The game ended and I started walking toward the exit, the sound of drunk men stumbling in line behind me. A quick shove forced me to slam into the guy in front of me, my hand grabbing his shoulder for balance. “I’m sorry,” I quickly offered as he shook me off. Another rough shove and I started to wonder if they were accidental.
Reaching the end of the aisle, I turned to eye the person responsible for the shoving, when moisture splashed against the back of my shirt and bare neck. The smell of beer filled my nostrils as I winced, rolling my shoulders forward away from my damp and sticky shirt.
“Oops,” an oversized man said with a sarcastic gruff before heading away, laughter ripping from his lungs. I watched as his friend patted him on the back in congratulations.
I stopped moving, the crowd filing out around me as my eyes met Kymber’s. She looked at my soaking back and continued walking, her eyes saying it all. She didn’t care what happened to me out here. She wasn’t on my side and she damn sure wasn’t going to do or say anything to help me. The other wives followed behind, all of them glancing in my direction, but none of them stopping to help.
I hurried toward a concession stand, my eyes scanning for a jersey with Jack’s name and number on it. I breathed out in relief when I saw it displayed against the silver fencing.
“Can I get a Carter jersey in medium please?” I asked.
After paying for my purchase, I rushed into the nearest bathroom. Tearing off my beer drenched top, I reached for the faucet. I placed my black top into the basin and allowed the warm water to drench it. I wrung my shirt out before filling it with more fresh water, repeating the cycle numerous times until I was satisfied that the beer smell had dissipated. Soaking the shirt with water one last time, I scrubbed my body with it the best I could. I tried to get the stickiness and stench off of my back, but it was hard to reach.
“Do you want me to help you?” a lady around my mom’s age asked from behind me. Her brown eyes looked sorrowful as I viewed her in the mirror.
I turned on my heels to face her, thankful for the kindness. “Please?” I refused to let myself cry from the frustration, embarrassment, and sadness. “Thank you,” I said, turning back toward my reflection.
I watched as she scrubbed at my exposed skin, taking extra care to not get me too wet. Once finished, she grabbed some paper towels and patted my back dry.
“There you go. ”
“Thank you so much,” I smiled before pulling my new shirt out and slipping it over my head. I shoved my wet shirt into the bag and pulled the drawstrings tight. Glancing into the mirror, I ran my fingers through my damp hair and knew Jack would smell the beer on me if I didn’t wash it out.
I twisted my head down toward the sink, allowing the warm water to penetrate the beer soaked ends of my hair. Walking over to the hand dryer, I pressed the start button. It roared to life and I placed my wet hair under the heat. Once dry, I quickly sniffed at my hair, satisfied that no one would smell the beer unless you were searching for it. I pulled out a small bottle of scented vanilla lotion and rubbed it on my arms and my neck to help mask any lingering smells.
Shoving the bag that contained my damp shirt into my purse, I headed out of the bathroom and in the direction of the locker room. I prayed Jack wouldn’t be able to tell that anything happened and that I’d be able to hold it all in. I knew keeping this from him was probably wrong, but I convinced myself that it was in Jack’s best interest. He needed to keep his mind on the field and his head in the game at all times. He wouldn’t be able to do that if he knew this kind of shit occurred. And I’d never be able to forgive myself if anything happened to his career because of me.
A Lot of the Guys Cheat
Jack
After the game and the team meeting, I changed, took a quick shower, and headed out of the navy blue locker room doors. I burst through, looking around for her face. The minute I locked on her tired green eyes, I knew something was off.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, as my protective instincts flared.
Her lips formed a tight smile and I eyed the Mets shirt that hugged the curves of her body. “Nothing’s wrong. Like my new shirt?”
She turned around, lifting her hair to proudly display my last name and jersey number written on the back of the shirt. Carter 23.
“Like it? I fucking love it,” I answered and her face softened, but the worry lines between her eyes remained.
My mind instantly flashed back to the night she was mugged at Fullton State. She was with a group of my teammates heading toward campus to meet up with me when a guy high on drugs and alcohol assaulted them and claimed to have a gun. I was scheduled to throw out the first pitch for the softball team that night, but I left the second I heard whispers about what happened, running into Dean and Brett along the way. I remember sprinting across the parking lot as quick as my legs would move me, toward the street searching for any signs of her. When I saw her silhouette, being helped up by my buddy Cole as they walked, I nearly crumpled with pain. It was my job to protect her and keep her safe, and I failed.
Seeing her beautiful face bruised and beaten in my mind caused my blood to start boiling. I promised her that night that I’d never let anyone hurt her again, and I meant it. The thought alone could make me come completely unglued. No one could fuck with my Kitten like that ever again.
“You going to tell me what’s wrong?” I pressed again and she avoided my eyes.
“Really it’s nothing. I just want to go home. I’m exhausted. ”
I leaned my head toward her, my lips grazing over her ear as I whispered, “I know you’re lying. Tell me in the car. ” I kissed her ear before pulling my lips away and throwing my arm around her shoulder.
I relaxed the moment she pulled her body into mine and confessed, “I love you. I’m so fucking happy that you’re here. That we’re here together. You know that, right?” She smiled as the words left her lips.
God I loved that smile. I loved everything about this woman.
“I am too. I love you. ”
I refused to stop for any fan autographs or pictures, instead walking straight to the car, my arm around my girl. Cassie’s body tensed as small flashes of light exploded around us. I was used to this, but she wasn’t. I squeezed her tighter, longing to reassure whatever bothered her.