Dirty Curve

“I understand that my son was lucky enough to get a second chance, got into a school with a push from that man, and instead of working hard like his brother, he’s throwing it all away.”

“I don’t want to take away from what your other son has accomplished,” she quickly comes back. “Because it’s amazing what he’s doing, but over twenty-one thousand students are accepted into medical school every year. Accepted. I don’t know if you know this, but just over twelve hundred athletes are drafted into the majors every season. Twelve hundred out of fifty-two thousand hopefuls and your son is expected to be chosen first. One in fifty-two thousand, or one in twelve hundred, depending on how you want to look at it.”

There’s a long pause, and my chest tightens as my hand does on Bailey’s back.

“That’s something to celebrate. That ... is something to be proud of,” Meyer nearly whispers.

A moment passes and then the door is tugged open, and Meyer and I come face-to-face. She jolts to a stop, and I swear her eyes are clouded.

She swallows and I want to reach out and touch her, drag her closer and keep her there, but she reaches for Bailey before I make a move, gently pulling her into her arms.

“Do you mind taking me back to the hotel? I have a call I need to be there for and Bailey will be getting hungry soon.”

All I can do is nod.

Meyer quietly thanks my parents before walking out the front door, and I’m not far behind.

The ride to the hotel is a silent one, but my mind is screaming.

Back in the room, she sets Bailey in her playpen and attempts to slip past into the bathroom, but I block her path before she can.

“Tobias—”

“Did you mean all you said?”

She looks down, but using my knuckles, I bring those brown eyes back to mine. “Did you mean what you said?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You said a fuck-ton, Meyer, by saying anything at all.” My chest burns, my blood hot and flowing double time.

“Your brother’s always the one who lets them know when you’re coming to town, isn’t he?”

A frown falls over me, and I look away. “My parents don’t follow my career, but it’s all good.”

“And you don’t tell them when you’re in town because every conversation leads to the same place ...”

“You mean the domain of dreary disappointment? Yeah.” I hide the sting in my shoulder blades by lifting one. “But I’m used to that.”

“You shouldn’t be,” she whispers, a gentle softness in her voice I’m not sure she’s aware of.

“It follows me everywhere I go, Tutor Girl,” I tell her, forcing the corner of my mouth to curve up. “I do something good, something I can be proud of and someone else comes to tear it down, to make me rethink every fucking step I take.”

Realization dawns on her and a sadness clouds her eyes. “You deal with it at home and at school.”

“I don’t know what it is, but I can’t escape it.” I shrug. “I thought it would be different at Avix, new town, new team. New crowd. Older, wiser and all that. But then the paper got wind of my situation, teen with a track record a mile long who just got a full ride, after being cut from the prospect list of every other D1 in the country, and instantly I was The Playboy Pitcher, the bad boy on campus. It’s like they were thirsty for someone to focus on and that focus became me. I do something shitty; they expose it. I do something good; they twist it.”

“Last year I helped a girl move out of her apartment after her roommates ditched her with all the rent, and the paper blasts a story about how I ruined some poor girl’s dreams, driving her to drop out of college.” I scoff, shaking my head. “You know the shittiest part of that? I broke a school record that same week, and for some reason I was excited, like fuck yeah, now they have to say something good. Something I could show my parents, but they didn’t print a damn thing about that.”

Meyer’s hand falls to my chest, her fingers spanning out as she tips her head back farther, her eyes tight and on mine. “I’m sorry you have to deal with that,” she whispers. “If they knew who you really were ...” She shakes her head.

“I don’t care what anyone else thinks, not anymore. Not if you see me the way I heard it.” I reach out, pushing the hair from her face, every muscle in my body straining, tightening as her eyes darken before me. “All you said before. Are those really the things you think of when you think of me ... do you think of me?”