Page 26 of Pitcher Perfect (Big Shots #4)

reflection of himself. It would be brief, though. She had enough faith in him to know that. “He’ll beat himself up for not

being in stride with you, like always. But one day, he’ll realize this is what motivated him to be better. And long before

that, he’ll put aside his own shit and support you. Give him a chance. He’s only an ass, like, ninety-two percent of the time.”

Tension slowly bled from Madden’s face as she spoke. “I can’t wait to see what you do with your talent, Skylar. You were always impressive as a pitcher, but you’re... surprising as a person, too.”

What did that mean?

And why did she just want to take it at face value and move on, instead of dissecting every syllable and equating his sentiments

to love, the way she did before?

“Thank you,” she whispered, feeling kind of dizzy. Sad. Adrift.

Madden tilted his head and started to say something but was interrupted by the crackle of a PA system. “Ladies and gentlemen,”

purred a low voice, the music lifting in volume, a spotlight appearing in a perfect circle in the center of the stage. “You’re

in for a rare treat. Performing tonight for the first time, the mistress of the Gilded Garden herself. Put your hands together

for the electrifying Eve.”

Glass shattered.

Close enough to Skylar that she flinched away from the sound, only to realize it was Madden’s beer glass. That it had broken

right there in his hand. She stared at him in shock, before gaping at the stage. What to address first? The fact that Madden

apparently didn’t know his own strength? Or the fact that Eve was performing—something she claimed she would never do?

There she was, however, standing in the center of the spotlight, her waist-length blond hair covering her breasts, an oversized

feather fan shielding her lower body.

Plus a teasing smile—and that was all.

Truthfully, she looked like a mischievous angel.

Beautiful. If Eve hadn’t spent their entire friendship vowing she would never perform, because she refused to fulfill the expectations of everyone they’d grown up with—whether they were low or high—Skylar would be thrilled for her.

But Skylar recalled all those conversations well.

Recalled the relentless bullying Eve had faced at school, due to her father owning the strip club, a source of local vitriol.

And so this sudden appearance of her best friend onstage worried her.

Not because there was anything wrong with performing burlesque.

Even Skylar, who was inexperienced in the art form, had witnessed its empowering and beautiful nature.

No, she was worried because for Eve, performing was out of character.

Unexpected.

Before Skylar could come up with a plan to address both issues confronting her, Madden was off like a shot. One moment, he

was slicing through the crowd, the next he was onstage, throwing Eve over his shoulder and continuing through the blue velvet

curtain without so much as a hitch in his stride.

Skylar’s drink remained suspended in the air for two more seconds before she plonked it down on the bar and jogged after Madden

and Eve, leaping through the curtain to find her best friend glaring at Madden, feather fan clutched to the front of her body.

“How dare you, Mads. How dare you.”

A single word scraped from his throat. “Why?”

No change in expression from Eve. “Because I wanted to.”

Madden made a sound. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Guys...” Feeling oddly as though she was interrupting something, Skylar took a few steps in their direction. “Why don’t

we go talk in Eve’s office?”

“No,” Eve blurted, eyes widening. A rare glimpse of nerves from her usually deadpan best friend. “No, we can talk here.”

“Why?” Madden asked, gaze narrowing. “What’s in your office?”

Eve said nothing.

A beat passed.

Madden turned on a heel and strode farther backstage, paying no mind to the scattering of scantily clad burlesque dancers, toward the office.

He didn’t have far to go, either, only fifteen yards or so and he was nearly ripping the hinges off a door marked “Manager,” while Eve and Skylar hustled forward in his wake.

The last thing Skylar expected to see on the other side of the door was two little kids.

A boy and a girl. Both of them roughly the age of five.

Were they... twins? Yes.

One of them played on an iPad, one colored in a Barbie coloring book.

Madden jerked to a stop, as if he’d hit a brick wall.

The kids barely glanced up from their activities at the three newly arrived adults.

Face pale, Eve reached past Madden and closed the office door.

“Are you happy?” Eve wanted to know.

Madden said nothing. Only stared.

“They are my sister’s kids,” Eve said, quiet and firm, visibly keeping herself calm. Poised. “Lark and Landon. They’re mine

now.”

“Eve...” Madden sputtered. “How?”

“It’s a long story and I don’t have time to tell it tonight.

” She caught Skylar’s eye and Skylar watched a shadow of guilt dance across Eve’s expression.

Because of her tone, maybe. Or because major life changes had obviously taken place and she hadn’t even called her best friend.

Whatever the reason for her guilt, Eve visibly forced herself to soften, though she refused to look at Madden.

“I’m selling this place to take care of them.

There’s a prospective buyer but... he’s hesitant.

I haven’t had a chance to build the clientele since I turned it into the lounge.

I’ve only gotten the doors open, so...

” She closed her eyes. “I thought if I performed, word would get around. You know every asshole in this town will show up to see me humbled. If that’s what I have to do to get butts in seats, so be it—”

Madden turned and put his fist through a wall.

While this action made Skylar gasp, Eve, weirdly, didn’t seem the least bit surprised. “I’d like you to leave, Mads,” she

said after a gulping breath.

The catcher paced one way, then the other, before giving Eve one final, hard look and kicking his way through the emergency

exit. Skylar gaped. What was that behavior about?

Skylar was off-balance and worried on Eve’s behalf, but Madden was... incensed .

“Skylar...” Eve trailed off while reaching for the silk robe hanging on a nearby chair, finally dropping the fan that hid

her brief lingerie and pulling on the garment. She swiped at her eyes and took a long breath, before giving Skylar a quick

but crushing hug. “Can we meet up in a day or so? I know you left me a message, but... I need to work up a little more

courage to talk about this.”

Skylar banded her arms around her best friend, empathy and alarm and love for Eve making her eyes damp. “Of course. You know

where to find me.”

“Throwing balls at a tree, probably,” Eve said on an abrupt laugh, her gaze straying toward the exit door. “I’ll call you.

We’ll meet somewhere... where we won’t be interrupted.”

“You sure you’re okay?”

Eve winked, fanned herself with the feather fan, but the corner of her mouth quivered in an almost unnoticeable way. “I’m

always okay, babe.”

Skylar left through the same door as Madden, though he was nowhere to be seen.

Feeling disconnected from reality, Skylar circled back around to the front of the establishment while tapping through the process of calling an Uber.

Seeing that she had a fifteen-minute wait, she sat on the carved stone bench outside, absently murmuring hello to customers as they walked inside, wondering if they were about to see Eve dance.

While she’d been in the club, the moon had grown clearer behind the surrounding trees, a slight chill flavoring the air. None

of the seductive music could be heard from within the Gilded Garden. Only silence. Only the heavy thunking of her own heart.

And loneliness started to creep in.

It would be so easy to talk to Robbie, with his perfect balance of humor and honesty, about what had just happened. Wouldn’t

it?

Skylar chewed her lip for a moment, judging he’d finished practice and returned home by now. Would it be weird to call him?

She’d watched him masturbate this morning, after all. That tended to reduce any and all formalities. If she was being honest

with herself, her main concern was that he wouldn’t answer.

Don’t be a wimp. If Eve could give up her dream to raise two kids at age twenty-two, Skylar could call a dude.

Not allowing herself another second of stalling, Skylar called Robbie.

What greeted her ears was a full-on party. No, a rager .

Women and men and music and squeals of laughter.

The clinking of glasses.

She could hardly hear Robbie’s voice over the pandemonium. “Skylar?” shouted his deep voice. “Rocket, you there?”

Calling herself ten kinds of stupid, she hung up without saying a word.