We’ve known each other forever, and you know me better than anyone.”
“Apparently, I don’t.” I turned away from her, hoping to end this conversation.
Trish sighed and put her hand on my arm. “Aaron, don’t be a dick. I’m trying to make this right—”
The laugh that erupted from my gut caused Trent to frown from across the room. “If you think there is anything you can do to make this right, Trish, you’re dumber than I thought.” I leaned closer so she would hear every word. “I wasted two years of high school and two years of college with you. There is no way I’m wasting any more time as your friend, especially while you’re busy fucking the rest of the student body.”
I’d be lying if I said I regretted the words that flew out of my mouth. The shock on Trish’s face was worth its weight in gold.
“Leave me alone, Trish.” I faced the front again as Dr. Monroe strolled in. “You’ve done enough damage here already.”
She huffed as she stood and walked into Trent’s waiting arms. I didn’t need to watch her walk away. Trent glared at me over Trish’s shoulder. He wasn’t a guy I should piss off, but I didn’t really care. Dr. Monroe cleared his throat, drawing my focus away from my ex and to his raised eyebrows. I smirked back, knowing he wasn’t questioning the scene he’d just witnessed but my presence in class. After my video chat with Mallory, I felt like I could pass this class without Trish. I needed to prove I could do it.
Until Dr. Monroe started droning on about something called Bay of Pigs. I imagined it was something like the Boston Tea Party only instead of tea into the harbor, it was pork into a bay. Images of pink pigs in Revolutionary War attire swimming in the murky waters between tall ships forced a smile to my face, which led to an unfortunate snort. Dr. Monroe glared at me but didn’t break his lecture stride.
My mind drifted to Trish and Trent, and it went downhill from there. I was back in my dorm room the night before I blew out my knee. Trish was lying beside me, buck naked, and crying. We’d just had sex, and she was crying. Confusion curdled like milk in my stomach.
“What’s going on?” I had asked for the fourth time. “Talk to me, babe.”
She sat up, and I ran my hand down her spine. That only caused her to leap from the bed like it was on fire.
“Okay, something’s obviously wrong.” I pushed myself up on my elbows. “Did I hurt you somehow?”
“It’s not that,” she finally answered with her back to me. She hooked the sexy new sheer lace bra. It was hot but not like her. Trish was conservative and a constant lady. She pulled on the matching thong, again not her usual style, but I wasn’t complaining.
“What is it?” My gaze never left her ass as she yanked on her jeans. I threw my legs over the side of the bed and reached for her, my fingers grazing the skin above her jeans. “Tell me how to help.”
Trish spun around, and a look of contempt covered her face when her eyes settled on me. She bent down, grabbed my shorts, and tossed them onto the mattress. “For Christ sake, cover yourself.”
You would’ve thought the alarm bells would’ve gone off then, but they didn’t. Trish never really liked it when I’d lie around naked after sex. Her prudish nature wasn’t a fan of too much skin. I slid the boxers on without getting off the bed, watching her cover her glorious boobs with a Westland Hawks Athletic Department tee. It was way too big on her, and not one of mine, but I didn’t even question where she’d gotten it. Hindsight’s a bitch.
“Better?” I asked, unable to hide the grin on my face.
She nodded, then sat at my desk. Her hands gripped the arms of the chair like it might take flight. “Aaron, I… God, how do I say this?”
Still no alarm bells ringing the warning. At least about us. I just figured it was an issue with a class or one of her friends or something. “I know I’m good, Trish, you don’t have to call me a god though.”
She didn’t smile like she normally did at my stupid jokes. Her face turned hard as she met my gaze. “It’s over, Aaron.”
“What’s over?” Call me stupid. I deserved it.
“Us, Aaron. This”—she motioned between us—“isn’t working anymore.”
“You’re kidding, right?” I moved to the edge of the bed, leaning forward with my elbows pressed against my knees. “After what we just did, there’s no way you mean that.”
Trish stood and moved toward the door. She leaned against it, crossing her arms and staring at the floor. “I thought maybe if we’d… I thought it would change my mind.”
“But it didn’t?”
She shook her head.
I stood and paced between my bed and the desk. “Why? Why now? Why not two months ago? Six months ago?” I stopped and stared at her. “Why not four years ago?”
“Aaron, please, this isn’t easy for me, either.”
“Then tell me why. And don’t fucking lie to me, Trish. I deserve more than that.”
Her steel gray eyes met mine. “I’m bored. You…you’re boring the life out of me, okay? All we do is watch TV and fuck.”
I took a step back from her. Trish didn’t curse. Ever.
“I feel like I’m forty and on the verge of a midlife crisis,” she continued. “I’m only twenty-one, Aaron! I can’t live like this. I want more. I need more.”
I moved toward her. “I can do more—”
“No—” She held out her hand to stop me.
“Tell me what to do. Damn it, give me a chance here.” It took everything in my power not to drop to my knees and beg.
“There’s nothing you can do. It’s not you, Aaron. It’s me. I don’t want this…us…anymore. I don’t want the life that’s been planned for us. I want more. I want to travel, see the world. I want to live in New York or L.A. or Chicago. I don’t want to be a farmer’s wife. I don’t want to watch my life waste away like my mom’s did.” She spun on her heel and tore out of my room. Before closing my door, she said, “I’m sorry.”
“Mr. Betts, I’m glad to see you’ve returned,” Dr. Monroe said, dragging me from the depths of one of my worst memories. The rest of the class shuffled around us.
“A little knee surgery won’t keep me away, sir,” I said with a fake grin. It was time to cut my losses with Trish and stop thinking about the way she treated me. And the way she tossed me out on my ass.
He matched my smile. “That’s good to hear. I understand you’ve employed the tutelage of Miss Mallory Fine. Wise move. However, I’m surprised she decided to take you on. Miss Fine isn’t one to tutor athletes.”
I snorted. She’d already made it clear that baseball wasn’t in her wheelhouse. “I hope she’s worth it.”
Dr. Monroe took a step back as I struggled to free myself from the desk. Once I was upright and steadied by my crutches, he knelt and handed me my bag. “I must also admit that I’m impressed with your dedication to passing this course. I’d hate to see your baseball career suffer at the hands of academia.”
Tossing the backpack over my shoulder, I adjusted the weight and secured the crutch. I kept the smile on my face without acknowledging the menace in his voice. Asshole thought he could push me down. I wouldn’t stay down for long. Not by Trish. Not by Monroe. Not by anybody. One stupid class wasn’t going to stop me from playing this spring. “Don’t worry, sir, it won’t.”
He nodded in a way that made me think he didn’t believe me. Apparently, Dr. Monroe didn’t get one thing about me: I never backed down from a challenge.