Latin Lovers: Passionate Spaniards. Cathy Williams
the letter. Maybe she hadn’t read it because it was better to think about what he might have said than to know what he did.
“Why did he do that?” Scout mused. “I mean, seriously, you couldn’t have been the first wife Roy knew was being cheated on. He’d been in the league for ten years before he met you. He probably knew every sordid story in the book. Yet he puts this plot together to expose Danny’s cheating. That’s a lot of effort from a man who you said never took much interest in the team or anyone else.”
Lane didn’t want to think about the events leading up to that party. She didn’t want to think about the weird outings she and Roy took together. They both had a thing for hot dogs, so they would try new places around town, or new stands in the ballpark. Always in search of the perfect dog. It had been completely innocent, of course. Mostly they ate and argued about whatever the topic of the day was.
But what Lane had told him that night was true. She had considered them friends.
And as far as she knew, theirs was the only relationship Roy had.
Yes, he could be an ass. But as time had passed, there were things she’d learned about him that made him seem more human. Like when she discovered the reason for his isolation from the team. Or when she’d found out that his claim to not do charity really meant that he didn’t do charity for show.
Because the one time Lane had asked him to help her out, he’d spent hours in a dunk tank making kids and adults happy.
“I don’t know why he did it,” Lane lied now. She couldn’t admit the truth without remembering the moment he’d told her to get unmarried. When he’d leaned into her and kissed her.
When she’d kissed him back.
She couldn’t imagine what Scout would say if she knew. All that fuss about breaking up with a cheating scumbag of a husband and the truth was, in her heart, Lane had also felt desire for someone other than the person to whom she was married.
The thought made her that much angrier at Roy.
“If you ask me, your story—the Roy-and-Lane story—is not done yet.”
“There is no story. There is just me getting through these next few weeks. I’ll get Duff to see a doctor. We’ll make sure he’s okay and then I’m gone. As far away from baseball as I can get.”
“And the hospital was okay with letting you go for a few weeks?”
“Yep,” Lane said quickly. Maybe too quickly because she could feel Scout’s gaze on her. Regardless, Lane wasn’t talking about that now. It was just too much to deal with. Stephen’s death, leaving her job. Those things were behind her. Duff and Roy were in front of her. She needed to focus on that.
Scout had put away the last of the groceries and was leaning against the fridge. “What if we can’t just make sure he’s okay? What if something is wrong? Isn’t that what you said we might need to get prepared for?”
“Well, I changed my mind.” Lane said definitively. “We’re not borrowing trouble. Duff’s perfectly fine until a doctor says otherwise. You know what Duff always says—worrying about nothing gets us nothing.”
Scout nodded but Lane could see the fear in her sister’s eyes, which coincidentally made Lane feel it in her heart.
“He’s going to be fine,” Lane said. “Everything is going to be fine.”
She only wished she could believe it.
* * *
ROY FELT THE rush of adrenaline when he saw where the ball ended up. Exactly where he wanted it to, a little low and outside, but definitely a strike. Javier bounced up and tossed the ball to Roy.
After a week in the Falls, he was in shape enough to throw from the mound. A slightly elevated hill with a pitch to plant his feet. He wore cleats, workout shorts and a long sleeved T-shirt, which helped to keep his arm warm. A standard bullpen session routine, and he could feel his body changing with each pitch he threw.
It was like there was all this dried-up, crusty stuff around his shoulder and arm, and with each throw it cracked a little more, and the dust blew away, taking time with it. When he’d left the game he’d promised himself he would never miss it and he’d kept that promise.
Until now.
Strange that he was becoming sentimental. Now that he was in a stadium again he missed the sounds of the crowds cheering and sometimes jeering. He missed the adrenaline rush of facing the best batter in the league and watching as he swung helplessly at a ball that was sinking before it ever got across the plate.
He missed the feeling of winning. Of dominating. And now he had enough humility to know that he might not get back there. Yes, he could still throw. But could he still be Roy Walker?
That was an unknown.
What would it feel like to sit in the bullpen watching the game with a bunch of other guys, probably younger, waiting for the phone to ring so he could go out to the mound to pitch for just one inning. Hoping he didn’t do any damage in that inning. Hoping he got the guys out he was supposed to get out.
Roy never used to hope. He just did. He’d always been a starter. He’d always been the first starter in the five-man rotation. For every season he’d played.
What he was going to be was anyone’s guess. Duff had him slated to start in the minors, but that was to improve his arm strength. What he became in the majors, if he even made it that far, was a complete unknown.
As long as it came with a paycheck, he would have to accept it.
Trying to get out of his head, Roy got into his windup and threw again. The ball sailed over Javier’s head and the catcher had to hop up and scramble to find it.
“Sorry, Javier!” Roy waved.
“Juusssst a little outside.”
Roy turned and saw Lane walking toward him. She wore jeans with a T-shirt and cardigan, her hair loose around her shoulders. He was struck again by the awareness that he was seeing her again. When he thought he never would.
Damn, he’d missed her. He wondered what she would say if he told her that. Probably that he didn’t get to say that, either.
“Quoting Major League. That’s not a good sign,” he said, smiling.
Lane knew Major League was one of Roy’s all-time favorite baseball movies. The fact that she lumped him in with the Wild Thing didn’t bode well for what she saw in his pitching.
She didn’t return his smile.
“You should have been here earlier,” he said. “I missed Javier by three feet on my first pitch. The ball hit the brick backstop, shot down into the dugout and ran all the way into the lockers. Not exactly where I wanted that pitch to go.”
Lane crossed her arms under her breasts and looked toward the outfield.
“Look, I get it, Lane. You hate me and just because you’re here doesn’t mean you’ve forgiven me. Point made. But you are here and if we are going to work together, we have to at least talk to each other. We could always do that. Talk to each other.”
She looked at him then as if his words had served to remind her of what they had been. He couldn’t tell if that made her angrier or if maybe she had missed him, too. Because the look on her face just then...it was wistful.
“Did I actually hear you apologize to Javier?”
Roy knew where she was going with the question. In his heyday he never would have considered apologizing to a catcher on a wild pitch. But those days were over and it seemed a man who was coming back to the game with his head between his knees could show a little humility now and then.
“Don’t make too much of it. It’s not like he understands a word I say.”
“Session done?” Javier called out