Be My Game Changer: A Sports Romance(41)

I step to the top of the mound in preparation for the next batter when I see a person take the seat beside her.

My father.

There’s panic on her face as she looks to me. What the hell is she doing sitting with my dad? He did this. But how would he know?

Lynch waves, getting my attention. As I accept his call, my body switches to autopilot. I wind up, but as I begin my forward momentum, my eyes can’t help but look at him next to her, and as I release the ball, I know it’s no good. Overthrown, it’s too high and out of the box, causing Lynch to run for it as the umpire calls ball one.

Dad sneers at me as he leans over, says something to Avery, then points to me.

“Lowe.” Dundee is standing next to me. Where the hell did he come from? With his hand over his mouth to shield his lips from watchful eyes, he says, “What the hell is wrong?”

I lift my glove over my mouth. “He’s here. Cash is sitting behind home. Get him out of here, and keep him the fuck away from Avery. Right now.”

Dundee lets his shock show for a second but doesn’t break eye contact with me. “I’ll take care of it. But I need you to hold it together. Get through this inning or at least a few more pitches until I can get Murdock ready.”

“I don’t want to be relieved. I want him out of my sight and away from her.”

“Give me a minute to get it handled, but keep your shit together, Carter. Don’t give him exactly what he wants.” Dundee lowers his hand and delivers an encouraging slap as he gives me a smile that I know is forced. He’s just as pissed as I am. And he doesn’t know the full extent of it. Goddamn, I want that bastard away from Avery.

Lynch calls a splitter that I shake off. When I finally agree to a call, I wind up and immediately find my father as I release the ball. Fuck. I’m losing it. The batter swings, getting a big enough piece to foul it. The next pitches are nowhere near where I intend them to be, and the count goes full. The hitter’s final pitch is a ball that walks him to first base.

Mac steps up to bat as I watch an usher approach the row that Avery is seated in, leaning over to say something to my father. Mac tips the first pitch, sending it to left field for a foul. And I couldn’t care less as I watch my father shrug off the usher and remain in his seat. The bastard won’t leave. He knows precisely what he’s doing.

Mac swings his bat around, squatting into his stance as he glances back. His smile taunts me. Welcome to my head, asshole. Now he’s aware of exactly what’s holding my attention—because this game sure as hell isn’t. He flashes a grin as he winks, shouting, “Make Daddy proud, Carter.”

The pain I feel in my elbow isn’t real. The bone snapping happened years ago. But I still remember the moment because that’s what I’d wanted to do—make my dad proud. I’d figured maybe he’d stop being a dickhead to me and my mom if I had a good game. Only, the opposite happened, it ignited the true beast I’ve since come to know.

Lynch motions a call and I mindlessly shake them off until Mac repeats the mocking encouragement to make Cash Barlowe proud. I don’t bother with a nod to Lynch because I don’t give a flying fuck what pitch he called. I have one target and it’s shutting up the bastard who’s mocking words are pulling out every vile memory that Cash Barlowe planted in my soul. When the ball releases from my hand, it misses Mac’s head by inches as he ducks, dodging the pitch that would’ve hit him in the mouth if he hadn’t anticipated the move.

Mac got the rise out of me that he wanted. Throwing his bat to the dirt, he heads my way. Lynch moves in front of him with a hand to his chest, he’s a good dude trying to fight the good fight. But it won’t stop this from happening. In my periphery, I note the benches clearing and the players rushing onto the field as I head straight for Mac.

I can’t take out my anger on the one who deserves it, but Mac has had it coming. He shoves past Lynch, charging the mound, and I meet him halfway. Swinging my fist, I connect with his jaw. It should make me feel better. I figured it’d make me feel better, but all it does is haul up the recollection of when my knuckles last connected with another face—Cash Barlowe’s when I’d finally gotten big enough to defend my mother after he went after her.

A swarm of bodies surrounds us, pulling me back as I fight to get free. But I don’t want to get to Mac any longer. I want to get to my father and rip his head off, because whether Avery willingly engaged in the game he’s playing or not, Cash Barlowe just unleashed a murderous rage in me that I’ve never felt before.





33





AVERY





I don’t know what the hell is going on. The field has erupted into full-blown pandemonium. But that’s not what has my head spinning, it’s the man standing next to me, shaking his head in disappointment as we watch Carter be hauled off the field.

Cash leans over and I instantly shift away. Bodie is so starstruck that he fails to pick up on my vibe. The one that says Stay the hell away from Cash Barlowe. That’s why Carter looked so surprised to see me. Cash was the C in C.B., not Carter. It makes perfect sense. Because I know Carter would never want his father here.

The crowd settles a bit as the players slowly make their way off the field while the umpires are gathered near first base. But the only person I want to see has disappeared out of sight. “I need to check on Carter.”