The Lies We Tell Read online

  It was eerily dark and quiet, but I had made this walk a million times over my career, I could do it with my eyes closed. Becca was also eerily quiet. I could hear her breathing getting sharper and she squeezed my hand tighter. Whether it was fear or reflex, I wasn’t sure. But she wasn’t asking any questions.

  When we got closer to the dugout, the light started shining in from the field. Like everywhere else in the stadium, the lights were set to a timer and only emergency lights remained on. On the field, there were just enough lights to see but not enough to keep from seeing the stars.

  “Is this ok?” Becca whispered.

  I shrugged, “I don’t see why not.”

  “I don’t want to get in trouble, Chase.”

  “Princess, I would never do anything to get you in trouble.”

  I couldn’t see her well, but I knew she rolled her eyes at me. “Tell that to your bouncing thing."

  The laugh I barked out was loud and echoed down the tunnel. But her attempt at avoiding the word "dick" or "cock" was only making her that much more endearing.

  “How in the hell would that get you in trouble?” I asked, but I already knew. We were both at a point where we were tiptoeing an imaginary line that we didn’t dare cross. It was out there, between us, that we found each other tempting. But that would definitely be trouble.

  She didn’t even humor me with an answer.

  As we emerged from the dugout, her breath caught a little and she squeezed my hand again. The field was different at night when it was quiet and empty. There was something celestial about it. It held beauty and mystery all at the same time.

  “What are we doing out here?”

  “Just thought it would be a good place to finish my stretches.” I dropped her hand and started walking to the grass between the pitcher’s mound and home plate. Halfway there, I turned and walked backward, imploring her to follow me.

  She did.

  Her eyes stayed on my face as I kept walking backward and she was coming closer. When she got within range, I sat down and grabbed her hand again, encouraging her to sit with me.

  She opted for kneeling between my legs that I had straddled when I sat. We were eye level in this position and closer than I had planned on being when I started this little adventure.

  But I couldn’t move.

  I selfishly wished she would throw caution to the wind and kiss me. I wouldn’t kiss her; I wouldn’t take that decision away from her—she had more to lose than I did.

  So we sat face to face, eye to eye, holding hands, and battling our inner instinct to lunge at each other. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. This was making it harder than it was five minutes ago. One of us had to move.

  I could only convince myself to half-ass break that spell, though. So instead of leaning back and stretching—my original plan—I pushed her back onto her back, and I laid next to her. I kept her hand in mine and together we were side by side looking at the stars.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  I didn’t know what she was thanking me for at first, but as I thought about it, I realized she was thanking me for breaking the spell. For being the one that was strong enough to change our view.

  I squeezed her hand again and whispered back, “I am putting you through enough shit, Princess. I won’t add one more thing.”

  She didn’t respond; she just kept staring at the stars. A full five minutes passed before she finally spoke again—so low I could barely hear her.

  “I think you already have.”

  Chapter 11

  Becca

  A few days after Chase and I held hands under the stars, we were still tiptoeing around our mutual attraction to one another. Since that night, though, things had gotten both better and worse.

  Better, because Chase had become a manageable human. He was diligent with the workouts and didn’t give me near as much shit as he had been. He had also stopped calling me Princess and Cupcake, and any other made up name he concocted.

  Worse, because I kind of missed the shit he gave me. I missed the nicknames and the things he would say that made me roll my eyes into the back of my head.

  His demeanor was stoic and professional.

  Our dinners were silent.

  Our workouts were grunts.

  Our conversations were clipped.

  But when he gave me tiny pockets of himself, small windows of the good-natured, shit-giving, caring as hell Chase, I swooned even harder than I had before. I relished those moments when he gave me that original version of himself.

  He would grumble incoherently in the mornings, making it awkward and miserable. But then he would point to where he had my favorite coffee delivered to his room before I got there. One night, a carrot cake was delivered to my room. There wasn't a note or anything, but I knew it was him.

  Small glimpses.

  It didn't take a genius to realize he was emotionally distancing himself to mitigate the fire that grew around us. And while I understood that and appreciated it, it wasn’t working—at all.

  He was currently on the field playing his fifth inning of the day and I was in the locker room with Manny.

  Manny hated me, but since his x-rays had truly shown inflammation, he gave me a little respect. In my opinion, I didn’t deserve his respect, but I was going to take it. After all, if it wasn’t for my little white lie, he wouldn’t have been playing much longer anyway.

  He was getting ready to replace Chase in the game after not playing for almost a week, so I was wrapping a brace on his knees to prevent swelling.

  “Two innings today, then we will make sure the fluid doesn’t build again. If it doesn’t, three innings tomorrow, and so on.”

  “Yep,” was all he said before hopping off the table and walking toward the dugout.

  As he walked out, Troy walked in. “Gary is asking for you.”

  I looked at the TV and saw that the Kings were still on the field, which meant Chase hadn’t come in yet. Plus, he had one more inning to play. So, I assumed that it must have been one of the other guys that needed me—thank God. I wasn’t sure I could handle being on the field with Chase again. Not right now, anyway. We couldn't even handle being alone together.

  I got to the dugout and saddled up next to Gary, who was leaning onto the railing. He had a keen eye on the game and didn't even look my way when I approached.

  “He look funny to you?” He asked and pointed toward Chase.

  My eyes traveled to Chase who was kneeling behind the plate. From this angle, I could see his profile behind his mask and only his right hand and right knee. He had beads of sweat dripping down the side of his face and his left hand was gloved and held out, waiting for the next pitch.

  Then, I noticed the "something funny" Gary was referring to. Chase took his right hand and squeezed his knee as the pitch came toward him. After he caught it, he grabbed the ball from his mitt, threw it back, and grabbed his knee again.

  I looked to Gary, “Yeah, I would say there may be a problem.”

  Without acknowledging that he heard me, Gary just shouted to the coach, “I need to check on Turner.”

  The coach nodded and emerged from the dugout, asking for a timeout. Gary started walking toward the entrance to the dugout and I looked on to see how this would all play out.

  Unfortunately, Gary had different plans.

  “Get out here, Becca. I want you with me.”

  I knew he must have been lying. Why on earth would he need me out there? Interns didn’t do that.

  I mean, they did now, because the look Gary gave me when I balked said, “Get the fuck out here!”

  I ran to catch up and exited the dugout with him. All the infielders, the coach, and an umpire were on the pitcher’s mound, waiting on us. Chase’s eyes—and Kace’s—were wider than saucers watching me approach with Gary.

  I straightened my shoulders, determined to be poised in this incredibly unusual situation. But then Gary turned to me and motioned for me to talk.

  Seriou
sly Gary? What the hell do you want me to say?

  Chase and I were barely talking, and out here, in the middle of what felt like the entire world? Yeah, I was about to panic.

  Yet, that wasn't an option. This was what this job required, so this was what I had to do.

  “Um," I looked at Chase, so he knew I was talking to him and cleared my throat, "Why you are grabbing your knee?”

  Did I sound like an idiot? Probably.

  I switched from one foot to the other, waiting on his response.

  But Chase looked to Gary. “What's up with your knee?” I repeated, getting his attention back on me before he could speak to Gary. I had to take control, be in control.

  “Nothing. A bruise.”

  Gary looked at me again. I had to make a decision and make it quick. We were in the middle of the field, the other team was waiting, the fans were waiting.

  Good Lord, I was about to blow their minds. Because on the surface and in their minds, Chase was always honest and probably just had a boo-boo. But I knew he had underlying knee issues, and lying issues, and I felt compelled to get him off the field as soon as possible, just in case it was more than a bruise.

  Gary probably wouldn't agree with me, and Chase definitely wouldn't agree with me, but I went for it.

  “You should go ahead and come in with me. Call it a day. Manny is ready to play, anyway.”

  “What?” His eyes narrowed, not quite believing me. Or daring me to say it again. Or not believing that I dared to say it. I held firm. “You were only going to play one more inning. You’re obviously in pain. Let’s go check it out.”

  “I am not leaving this field, Princess.”

  Oh, so we were back to that, huh?

  “Are we doing that again? Right here? In front of the world, Butter Boy? Because I do not feel like threatening you with bodily harm right now, but I will."

  Chase’s lips quirked just a little, so little I would have missed it if I hadn't spent half my time here analyzing his stupid, perfect lips. He was amused at my outburst, but he was determined not to come off that field.

  He looked to the coach and Gary, glossing over my threat and stance to bargain with them. “I will make you a deal. Two more outs and I will walk off myself.”

  “No,” I said, not giving Chase the satisfaction of going over my head.

  Chase started gritting his teeth, warring with himself. And probably mentally warring with me. But I was ready and waiting on his next protest.

  Much to the shock of all of us standing there, Chase turned and walked to the dugout, his posture indicating he was beyond pissed. I was going to pay for this. Even though Gary was the one that called me out there, he let me take the lead and I did so with gusto.

  Before I turned to follow him, I caught a quick glimpse of Kace’s expression. He looked proud of me, which empowered me.

  I followed Chase down the tunnel and directly to the training room. The other interns were in there idling around, waiting for their players to come in from the field. Chase didn’t give them a chance to say anything, or even blink, before he started yelling.

  “Out!” He yelled.

  Oh shit, he wasn’t talking to me, he was talking to them. And they weren’t moving.

  “Out, NOW!” He yelled louder. This time, they stood quickly and ran out of the door. I started to walk after them, thinking maybe I should leave Chase alone and give him a minute. But before I made it to the door he added, “Not you, Princess.”

  His tone had softened. He wasn’t yelling at me the way he had with the other guys. I was so confused. His lightened tone did make me stop, though. I turned to him; uncertainty written all over my face.

  “Was that another test, Chase?” It had dawned on me that he may have been playing more games with me, getting me to be tough in front of everyone. It didn’t seem probable he would do that during a game.

  “No, Cupcake, it wasn’t.”

  “So, we are back to that, I see.” And by that, I meant the nicknames. He hadn’t called me Becca—apart from that one time in the elevator. And as I had already admitted, I kind of missed the nicknames the last few days. As long as he wasn't using the names to try and humble me.

  “Back to what?”

  “The names!” I practically yelled. I was frustrated and nervous. I felt like I was being tested somehow, but if not by Chase, then definitely by Gary, and that was probably worse.

  “We were never not there,” Chase said.

  I just sighed in frustration. I knew this wasn’t the time or place to worry about what he called me. I needed to focus on what we needed to do.

  “Three questions for you: Why are you grabbing at your knee when you squat? What made you finally walk off the field a minute ago? And why did you just yell at everyone like a maniac?”

  Chase held up his thumb to answer the first question. “One, I took a ball off the kneecap in the first inning. It stung, right up under my shin guards. I guess instinct had me grabbing at it, because I didn’t realize I was doing it.”

  He held up his pointer finger for his next point. “Two, I have nothing to prove but you do, and Gary needed to know you've got this.”

  I started to talk, but he cut me off. “And three, I yelled at them to get out because I am not about to let them see us together, like this. It’s asking for trouble and easier if they think I am just mad at everything. Or a maniac, as you put it.”

  “Aren’t you just mad, though?”

  “Not even close, baby,” he said softly and left it at that; with a new nickname and no explanation.

  I tried not to acknowledge how weak I was around him. I was trying to think of something to say, anything other than, “I love it when you call me baby,” as I melt into a puddle at his feet.

  Luckily, I was saved by a text message and pulled my phone out to check it.

  Gary: Get me a workup on Turner before he leaves the stadium.

  Becca: Yes sir.

  I looked up to Chase, and as if he read my mind, he started undoing his chest protector. He slipped it over his head, keeping his eyes on me. Then, he started unlatching his shin guards. It was like a striptease with catcher’s gear. Why was this so sexy?

  Once the shin guards were off, he slipped the wrist protector he wore on his left arm off—eyes still on me. Then he went to his belt, undid the buckle and unzipped his pants.

  Was taking his baseball pants off necessary? I looked down to his calves and realize how tight his pants were tapered. They wouldn't stretch over his knee, so taking them down was most likely the best way.

  Oh shit.

  I started breathing harder, borderline hyperventilating. Chase took note and paused with his hands on his waistband. “Relax, I have sliding shorts on,” he whispered.

  I was instantly relieved. Not that I didn’t want to see him naked again, minus the towel this time. This just wasn’t the right place to swoon over a naked baseball player.

  “I have to give Gary something before you leave.”

  He knew that. I was just rambling.

  He nodded as he slid his pants down and jumped onto the table. His cleats were still on and prevented his pants from coming off. Once he was situated, he nodded to the bruise on his knee.

  I inched closer like it might bite me, “When did this happen? Specifically.”

  “Second pitch of the game. A slider that hit the dirt. Got right under the pad and stung. But it’s not internal, Cupcake. I promise. I know that's why you made the decision you did to shut me down.”

  I nodded, "Yeah, it was. I was worried." I felt around on his knee, being gentle not to apply pressure to the welt that was darkening under his kneecap. “Ok, Chase. I will let Gary know it’s just a bruise. But um, we need to cancel our session tonight. Let this thing rest.”

  Something told me he may start arguing with me again, telling me he was fine. But that wasn't what came out of his mouth.

  “I still want to see you tonight.”

  “You should probably rest
your knee, Chase.”

  “Ok, I will. But…. I still want to see you tonight,” he repeated grabbing my hand to let me know what he meant.

  I swallowed. I wanted to see him too, especially outside of the air of physical therapy, baseball, and stupid knees. It was a crazy, awful, horrible idea. And I needed to tell him that. But Chase wasn’t stupid. He knew it was the dumbest idea he had ever had.

  It didn’t keep him from asking, though. And it sure as hell didn’t keep me from replying.

  “Ok.”

  Chapter 12

  Becca

  This idea kept getting worse and worse. Because now, I was convinced this was a date.

  Like, a date date.

  Chase had told me he would pick me up at 7 pm—our normal meet-up time. He didn’t tell me what we were doing but I prayed he didn’t have plans that involved anything fancy because I didn’t pack anything cuter than a simple sundress. Which, by the way, I opted not to wear because it felt too date-y.

  Jeans and a cute top seemed safe.

  I also didn’t know what Chase had meant by 'picking me up'. I was staying in the same hotel he was staying in, eight floors lower. But more importantly, we were staying where everyone else on the team was staying and could not possibly walk out of here together unnoticed.

  A knock on my door at 7 pm made me pause for a minute, but I answered, deciding to tell him to go without me. I would meet him a few blocks away.

  But it wasn’t Chase at the door. It was a hotel concierge with a wheelchair.

  The confused look on my face was the only push he needed to clear his throat, “Hi, Princess?” The words were a question and uncomfortable. He did not want to say that, but he did. I laughed out loud wondering how much Chase paid him to say that.

  “Oh my God, he had better of paid you well!”

  “Um, yes ma’am. I need to deliver you to the parking garage.” He motioned to the wheelchair.

  I quirked an eyebrow up, “Why a wheelchair?”

  “No idea ma’am. Something about knees and being funny and me picking you up physically being inappropriate.”

  “Oh, good God, he has got to be kidding. I can walk.” I closed the door and started down the hall.