Chapter 39 Dom

Chapter 39

Dom

Blue bruises peek out between the thin tank top and pair of cheeky panties she wore to bed last night. A reminder of everything Indie’s already faced. With my hand that’s not wrapped around her, I rub my knuckles over my sternum trying to ease the ache they cause. Deep down, I know bruises could be the least of our worries, that injections and needle pokes could be part of our future forever. I’m fucking terrified, but no matter what happens, I’ll fight for this woman, for our future, with everything I have.

Easing the blankets back, I move my body down the bed. With my upper body propped up by my elbow, I dust my lips over the bruises on each side of her belly button.

“I’d take this all away if I could.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to confess everything I’m feeling to the silent room when she stretches under me, her hand finding my hair like it always seems to.

“Don’t pity me, Dom,” she warns.

“I don’t pity you. Pity is something you feel for the weak. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing. So this isn’t pity, it’s love. ”

She sucks in a harsh breath and I’m afraid I screwed it up by even using the word. But then she does the last thing I expect and scoots down the bed to meet me. She might not say anything in return, but I can feel it in the way her lips move against mine. Whether or not we’ve said it, she feels the same.

I groan against her mouth. “How much do you think Coach will fine me if I’m late this morning?”

“Too much. Go.”

“But I don’t want to. You deserve an orgasm first thing in the morning.”

“How will I ever manage?” She twists away from me, stretching to reach the nightstand where she stashed one of her vibrators.

“You’re the devil, woman. How the hell am I supposed to leave now?” I sound pitiful, and I’m not even a little ashamed.

“Happy, knowing that I’m self-sufficient and satisfied.”

“I don’t like it.” Lie. Would I rather be here watching? Hell to the yes, but I would never deny this woman anything.

“Don’t be jealous of a toy. All my orgasms belong to you. It’s your name on my lips every time I come.”

“Not helping,” I grit out. Visions of Indie coming with my name pouring out of her dance in my head, clouding my judgment.

“Was I supposed to be?” She shrugs. “How about I hop in the shower with you and take care of you the same way you’ve taken care of me?”

“I thought we agreed I couldn’t be late.” I push off the bed. “Besides, do you really think I would come without getting you off too?”

“No, definitely not. Cold shower then?” She looks so damn innocent batting her eyelids at me, still clutching that damn toy which jumps to life, humming in her hand. “Oopsies.” Realizing that it’s not helping, she turns it off and shoves it under the pillow.

“A menace.”

“Your menace.”

“Mine,” I echo, leaning over the bed to give her another kiss.

“You’re going to be late,” she whispers against my lips. Reluctantly I leave her to shower and when I come back, she’s up and making coffee. Still rumpled and sleepy from bed she holds out a travel mug for me. I take it hesitantly and she rolls her big chocolate eyes in return.

“Trust me.”

Lifting the cup to my lips I sip it, waiting for the bitter taste but it’s rich and smooth with a healthy pour of creamer. Just the way I like it.

“Don’t worry, mine is still as thick as motor oil, even if it’s decaf.”

“I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah.” She stares down at her coffee cup, the teasing smile gone. I’m already cutting it close, but something is off. Her lips turn up a little too quickly. “I’ll see you this afternoon. I’m excited about lunch with your mom and sisters. See you at the stadium.” She pushes up on her toes kissing me before steering me towards the door.

“Is everything okay?” I try one more time, checking the clock over her shoulder.

“Uh huh. I’m good, promise.” She’s not, but I can’t force her to talk to me and I need to go. Knowing that she’s heading to meet my family soon is about the only reason I’m able to force myself out the door for the drive to the stadium.

The hallways leading to the film room are empty and I’m going to be late even without getting Indie off. Cruz is standing by the door to the auditorium about to pull it shut when my hand stops him.

“Is this going to be a regular thing?” Damn, he’s a little scary when he goes into captain mode. Tough love from him is like your parents telling you they’re not mad, they’re just disappointed.

“Nope,” I say, trying to skirt him to find an open seat.

“Over here.” He nods towards the back row where there are two empty seats at the end.

Great, now he’s babysitting me. Dropping into the seat I set my bag down between my feet.

“Coach said you’ve got some stuff going on, but he wouldn’t tell me what. Are you going to tell me?”

“Nope. ”

“Are you in trouble?”

“Nope.”

He shakes his head. “You know, you remind me of my brother.”

That has my attention. Cruz’s brother passed away four years ago. He was a pitcher and his death haunted my teammate for years until he finally got some closure last season.

“You two would have been unbearable together. Too much energy, always happy. Everyone loved him. Just like you. If you need help, you’ll let me know, right?”

“Yeah. I will,” I concede.

“Good, now stop being late. I don’t like having to be a dick to my friends.” He pats me on the back a touch harder than necessary.

“I wasn’t late.” I sigh.

“You were.” He points to where Miller Murphy is standing at the front of the room waiting for us to shut up.

After the team meeting and reviewing tape from last night, I head to see Grant for a little preventative work on my hamstring. After stealing home last night, it’s a little tight. Nothing concerning but with the postseason I don’t want to chance it.

Mid-session, there’s a knock on the door. Hendrix pokes his head in, and I wave him in.

“Getting involved in other people’s business isn’t normally my style, but my fiancée is worried about her best friend and, since you two are basically living together at this point . . .”

Probably not the time to tell him we are indeed living together, even if all of her stuff hasn’t made its way over.

“Just ask what you want to know.” My words come out harsher than intended, and I’d like to blame the pressure Grant is using, but it’s not the only factor here. Keeping all of this from everyone is harder than I thought it would be, but I respect Indie’s decision.

“Is she okay?”

I let my forehead drop to the table with a thud. “Can you be more specific? ”

“Poppy’s worried that she’s sick. My money’s on you knocking her up.” I lift my head up and whatever he sees on my face shuts him up.

“Not pregnant, not sick,” I say, wishing I wouldn’t have let him in.

“And then there’s you missing meetings and a game.”

“Hendrix,” I snap.

“Okay, Indie’s fine. I’m leaving.” He backs away from the table like he’s trapped in a cage with a tiger and honestly, that’s how I feel right now too.

Grabbing my phone from the table I fire off a text to my dad.

Dom:

Watch out for Indie today, she seems skittish this morning.

Dad:

10-4

The game has barely started and my body is still riddled with the tension that’s been building all day. It’s the bottom of the second inning and that prick Jensen is catching today after only batting as the DH yesterday. I preferred him on the bench, where I didn’t have to interact with him.

Standing in the on-deck circle, I’m like that caged animal back in the trainer’s office. Only now I’m coiled and ready to pounce with him this close to me. Tearing my gaze off of my former roommate, I focus on the pitcher. Cruz’s bat cracks with the sound of the ball coming off it and he takes off for first, barely beating out the throw from the shortstop.

Toeing at the dirt, I grind my back foot into the batter’s box. A low whistle comes from behind me and I try to tune it out, concentrating on the pitcher.

“Enjoying my leftovers, Duran?”

How the fuck he knows Indie and I are together is beyond me, and I’m not in any position to figure it out. The pitch comes and I swing and miss. Grinding my teeth together I step out of the box, readjusting my elbow guard and exhale a deep breath.

“Better luck next time,” he sneers .

My hands twist on the bat and I sit back waiting for my pitch, channeling all these relaxation techniques I researched for Indie.

This time, when I swing, the ball and bat connect almost perfectly, sending it all the way to the fence. It doesn’t have the juice to make it over the wall, but it’s deep enough that the outfielders aren’t able to make the catch.

When I stop running at third, I know there’s no way I’m ending this inning without scoring. Call me petty, but stealing on Jensen would make my whole damn season.

Dean strikes out and I don’t get a chance to make a break for it, but I taunt the shit out of the douchey catcher with a healthy leadoff every chance I get.

Biding my time, I wait for my opportunity as Xavier takes his turn at the plate. The next pitch is a slider that ends up in the dirt and Jensen misses the block, giving me the opening I’m looking for.

One goal in mind, I take off diving for home and brush the plate with my fingers. Jensen barrels into me as I slide across the plate. He hits me hard, but with all the adrenaline pumping through me, I hardly feel the jarring hit.

I look at the ump and see him signal safe. Groaning, I reach for Xavier’s outstretched hand and let him pull me up. “That’s skill, not luck,” I say, brushing myself off. I see red when Jensen pushes my catcher out of the way, rips his mask off, and gets right in my face.

“Be proud of yourself all you want for scoring on me. Just remember I scored with your girl first. She was always an easy lay. Not worth that trouble, but that’s your problem now.”

Blood pounds in my ears and I cock my fist back, not thinking twice before it connects with Jensen’s face, taking him down to the ground. Even as I hear the home plate ump yelling, “You’re out of here,” I don’t have an ounce of regret.

Xavier tries to pull me back from where I’m bent over Jensen, but I’m not done. “You were never going to be enough for her. That’s my whole damn world you’re talking about. The next time you talk about her like that, this won’t end with just one punch. I’ll make you eat your fucking teeth.”

I spit in the dirt next to Jensen, who is wiping the blood dripping from his lip before I’m dragged off the field by Cruz and Dean. Storming past Wilson I head straight for the locker room. My night is far from over, but I won’t be going back out on the field and I probably just ruined my shot at playing in the postseason.

Worth it.

She’s worth everything. I just hope Indie sees it that way.