Page 51 of Wild Hit (Wild Baseball Romance #3)

AUDREY

M y friend Camila, who works at SPORTY , texts me to say that she’ll come to Orlando in December for a conference. It’s going to be great to catch up, especially after so much has happened, but right now I can’t fathom the concept of tomorrow. Let alone two months away.

Game four of the World Series is tonight—Orlando Wild versus Denver Riders. And against all odds and predictions…

We’re about to win the whole show.

This is the single most important moment in our team history.

We’d never made it farther into a season than we have this year.

Hell, everyone had already written us off the second Spring Training started.

But now, not only are we the new favorites to win it all, but we’re also the top trending sports team on the internet.

People can’t stop talking about our dark horse race, about how our standout players have carried us through to this moment, or about the wild acquisition that turbo charged us during the season.

Yet, none of that matters to me right now because this is the single most important moment of my life. I just don’t know if that moment ends tonight or stretches for three more games.

I sure as shit hope that it’s tonight, if only so I can stop pretending like I’m strong and independent and mature, and just run into Miguel’s arms because there’s no longer any risk that I’ll throw him off his game.

Gosh, he’s got me so down bad.

My phone buzzes in my hand again, and I check right away, thinking that it’s another text from Camila. But no. I stare at the words on the screen with a block of ice sliding down my throat.

Father

Come to my office immediately

“What’s wrong?” Marty asks next to me, her hand deep in a caramel popcorn bucket. “You look like something’s wrong, so don’t lie.”

I expel the air in my lungs. “It’s just my dad.”

Her little face scrunches up. “He’s mean, isn’t he?” Once I nod, she adds, “Then ignore him.”

How do I explain that when I did that for a few years, he just maneuvered me into a harder corner?

“It’s okay. It’ll be quick.” I give her a one-armed hug that she returns as though routine. From above her head, I glance at Consuelo and say, “Call me if anything happens, please.”

Anything could be an issue with Marty and Consuelo sitting at the WAGs section, even though now the whole team and no doubt their significant others know that I’m not legitimately Miguel’s WAG.

Or the game starting before I manage to return.

Or Miguel’s beef cakes looking otherworldly in his white uniform pants.

Maybe not that last one. Even though I sure don’t wanna miss it.

As I’m shuffling down the row, I hear an obnoxious voice say, “Ugh, look at her. She’s not even a real WAG.”

Another person shushes the top mean girl, who somehow found herself married to the pretty nice guy that is Mike Brown. “Careful, she’s still the owner’s daughter.”

The comments sound snide and certainly spark the heat of irritation in my chest, but they’re not lies. I have no right to get upset at truths that I withheld and have finally come out.

Of course, the internet is also abuzz about that. Some of Miguel’s most ardent fans have argued that the fact that he didn’t hit any home runs in the previous series is because of the mess I put him in, and that I’m shameless for using him that way.

Joke’s on them because I am nothing but full of shame. And of longing for him.

Staff members have become nicer to me instead.

I get greetings and smiles as I make my way through the corridors, away from the general public that would boo the lights out of me.

I don’t know if it’s because of the little tidbit about who my biological father is, or if it’s because they’re privy to the deal Miguel and I made.

After all, that’s also made the rounds through the company intranet.

Dad’s assistant is still a stuck up snob of a little man, though. I actually appreciate the stability of his character. What I don’t appreciate is what seeing him means.

I try to not sneer at the double doors leading to my father’s office. Why is he even here when his team’s about to fight for the big W out there? Shouldn’t he at least be at the owner’s box?

Turns out I failed, and I have to carefully wipe the annoyance off my face before walking in. Except, instead of finding only my dad inside, there’s also Henry Vos. And that tells me this is gonna be much worse than I anticipated.

I have enough neurons to stay near the door, though, and still I wish I wasn’t anywhere near Henry Vos. Sealing the door shut behind me feels ominous.

Thankfully we’re also nowhere near Miguel’s sight. I’m sure seeing this junk of a human being would turn his stomach, worse than having heaps of candy and proceeding to have a vigorous dance off.

My dad’s frowning at me. “Audrey, come over here,” he demands from behind his desk, but Henry stands beside him as if he was Dad’s son.

“I’m good here,” I offer in a caustic way that I can tell he doesn’t like by the way his twirly mustache curves. “Whatever this is, can it wait? I have to get back to watch my husband’s game.”

Henry barks an unwelcoming laugh. “Still pretending? Breaking news, baby, the ruse is up. I gathered enough evidence of your marriage to that clown being a fraud, and I’ve just shown every last bit of it to your father.”

The block of ice that had slid to my gut not only stayed there, but is now expanding toward my limbs.

I wish I wasn’t wearing Miguel’s jersey with the number three emblazoned at the back, and instead was wrapped up in my comfy pajamas and under a fluffy blanket, and that this whole scene was just a Kdrama playing on my TV screen.

Alas, Henry’s face is still painted with the glee of a villain who just won, and Dad’s is full of disappointment.

“Is this all true, Audrey?” the latter asks, his voice rasping with how low and angry it is.

Henry cuts me off before I can even make a sound. “Don’t try to deny it. I have witness statements from a few players and even a WAG, and plenty of footage.”

A WAG, huh? I bet it was Amber, trying to get back at me for not playing her game. And she did seem oddly interested in my affairs.

“Is that the one you got after hiring a PI to spy on our private life?” I snap, absolutely out of shits to give. He’s cornered me against a wall, thinking I was going to coil up and whimper.

No, I’m going to fight. With every tooth and nail until I bleed, because this is no longer about me. This is about Miguel and Marty’s safety against these entitled rich men.

Slowly, my father turns his chair toward the younger man. “You did what?”

I blink for a solid few seconds. That tone of voice from my dad awakens the sleeper cells of my childhood traumas.

He used to exercise that voice whenever he found out about Mom’s latest indiscretions, or whenever he caught Adam sneaking in alcohol so he could knock himself asleep and not hear the drama anymore.

And also when I disappointed him, which was any time I did anything but acting like a doll.

I had never seen him use that tone on anyone outside of his so-called family, though.

That’s also probably why Henry doesn’t realize the danger he’s in, and fully steps into the trap. “I had no other choice. I knew there was something weird about Audrey marrying some random guy she just met, especially when I’ve faced years of rejection from her.”

“Yeah, because hitting on me at my brother’s funeral sure was going to be a great start to a relationship between us,” I deadpan with tragic sharpness.

Dad’s face whips toward me but he says nothing, and Henry resumes spewing bullshit out of his pie hole.

“I did it for your own sake. To protect you from the vultures around you, like that gold digger from a backwater country you call your husband.”

My fists tighten and now I really regret being so far, because I can’t introduce them to Henry’s face. Heat spreads across my chest and my face, and for the first time I don’t give a shit about how terrible that makes me look.

“Don’t you dare insult Miguel. Your whole damn self doesn’t even compare to his pinky toe.”

“See?” Henry looks at my dad while pointing at me. “This is what happens when you don’t keep a tight rein. Now your estate is going to fall into the hands of that overpaid clown.”

“Is that all you care about?” Henry and I snap our focus to my father.

He pushes away from the desk and rises slowly to face the other jerk.

“All your concerns seem to be around my daughter’s inheritance and not about her.

Shouldn’t you, as a man who professes to have loved her since your youth, be more worried about her than her riches? ”

I choke.

Henry steps further in the manure. “Of course I want to protect her! That’s why I’m doing all of this. With this, we can have the marriage annulled and?—”

“And then what? What would happen after that?” I ask, still coughing.

Henry’s eyes flash with every disgusting thought in his sick brain, and for the first time I realize that this isn’t just about putting his grubby hands on whatever Dad intends to pass down to me, but also on me.

Like maybe the fact that he couldn’t stop himself from coming onto me while I was in mourning was more about me than money. That he desired me even when I was just a teenage girl and he was already an adult.

Bile rises up my throat. I manage to keep it down somehow. “I’m not yours, Henry. Never have been, and never will be.”

“Then are you his?” He makes a disgusted face, like we’re talking about the different consistencies of poop instead. “Did you already give yourself to him like a filthy?—”

“Enough!” my dad screams loud enough for his voice to echo against the marble walls.

Still shaking with anger, I lift my chin and say, “No, I am my own, and what I do is none of your damn business.”

“That’s right,” Dad says, and that’s even more shocking than him screaming. “There is absolutely no way in hell I’ll give you my daughter after all of this has been revealed.”

“What?” Henry takes a step back, his good rich guy facade finally crumbling before the older man. “But I just—We made a deal, Charlie.”

“Mr. Cox for you, and when did we sign a damn contract?” Dad asks, the same brand of sarcasm as mine dripping from his words.

“I just wanted my daughter to be set up comfortably for life. I thought you’d be a good candidate for that, but clearly I was wrong about that.

And about many other things in my life.”

My jaw unhinges.

Behind my back, I reach for one arm to pinch my skin. The jolt of pain tells me that I am, indeed, not dreaming.

“But you approved of me,” Henry says, echoing the same language Dad used that set me off on this strange path. “You didn’t approve of that Machado clown or whatever. Me . I was your chosen candidate.”

“Who said I didn’t approve of Machado?” Dad gives out his villain Santa laugh, the one that comes out every time he nabs a deal and smashes his competition. “I’m the one who negotiated his trade into our team, because I heard Audrey say that he was probably the best player of this generation.”

“What?” I’m not sure I even finish the sentence before a memory slams into the forefront of my mind.

Last year, after our season ended as early as usual, Dad sat in for a PR meeting that I was leading. It was all about how we should turn the team’s image around not just for fans, but also to attract top talent.

“Who knows?” I said dryly, not quite believing myself enough to be firm. “We might even be able to acquire someone of Miguel Machado’s caliber, who’s the best player of our generation.”

I stumble backward until my back hits the closed door.

My heart is about to explode. My legs itch.

I wish I could run—just freaking teleport right next to Miguel and wrap myself around him to make sure that he’s real, that he has been existing in my life for the past five months.

That my sarcastic wishful thinking really came true.

And more importantly, so I can stop hiding my all consuming feelings for him.

“I even introduced them myself,” Dad says, probably referring to the fancy party where Miguel and I danced for the first time, not knowing that Miguel was wearing makeup to hide the black eye I had already introduced myself with. “That’s how much I approved of him.”

Henry snaps and yells back. “Then why did you bring me here?”

“Because I didn’t imagine that they’d get together. I was just trying to make my daughter happy,” Dad admits.

“They’re not?—”

“We are.” Both men turn to me. “Or we will be, after the team wins tonight. I’m going to march into that field and claim my husband in front of the entire world.”

Dad’s bushy eyebrows twitch. “But you’ll keep it PG for the cameras, right?”

I mull it over for a moment and fold my arms. “PG13. I haven’t been waiting for this moment for so long for it to end with a bland kiss.”

And then the strangest thing happens. My father, who has never cared about anything but his businesses and himself… starts laughing.

It’s not even a mildly amused sound, but great guffaws that leave him breathless, turning his face the same mottled red and white that mine does.

“Are you two out of your damn minds?” Henry’s voice cracks not just because his anger is so great, but because it’s finally clicked that he was never one team with my dad. He was and is on his own.

“If that’s the definition of what being in love with someone else is like, sure.” I shrug.

Dad wipes his face with a handkerchief that costs about as much as a used car, and releases a satisfied sigh.

“That’s it, that’s all I wanted. For you to be happy, Audrey.

I know I didn’t exactly go about it the right way, but I didn’t want to make the same mistake with you like I did with your brother.

I just—I wanted to give you everything you deserve, and I didn’t know another way to do it. ”

I steel myself, but there’s no fighting back the tangle of mixed emotions in my chest. There’s still a lot of anger and resentment toward him, but deep inside there’s a tiny box that looks like something out of a dollhouse, and it cracks open to filter out hope.

Hope that my father and I might still be a family—a broken and misshapen one, but one nonetheless.

Hope that he might care about me after all.

All of it comes trickling out of my eyes.

Dad’s smiling at me. “Now, go watch your husband win the World Series while I get rid of this fool.”

I wipe my face, because for the first time in over a decade, I want to offer a genuine smile to him. “Thanks, Dad.”

I slip out of the office, ready to start a new life.