Hard Luck (Trophy Boyfriends 4)

Way to tune out, Roger, I think. Dad never has a clue what’s going on, but he’ll jump in at the last minute once he starts getting yelled at by Mom for not disciplining us.

She’s excellent at guilting people.

“Why are you getting on her case? She’s eating—leave her alone.”

“I’m not getting on her case. I’m just asking why she’s being weird, that’s all.” Buzz glances over at me. “Are you sick?”

“Kind of,” I admit, not exactly lying but not telling the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

“Well you look like shit, sis,” he declares, still eating and not mincing words. He’s never been one for sugarcoating things.

“What the hell, Buzz!” I sputter, wiping the corner of my mouth with a napkin and taking a sip of water, wishing it were carbonated. A few bubbles might be good for my tummy. “Rude!”

“Maybe you should be staying with me instead of with him. You’d get more sleep.”

“I highly doubt that,” I lament. “You talk way too much.”

“Amen.” Hollis laughs.

“Hey!” He turns and looks at her, betrayed by his own spouse. “I’m sitting right here.”

His wife giggles again, the same shade of pale green I probably am, except I’m not about to mention that comparison to anyone sitting around this table.

If my brother and his wife are not ready to spill their news, they aren’t ready, and neither am I.

“When are you leaving for Arizona?” I allow myself to ask, a lump forming in my throat.

I would like to see you, I would like to see you…

If Buzz is leaving soon, that means Mateo will be leaving soon, and if I don’t sit down with him before the team leaves for spring training, I’ll have to fly—I’m not sure my body can handle it.

“I don’t know, a few weeks. We’re starting to have meetings about it, so…” He shrugs, unconcerned. “Hollis and I will probably go sooner, get the house ready. Swim. Relax before I have to work.”

It’s crazy that playing a game is what they do for a full-time job. Blows my mind sometimes. While most people go into an office or work in retail or the service industry, both my brothers toss around a ball and get paid for it.

“You can come and stay with us if you want,” Hollis offers, looking hopeful. “We can sit around the pool, and I won’t bother you if you have to work.”

I would be in the same city as Mateo. Again.

We could work out our issues, figure out a solution. Come to an agreement.

Will he want a lawyer? Will he make things difficult? At the beginning, when I missed my period and peed on that store-bought pregnancy test, it crossed my mind not to tell him. It crossed my mind that perhaps I could raise this baby alone—with the help of my family—and not tell anyone who the father is.

Then I looked around at one of our family dinners, and…

I can’t do it.

I can’t do it to my family, and I could never do it to Mateo. Not with the things he told me when we were alone together: how important his sisters are, how close he and his parents are, how family means everything to him.

How he would give everything up in a heartbeat if they needed him by their side.

Me keeping this baby from him would be the ultimate betrayal. The ultimate sin.

I can’t do it, no matter how scared I am to tell everyone.

I just need more time.

“See, there she goes again.” Buzz’s voice cuts in. “Lost in space. Earth to True, Earth to True—come in True, can you read me?”

I throw my napkin at him. “Shut up!”

“You should see your face.” He scrunches it up then stares at the wall with his mouth hanging open. “This is what you look like.”

“It is not. Be quiet.” But I’m laughing—for one of the first times in days.

Eight

Mateo

Nothing.

Nothing from True in two whole days.

Forty-eight hours. Two-thousand, eight hundred and eighty minutes.

Radio silence.

Nada.

At first I wonder if I fucked up the telephone number, chastising my sisters for giving me the wrong information—then I call the stadium to confirm the last four numbers.

We discovered they had it by accident; True happens to be on Tripp’s emergency contact list, and I plan to take advantage of them admitting they had it.

They weren’t willing to share the number the first few times I called, but they were willing to let me know I had the correct digits.

Awesome.

Great.

If only she’d text me back.

I stare at the three messages I foolishly sent, cursing my idiot self for putting myself out there. I sound like a goddamn idiot.

I sound thirsty.

Desperate, even.

Well. Fuck this.

If she doesn’t want anything to do with me after I make yet another effort? Fine.

So be it.

Except…

When my phone dings, my heart leaps.

When the messages are from other people, my stomach drops from disappointment.