Chapter 4 Dom

Chapter 4

Dom

Our season started hot with a nine game winning streak, but a roster shake up right before the All-Star Break threw our game off a little. Now we are trying to salvage our season with three new rookie teammates: Braxton Hayes, Montana Jones, and Dash Thomas.

Going into this away series in Chicago, we are on a seven game losing streak. I think everyone is a little uneasy about what the front office plans to do with the new acquisitions. And while I’m fairly certain our leadership is being proactive about some of our veterans nearing retirement, not everyone is adjusting as well.

But right now, it’s not the recent additions to the team, the losing streak, or the fact that all the guys brought their girls along for the trip that is causing a distraction. It’s the bomb Dean just dropped that has me acting like a headcase when I should be focused on getting ready to take the field.

Not a single one of my friends—if we can even call them that—saw fit to tell me that the reason their girls tagged along on this away-series was so they could help Indie pack because she’s moving. Moving .

She was the one-night stand that blew my fucking mind, and not a single one of those pricks thought I’d want to know. What stings worse is that she didn’t even tell me when I saw her just last month in Telluride.

Granted, she kept her distance the entire trip, like she has since the one and only time she let her guard down for me. And what a stunning sight that was, to see her the way she’s intended to be: wild; but soft and vulnerable as she let me give her body what it craved. Me .

Dean stands in front of me, tugging on his neck. “Kid, you gotta chill. Your face is turning red.”

“I don’t care how Boston you are. Do not ‘kid’ me right now. How many times have I called her my future wife to your face, and you didn’t think I might want to be clued into the fact that she’s moving?”

“At the risk of losing my balls, you also asked if I thought you should propose to Vivi because you liked how mean she was.” Fuck, I hate he has a point. I said that when the director of Double Play, a charity that we all work with, read Xavier the riot act earlier this year. But I only said it because I was still going through withdrawals from Indie, and Vivi is almost as scary.

Not a single one of the guys understands how Indie turned me inside out. Mainly because she would literally do just that—make my entrails, extrails—if she thought they all knew about us.

“But you were there. You saw how we were together. Fuck, man,” I remind him, letting my head fall against the bench in the locker room. I’m laid out across it like it’s a couch because what the hell else am I supposed to do?

I’ve spent a year floundering, trying to date, but everything pales in comparison to the memories of that night. It haunts me. Starting with how she tried to make me jealous by kissing Dean. I’ve never shared a girl before, but I would have that night. If that was the only way she would have let me have her, I would have done whatever she asked. The way she squirmed on my lap as I made it crystal clear to Dean, the driver, and her that she was mine and only mine, is burned into my soul. And how, when we got back to my house, I showed her all the other ways I could make her shatter. All she had to do was just give us a chance, but it wasn’t enough to overcome her fears .

The revelation that she’s moving to god knows where is pushing me over the edge. I can’t even think about the game I’m about to play.

“Please don’t remind me.” He cringes looking down at me from where he leans against his locker.

“You didn’t seem to mind. In fact, I remember you being an active participant.” I watch as his features twist.

“That was before,” he says, exasperated with me and the conversation.

“Before you went and fell in love. And you’d begrudge me the same opportunity.” Instinctively, my hands go to the firework print headband my friend, Lark, made for me. Not only is she the namesake for Topher’s club, but she’s also a regular at Wednesday night bingo, an ace with a sewing machine, and a way better compadre than Dean at the moment.

“No one is begrudging you anything—well, except, maybe her. She’s moving and the girls are staying to help her pack up because she’s dealing with some shit. What else is there to say?”

So much. Like where the hell is she going and what is she dealing with? There’s a lot to unpack here. “Exactly. Don’t you think I should know that?”

“Are you two even friends? You brought someone else to the housewarming party and the two of you have basically avoided each other since you hooked up. I thought you’d moved on from this.”

And that’s the crux of it. I’ve played it off like there’s nothing better than playing the field. But Dean is my best friend; he knows better. Hell, he saw firsthand how unhinged this girl made me. “Moved on . . . I can’t even with you. It was a few dates, and you don’t just move on from a woman like Indie. Can you just fill me in? Where is she moving, and when?”

His face scrunches up like he can’t tell if I’m being serious. For fuck’s sakes, I’m laying in the middle of the locker room like it’s a therapist’s office. Except, my therapist sucks, because he’s not giving me the information I want to hear, and I’ve got nuts and butts swinging in my face. So unprofessional.

“She’s moving to Denver next week. You really didn’t know this?” That has me sitting up so fast my head spins. Feet planted on the floor, I push up from the bench.

“No!” I throw my hands in the air, pacing like a maniac. And honestly, I might be one.

“Shit, maybe we’re all a little too wrapped up in our own lives lately,” my friend says, scratching his jaw.

“Thank you! Finally, we’re getting somewhere.”

I’m not trying to be needy, because these guys have had a lot going on. Between time with their girls, celebrations, and training, we haven’t had much time just us guys. Probably another reason, now more than ever, I want what they have, someone to come home to.

Coach Wilson’s voice echoes through the locker room. “Five minutes and I want everyone out there warming up. Our piss-poor play ends today.”

Around us, the rest of the guys shut their lockers and get ready to head out. Cruz and Hendrix pass us as they make their way from the lounge area to the dugout. “You heard Coach Wilson, let’s go, boys. It’s our turn now,” Cruz says, clapping me on the back.

“You good?” Hendrix asks, coming up beside our captain. “It feels like we interrupted something.”

“I’m fine,” I grumble, grabbing my hat from my locker and pulling it down on my head. “Will she be here tonight?”

Cruz and Hendrix look at each other eyebrows drawn together. “Indie?” Hendrix finally asks.

I nod in response.

“Yeah, she’s out there with the girls right now.” Cruz nods towards the tunnel.

“That’s all I needed to hear. Let’s do this fucking thing.” I throw my arm around Dean’s neck and pull him towards the field; ready to show her exactly what she’s missing.