On the DL (The MVP Duet Book 1) Page 2

Kayla gets up, leaving me with the first cigarette I’ve ever smoked and thoughts that I’ve been purposely avoiding for the past few weeks. But there, on a hot summer night in Georgia, I make a decision that will alter the course of the rest of my life.

  Three

  Savage

  “Hey,” I greet Malone as she pulls up to our spot, out near the dock. She’d called me earlier in the day, asking if we could meet.

  “Hey,” she answers as she gets out of her car, walking slowly to where I’m sitting on the tailgate of my truck.

  Her body language is saying something is wrong; immediately I get a bad feeling in my gut. It’s one of those things where you know someone is about to tell you something you don’t want to hear. My eyes wash over her as she hoists herself up to sit beside me on the tailgate. There’s a heaviness to the air between us, that has nothing to do with the humid July night. There’s something big happening, and I have a feeling I’m the only one here who doesn’t know what that something is. “Do you have something you want to say to me?”

  She’s quiet for longer than I like, but eventually in a small voice she says something. I can’t quite hear what it is. “What? Can you repeat that?”

  “I got accepted to the University of Georgia.”

  I blink once, twice, and then a third time until what she’s said fully sinks in. “What?”

  “I got accepted to the University of Georgia, and that’s where I’ll be going to college,” she whispers, her voice shaky as she finishes the sentence.

  My life, as I know it comes crashing down at my feet. “You’re not coming with me?”

  “I can’t, Slade,” she grabs for my hand, but I pull away, hopping off the tailgate.

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  She hops off, following me, as I walk around in a circle. “It’s not that easy,” she cries as I turn to face her, walking back to where she stands.

  I’m having a hard time reconciling what she’s saying right now, to what she’s been saying for the past year. I committed to them this time last summer, and the plan had always been for us to go together. The thought of going there without her, without having her support is too much for me, and I become a person I’ve never been before. I beg.

  “Please come with me!” My voice is cracking as I plead with Malone to follow me to the University of Alabama. “Marry me, we’ll live in the married housing. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of. I’ll play long enough for the pros to look at me, then I’ll enter the draft and take care of you, Mal.” I cup her cheeks in the palms of my hands. “I promise after college, you’ll never have to want for anything. I’ll make that happen for you.”

  “You don’t know that, Slater. You can’t be sure you’ll even be drafted.” The tears she’s crying fall on my thumbs, gather under the skin there, and sink farther down her face.

  “I know I’m gonna be drafted. I work hard, I follow the rules, and I have talent,” I argue with her.

  “You have talent in small-town Georgia. Who’s to say you’ll have it at the college level?”

  There’s a frosty air taking up residence in my chest and stomach. This woman I love, that I lost my virginity to, that I’ve had in my life for the past three years doesn’t believe in me. She doesn’t believe I have what it takes. “I love you,” I push those words out against my tight throat. “With that love, I believe you can do anything you put your mind to, Mal. To the ends of the earth I would support your dream. You’re not gonna support mine?”

  “It’s not that simple,” she pulls away from me. “I have dreams too. I don’t want to go to Alabama,” tears are now freely streaming down her face.

  “We talked about this! When I got the scholarship, we discussed it! You agreed,” I accuse her. “Now you’re going back on your word?”

  “I’m sorry,” she puts her arms around her stomach, holding the sides of her shirt tightly with her hands.

  “You’re sorry?” I feel the rage, the full-on body anger that helps me out on the playing field. “You’re fuckin’ sorry? How long?” My voice cracks, hoarse with the emotion I’m trying to hold within me.

  She shakes her head, licking the tears off her lips. “No.”

  “How long, Malone?”

  “No,” she shakes her head again.

  I advance on her, blocking her in with my hands against the truck, as I push her back into it. The scream comes from deep within my body. “Goddamn it, how long have you known you wouldn’t go with me? When did you accept your spot at Georgia? Those don’t just open the fuck up.”

  Her voice is a whisper when she speaks again. “I got late admission, someone else dropped and I slipped into their spot. It was confirmed not long ago.”

  Not long ago? How long is not long ago? Two weeks, two months? Betrayal tastes bitter as I think about the times we’ve had, even a few weeks ago. It’s not like I’ve been playing at this relationship with her. For me, this has been it, her and me, for life. But her? She’s told me she loved me, figured out living arrangements with me, made love to me, knowing she wasn’t going to stick around. “How can you even look at yourself in the mirror?”

  “I wasn’t sure.” Her fingers unhook from her shirt, pushing her dark hair back behind her ears, before she runs her hand under her nose, gathering up the moisture.

  My engagement ring, the one I put on her finger on prom night, catches my eye. The diamond is a spec of dirt, but I saved up for months to get it. Grabbing her hand in mine, I yank the ring off her finger. “You fuckin’ bitch. You said yes. You said yes when you knew there was no chance. Go to hell.”

  “Slater this isn’t you.”

  “It is me.” I crowd against her again. “This is who you turned me into, a damn savage who doesn’t know where his home is anymore. Because for three years that place has been you. Don’t call me, don’t try to get in touch with me. Starting today, sweetheart, you’re dead to me.”

  That night, I packed up my truck, left for Tuscaloosa, and never looked back.

  Four

  Savage

  Ten Years Later

  Early March

  My gaze is intensely focused, watching as the pitcher on the mound of dirt checks the runner on first base and then throws a fast ball toward home plate. Me and him? We’ve faced each other twenty times, and I’m batting about fifty percent. He’s one of the few in the league who’s stumped me, one who has my utmost respect, and the one I want to beat more than anything.

  When he rears back to throw again, I take my practice swing, imagining the bat connects with the leather covered baseball, that it goes over the fence, and I’ve defeated one of my foes. Instead, my teammate strikes out to the annoyance of every fan behind me.

  “Batting third, Center Fielder, Slater “Savage” Harlow!”

  The roar of the crowd is deafening. I’m a fan favorite and have been since I was called up from the minors. Even in Spring Training, people come to see me. It’s not cocky when it’s the truth, and I’m the real fuckin’ deal.

  When I get to the batter’s box, my eyes connect with his. Every single person I face when my feet plant in the dirt, I stare down. There’s no way in hell I want any of them to know they intimidate me. The first pitch is a ball, second is a strike, and the third one is a fuck up on his part. It’s huge as it comes to me, in what seems to be slow motion. As I situate my body to send this ball over the fence, I plant my foot down and turn into the swing. As I do, my cleat catches on something, and chances are, I’ll never know what.

  Instead of feeling the vibration of the bat making contact with the ball, I hear a loud popping and feel an explosion of pain in my right knee. It’s a kind of pain I’ve never felt before, which is saying something. I’ve played injured more often than I care to admit. I fall to the ground, holding my knee as the bat drops, and the crowd silences.

  The trainer runs out, making me release my leg. “Let me see, Slater, let me get a good look at it.”

  I’m rolled to my back. As I feel them mani
pulating my limb, I open my eyes wide, looking up at the cloudless sky. I’m gulping deep breaths of air, trying to calm the pounding of my heart, the pain radiating through my entire body. Sweat is gathering on my brow, starting to pour down my face. This is a pain like I’ve never known, and I’ve known pain before. Emotional and physical.

  Closing my eyes I say a silent prayer before I open them back up again. The sky calls to me and I try to calm myself as I take in the blue color. The day has been perfect, until this moment as I hear what are the worst words to ever come out of a trainer’s mouth.

  “Slater, I think you’ve torn your ACL. We’re going to transport you to the hospital to get you checked out. We’ll call your agent and have your parents fly in to meet us.”

  Just like that, the picture-perfect day, and my second MVP season in a row, is over.

  Malone

  As I make my way into the conference room for our Monday meeting, I see a group gathered around a laptop, watching something on the screen.

  “There goes my fucking Fantasy Baseball team.” One of the guys from downstairs throws a piece of paper onto the table.

  “How long is he out for?” Someone else asks as I work to get my space set up.

  “They said the rest of the year,” the first guy who was bitching about his fantasy team grumbles. “Which ya know, I hope he can come back and I’m sure the Bandits hope he can come back, but I’m fucked.”

  When I hear the Bandits, my ears perk up slightly. That’s the team my ex-fiancé plays for. I want to ask them which player they’re talking about, but there’s another part of me that knows I shouldn’t care. We left that situation ten years ago, and I’ve never looked back.

  “Who was it?” Another member of their sports squad comes in, carrying a coffee. “I caught the tail-end of it on the news this morning but didn’t hear which player it was.”

  “Savage,” he groans. “The star of my league.”

  And just like that, my stomach drops and my hands start to shake. If he’s out the rest of the year, he’s done something bad. We’re in March, he should have only been in Spring Training.

  The meeting passes in a blur, and when I get back to my desk, I do a quick search, pulling up the first video. I watch, admiring the way he looks, the man he’s grown into, not able to help the slight smile spreading across my face. He made it, no matter what the obstacles thrown in his path, he made it. Then I watch in horror as his knee turns a way it most definitely shouldn’t, and he collapses to the ground. In the video, you can hear him scream, hear his moan, and it kills me. Shutting off the screen, I wipe tears from my eyes, surprised at the emotion this is bringing out in me.

  “Malone, we need to see you in the main office.” I glance up to see one of my co-workers at my door, motioning for me.

  Little did I know that was the meeting that was going to end my career, just like Slater’s injury ended his season.

  Five

  Malone

  Late May

  Rolling over in my childhood bed, positioning myself on my stomach, I stretch, grabbing my phone off the nightstand. A few months ago I was one of the most sought-after public relations people in the world. My phone was never quiet; I always had at least thirty messages at a time. Some Hollywood starlet was having a crisis that needed to be spun, and I was the one that did it. If there was a problem? Malone Fulcher would solve it and do it better than everyone else.

  Until the Great Fuck Over.

  I call it the great fuck over, because there was a concentrated plan by three people at the company I worked for who’d conspired to get me fired. Spoiler alert – they succeeded.

  Judging by the empty cell phone and equally almost-empty bank account I have, I’m not sure I’ll ever have a job again, at least one in the field I love so much. It wasn’t so much the fact that I helped people, I’ll admit. I loved being in the inner circle of some of the hottest people in the movie and music industry. Sports? Not my thing. I stayed away from it like it was a contagious disease. So many of those jobs I bypassed, but I was fine with it. I never wanted to run into him. I never wanted to accidently be faced with my past when I wasn’t prepared.

  If there’s one thing I excel at, it’s running from shit I should face. If it were a sport, I’d be the number one draft pick in the league.

  “Malone! Time to get up!” my mom yells from the kitchen.

  Oh yeah, did I mention I’ve had to move back home? As in with my parents. Back to Willow’s Gap, Georgia. A small town that holds too many memories? The last few months have been hard, but the last two weeks? They’ve been the absolute worst. The few times I’ve been able to drag myself out of bed, I’ve only seen things I’ve wanted to forget. Every turn of this town reminds me of something that’s better buried in the past.

  “I’m up, I’ll be down in a few,” I yell back to her.

  She’s trying to keep me from being depressed by making sure I get up and do something every day. While I understand her intentions, I would really appreciate a few days to lick my wounds. I’m mourning the loss of life as I know it. All the cool stuff I got to do, when I lived in Los Angeles. The freedom to travel if I wanted, going to the gym at midnight when the mood struck me, not worrying about how much something cost, and knowing there were friends who always had my back. Turned out all that shit – it was a lie.

  Now I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to do any of that stuff again and it’s been a fucking hard reality to face.

  “You’ve gotta get out there,” Mom is saying as I sit at the kitchen table, eating a piece of toast with her homemade strawberry jelly on it. “At least get some applications in. With the summer season coming up, people will be hiring, and beggars can’t be choosers,” she reminds with the raise of an eyebrow. She and Dad have been floating me a few dollars here and there, which I know they really can’t afford. We’ve always been a middle-class family, and me coming home without pulling my weight will put them in a bind if I don’t do something about it fast.

  She’s saying it without really saying it. I have bills to pay, and if I don’t get off my ass, I’ll be stuck not only living with my parents but having my car repo’d and my credit completely trashed.

  “I’m going to,” I sigh, taking a drink of my coffee. She means well, but right now I’m doing the best I can to keep my head above water. Emotionally and financially. “Today, I’m going to.” It’s a decision I make spur of the moment, and damned if I’m going to go back on it.

  “Del’s is hiring.” She hands me a piece of bacon.

  Chewing thoughtfully, I shake my head. I most definitely won’t be working at Del’s Diner. Too many memories. From the greatest to the worst ever. “I’ll look into it,” I tell her, just to pacify this situation. “I’m gonna head downtown and see what’s going on.”

  She has a seat next to me, putting her hand on top of mine. For the first time in years, I realize she’s got age spots on her skin, it’s a little more wrinkled than the last time I saw her, and I know without a doubt I can’t put my burdens on her or my dad.

  “I love you, Malone. I just want you to not let this break you. Not like last time you broke.”

  And here we go. “Mom, I lost the love of my life last the time I broke. This is a job. Not the person I was going to spend the rest of my days with.” Somehow, it still hurts talking about it. Even though I was a teenager the last time I left small-town Georgia.

  “He’s back in town, ya know?” She gives me a small smile, and a gentle push with the cadence of her voice.

  Like I don’t know this.

  “I’d have to be living under a rock to not know that.” I take a snapping bite of the bacon this time. It had been national news when Slater tore his ACL, and for a few weeks, no one had left him alone. Even though I’ve tended to be able to ignore stories about him since we broke up, this one I’d read. A part of me wonders who’s taking care of him. Probably some chick with fake tits and lip fillers.

  “He’s at his momma’s,”
she continues, ignoring the fact I even said anything. “Going to physical therapy when he has to. The family has been driving him around, but he started driving again, not long ago.”

  She’s completely caught up on his life, it seems. I wonder if it’s because she’s nosey or if because she wants me to know what’s going on. This I haven’t decided yet.

  “Good to know he’s still got them to take care of him.” I take a drink of my coffee, staring off into space. “His girlfriend probably stayed behind in Birmingham.”

  She snorts. “Malone, girl, you got a lot to learn. For most of your life you’ve made a lot of assumptions, and I think having to come home and face the truth is gonna be the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

  That pisses me off, makes me bristle. I have nothing else to say, so I set my cup down. “Guess I should get moving on finding a job. See ya, Mom,” I lean down, kissing her on the cheek. “Be back later.”

  As I step out onto the front porch, I take a deep breath, and hope that not everyone in this town has the same opinion of me she does. Coming home was never going to be a walk in the park, but it may end up being harder than I ever imagined.

  Savage

  “Want your usual?” Stephanie, the morning waitress at Del’s asks as I have a seat in the booth I’ve proclaimed as my own. She and my mom are friends; they went to school together, and while my parents were married, Stephanie started a job here that she’s never quite given up. The people of this town though, we love her to death.

  “Hell yes, I’m starving.” I rub my stomach with the palm of my hand as it clenches tightly.

  “You’re always starving.” She gives me a grin.

  “Because I always come in here after going to physical therapy. They work me hard,” I remind her.