Fool Me Once (Bad Boy Romance) Read online

  “Mom, I think a simple thank you would have sufficed. I don’t want you wearing yourself out,” I lectured.

  “Evie, it’s cookies. It isn’t a seven-course meal. I can’t sit in that chair all day and I will not lie in bed any longer,” she said firmly, waving a spatula at me while she talked.

  I looked at the counter and saw at least four dozen cookies on cooling racks. “Mom, that’s a lot more than a batch of cookies.”

  She shrugged. “I wanted to make sure I had enough and not everybody likes chocolate chip.”

  My mouth dropped open. “That’s blasphemous!”

  She giggled softly. “I agree, but there’s no accounting for the crazy of some people.”

  I hugged her and reached around to grab one of the cookies. She flinched, stepping away from me.

  “Mom, it’s okay,” I said gently.

  She sighed, looking down at her flat chest. “It’s very strange. It’s taking some getting used to.”

  “I understand. I’m so glad you’re here though,” I told her, meaning the words.

  “Here and boobless,” she muttered.

  I giggled. “Well, you can buy boobs. You can’t buy your life.”

  “I know, I know. I’m not really all that sad about losing my breasts, but I was kind of attached to them,” she joked.

  “Indeed, you were. Are you ready to think about getting surgery?” I asked, knowing it was still a sensitive subject.

  She shook her head. “No, I’m not. It feels so vain.”

  “It isn’t vanity, Mom. If it makes you feel better, then I support your decision. I won’t support you getting a bigger and better rack than me, though,” I said with a laugh.

  She laughed. “We could go to the beach and see who gets more numbers.”

  I scoffed. “No way am I going to compete with you and your plastic tits.”

  “Come on, sit down. I think we can eat a few of these cookies and still have enough to share,” she said, opening the fridge and pulling out a carton of milk.

  I grabbed two glasses and carried them to the table, sitting down and staring out the window at the back yard I had practically grown up in. There were so many fond memories there and in the kitchen I was sitting in. I thought about those years I had lived in the house and how happy I had been. I had felt untouchable. My parents were happily married, comfortable and so normal. We ate dinner at the table every night and they went to all of my activities. We weren’t rich, but it was a comfortable life. A life I looked back on and wished I would have taken the time to appreciate a bit more.

  “Are you going to try and go back to work?” I asked her.

  It was a contentious subject. I didn’t want her to work. She could retire and I could help her make ends meet. She owned the house outright and didn’t really need the money. But she was insisting she was too young to retire.

  “Evie, you know I want to. This is my decision,” she said, taking a bite of a warm cookie.

  I sighed. “I know, Mom, but you don’t have to. Stay home, garden, bake, read books, learn how to knit.”

  She laughed. “Evie, I’m not that old!”

  I looked at her eyes, the same color of blue as my own. People had always told me I looked a lot like my mother did when she was my age. I looked at the wrinkles on her face, the sagging around the cheeks and imagined I would look like that in twenty years. I knew her illness had aged her. She’d always looked so youthful, until she came out on the other side of a disease that could have taken her life. She’d lost her breasts, but not her sense of humor.

  “Mom, promise me you’ll take a little more time,” I insisted.

  She nodded her head. “I will. I’m feeling stronger every day.”

  “Good.”

  She finished a cookie before grabbing another. “Evie, we need to talk.”

  I sighed, already knowing what was coming. “Mom, you don’t have to say it. I know. We’ve talked about it a hundred times.”

  She reached out and put a hand over mine. “Evie, I’m serious. I want you to make sure you’re taking care of yourself. Pay attention to your body. Listen to it. Be vigilant,” she warned.

  I nodded. “I know. I will.”

  “I don’t want you to have to go through what I did. If you like your boobs, you’ll listen to me,” she said seriously.

  “Mom, we just got through all the worry and stress of your condition. Let’s bask in the joy of recovery and a fairly clean bill of health. We both deserve a little break,” I told her.

  She smiled. “Fine, but you better believe I am going to be on you for the rest of my days. I’m going to take care of you whether you like it or not.”

  I laughed. “That’s fine, as long as you make lots of cookies.”

  “Don’t eat too many of those. Just because you’re slim now doesn’t mean you’ll stay that way if you keep pounding the chocolate,” she warned.

  “Oh, but they taste so good. A little extra padding around the butt is worth a few cookies.”

  We both burst into laughter. “Do you remember doing this when you were young?”

  “Of course I do. It was my favorite time of the day.”

  She looked wistful. “I miss those times.”

  “Me too. It’s time to make new memories. Like now. In twenty years, when I have a gaggle of kids driving me crazy and you’ve fed them a boatload of cookies and they’re hyped up on sugar, we’ll be thinking about this day with fondness,” I said.

  She grinned. “A gaggle of kids, huh?”

  “Figure of speech. Don’t get any ideas,” I said, holding up a hand.

  She shook her head. “Uh-uh. You can’t dangle that little carrot in front of me and then pull it away. I want twenty grandkids.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Then you should have had ten children. There is no way twenty babies are coming out of my body.”

  “Oh, come on, how about five?”

  “No.”

  “Evie, your mother is asking you for one little thing. You can do that,” she said in a tone normally used to cause a guilt trip.

  “Mom, five children is not one little thing.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Five little things.”

  I got up from the table, laughing as I carried the glasses to the sink. I quickly rinsed them and put them in the dishwasher.

  “I’m going to go. Please don’t stand in here baking all night,” I said.

  She smiled. “I just have a couple more batches to get in the oven. Then I promise I’ll sit down and rest and sleep in tomorrow.”

  I nodded with satisfaction. “Good. Good night, Mom. I love you.” I gave her a hug that wasn’t too tight. I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable.

  I left the house and headed to my small duplex. It wasn’t anything grand, but it was all I could afford. It wasn’t like I needed anything bigger. It was just me and I tended to either be at work or at my mom’s. It seemed silly to have anything bigger.

  Chapter 3

  Dayton

  I woke up after a horrible night of restless sleep and immediately felt the ache in my shoulder. I was used to being stiff after a game, but this was different. I knew it was a bad sign. I rolled out of bed, using my ab muscles to sit up and holding my arm against my chest.

  “Shit,” I muttered, attempting to do some stretching exercises and feeling a pinch.

  I grabbed my phone and saw a message from the coach, asking me to meet him at his office in an hour. I quickly showered and got dressed, anxious to find out what the verdict was. I didn’t like not being in control of my own future. I wasn’t one to take a backseat in anything, but last night I had been sent home and told to wait for a call.

  I flopped down in a chair outside the coach’s office, getting there five minutes early and feeling pretty damn proud of myself, especially with the short notice. My arm was tucked against my body in a sling. It was very awkward being one-armed, especially since I was right-handed. I was still struggling to get used to it, constantly trying
to reach for things and forgetting the arm was essentially strapped to my body. I waited, my foot tapping as I thought about what it could be. After the x-ray, I had been sent for an MRI. When the doctor told me I was going for a second test, my heart had sunk. I knew they were thinking it was something serious. I never realized how quickly my life could change until that pitch. In a split second, I had gone from a rising star to a falling star.

  “Dayton, come on in,” the coach said, standing in the doorway of his office.

  I walked in and took a seat. “Well?” I asked, not in the mood for a lot of small talk. I needed to know what the hell was going on with my arm. My entire future was riding on the results of that damn test.

  “I’m afraid it isn’t good news,” he started and the feeling of spiraling down a drain took over.

  “What does that mean?” I asked, needing specifics.

  He leaned back in the chair, his pot belly rising up under the shirt he had tucked in tight to his jeans. “It means you are out of the game.”

  “For how long?”

  “I don’t know for sure. With this type of injury, I’ve seen it be the end of a career for some. I’m not saying it will be for you, but the injury is bad enough that it does warrant some concern,” he said.

  “No,” I automatically said, as if I could refuse the results.

  “Dayton, this is serious. We need you to rest that arm.”

  I nodded. “I will.”

  He leaned forward, looking me right in the eye. “I know you. I know you are a very driven man and you think you can just train your way out of this. More practice is not the answer here. Don’t you dare pick up a ball.”

  I nodded my head. “You have my word. How long are we talking?”

  He shrugged. “The doctor wants to give it a couple of weeks.”

  “I can do that.”

  “There’s something else,” he added.

  “With my arm?” I groaned, wondering what the hell I had done to the thing with a single pitch.

  “This season is going to be big for us. You’re supposed to be our star pitcher. We’ve got a lot of fans expecting to see Dayton Black on that pitcher’s mound. I don’t want the public knowing about your injury,” he said.

  I shrugged my good arm. “Okay.”

  He shook his head. “I’m serious, Dayton. You don’t exactly keep a low profile.”

  I smiled. “A low profile doesn’t create a fan base.”

  “A career-ending injury doesn’t either. People see you walking around with your arm in a sling or see you going to various specialists, they’re going to realize that little injury on the field was something much bigger. It sets off a chain of events I’d rather not have just now,” he lectured.

  “I’ll lie low,” I promised.

  He shook his head. “I want you to hide out. Go to ground. Stay away from the public eye. Do you have somewhere you can disappear to for a while?”

  I thought about it for a second. My initial thought was a tropical beach with Mai Tais and plenty of beautiful women. That wasn’t what he meant, I quickly realized. Home. I could go home.

  “Yes. I could go home for a bit,” I said, not loving the idea, but not hating it either.

  “Tennessee, right?”

  I nodded. “Small town, Hope. I can hang out there.”

  “Don’t people know who you are?” the coach asked.

  I shrugged. “Yes, but people tend to mind their own business for the most part.”

  “This is serious, Dayton. I don’t want the rumors of your injury getting out. I need the other teams to worry about you. It’s all part of the game,” he warned.

  “Coach, I get it. Keep my mouth shut and go on, business as usual. Don’t you think people are going to wonder why I’m not in the bullpen or on the field?” I asked him.

  “I’ll take care of that.”

  “I could still get into uniform and support the team,” I offered, already feeling as if I was being kicked off the island and sent to Siberia.

  He shook his head. “No. The media will be there, and they’ll ask you questions. You’re a shitty liar and I don’t want what you don’t say to make headlines.”

  I scoffed. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult.”

  “It’s neither. It’s the truth. I’ll put out a statement letting the media know you have a minor injury but to be on the safe side, we’re giving your arm a rest, preparing for the big games at the end of the season and hopefully the playoffs,” he said with a smile.

  I nodded, letting the full gravity of the situation slowly roll over me. “Is this it for me?” I asked him.

  The coach got serious. “I honestly don’t know, kid. It could be. I don’t want to take any chances. We’ll send someone out periodically to check your progress.”

  “Fuck,” I groaned.

  “It happens. You know it happens. With the kind of pitches you throw, your arm is getting shredded. I’d tell you to pull back, but we both know that isn’t going to happen. All we can do is hope. You keep your arm rested, do the stretches the therapist sets you up with and wait. Time heals. If it doesn’t heal, we’ll have to reevaluate our options,” he said, his voice grim.

  “Our options?” I asked, dreading what the answer might be.

  He nodded. “Surgery might be needed, but I think you know that is a last resort. You’d be out for the rest of the season for sure and I’ve seen guys come back and not be able to regain the same strength they once had.”

  My mouth fell open. “Shit. That isn’t going to happen. I refuse to let this be the end of my career.”

  He smiled. “That’s good to hear. Stay positive and I’m serious about listening to your doctors and therapists. This isn’t a joke. This is real. You’re not a teenager that can heal overnight. You’ve used and abused that arm and it’s time to take it seriously.”

  I nodded. “I get it. I swear.”

  “No partying either. This isn’t a vacation,” he added.

  I grinned. “Me party?”

  “Alcohol has a funny way of making people talk. I don’t want you bellyaching to some pretty young girl in an attempt to get sympathy and her into your bed. Technically, you’re still on my roster, which means your ass is still mine. The same rules of conduct apply. Stay out of the clubs,” he said, pointing a finger at me.

  I held up my good hand. “I got it. I’ll be a good boy. I’ll sit on my parents’ farm and twiddle my thumbs, the picture of obedience.”

  “One thumb. You can only twiddle one thumb,” he said dryly.

  I laughed. “Noted. When is all this supposed to happen?”

  “Now. Get out of town. Keep your head down and avoid the crowds. If someone recognizes you, tell them you have a family emergency, but don’t tell them where your family is. Your diehard fans will find the information regardless, but I want you to do your best to hide as long as you can,” he reiterated.

  “Coach, I get it. I’m not going to fuck this up for myself. I hear you. I’m going home. I won’t talk to anyone,” I told him.

  He nodded. “All right. I’ll check in with you in a few days.”

  “Thanks. I guess I better go pack and buy a plane ticket,” I said, getting to my feet.

  He reached out his hand to shake mine out of habit. I looked at him, waved my hand cradled in the sling and grinned.

  “Take care of yourself,” he said as I walked out.

  I headed out of the building to the waiting car the team had hired for me. I wasn’t supposed to drive or do anything that might mess up the arm even more. I hated feeling like an invalid, but the arm did hurt. I didn’t want to move it. I got in the backseat and let the driver take me home, my temporary home. I was in an extended stay hotel, like many of the other players. I wasn’t quite ready to call San Francisco my permanent home and had held off on buying a place. The extended stay had everything I needed, including maid service.

  I got home, looked around the place and immediately felt bummed I wasn
’t going to be there for a while. I thought about calling my parents and letting them know I was coming home, but quickly nixed the idea. My mom would want to tell everyone and they would plan a big homecoming party like the last time I had been home. That would defeat the idea of being low key.

  I got out my laptop, managed to use my one hand to pull up the airline website I used and booked myself a ticket home. Then it was time to pack. I was packing with the intention of returning in a couple weeks. I had to stay positive. If I started telling myself my season was over, it would be. I fully believed in mind over matter and right then, I was going to use every ounce of brain energy I had to convince my body it wasn’t done. I would recover.

  This wasn’t going to be one of those long-awaited homecomings. I had left the small town in the middle of nowhere a long time ago. I liked the city. I liked the fast pace and the millions of people. I was dreading the farm life and the quiet. Mostly, I was dreading the boredom. Nothing exciting happened in Hope. There wasn’t much to do for a guy like me. Without being able to train, I imagined the next two weeks were going to be extremely trying.

  “Shit,” I muttered, tossing a shirt onto the bed.

  My life had just taken a hard left turn off the path I had envisioned for myself. I knew there was no point in dwelling on the negative. I could get through it. I would persevere. Hell, I’d pulled myself out of the town once before, I could do it again.

  Chapter 4

  Evie

  I opened the door to the hair salon and immediately spotted my best friend, Mallory Saxon, organizing her tools at her little station. She looked up at me, her dark eye makeup on especially heavy, and frowned.

  “Hey, that’s no way to greet your best friend,” I lectured jokingly.

  She groaned. “I’m cranky.”

  “You’re always cranky. Name a day you aren’t cranky. I think you are happiest when you’re pissed and moody,” I told her.

  She rolled her eyes and went back to unwinding the blow dryer and curling irons. “What brings you by?”

  I shrugged. “I thought I would check on you, make sure you hadn’t moved into a coffin or something.”