Page 39

CHAPTER 39

ROSE

T he crowd roars. So much for baseball being a gentlemen’s sport, huh? You’d think this is a hockey match instead.

My jaw drops and my heart races like a horse. I don’t know what Ben did to provoke Logan—did he try to literally kick him while he was down?—but I’m sure he deserved it and yet… this is no bueno. So no freaking bueno.

“Stop it, you fool!” I scream with all my power, my voice breaking at the end. “You’re gonna get suspended!”

But Miguel was the guy who took off after his ex teammate and thank goodness for him, he slides his arms under Ben’s and prevents him from pouncing back at Logan. Except that Logan’s trying to go for another blow, and Lucky has to bracket Logan’s arms with his to keep him off.

“Yeah! Hit him again!” a man shouts from the crowd.

I—I agree. A weird laugh bubbles up my throat.

That was… amazing.

Seeing Logan punch Ben in the face is a dream come true. I pinch my cheek but yep, I feel pain so this is all real. My um, fake boyfriend just socked my real ex, who is now dripping red from his nose down his baby blue uniform.

I put a hand on my chest, feeling the wild thumping of my heart against it. “Logan Kim, what are you doing to me?” This freaking man is a threat to my sanity. It’s not that I’m a fan of violence, but my delusional hormones found that so… so sexy. I shake my head hard, trying to think straight. “Violence is never good, Rose,” I tell myself.

But damn it, I know in every fiber of my being that Logan would never resort to violence with anyone who doesn’t deserve it. In fact, when Logan pushed his brother hard enough to make him fall on his ass, was after Lewis hurt me . So Ben must’ve done something to deserve this.

And it’s the fact that Logan can dish it that has my knees weak. Like it has woken up all my cavewoman hormones.

He’s being dragged away by several teammates but he’s using his own legs, which means that even if the risky out hurt him, it’s not a life or career threatening. I hope.

I stop recording from the stands and finally take off. My lungs work extra hard getting oxygen to my racing brain, which in turn tries to compete with my legs, as if the power of wishing to be next to Logan could get me there faster.

I sort through some fans trying to get a closer view of the biggest fight of the season so far, through security, through the maze of corridors for employees. I have to grab onto my camera so it stops bouncing against my stomach painfully. The corridor leading to the clubhouse is packed with staff—from operations, to some marketing colleagues, and even the GM.

“Excuse me,” I whisper, squeezing my arms between people and trying to make way as gently as I can. “Sorry about that. Coming through. Careful with that arm—excuse me.”

Shockingly, they do let me through. I make my way into the clubhouse and the scene there is not at all what I expect.

Rather than angry men still raring for a fight, there’s an eerie silence around the whole team, coaching staff, and support. They all stand in an odd kind of circle around something.

I find the nearest player, Mike Brown, our third baseman. “Mike, what’s happening?” I ask in as low a voice as I can muster.

He does a double take that ends with his eyebrows twisting in worry. “It’s Kim. He collapsed.”

The air leaves my lungs.

My limbs turn to ice and I can’t move them.

“B-But I—I saw him w-walk, he—he—” My teeth chitter like I’m naked in sub zero temperature.

Mike presses his lips together and shakes his head.

I claw at his arm. “What the hell does that mean? So help me if?—”

“No, no. I think he’s going to be okay, it’s just… I’m debating whether it’s best if you don’t see him.”

“Take me to him. Now ,” I order through gritted teeth.

Finally, Mike nods and grabs my arm. He parts the crowd, towing me to the front before letting me go.

As he steps away, I can finally see what he was debating whether to hide or not.

Logan sits on the floor, his knees up and face buried between them. His arms are braced so tight around his legs that he’s probably cutting off blood flow. His shoulders rise and fall too fast for his breathing to be any healthy.

“Slower, man,” Miguel instructs, kneeling right next to Logan with a hand on his shoulder. “That’s it. In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

“Wh—What is happening?” my voice is a trembly squeak.

“Panic attack,” Lucky responds, his face a solemn mask.

I gasp softly, my eyes returning to the hunched over figure of the larger-than-life man who leads this team, who is capable of jumping into action in the most unbelievable circumstances, who has saved my life, defended me, teased me, annoyed me, kissed me. The man who walks through life with his head held high every day.

And right now it’s bowed to whatever monster Ben Williams unleashed in his mind.

“Logan,” I sob his name. I crash on my knees before him, not really knowing what to do but doing something. I meet Miguel’s eyes with my desperate ones. “What can I do?”

“Touch him. Talk to him. Whatever it takes to ground him,” he says.

I slide to the opposite side, stretching my arm around Logan’s back to rub circles on it, and bury my face in the space between his arm and face. “Logan,” I whisper into his ear. “Come back to us, babe. Come back to me.”

His breath hitches and I wait, but no other reaction comes. I set my other arm over his, holding his knees up, and start whispering nonsense about how good he smells, about my knees smarting, about the fact that he most likely broke Ben’s nose, and that I must be a savage because I liked that. Miguel murmurs more encouragements for breathing deeper and it almost seems to be working.

Until suddenly, Logan starts tilting—toward me. His arms slacken and he melts against me. I brace myself as his weight threatens to topple me over, but then suddenly someone is behind me.

“I got you,” Hope says in my ear, holding me from behind.

Logan fully collapses against me, unconscious. My heart beats like a rabbit as I try to shield him from all the attention, guiding his face against my neck. “Um, doctor?” I ask.

“We got him,” the head of the medical team says at last. He takes Miguel’s place and approaches with an oxygen mask.

I recognize that it means I’ll have to let Logan go. Squeezing my arms around him one last time, I let the doctor and his team take him from me.

It takes four grown men to drag an unconscious Logan Kim on a stretcher. They pause to slide an oxygen mask around his head and I don’t know—I don’t know. It strikes me as too drastic.

I try to reason with myself. He’s just fainted because of breathing irregularly. He’s not dying. No one is really taking him away from me. He’s not going anywhere. He’s going to be fine. This isn’t a big deal.

I drop my face in my hands, sobbing.

“It’s okay, Rosie,” Hope says, now rubbing my back. “It’s nothing major.”

“Isn’t it?” I lift my face and spot Cade. He removes his cap to wipe the sweat off his forehead. “What kind of stress is he under that he collapsed like this?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know. I would’ve never imagined that the Logan Kim could pass out like this. It’s surreal.”

“Don’t you dare badmouth him,” I threaten through gritted teeth. “He’s your teammate. He deserves your compassion, not your judgement.”

Cade raises his hands. “I’m not judging. I’m just worried out of my damn mind about him, but I don’t know what I can do.”

Murmurs of agreement rise among the team. My shoulders droop a little.

“Come with me, Rose. I’ll give you a drink with electrolytes.” Hope tries to help me up.

“But, Logan—” I glance toward the hallway that leads to the gym and clinic.

“He’s in great hands,” a different voice says. Rob Beau, the manager for the team, crouches before me. “We’re going to take good care of Logan no matter what, okay?”

“Okay,” I parrot back, nodding even as my chin trembles.

I let Hope guide me to the trainers’s office, and she sits me down on a chair to rummage through some cabinets. “Be right back, I’m gonna get you some ice for this drink.”

Her words barely register, the adrenaline has left my body. I slouch back on the chair, my eyes lost among the restlessness I can see in the clubhouse through the door. There’s noise now, the guys talking over each other. I can only make out a few random words like what now , suspension , time out . Someone’s clapping and it gets the guys heading in the same direction—toward the tunnel.

Hope makes her way through them, hands busy with a half empty sports drink bottle and a reusable one on the other. “Here, this is sweet and will restore you right away.” She hands me the reusable bottle.

I take it with trembling hands and look up at her. “You were there on the field. How the—How did this even happen?”

“I’m not sure myself.” Hope’s face pinches with the first sign of worry she’s shown. “One second we’re there checking for injuries, the next Ben Williams opened his mouth and made Logan lose his ever loving mind.”

I almost choke on a sip. “Ben? What could he possibly say that…”

“It, um…” Hope wrings the sports drink bottle. “It was about you.”

I slam my bottle on the desk beside me and jump to my feet, towering over my shorter friend. “What did that piece of crap say?”

She presses her lips and shakes her head. “I don’t want to say it.”

“I probably got it recorded,” someone else says. We both turn to find Miguel poking through the threshold. He taps the black device on his chest. “I’ve been mic’ed up all night.”

“Bless you.” I side step around Hope, heading for the exit.

“Damn it, Machado,” Hope whines. “You’re just adding fuel to the fire.”

“Hey, hurry up!” someone calls out from the distance.

“One second,” Miguel says to the caller before returning to us. “Listen, the truth is that Kim is probably getting a suspension because he struck first, but I think that asshole Williams should get suspended for what he said too. So I know it’s gonna suck hearing it, but someone needs to do something.”

Hope and I exchange a glance.

“Wait,” I mumble. “Do you have beef against Ben too?”

“Do I?” Miguel snorts. “He’s one of the reasons I left my old team. I didn’t want to keep dealing with his toxic ass.”

A corner of my lips lifts. “You’re officially on my good books, Miguel Machado.” Cracking my knuckles, I set out to the broadcast team, who must have the recording that will bring about Ben Williams’s downfall, and maybe that will help Logan.