Page 36 of Wild Hit (Wild Baseball Romance #3)

MIGUEL

M y favorite part of the All-Star game is before it even starts, when the players get to meet some of the little fans.

It’s a shame that it can’t be open to every single family that purchases tickets to the game, but I think rather than this being a safety concern, it’s more an issue that there’s way less players than fans.

A very good first world problem to have.

I’m crouched down between two siblings, a girl and a boy, and we’re smiling for the camera. As we cheese it out, I wonder if Marty still finds all of this too cringe or if she’d be up to taking a picture with her dad.

Eh, probably the former, but I wouldn’t be where I am if I wasn’t a try-hard.

Me

Can we take some pics after this?

Mi Nina Bonita

Like this?

A moment later comes an attachment of her sitting on the stands reserved for the players’s families.

To her left is Consuelo with an enormous bucket of popcorn that almost obscures her entirely.

On Marty’s right is a mountain of women—I think that would be a good plural for them, since they’re all larger than life.

Audrey’s squished next to my daughter, and she appears grumpy about the fact that her two roommates are basically on top of her, matching Marty’s grin.

Well, thanks. Now I’m bummed that I’m not there.

“Can we have your autograph?” the kids ask, looking up at me like I still have hero-shine even though I already warmed up and I kind of stink.

“Of course.” Like magic, one of the organizing staff passes me a stack of papers with the logo’s event and a marker. “What are your names?”

“I’m Aaliyah!”

Then her little brother adds, “And Elijah!”

Their smiles are so contagious that I can’t help but mirror them as I work on the autograph.

The two are in pee wees together, but it’s actually Aaliyah the one who wishes to be a professional baseball player—that was actually their introduction earlier.

Breaks my damn freaking heart that it doesn’t seem possible the way things are set up.

As a girl dad, I want Marty to have whatever she wants.

“Here you go, champs. Stay safe, okay?” As I offer them the autographs, and since it looks like their hair took a lot of effort, rather than patting them on the head I offer my fist for them to bump it.

As they wave me off, new kids start on the me me me chants.

I check the players nearby. The guy from Philly’s team is still still occupied with a tween boy who’s asking for pitching tips.

On my other side, Ben Williams is just sending off a girl.

The problem is that the kids in the waiting line aren’t looking at him for their next turn.

This grown ass man rolls his eyes at me. “Look at you, Mr. Popular.”

As I did while I was still a Rider, I ignore him.

“I hate that about you, man. Acting like you’re more important than everyone else.”

I mention to the staff member, “I’m ready for the next kid.”

“Great!” she chirps. It takes some finagling with the line to find who has the next ticket to meet me.

Meanwhile, Williams takes that as an invitation to keep yapping. “I still can’t believe you left us for a subpar team like the Wild.”

That’s not enough to goad me into conversation.

Not only was the Wild a legit contender for the championship before I came along, but he is the second reason why I left Denver.

This guy has the touch of the stomach—everything he touches turns to shit.

The Wild was a better team before him, and it’s drastically better after him.

And the second he arrived to the Riders, the environment started turning into Chernobyl levels of toxic.

I prepare for whatever’s coming next when he turns around so no one can read his lips. “Are you getting some good tail, though? Orlando has a surprisingly juicy crop of women.” He fake gasps. “Wait. You married my ex’s friend right? Then the tail must not really be good.”

That does it.

Not because he’s getting under my skin—and Audrey would have an even better takedown for him if she was here—but the staff member is wheeling in the next kid and I’d like to preserve his innocence.

“Did you forget that the last time you said something like this, you got your nose broken?” I point at the new curve of his nose. “I guess it’s possible since you can’t see it, but it’s there, trust me.”

His hackles rise. “Are you threatening me?”

I go back to ignoring him and crouch for the next kid. “Hey, buddy. Are you having a good time today?”

“Yeah!” The boy’s face, already open and happy, all but explodes from excitement. “I got a picture with two Hall of Famers already, two! Can you believe that?”

“Wow, that’s so cool. Who were the lucky guys?”

He uses his fingers to count them. “First it was Derek Jeter, and then Pedro Martinez. But I also met Andres Gal—Galg…”

“Galarraga?” I ask, my Venezuelan accent coming out in full force.

“Yeah, my dad was his fan!”

“So was I.” I start working on an autograph for him, using my thigh as a table. “He’s one of the players I looked up to when I was a kid in my home country, dreaming of being pro one day.”

Andres Galarraga, Omar Vizquel, the legendary hero Luis Aparicio from my hometown. These are some of the guys that make me believe in myself when I was a kid. That I could go somewhere with this sport.

“Whoa!” he exclaims.

“What’s your name, buddy?”

“I’m Jimmy! It’s so cool to meet you.” Then he leans a little bit toward me, hands gripping the armrests of his wheelchair. “Wanna know the truth?”

I look up with interest. I’m not against being trusted with a secret. “Of course, what’s that?”

“You’re actually my favorite player of all,” he says in the loudest whisper I’ve ever heard. That, and the fact that he looks like he just won the lottery, make my chest bubble with joy.

I pretend like I’m very serious, though, and I also lean forward to share a big secret. “Well, don’t tell anyone, Jimmy, but you’re my favorite fan.”

“Yes!” He pumps a fist in the air and we pose for a picture with him holding the autograph.

I’m grinning from ear to ear when I make the mistake of straightening up and making eye contact with Williams. “You’re my favorite player,” he mocks with a high pitched voice.

From the corner of my eye, I confirm that Jimmy’s far enough, surrounded by other kids, and shows no signs of having heard the mockery.

Unfortunately, I’m only human. All the happy go lucky feels I had part like the ocean to give room for anger. Slowly, making full use of the nine inches I have on him, I say, “Another rhinoplasty’s in your damn future if I catch you making fun of a child again.”

Williams snaps his mouth shut.

There, there .

When I turn back to find the coordinator, I instead meet a different one approaching me. This one’s a fairly young guy and he looks like he just went through something traumatic. “Um, excuse me, Mr. Machado, but Mr. Cox is looking for you.”

Audrey’s dad? Whatever for , I think sarcastically. I think she’s starting to rub off on me.

A flashback of her rubbing up on me in my team captain’s car goes through my head. I shake it to clear the incredible memory away.

I clear my throat. “Let’s check with the event coordinator first.”

“Of course.” The guy nods rapidly.

I glance back at Williams, who is still glaring a me with unmatched fury. It makes my lips quirk. “Turns out your nose lives to see another day.”

“You—”

Whatever he says next is drowned by the kids, because the coordinator gives the other staff member a thumbs up that I’m good to go, and starts guiding me away.

“I’ll be back,” I say in my best Terminator voice to the kiddies, and they react entirely the opposite way my own child would. Like they’re excited about the idea. No one is a prophet in their own land, after all.

The behind the scenes of an All-Star game is even more of a circus than a normal one, and sometimes even more than a World Series, depending on the egos and the grudges that get intermingled here.

Williams isn’t the only guy who wishes for me to trip on my shoelaces.

One of the guys I’ll duke it out against in the home run derby later is giving me some lip as we pass him by.

Most of the players are respectful of each other but some—like this dude, who is actually older than me—have the mentality of an elementary school bully.

What’s funny, though, is that in front of the cameras they look like the picture of wholesomeness. But since I ignore them, they like to circulate rumors that I’m the bad apple. That I’m rude and cocky.

And yeah, I kinda am. I don’t clock people who have no say in my life. Let’s see if Charlie Cox is gonna learn that lesson today.

This show of course also includes executives, managers, and some of the owners from the teams that are represented.

Just as I’d like to be able to join Marty and Audrey in the stands, or to still be meeting the future players and fans in line, I’m forced to be a professional and follow the staff guy to the area with the powers that be, where the cheapest snack is caviar.

Which by the way, is incredibly gross and I’ll take no questions about it.

Of course the owners are hanging out by themselves behind closed doors. Many of them stop and stare at my arrival, and the kid guiding me through the maze visibly grows smaller. My bet is that this is why he’s so nervous, because dealing with the ultra rich isn’t for the faint of heart.

Of course, Charlie Cox isn’t even mingling among them. He’s in an even more private room, drinking from a glass, staring out at the stadium as it continues to fill up before the game, and brushing his twirly mustache like the villain of a cartoon from the 1940s.

“There you are,” he says in what frankly is an ominous voice. He looks at the young staffer and waves him off, like this is happening in a movie. Once we’re alone in the private balcony, he says, “We need to talk.”

I wish I could ignore him too. Alas.

Folding my arms, I offer no further sign of interest in what he has to say.

I don’t know him very well, and I don’t need to. What he’s done and also attempted to do to his own daughter already put him in a specific category for me. The no bueno kind.

He sets the glass down on the bar by the window with the great view, leaning against it to face me. “This conversation has been long overdue. However, I’ve been occupied with other matters, so I will get to the point.”

I stare. Does he realize that that was quite a long preamble already?

“What you did to my daughter raises suspicions.”

Luckily for the both of us, I’m pretty good at not giving away what I’m really thinking or feeling. It’s a job hazard of being a baseball player. I do itch to grab onto the crucifix and the married ring at my neck, though.

“So, tell me the truth. Even if I don’t like it, I will prefer it than discovering you lied. And trust me, I’m not above suspending you the rest of the season for it.”

The threat is there, clear as the bright sky of A-Town where this All-Star game is happening.

I would not enjoy having to lawyer up to fight an unjust suspension.

But no one who has developed the skill of hitting a hard ball flying at your face at a hundred miles per hour, and making it fly off even faster, is ever a coward.

Since I give him nothing, he finally gets to the point, “Did you marry my daughter for her inheritance?”

I fully crack with a “huh?”

The old man’s forehead wrinkles in something that is either anger, or confusion, or a child of the two.

“You and I know that Audrey’s getting the team in her trust fund, and I would have never—and let’s make that very clear— ever chosen you to manage it for her.

That honor was to be for Henry Vos, who is a true and tried businessman.

Not to someone who only knows how to swing a big stick and already has a child from another woman. ”

Consider my hackles raised now.

“First of all, no. I had no idea.” I wrinkle my face in disgust. “Second, why would you think Audrey’s fortune should be managed by a guy?”

Silence.

Pure, complete silence that I break with a snort.

“I suppose since you’re one and you’ve been managing her inheritance until now, you may think that’s the way of the world and that she has no say in it. But trust me, she’s more than capable—my daughter’s now good at division because of Audrey. And guess what too?”

Charlie Cox frowns. “What?”

“Audrey would be way better focused to manage her assets brilliantly if you treating her like a puppet didn’t take up so much room in her brain.”

I loosen up and take one step closer that makes him visibly uncomfortable. I guess it’s also because I’m a head taller and a few pounds of muscle bigger.

“I’m speaking as a girl dad to another girl dad.” I jab him in the chest moderately, but he stiffens in a way you’d think I almost punched him. “Unless you don’t want them to become their best selves, you don’t raise them by manipulating them.”

That makes him inhale a sharp breath. Like maybe I just hit a nerve. Like maybe this is the first time someone has presented this concept to this rich, powerful, and selfish man.

A truly toxic one wouldn’t care, though. So does he?

I pull away enough to give him a false sense of relief. “So threaten me all you want, but if you come for my wife or my daughter, you’ll find out that I don’t threaten back because I don’t have brains for it. I sure have brawn, though, and I have a lot of big sticks.”