Page 42 of Wild Catch

CHAPTER 42

LOGAN

A s if tonight couldn’t get more bizarre, I find myself eating pizza from Cade Starr’s favorite place in the parking lot of the ballpark. We sit on the walkway, two extra large boxes with extra meaty pies between us. We even went off the rails and got sodas to wash down the grease.

And by we I mean Cade Starr, Lucky Rivera, and Miguel Machado. What a weird combo.

Chewing through a giant, cheesy bite, I ask the latter, “Don’t you have a kid at home to get to?”

The newest member of the team swallows his mouthful to respond, “The nanny already put her in bed. She’s not missing me right now.”

“Ah.” I guess well cared for kids would go to bed early. I wouldn’t know. My parents didn’t give a shit about what I did when we weren’t in public.

“You’re right,” Rivera says to Starr, observing his own slice carefully. “This really is superior pizza. There’s just something about it.”

“I’m thinking of investing in the place so that it never closes,” says the cowboy, which strikes me as something very him , for some reason.

Since when am I familiar enough with anyone that I can even think that way?

Actually, since when am I close enough to anyone that they’d stay around me when I feel like absolute garbage? And even feed me?

“What are you all doing here?” I ask at last, even though we’ve been sitting here for like half an hour.

They waited for me to get my tests done, and even had the food waiting beside my bike—which by the way, I won’t be able to ride for a while, so Rivera offered to take me home.

It turns out I have bruised ribs, a strained shoulder, and a mild concussion. The combination wouldn’t make me a safe bike rider for myself or anyone else.

I also got a suspension and fine, the cherry on top.

Turning the baby blues on me, Starr says, “We told you, we wanted to know what the verdict was.”

My eyebrows come together. “And I already told you, so why are you still wasting your time here instead of going home?”

“Because the pizza won’t eat itself,” Rivera says, taking another bite.

“And also because we didn’t think you should be alone,” Machado finishes off.

That raises my hackles and I drop my half-eaten slice on the box. “What? Do you think I’d harm myself or something? You don’t know me, you?—”

“Of course I don’t,” he says with surprising calm, considering I was just about to snap his neck. “And that’s not what I meant. I just thought it’d be really shitty to leave you alone after the really shitty night you’ve had.”

“Very eloquently put, brother,” Rivera says, but pronouncing the last word the Boricua way— brodel .

“I have to say…” Starr brushes the flour off his hands before reaching for his plastic cup filled with soda. “Your face gave me a weird feeling that something was gonna go south tonight, but I didn’t think it would go so epically south, you know?”

“Since when do you know my face so well?” I ask in a deadpan.

He stops the cup halfway and gives me an incredulous look. “Dude, I’m your other half. I see your freaking mug everyday. You have like one smile and seven different types of frowns, and tonight your expression was neither of them.”

“I thought Kim’s other half was Rose?” Machado teases.

The cowboy looks at him. “Other platonic half, I meant.”

I sigh. It sincerely hadn’t occurred to me that just as I’ve been analyzing Starr’s every move and mood, he might’ve been doing the same. Or that I’ve been more transparent than I thought.

“I hate this,” I admit quietly.

“Hate what?” Rivera prods.

“I hate that everybody knows I don’t have my shit together.”

“Bah.” Rivera waves his pizza, sending a slice of pepperoni flying in the air. “None of us do. We just pretend in different ways.”

“Yep,” Starr confirms.

“Uh huh.” Machado nods.

“Wait.” Starr smacks the slugger on his chest with the back of his greasy hand. “You’re a dad. Don’t all parents have their shit together?”

“Hell no. What makes you think so?” Machado snorts. “Because bing a single dad isn’t for the faint of heart.”

“I wouldn’t know. I grew up in an orphanage.” Starr shrugs.

Machado’s jaw drops. “Oh, damn. I’m sorry.”

“I also can confirm that not all parents have their shit together,” I say, for only the second time in my life volunteering this information. “In fact, mine completely screwed me over. It’s why I get the panic attacks and all that shit.”

“Wait, what happened?” Starr frowns.

Meanwhile, Machado holds his hands up. “Listen, dude. You don’t have to share if you don’t?—”

“Screw that. If you don’t talk to us right now I’m running you over with your own bike,” Rivera says, kicking my legs that are extended beside his.

I make a deliberate pause to take a fortifying swig of soda. “I guess I could say this in many different ways but the gist of it is that my family is abusive and neglectful.” I set my cup down and reach for what’s left of my pizza slice.

“Did you just casually drop a bomb like that?” one of them asks.

“Yeah…” I trail off and take another bite.

“Well, shit. I didn’t see that one coming,” Starr admits.

“I did.” We turn to Rivera. “That shit your brother pulled last week clued me in. That was some psycho behavior.”

“He’s never got officially diagnosed, but my old therapist believed that Lewis is a sociopath, actually.” What do you know? It feels freaking great to get that off my chest. It’s like I’ve been protecting Lewis all these years by keeping it quiet, instead of talking. And that spurns me on to add, “And both of my parents are narcissists—and not of the kind that just like their own reflection in the mirror. The manipulative kind.”

“So the great TJ Kim is evil?” Machado asks to clarify.

“Yup.”

Starr watches me closely. “Do I understand correctly that the whole thing with your brother messed you up and you didn’t say a word about it to anyone, and then Williams came in and basically poked a sleeping bear?”

I don’t respond.

“You ass, you could’ve trusted us.”

I grunt. “I’m not used to trusting. My biggest nightmare was me not being able to hold it together in front of other people, and that just happened tonight. That’s the only reason I’m even saying shit—that and I’m drunk on gluten and sugar.”

“So now that your worst nightmare already happened and you didn’t die, are you going to start trusting us at last?” Rivera narrows his eyes at me when I don’t answer right away. “Don’t make me punch you in your pretty face, you little shit.”

“It’s not that easy.” The words come out of my throat loaded with irritation. “It’s not a switch I can turn on and off as I please. I don’t even know if I have one, and that’s the big issue because…”

“Rose?” Machado asks sharply.

I groan. “Shit. Don’t tell me you’re another clever fox I have to watch out for.”

“Oh, thanks. No one’s called me clever before.” He smirks. “In fact, my own kid thinks I’m dull as a rock.”

“Wait, I don’t consider myself clueless, but how does this relate to Rose?” the Boricua asks.

Machado clears his throat. “I might’ve overheard them a little at the clinic.”

“You are on borrowed time, Machado,” I say through gritted teeth. That’s about as much mojo as I’m able to put into the threat at this point.

“It wasn’t much, something about how you don’t seem to understand that you’re enough for her.” He raises a leg and rests his arm on it before tipping his chin at me. “So is it actually because of your trust issues?”

“I trust her.” I growl.

“Then what’s the hold up, man?”

“Why in the freaking hell would I want to put her through this?” I motion toward my head, which they now know is a royal mess. “She could have any guy in the world. A doctor. A teacher—I don’t know, someone who isn’t a powder keg. Why would she settle for me?”

“Because she wants to, period.” We all turn to Starr. “As your resident guy who is going steady with a woman who teaches him something new every day”—Here he interrupts himself to chuckle dryly—“I can confirm that women make their own decisions regardless of your opinion, and the sooner you adapt to that, the happier you’ll be.”

“Checks out.” Rivera nods.

“Yeah, that’s true.” Machado rubs his jaw. “Ask me how I know.”

I reel back. “You’re saying that I should go along with Rose even if I’d be a terrible addition to her life?”

“But she chose you for a reason, you gigantic, steaming pile of turds.” Starr opens his eyes wide. “Ever stopped to think with that busy brain of yours that maybe her decision isn’t flawed?”

“But—”

He raises his paw. “Shut up for a second and hear me out. We now know that the princess made a bad call in dating Williams.” We all give various forms of acknowledgment to that. “Now tell me, are you like Williams?”

“Hell freaking no.”

“Which already means you’re an improvement.”

I give him a deadpanned look. “Wow, rousing endorsement there.”

“Next question,” Starr continues, ignoring my jab. “Has she openly manifested her interest in you?”

“Yes, but?—”

“I’m not done.” He leans toward me. “Are you aware of how cool she is?”

“Cool?” I frown. “She’s more than cool. She’s the golden hour bathing you with warmth and light and?—”

“That’s good,” Rivera stretches the word. “You’re waxing poetic already.”

That makes me shut my mouth.

“Do you think she’s smart?” the cowboy continues grilling me.

I respond through gritted teeth. “She’s freaking brilliant.”

“So, isn’t she capable of making her own decisions?”

“Of course she is.” I drop my head to expel an exasperated sigh. My hair falls forward and I use my one clean hand to brush it back. “I just don’t want to hurt her.”

“Well then, just don’t.”

I stare. “Easy to say for anyone who doesn’t have a toxic waste of a family or an unstable mind.”

“Your mind isn’t unstable,” Machado chimes in, derailing my train of thought. “It just has different coping mechanisms, and they’re going to work better once you stop ignoring them.”

“How the hell do you know about this stuff?” I bark.

“Yeah. How did you even know how to walk him through the panic attack?” Rivera asks too.

Machado shrugs. “It’s from reading so many parenting books.”

“Are you parenting me right now?” I scrunch up my face.

“Anyway, I have one more question.” We refocus on the Texan. He’s done eating and leans back against the concrete as he stares at me. “Do you want Rose or not?”

I tighten my jaw and swallow hard. “With every fiber of my being.”

“Then stop being afraid of happiness and go for her.”

“I don’t know how,” I admit reluctantly, tired of having this dialogue with myself and at last exteriorizing it. “I don’t know how to show up for her or be good to her.”

Rivera interjects with “but do you want to?”

I give a jerky nod.

“How about you tell her all of this…” Machado glances from one of us to the other. “In a letter? Like I get that it’d be hard to say this for someone who seems more used to expressing himself in grunts and hand signals?—”

Rivera laughs. “You got him to a T.”

“But maybe it’s easier if you take your time to think it through and put it on paper,” Machado finishes.

“Damn, now that’s an idea.” Starr gives Machado the finger guns. “Women love a grand gesture.”

“We can help you.” Rivera pats his chest. “I’ve been known to write a romantic poem or two in my youth.”

“Your youth?” His best bud barks a laugh that echoes in the quiet of the night. “What are you now, a grandpa?”

“Fine,” I say, and their amusement dies down. “I’ll write a letter.” I chug at the rest of my soda and sigh like it’s a beer instead. I take a deep, painful breath and add, “And I hate to admit it, but I’ll need help to not sound like a tool.”

“Let’s do this.” Rivera reaches for the lid to close the box nearest to him.

“Right now?” Machado blinks.

“Damn straight. Love waits for no sleep,” declares the king of the stooges.

After some logistics and a short but uncomfortable commute, I find myself on a different floor—this time my living room, surrounded by my teammates as we brainstorm on the best way I can convey my feelings for Rosalina Mena. Old school.