Chapter 34

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Drake

I smack my glove against the locker, creating a hollow bang that echoes my frustration. Coach scratched me from the game. He sidelined me when every muscle in me twitched to be on the field. To prove that I am the one who can bring victory. That I am worth the big fucking contract.

As I stalk back to my locker, the few remaining teammates scattered in the locker room part like the Red Sea. My fingers curl into fists, the seams of my batting gloves pressing into my palms. When did I lose every aspect of my life? I was on top of the fucking world a few months ago, and now? Fuck. I'm not sure where I stand.

But I know that I'm a fucking idiot.

I had the perfect opportunity to tell Lila last night about Jake, and I fucking froze. Clammed up like a rookie facing a major league pitcher for the first time. I opened my mouth to tell her, but nothing came out.

I should've told her, given her the goddamn heads up. She deserved that much from me. But she was so upset after learning about the contract I was gunning for that I cowered. My cold ass heart couldn't handle upsetting her more.

But damn it, each day that passes is only going to make things worse. I have to tell her when I get home. No exceptions. The team leaves for another stretch of away games, but she needs to know.

"Guess the mighty Drake Gunner isn't so indispensable after all." Kaplan's voice slices through the tense air, his footsteps confident as he saunters closer. I don't have to turn around to picture that smug grin plastered on his face—the one constant since I took his buddy's spot.

"Kaplan," I mutter, keeping my back to him. I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks, not just from anger but from the sting of truth in his words. I'm new to Boston, to these Bears, and every game benched feels like a step back from proving myself and securing that contract.

"Didn't think they'd bench you for a rookie," Kaplan continues, leaning against the locker beside mine. His tone drips with a feigned sympathy that doesn't reach his eyes. "Tough break."

I grit my teeth, focusing on the cool metal of the locker at my fingertips rather than the bubbling urge to snap back. The asshole knows damn well I'm benched at his request. "What do you want, Kaplan?"

"Nothing much." His shoulder nudges mine, a deliberate provocation. "Just came to see how the new star catcher takes a hit to his pride."

I finally face him, meeting his gaze head-on. Kaplan stands there, all cockiness and condescending smirks. He thinks he's got the upper hand, but I didn't come to Boston to play these games—I came to play baseball.

"Don't you have some warm-up pitches to get to?" I ask, my voice steady. "You seem to forget that they can use me for pinch-hitting."

Kaplan's smirk falters, but he quickly masks it with a scoff. "Hope you hang on to the bat better than you could with Miranda."

His words freeze me in place. How does he know about my breakup with Miranda? The only person I told was Rappel. I look toward his locker but find it empty. The loose-lipped bastard must be on the field already.

I shake my head as if that could clear my mind. Shake loose these endless questions that won't go away. How did he find out? Why does he look so smug? Were they ever a thing?

"Aw, come on, Gunner," Kaplan says as if he could read my mind. "Can't handle a little competition?"

Competition? What are we exactly competing for?

"Go to hell, Kaplan," I mutter, uninterested in whatever game he's playing now. We're on the same team and not in the same position as players. We can't compete against each other for anything. Oh. I stand taller as the realization hits.

"Ah, but then I'd miss the fun," he replies, pushing off from the door and sauntering closer. "You see, Drake, life continues while you're busy sulking here. And sometimes, it goes on in your bed."

My jaw clenches, and I ask, even though I know the answer. "What are you talking about?"

"Miranda," he says, her name rolling off his tongue like poison. "She's quite … passionate, you know? Not that I expected any less from someone who caught your eye."

"You slept with a teammate's girlfriend?" This shouldn't be a surprise. I had suspected she cheated on me the day Lila was sick, but I hadn't cared enough to find who it could've been.

He steps closer, chest puffed. "She was mine first."

"She isn't a toy."

He looks taken aback. "I know that. That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean? She wasn't yours." Was she?

"Yes, she was. You're not her only client."

"Look, I didn't know you had a thing for her, just like I didn't have control over the team replacing your friend. None of these matters, anyway. You're free to be with her all you want." And I actually mean it. Who cares if they fucked while we briefly dated? Lila's in my life now, and that's all I care about. "I'm here to win us a championship. That should be your focus, too."

He holds my stare for a moment longer before finally turning on his heel and striding out of the locker room.

I watch his retreating back, my body rigid and my mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. But there's one emotion that stands out from the rest—relief. Relief because Miranda is no longer my problem. Relief because I now have a clear enemy to focus on. An enemy that isn't me. I'll come back to the game stronger, better, unstoppable.

And once I tell Lila about sleeping with Darci and taking the paternity test, everything will right itself.

And that was precisely what happened. I went in for a clinch hit and broke our losing streak. I rode the high into the locker room. Nothing could bring me down.

Nothing except the text from Lila stating she'd find her own ride home and the shit show that waited for me during the press conference.