Chapter Fifteen

Fuck, his leg hurt.

Captain hid his limp and pulled down the tailgate of his truck to grab the two new bag chairs he'd bought at the grocery store Sloane worked at the other day when he'd gone in to visit her during an evening shift.

Fucking Ace, man. He didn't usually get involved in the fights, but last night he'd been such an asshole. The claw mark on Captain's thigh still hadn't healed, but Ace was probably struggling to heal too. They'd gone at it.

"You okay?" Sloane asked from beside him.

"I'm always okay," he answered testily.

Her eyes cooled and she nodded. "Okay. I'm taking Ruger to warm up."

She walked away with Ruger, and Captain knew he was messing this up. He'd been short with her since he'd picked them up for Ruger's Wednesday game, but fuck, he was in so much pain and pissed off at his entire Crew, and she wouldn't understand. Why? Because she didn't have to manage Crew dynamics. She was human. She was normal. Bad Crew meetings weren't something he could lean on her for. It would shatter the view she had of him.

He was living two different lives—one in the human world, and one in the shifter world.

He shut the tailgate, shouldered the chairs, and followed them at a distance. He could smell the blood, and knew his bandages were probably soaked.

Fucking Ace. He wanted to kill him. You know what? It wasn't only Ace, either. It was stupid Wreck, who had officially moved into the trailer park last night because stupid Damon Daye decided it was time for the pyromaniac to be a "more influential member of the Crew," whatever the hell that meant. He was a liability, and had started a fight between everyone. Four of them had Changed, including one she-bear, and everything was on fire at home. Which he had to deal with immediately following this game, because his idiot brother had called a dozen times trying to get him to pick up so Captain could hear the order in his Alpha's voice when Gunner told him to come back to the trailer park for whatever drama they were dealing with.

Right on cue, his phone vibrated in his pocket with a call. He was about to block everyone.

"Are you coming?" Ruger called from up ahead.

Captain forced a smile. "Be right there."

Ryan and an even bigger entourage than the week before last took up the entirety of the bleachers, but that was fine. He'd bought the chairs so he and Sloane could sit away from them, and she wouldn't have to hear the insults this week.

She was dropping Ruger at the dugout to put on his glove before he ran out to the warm-up area in the outfield. Captain lifted his chin higher into the air, strode past Ryan and the Asshole Squad, and set up the chairs right behind the chain-link fence that separated the spectators from home plate. It would be the perfect spot for Sloane to watch Ruger hit from, and they were early enough that he could pick the perfect angle for them.

The Asshole Squad got quiet as he passed, and he looked over at Ryan and nodded an acknowledgement. I see you, motherfucker.

Before he'd even gotten the second chair set up, the coach for Ruger's team came over and talked to him through the fence. "Hey man, can you help again today? My other two coaches are MIA."

"Yeah, man. What do you need?"

"Help in the dugout? And first-base coach? Third-base coach if you want it. I can tell you know what you're doing."

Captain was just relieved he wasn't asking for him to pitch before the boys went to hit off the tee. He didn't want a bunch of humans staring at him while his animal was all riled up like this.

"Yeah, assistant coach," one of the nearby moms cheered. She was a pretty blonde smiling like she knew him. Okay, he got it. He was six foot five, and a shifter, and had that presence. He'd always been acutely aware of his effect on females. Before Sloane, he would've encouraged it and probably flirted back, but now? When he was tired and injured? He didn't want anything to do with her or any of the other moms' attention.

He ignored blondie and hid his limp as he headed for the dugout. Sloane passed him, but caught him with a gentle grasp of his shirt. "You don't have to."

"Don't have to what?" he asked.

"Coach." She looked up at him with those pretty ocean-blue eyes. She shook her head. "It's not your job."

Shhhhit. She was getting insecure over his attitude, thinking he didn't want to be here.

"I want to," he murmured. He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers just to taste her, and to try to settle the inner bear.

"Want me to get you food?" she asked. "They have hamburgers."

"I can get it for us."

"You're hurt," she said shortly, gripping his shirt.

He wanted to deny it, but her face said she wasn't having any of his bullcrap today.

"I can tell," she said softly. "And you're bleeding through your jeans."

He chewed the corner of his lip and looked at the dugout, then back at her. "I probably need a few hamburgers."

"Who did it?"

"Ace."

She stared at him, her facial expression frozen with disapproval. "Fuck Ace."

He snorted, and the tension in his shoulders lessened. Ace was a hybrid shifter. A combination of dominant Holland lion—and the true king of the Holland Pride—and vampire. Yep. Vampire. He was a monster, but Captain loved that Sloane was saying fuck that monster for hurting him.

"You should see the other guy," he teased softly.

She lowered her voice, and her eyes held a glint of teasing. "Would a blowjob tonight make it better?"

"Yep," he said immediately, and then tracked her movement as she giggled and made her way toward the concession stand.

She was great at blowjobs. Yep, her mouth on his dick would absolutely make literally every problem go away.

He stood there like a bump on a log, watching the curve of her ass as she sauntered away. Oooh, that woman knew exactly what she was doing to him.

"She'll break your heart," one of Naomi's friends said. She was a brunette with those model features that she probably hooked a lot of men with.

"You know Sloane?" he asked.

"I know of her."

"Mmm." He nodded. "A follower then."

"What?"

"Only followers hate a person who hasn't done anything to them personally. You heard about her, so you hate her, right? Maybe the people who slandered her are the problem. Followers don't understand that. It's not your fault. It's just you've peaked at being a follower." He offered her an empty smile. "You enjoy the game."

She sat there with her mouth hanging open and a frown knitting her perfectly-plucked brows.

"Okay, I got Skittles, and Starbursts, and popcorn, and a cherry Coke, and a couple hamburgers, and I got nacho cheese on the fries." Sloane looked up at him with the prettiest grin as she approached. "I blacked out and ordered everything."

He chuckled and gestured to the chair he'd set up for her. "I'm going to help the team, but let me take a couple of bites real quick."

"I should be the one helping the team," Ryan announced. "I'm the dad."

"Do it," Captain dared him around a bite.

"Well, I don't want to be rude and leave you," he murmured to Naomi, and relaxed back onto the bleachers.

Captain shook his head and exchanged a knowing grin with Sloane. Excuses. He offered her a bite of burger. She took it, chewed it, and allowed him to wipe a drop of mustard from the corner of her lips. He swallowed, then leaned down and kissed her. "I'll be back. Don't let them fuck with you."

She smacked his ass and said, "Go get ‘em, Coach."

He chuckled and took the last bite of his burger as he jogged to the gate that would allow him onto the field. He was going to help warm up the boys. It was a lot of kiddos for one coach, and at the very least he could shag balls or throw a few balls for them to snag off the ground.

A whistle rang out, and he turned to see Sloane had done it. He belted out a laugh and winked at her, then continued his jog toward the team.

Yeah, he was living two completely separate lives. Eventually that might catch up to him, but God, this was such a breath of fresh air, being out here at a baseball field like he was a normie. Like he was a human.

Sloane made him feel like everything was okay.

She was the most beautiful escape.