The Trade(103)

I chuckle, but even I can hear how fake it sounds. “Been really busy.” And I haven’t been able to figure out a way to tell you not to come down here.

It’s been two days since I saw the pictures and I swear, I’m walking on eggshells, ready for them to appear. I want to tell Natalie about them, open communication and all, but I also know she’d probably feel like absolute shit if she knew those pictures were about to surface and that it’s been causing me stress.

“I’m sure. But do you know who did have a moment to FaceTime me?” she asks with a quirk of her brow. Shit. “My brother.”

“Oh yeah?” I ask, casually. What does that say about me? Jason can find the time to FaceTime her in between calling Dottie, but I only sent texts? Great. This is not boding well for me at all.

“Yes, and he told me he was worried about you.” Fucking Jason and his sensitive soul. “What’s going on, Cory? We told each other we were going to be open and honest. Texting, pictures, FaceTime. The first day I knew you were getting settled, so I gave you that. But not hearing from you yesterday, that doesn’t sit right with me.”

I drag my hand over my face, hating that she’s right and that I’ve already been a shitty boyfriend. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Natalie.” I blow out a long breath. “I . . .” I look away and figure, she’s right—open communication. This is only going to work if there’s complete honesty. Looking back at her worried expression, I ask, “What did Jason say to you?”

Her brow pinches together and I hate that look of worry. She didn’t sign up for that, and it’s my responsibility to carry this shit. As it’s always been. But it doesn’t help that her brother is telling her what’s happening either.

“He said you’ve been getting along with the guys, which is great to hear, but that you’re reserved and quiet when it’s just you two. He said that you’re getting heckled entering the stadium.”

“Nothing new there,” I say, remembering some of the shitty things they said about me today.

“But still, you shouldn’t be treated like that. He also said you were pulled into your manager’s office on the first day, and that’s what set off your mood.”

True. All facts. Way to tell her almost everything, Jason. I’m reserved around him, because I use all my goddamn energy around the guys, not wanting to show them one ounce of worry. They need to be able to know my mental strength is unshakable. They need to know that nothing is going to shake me on the field. And even though, when I’m in the locker room or driving back to my hotel room, my heart feels like it’s in my throat with worry, I push that to the side the minute my cleats are slipped on. I have a job to do, and that job is to play baseball and be part of a team, a team that I’m still desperately trying to earn respect from.

“What’s going on, Cory?”

She deserves the truth. I just hate that she’s going to feel terrible about it.

Taking a deep breath, I say, “The press is still having a field day with me.”

“I’ve read.” She glances away. “I love you, Cory. I want to know that you’re okay.”

“I love you too, beautiful. So fucking much it hurts not to be with you right now,” I say, the ache in my chest growing exponentially when I realize I can’t reach through the phone and pull her into my arms. This is why I never had a relationship while playing baseball, because of this distance, this undeniable pain constantly washing through my veins from not being able to have my girl right next to me.

“I don’t understand why they keep making things up about you.”

“Because I’m an easy target.” I shrug. “It’s shitty, but it is what it is. I get paid a fuck ton of money to not let it affect my mental game, and that’s what I’m trying to do. Block it out. But, uh, when I was called into my manager’s office, I was informed of some pictures the press plan on releasing at some point this week.”

“Oh God, are they naked pictures of us?” she asks, her face going white.

“No.” I quickly put her at ease. “No, nothing like that, it’s just of us holding hands and embracing.”

“Oh.” She laughs. “Okay, jeeze, you made it seem like—”

“You’re wearing the Bobbies shirt.”

She pauses and just like that, I see all the color drain from her beautiful face as her mouth falls open and her hand falls to her heart. “Oh my God, Cory. I—”

“Yeah, Gregory from PR is trying to clear the pictures before they surface, but I’m not sure if he has or not. They haven’t printed yet, which I’m surprised about, so maybe he took care of it.” Tears form in her eyes and this is exactly what I was afraid of, Natalie feeling the burden of all of this. “Listen to me, Natalie, this is not your fault.”

“Are you insane?” she asks, her voice breaking. “Of course this is my fault. I am so stupid.” She presses her hand over her eyes. “I just made your life exponentially harder from a stupid mistake. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s going to be okay,” I say but the words hold no weight, because I don’t know if it’s going to be okay or not.

It seems so innocent and to any other team, any other city, this wouldn’t be an issue. The pictures wouldn’t be on any radar, but given my backstory, the multiple pictures of me as a kid in Bobbies clothes, my brother-in-law being a Bobbie, the media amping up the rivalry, the pictures are monumentally devastating.