Page 46 of Curveball (Tennessee Terrors #9)

Palmer

It’s been ten days since we announced our marriage to the Terrors fans—and to the world, which is absolutely crazy.

The support has been tremendous from the players, the team office, and the league.

We’ve also been getting so many messages of congratulations through the team’s social media.

I’m afraid we didn’t consider how our announcement would add to their load.

The summer term at school is thankfully short, and I finished it on Thursday while Max was still gone in Texas.

While I was clearing out my classroom, Bryan Grady stopped by to say goodbye and offer his well wishes.

He also made it clear that he wouldn’t turn down complimentary tickets, since he’s the one who introduced us.

I might have mentioned I would see what I could do.

Then muttered as if to his back as he left.

Attendees dressed in glamourous gowns and elegant tuxedos have been arriving to Max’s foundation gala for several minutes.

Valets and ushers welcome everyone and direct them out back, so the crowds are getting thick.

I’m enjoying a last few minutes of quiet before tonight’s activities really heat up.

“There you are, gorgeous,” Max says as he comes up to me in the yard. “You hiding?”

I smile and take the hand he stretches out to me.

My dress is long and red, with a full skirt that makes me feel like a fairy princess.

Priya had such fun picking it out for me.

Max’s thumb plays over the stone of my wedding ring, a habit he’s developed over the weeks, since he first slid it on my finger.

“Not at all. I was hoping if I was gone long enough you’d come looking for me, so I can molest your beautiful body in that striking tux. Much nicer than Samson’s brocade smoking jacket and velvet pants.”

I’m going to have to hook him up with Priya, but then, not everyone wears a suit as well as Max.

He really does look yummy, all tall and muscular, with his broad chest and wide shoulders.

His curls are tamed with product for the occasion, but that one over his forehead always seems to go astray.

But I like it like that. It gives me an excuse to run my hands through his thick hair.

“In T minus four hours, you may commence the molesting. In the meantime, have you taken a look at the silent auction items?”

“I may have pledged a bit of your money, yes.”

“Good girl. Now, come get a glass of champagne with me. We’re celebrating.”

“No, you need to make a speech and you want courage, and you want me to stand with you.”

“Girl, I don’t need liquid courage. And I want you to stand with me, always. I don’t need an excuse like a fancy little party.”

With his hand warm around my waist, we walk back toward the big tent the event coordinator had set up in the middle of the lawn area. Light from the chandeliers glows through the canvas walls. Twinkle lights are threaded through the branches of the big shade trees and help light our way.

We step inside and wind our way through the linen-covered tables, to a bar at the far side.

Many of the people here are strangers to me, but everyone is elegant in their evening wear.

We stop to visit with guys from the team and their wives or girlfriends.

I’ve managed to make friends with several of them since I’m now attending more of Max’s games.

“Here you go.” Max hands me a flute, and tiny bubbles pop and fizz over my hand. He takes one, too, and we step away, nearly colliding with Jake Reynolds, who introduces us to his date.

The MC takes the podium near the orchestra, and clinks the edge of his glass to get everyone’s attention. The noise quiets and people wind down conversations and turn their attention to the stage positioned along one wall of the tent.

“Welcome, everyone. I’m Carl Billings, master of ceremonies for tonight’s event.

Hope you’re all having a wonderful evening.

I promise, there’s still plenty to come.

To start off tonight’s program, it’s my pleasure to introduce local baseball celebrity, and our favorite advocate for youth sports, Max Murphy, our host. Max? ”

To generous applause and a couple of loud whistles, Max climbs the two steps at the side of the stage, shakes hands with Carl, and then takes the mic.

“Thanks, Carl. And special appreciation to each of you who’s here tonight to support this little program of mine.

” Flash bulbs go off as he begins his speech.

He smiles benevolently at the few members of the press who were invited, and then carries on.

“Those of us who are professional athletes didn’t start the game when we were adults; we’ve been playing since we were kids.

Some younger than others, and some with more economic disadvantages than the rest of us.

At Camp14, our goal is to provide equity, so any kid who wants to play has a way to make that happen.

And anyone who wants to be involved as a youth coach has the training and materials to make him successful.

So, open your hearts and your checkbooks, folks. I’m coming after both.”

Amid a spattering of chuckles and more applause, Max hands the mic back to Carl and hops down the front of the stage, ignoring the short staircase at the side.

A large projector screen hangs from the wall behind where he stood, and a slideshow begins—a montage of photos of smiling, happy children wearing red and turquoise T-shirts, and participating in events Camp14 has hosted in the past.

For as busy and full as Max’s life is, this foundation is an important part of his soul.

He pours his own heart into it, and that’s apparent in his impassioned words, and the details of tonight’s event.

I have to wipe a tear from my cheek as Carl makes an announcement that happy hour is ending and everyone should find their seats for dinner.

There’s a chart on an easel outside the tent that indicates the table and seat number for each attendee.

All the planner’s careful preparations have come together nicely. It was a pleasure to be included and help make this gala a beautiful success. Even Dylan didn’t complain about pitching in as much as I anticipated. But then, this was part of his penance, and now his debt has been paid in full.

Alejandro has agreed to back down—well, except for one last power play. My relationship with Max didn’t start out on great footing, and even as our lives became more entrenched with each other, I never intended for my feelings to become an issue.

But come on, Palmer, how could you not?

Yeah, how could I not? I’ve spent the past ten years avoiding entanglements because I’ve learned how bad life can be when they backfire. How did I manage to conveniently forget that, just because my baseball guy looks good in snug white pants and knows how to make my body sing?

Could it be because Max is done avoiding entanglements, too?

If he’s unhappy or impatient about having me and Dylan in his house and in his life, he has an odd, confusing way of showing it.

Case in point, the matching Escalade parked beside his in the driveway.

Nothing like a brand new Cadillac to say woman, the clock is ticking .

Well, Palmer, only one good way to find out.

When dinner has been cleared away and the orchestra is gearing up for those who wish to dance between placing bids on auction items and mingling with the other guests, I wander the crowd, stopping to say hello and chat with others about the foundation, until I run into Max.

I find him seated at a table with Tripp, Cheyenne, Jake and Tahlia, I learn her name is, since I didn’t catch it earlier in the evening.

They’re all laughing and joking like they do when the guys get together.

I’d normally join in, but tonight . . . well, tonight, Max and I need to have a conversation.

I move to stand behind him, my hand on his shoulder, memorizing the warmth of his solid muscles, in case I’ve misread our relationship and tonight I not only destroy my memories of this gala, but also the rest of my life.

He reaches up and takes my hand, his thumb sweeping over my finger from habit.

“You want to sit?” he asks, even as he’s pulling out the seat beside him so I have the option.

“Not right now. I wondered if you had a minute.”

He pulls out from the table, straightening his tie and his jacket as he stands.

“Y’all excuse us for a minute. I think the lady wants in my pants.”

Tripp and Jake burst into laughter, and even Cheyenne and Tahlia chuckle softly. I just shake my head and hope the next few minutes go the way I want. These people are friends now, and I’d miss them if I wasn’t around after tonight.

With our hands linked, Max leads me out of the tent to a bar stationed a short distance away.

“Another glass of champagne? This time, we are celebrating. It’s a beautiful night, I have a beautiful woman with me, and the event seems to be a huge success.” He hands me a glass and clinks the lip of his glass against mine. “Thank you for all your help.”

He takes a sip, and then leans in to kiss me. I close my eyes and savor the taste of his lips on mine—the tartness of the wine and a little sweet from whichever dessert he ate one single bite of.

We stroll the lawn again, heading toward the garage and the area he uses for practice.

“Shit, I keep forgetting to get the garage door fixed. It sticks. Remind me to call the guy tomorrow, would you, babe?”

“Yeah, I can do that,” I respond. “And I want to thank you for helping Dylan, still, with his pitching. He says he’s learning a lot and his stats have improved.”

“Are you kidding? The kid’s a natural. It’s good to see he’s got a well-rounded training regimen, too. He hits the gym as well as the pitching mound.”

Oh, man, this is harder than I expected.

“Hey, I was thinking,” he says.

“Did it hurt?” I blurt out one of Dylan’s digs and really, Palmer?

He playfully jabs me in the ribs and I laugh. Then, I lean down to remove my heels, since they keep sinking into the grass. The lawn is cool on my bare feet.

“You’re a smartass. Anyone ever tell you that?”

“So, you were thinking?” I prompt, rather than answering.

“Yeah, the guys want to have a party for us. We were talking about having it here because we have room for everyone. It would be fun.”

“You sure you haven’t reached your quota of fun yet?” I ask him skeptically. But also, honestly, Max and fun? Not always discussed in the same sentence.

“All right, maybe I deserved that in an earlier life. But you, wife—you make me want to do it.”

What is he saying? Are we only delaying the inevitable?

“Sure, we could do that. I’ll get with the event planner and see if she can?—”

“Nope. This party is for you—well, and me—so you’re not lifting a finger.

” He pulls my hand to his lips and kisses it, then links our fingers and lets our connected hands fall between us.

“If the guys want to do it, they’re going to do the work.

It’ll be in a couple of weeks, so you have a chance to recuperate from this crazy mess. ”

“Do you have a date picked out? Because Dylan’s birthday is right around then. I thought I’d plan something for him.”

“That’ll be great. We’re talking about the first day of the All-Star break, so it’ll just be the guys who don’t go to Atlanta, and whatever friends you want to invite.

They’re all talking casual. I mean, the TVs will be on by the pool, since the home run derby will be that day. Have him invite friends from his team.”

This is getting to be a lot . I pull away and let our hands drop, and wrap my arms around my middle. It’s time to go into protective mode. But Max misinterprets my move, removes his jacket, and lays it over my shoulders. He puts his arm at my waist and guides me to face him.

“You getting cold, babe? Maybe we should head back?”

I lift my hand to the front of his snowy white shirt, his onyx studs glimmering from the lights in the trees. Other couples are strolling through the yard, but nobody is near.

“Max, I have to tell you something, and I’m not even sure I have the right.”

“Well, that sounds ominous.”

“It might be. You know I come with a lot of . . . baggage. I’ve already dragged you into so much of it. My life is not simple.”

“Palmer—”

“Just . . . This isn’t easy for me, so let me get it out. Please.”

“I’m listening.” But his voice has gone hard. Something is playing out in his imagination, and I’m afraid of what it is.

“I love you, Max.” I spit it out, the hard part. The rest of our conversation can happen or not, but that needs to be said.

Max takes a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing, but I hold up my hand.

“I need to finish. Please.”

He nods, then moves his hands to my shoulders, as though holding me in place until I’m done.

“I don’t know where or how, and I’m sorry. I didn’t intend for this to happen, but it did. So . . . there. That’s it. It wasn’t part of our agreement, but I wanted to tell you.”

And I’m not going anywhere until you kick me out.

Max just stands there staring at me, with his hands on the points of my shoulders, squeezing lightly. He can either push me away or pull me close, the same decision I had in front of a bathroom door on the night we met.

He tightens his hold and pulls me into him, his arms wrapped snugly around my body, like he wants me close.

“I’m glad you told me that,” he says into the side of my head.

“You are?” I mumble into his shirt. I squirm till he loosens his hold and I can pull my head back, watch his expression. He looks down at me, and his eyes are intense with emotion.

“Yeah. Because I love you, too, Palmer Girl. Don’t know where.

Don’t know how. It really doesn’t matter.

I only want to make this—your whole life, everything right here—simple for you.

I want to be there. With you, wife. With our family.

Making our own rules, accepting what we want, leaving the rest, living the way that makes sense to us. ”

My knees weaken and I’m glad he’s got a good grip on me.

“So, this is us?” I pose it as a question, and raise the nearly empty glass I’ve been clinging to this whole time. He clinks his glass against it, drains the contents, and finishes the toast.

“To the us we want to be. And happily ever after.”