Perfect Bastard (Mason Creek)

“Thank you,” I said, though I’d been so ugly to him, I didn’t think he’d ever speak to me again.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Nate

The box in my pocket burned a hole in my pants. I’d been way too impulsive, I thought as I pulled it free. I opened the lid and looked at the diamond that had caught my attention the other day when I went to order flowers for Avery. Parking had been ridiculous, and I’d found a spot on the other side of the square. As I’d made my way around, I’d spotted the diamond in the window of the jewelry shop.

Though I’d been unsure about the timing of when, I had been clear that it would be her. The ring had been simple in design but brilliant. I’d bought it without a second thought. If I ever got married, it would only be to her.

Now I flipped open the box. The diamond sparkled even in the dim light. The ache in my chest took over, and I pulled it free from its confines and slung it with my multimillion-dollar arm. I wasn’t sure whether it was my throw, the diamond, or a cheap-quality wall, but the ring ended up imbedded in the drywall.

“Fuck,” I cursed and drowned my sorrows in the bottle of Macallan Millennium 50-Year-Old Single Malt Scotch Whisky the owner of my team had gifted me the year we won the World Series. It was more expensive than a lot of cars. Once Avery’s article went live, it would likely be the last bottle of scotch he’d ever give me.

I woke up hours later on an unfamiliar couch in an unfamiliar apartment. Then I realized it was home. Only it didn’t feel like it. Over the last few months, home had once again become the ranch in Mason Creek. I wanted to be back there and rewind the tape. I wanted one more night with Avery. I wanted to hate her guts. I wanted her out of my head. That felt impossible.

My brother breezed in the door. “What the hell died in here?” When he found me propped up on the couch, he said, “Oh, it’s you. Get up and shower, bro. We’ve got a meeting with the owner. I’ve gotten some interest in New York and Miami if things don’t work out.”

I wasn’t sure I wanted it to work out. Maybe I should retire if my career depended on what the public thought about me outside the game.

Apparently, I’d said that out loud because Mitch stopped. “Don’t bullshit me. You’ve got several more years in that arm of yours.”

“I’ve got enough money.”

“Blasphemy. You say that now, but when you’re sitting on your ass, you’ll wish you had this contract. Just get your shit together. Let’s hear what he has to say before you go throwing your career away for a woman. And don’t think I didn’t notice that engagement ring in the wall over there.”

“Dad said you’re the son with the heart. Shouldn’t you be consoling me or something?”

He seriously rolled his eyes at me. “Guys would kill for your problems. Hell, I’d trade places with you. There is pussy in every city. Find a woman when you retire. Right now, play ball and enjoy getting your dick sucked by models and actresses in every city.”

I didn’t want any of that. I wanted spitfire Avery with her quick tongue, whether using her words or sucking my dick. That was what I’d wanted. She’d messed with my head because now I didn’t see myself with anyone but her.

“Do I need to use a taser to shock some life into you?” Mitch said.

The only reason I got up was to not hear his mouth. I took a lazy shower until he beat on the door, giving me shit about not being his only client. I loved my brother, but I wanted to throttle him. Maybe having him as my agent was a bad idea. I told him just that.

“You can’t do better. Those other sharks will eat you alive in commissions. I don’t charge you nearly what I’m worth or even what I charge everyone else.”

“You got everyone else because of me,” I shot back.

He waved me off. “Maybe at the start. But I’m damn good at what I do and just because you got your tiny little heart broken doesn’t give you license to shit on my parade.”

Air whooshed from my lungs. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Let’s just get this over with.”

Dad had been right about Mitch’s silver tongue. We left that meeting with everything we’d asked for.

“Why didn’t you sign?” Mitch yelled when we got in his car. “If this article comes out, you’ll never get a deal like that.”

I knew that. But I couldn’t see myself committing to another seven to ten years of this life. I tried to explain that.