Hit and Run (Hot-Lanta #4)

  “Very observant,” Brady said sarcastically. “I like you, bro, and appreciate your concern, but I suggest you leave me the fuck alone.”

  “Have you even talked to her?” Michael asked, overstepping his boundaries.

  “Don’t. Don’t fucking bring her up. If you want to survive spring training without finding my bat up your ass, then stay the hell out of my personal life. Jane is none of your concern.”

  In the past, Brady would have thought Michael was happy about Brady’s misfortune, since Michael used to like Jane, but now Brady knew Michael had his best interest at heart; Brady just couldn’t accept it.

  “She is my concern,” Michael called out as Brady walked away. “She’s my friend too.”

  “Great, then go talk to your friend and leave me the hell alone,” Brady called over his shoulder, as he headed to the locker room.

  He needed a shower and some bandages for his hands.

  The locker room was quiet, a typical feeling for the off-season. Lockers were empty, showers were quiet, and the ribbing of the rookies wouldn’t commence for another week. Usually Brady loved the start of spring training, when new prospects filtered in to show the team their stuff, where he was able to reconnect with his boys after a few months off, but this spring training was going to be different.

  Brady made it painfully obvious to not only his teammates, but to his management and the front office that he refused to talk about his personal life in any capacity. It was off limits and the minute any press asked about Jane or the baby, he would leave the interview. He was in Florida for one reason and one reason only, to play ball.

  Stripping off his clothes, he tossed them in the back of his locker, threw his hat on the top of his locker, and wrapped a towel around his waist. Running his hand through his hair, he walked to the showers and hung his towel once he was in front of a spigot.

  Cold water shot out at a high pressure, spraying down the sore muscles of Brady’s back. An instant chill hit him, but he refused to relish the deep heat of a hot shower. Instead, he allowed goosebumps to sprout along his skin while he rubbed soap over his body. The bar of soap in his hand stung his raw cuts as he lathered his torso down to his waist.

  The last time he’d even considered touching himself was before Christmas. His sex life was non-existent. He had zero urge to even dabble in the thought. Without Jane, there really wasn’t anything for him to yearn for when it came to his libido.

  Rinsing the soap, Brady thought about the day he left for spring training. Lonely and angry, he packed his bag, thinking about how last spring training, he was able to kiss his girl goodbye and promise her some trips to come visit him. This year, it was a complete one-eighty. How much a year could change a person.

  Shaking his head, Brady turned off the water and wrapped his towel around him once again, not even bothering to dry off. Slowly, he walked back to his locker, where he saw Parker, his shortstop, sitting in one of the plush chairs in the middle of the room.

  Why was he here early?

  “Hey, old man,” Parker said casually, as he sat back in his chair, shoving wads of bubblegum in his mouth.

  Brady just nodded at Parker and sat down at his locker, where he checked his phone for any notifications.

  Once again, nothing.

  “Thanks for the heartwarming email about threatening our lives if we talk about your personal hell. It was endearing. Really enjoyed the signature, just a straight up ‘B’, its pretty baller when you don’t even sign your whole name.”

  “Why are you bothering me?” Brady asked, watching drops of water fall from his hair.

  “Needed a beer, thought you would want to go get one.”

  “Don’t you have a girl now?”

  “She’s training at her new job, came here early to give her some space. Apparently, I can be too overwhelming at times,” Parker admitted with a smile.

  “You’re just figuring that out?” Brady asked.

  “Needed a strong, gorgeous woman to tell me. So, you want to grab a beer?”

  “I don’t want to talk about my feelings with you,” Brady stated, knowing where Parker was going with this.

  “Good, because I don’t want to hear them,” Parker replied, surprising Brady.

  Brady studied Parker for a moment and realized he was serious; he just wanted a beer.

  “Fine, but you’re buying,” Brady said, while getting up and turning around to drop his towel.

  “How the hell do you get paid so much with a white ass like that? Dude, try a little naked sun-bathing every once in a while.”

  From over his shoulder, Brady flipped Parker off and quickly got dressed. Having a few beers was a good transition from the cages, he could move from one mindless task to another, all the while trying to forget about Jane.

  **Jane**

  “Have you talked to Connor yet?” Albert asked, placing a plate of salmon in front of Jane.

  The fishy smell overwhelmed her, causing her to quickly push it away. She didn’t eat much, a concern of Albert’s. He was constantly trying to feed her, but she was never hungry, and nothing ever tasted good to her. Food was a bland necessity in life she didn’t often take part in, not lately that is.

  “No,” Jane responded, sipping on her water. “I still can’t believe she’s gone.”

  News of Lucy’s death shook Jane to her core. She felt guilty because the moment she heard Lucy was going into labor, instant jealousy hit her. Lucy was going to have a baby. Lucy was going to be a mother. Lucy was going to have the pleasure of looking down at her little munchkin, holding his hand and singing lullabies to him until he fell asleep.

  That one unfaithful day, Jane lost the chance at being a mother. But now, Lucy and Jane were in the same boat, but different circumstances. They both weren’t able to fulfill their dreams of being a mother, and that knowledge cut Jane deep.

  “Will you please eat?” Albert pleaded. “Jane, you’ve lost too much weight.”

  “I had a lot to lose,” she replied, thinking of the baby weight she once carried, a weight she would give anything to carry again.

  “You know I love you, Janey Bear, but you’re going to have to cut this shit out. You need to eat. What would Brady think…?”

  “Stop right there,” Jane held up her hand. “Do not speak of him.”

  “He’s your husband, Jane,” Albert pointed out.

  “Soon to be ex,” Jane replied, looking out the window of Albert’s kitchen.

  Two days ago, she spoke to her lawyer about getting a divorce. He was shocked to hear of her decision and asked her to give it some thought before taking action. Jane didn’t care to take his advice and asked for him to start drawing up the paperwork.

  When she first met Brady, she never thought she would be sharing a life with him, let alone starting a family, but with determination, he planted himself in her soul and stole her breath. Brady meant everything to her until they found out they were pregnant. Then their family meant everything to her. Their baby girl brought them closer together and she saw a version of Brady that she fell even more madly in love with, a concept she didn’t think was possible.

  He was meant to be a father. She saw that clearly when he would come home with bags full of clothes for their unborn child, when he would spend hours in the bookstore looking for the perfect book to read to her at night. Becoming a father was more important to him than any record he could ever accomplish in baseball. Being a dad was his end goal and it was taken away from him.

  At first, Jane blamed Brady for what happened. Emotions of losing your child can make you irrational, but once she was able to clear the fog that had taken over her mind, she was able to see that she was at fault. At least, that’s what she told herself. Why else would the baby have passed? She wasn’t doing her job as a mother.

  A part of her knew Brady didn’t blame her, but the look in his eyes, the hurt, the pain, it was obvious he was looking for someone to blame. He might not have directed it at her, but she wouldn’t
blame him for turning his accusations at her if he ever did.

  She wasn’t fit to be a mother; therefore, she wasn’t fit to be Brady’s wife.

  “Jane, you need to reconsider.”

  Jane was about to answer when the front door to Albert’s house opened and Patty’s voice rang through the foyer.

  “Albert? Jane?”

  “In the kitchen,” Albert called out, and then turned on Jane. “We’re not done with this conversation.”

  With every ounce of conviction, Jane said, “On the contrary, we are very much done with this conversation.”

  “Hey, guys,” Patty said with a sad look on her face. “I can’t believe she’s gone.”

  A lone tear fell down Patty’s cheek as she sat down at the table.

  “Did you send the flowers?” Jane asked, emotionally void.

  “I did. They should be at the funeral home now. I spoke with Connor; Lucy’s parents are taking care of the arrangements.”

  Jane nodded, still looking out the window.

  “How’s the baby?” Patty lightly asked.

  Jane tensed, not wanting to answer in fear of exposing her pain.

  Stepping in, Albert answered. “Still in NICU. His lungs were underdeveloped, so they have him on oxygen. Connor hasn’t left his side.”

  “What about Austin?”

  Albert shook his head. “No one has seen him since the birth. I spoke to Brady this morning and he said Austin never reported to spring training.”

  “You spoke to Brady this morning?” Jane asked, before she could stop the words from falling out of her mouth.

  Albert nodded. “I did. I speak to him almost every day. He asks about you. He wants to know that you’re okay, that you’re taken care of, that you’re eating…”

  “Don’t talk to him about me,” Jane responded rather harshly. “He doesn’t need to know about what I’m doing on a daily basis.”

  “But he’s your husband,” Patty chimed in, pushing her hair out of her face with her left hand.

  Distracted by the shiny diamond on Patty’s hand, Jane stopped the reprimand that was about to drop out of her mouth, and instead, reached for Patty’s hand and brought it to her face for closer inspection.

  “What’s this?” Jane asked, after further inspection, knowing damn well it was an engagement ring.

  “Marc proposed and I said yes,” Patty confirmed shyly.

  “That’s amazing!” Albert cheered. Pulling her into a hug, Albert congratulated Patty. “When did this happen?”

  “The day we lost Lucy,” Patty replied, sorrow lacing her voice. “That’s why I never said anything. I felt bad celebrating when we’d just lost one of our best friends.”

  “Oh, honey, Lucy would have been so happy for you. You have to celebrate.”

  “It feels so wrong. Marc and I had our own celebration, but we think we’re going to wait to share our news.”

  “Then maybe you shouldn’t be wearing that ring,” Jane responded, malice in her tone.

  “Jane,” Albert scolded.

  Placing a hand on Albert’s shoulder, Patty said, “You’re right, Jane. I’ll take it off.”

  “You keep that ring on your finger, or so help me, woman, I will pull the biggest bitch fit you have ever seen.” Turning to Jane, he snapped his fingers in front of her face so she was forced to look at him. “Jane, stop being Satan’s spawn and be happy for your friend. Don’t make her feel bad for getting engaged. Patty and Marc have been through a lot; they deserve their moment.”

  “You’re right,” Jane responded, standing up and pushing her chair in. Looking directly at Patty, Jane said, “Congratulations on your engagement. You’re going to absolutely love marriage.”

  Sarcasm dripped from Jane’s mouth. Gathering her cell phone, she took off toward her bedroom, feeling slightly bad for her reaction toward Patty.

  Projecting her issues onto others had never been an act she engaged in, but recently, she couldn’t help it. Everything about her life was spiraling out of control, with no end in sight and no parachute to save her.

  **Nash**

  “Do you want me to come over tonight?” Roxy asked. Or was it Roseanne? Nash couldn’t remember how she introduced herself, all he could recall was her giant tits and her full lips…a lethal combination.

  “Sure.”

  Nash laid on his bed, his hands behind his head, bare-chested but still wearing pants. It was very rare when he took them off; it was also rare when a woman slept over, but last night’s alcohol mixed with a bowl of weed reduced him to not giving a fuck about his rules.

  “You going to take your pants off next time?” Roxy/Roseanne asked, moving her fingers up his good leg.

  Nash never took his pants off unless he was by himself. Even in one hundred degree weather with one hundred percent humidity, he wore pants. Not because he was trying to create his own personal sauna, no, it was because he was ashamed of his accident, of not being a whole man in his own eyes.

  Losing his leg in war had been his downfall. Since the explosion, he’d lost his confidence, his pride, and his urge to try. Now his days consisted of him getting lost in a pair of breasts and the smoke of a blunt.

  Lost in thought, Nash almost missed the fact that his overnight guest had started to move her hand to his prosthetic. Gripping her hand right before she made contact, Nash said, “Time for you to leave.”

  Shock registered on her face, pouty lips on display, from the change in his attitude.

  “What’s going on? Why won’t you let me touch your leg?”

  She was hot, but not hot enough to start divulging truths, so Nash did what he did best, he separated himself from yet another human being.

  “Ask too many questions and get shown the door. Get out.”

  “Are you serious?”

  Nodding slowly like an ass and pointing toward the entrance of his house, he repeated himself. “Get out. You’re done here.”

  “Wow, the girls at the club said you were a good fuck, but never mentioned what an ass you were.”

  “Maybe it’s time you start finding new friends then. Friends who won’t lie to you about who they fuck.”

  Sneering, she walked out of his house, shaking her head and muttering under her breath.

  Not sorry at all about the change in his plans, he headed toward the kitchen, raked his hand through his dark brown shaggy hair, and opened his fridge.

  Completely empty.

  “Ah, hell,” he muttered, as he slammed the door shut and took a look at the clock on the stove. Time to hit the grocery store, one of his least favorite tasks.

  Before leaving, Nash grabbed a shirt, pants, and briefs from his dresser. Quickly changing, he glided some deodorant on and brushed his teeth so he wouldn’t breathe dragon breath on his fellow shoppers. With a hat placed backwards on his head, he was out the door and out to his car.

  It was a beautiful day in Atlanta. The sun was shining down on the drivers, making it an easy commute into work. Humidity was low, thanks to it still being winter.

  Winters in Atlanta were a breeze compared to living up north. Jackets were not required and snow was a foreign concept. The temperatures in Georgia were easy on Nash, something he appreciated, since he was often in pain from many years on the battlefield, crawling through mud, lugging his brothers through desert heat, and carrying his ruck sack until he was free from harm.

  Nash didn’t experience much PTSD like Luke; then again, Luke had been through hell and back. Nash was surprised that Luke was determined enough to fight for his life back, a journey Nash didn’t bother trying to make.

  After being blown up by shrapnel and losing his leg, he called it quits. Some might call him a coward, possibly a pussy, and you know what, they were right. He agreed with them. He wasn’t a strong enough man to rise above the challenge, face his fears, and accept who he really was. Instead, he lived in the past, hid behind pot and booze, and fucked random women when he was in the mood.

  The grocery store was q
uiet, thankfully. He would be able to grab his beer, pretzels, and ice cream sandwiches: the diet of a champion. At least that’s what he convinced himself.

  Grabbing a small cart made for only a few items, he steered straight past the produce section, knowing there was nothing there for him, and headed for the coolers where the beer was held. Nash drank any beer you placed in front of him, but if he were to choose for himself, he always chose a local brewing company in Atlanta: Sweet Water. He would live in their beer basins if they allowed him.

  Sweet Water 420, their extra pale ale was stocked in the cooler, brightening Nash’s day. He almost had a mishap with Roxy/Roseanne earlier and her wandering hands, but now he could foresee an easy evening with a bottle in one hand and pipe in the other, watching mindless television.

  Bee lining toward the cooler, Nash zeroed in on his goal and completely zoned out everyone around him, even the cart that headed straight at him.

  Nash’s small, empty cart collided with a cart full of toilet paper. The crash shook Nash backwards for a second as he said, “What the hell?”

  The cart of toilet paper fell to the side, packages scattering the aisle as a petite redhead fell to the ground, her phone scattering across the floor of the grocery store.

  “Jiminy crickets,” she said, as she sat up and looked at the mess.

  Jiminy crickets?

  “Uh, you okay?” Nash asked, assessing the redhead.

  Her hair was laced with blonde streaks, but they were natural, as if she spent many hours a day outside in the Atlanta sun. She had freckles on her cheeks and her mossy green eyes stared up at him. Her frame was small and her skin was a creamy white. She had Irish girl written all over her.

  The girl stood up quickly and wiped her jean-clad butt off. She was wearing a simple red T-shirt that didn’t cling to her, but was looser fitting in all the wrong areas. Not that Nash was interested, but he enjoyed looking at the female form; this girl was showing none. Now that he realized it, her jeans seemed to be two sizes too big and she was wearing Birkenstocks that must have been a generational pass down…they looked that old.