Rapidly blinking, I look down at the table containing my shy smile. With all the ups and downs the two of us have gone through in our short time knowing each other, there was no obligation for him to say those things. But he did. Which just speaks to how noble of a man he is.
The journalists are silent for a moment, and then they start peppering him with questions, mostly about his time as a Piston, his vow to pay a million to charity, and about today’s victory. I’m thankful that they seem to have taken his recommendation and put their grilling of me to rest, at least for the time being.
But I can’t help sitting rooted to my spot, playing his words over and over in my head, as the interview continues for the next thirty minutes or so.
It was getting dangerously murky, whatever was going on between Hayes and I, and he just further complicated the relationship. I’d put a no-cross boundary on myself when it came to him, but he’s gone and trampled right over it with that little speech.
There’s no ignoring the lopsided gallop of my heart every time I slide my gaze down the table to him.
16
Hayes
Dark has settled in by the time I make it out of the stadium, my muscles sore and aching with every step.
Tonight’s home game was hard fought, and I got not one, but two pairs of cleats to the shin throughout the eleven innings. We played into extras, which, when you’re in it, sets your bones on fire with adrenaline and the will to pull out a victory. But afterward, these types of games always leave me exhausted, especially as I get up there in age.
I’m not old, not by any standards, at thirty-two, but in terms of baseball, I’m ancient. A lot of guys don’t even get to have as long of a career as I have, and for that I’m lucky. While I know that, there is still so much I want to do. But I feel the aches, the pulls, the way my body doesn’t recover like it used to. I’m aware that every day the stopwatch is ticking down, counting the days that I still have left in this league.
Which is why I’ve been giving my game everything I’ve got. Bryant was right when he reprimanded me for phoning it in. Even though I despise that I’m playing for the Pistons this season, the team is actually winning a decent number of games. We’re top of the division, and if we can sustain some of this winning streak, we could be in a good position for the number one playoff seed. If this is the year I get another chance at a World Series title, then no matter who I’m playing for or how much I’d like to leave Packton after my contract is up, I’m damn well taking my shot at it.
My keys dangle in my hands as I walk through the parking lot, only a couple of cars dotting the massive expanse that wraps around the stadium. It’s strange, seeing a ballpark at this time of day, so quiet and humbled. Normally, these coliseums of sport are alive with energy, music, physical exertion, and tons of noise from fans. Hours after practice or games are done are some of my favorite times to admire the stadiums I’ve played in, the sleeping giants just awaiting their next competition.
The noises come before I see what’s going on, the sound of a scuffle and protest of uttered no’s. I hear a cackle, a scrape, and then a yelp. And as I turn the corner, I can see the three of them, illuminated under one of the lamp lights in the parking lot.
Two men, with their hands on a woman … and it takes my brain a minute to register that it’s Colleen.
“Stop … no … get off …” She struggles against them, holding her arms around herself as they paw at her.
My eyes flash red, everything I hold in them drowning in the fury I feel. The complete fight response that overpowers my tired muscles, jumping into action as I eat up the space between where I am and where they’re attempting to double team and take her down.
“Motherfuckers,” I mutter under my breath as I sprint to where she is.
“Get off of her!” My order is loud and the two creeps whip their heads around.
“Hey, isn’t that …” One of the pricks trails off, trying to get a better look at me.
“Hayes!” Colleen’s voice is desperate and so much smaller than I’ve ever heard it.
That alone makes my fury ratchet up several levels, because this is not a weak woman by any means. The need to murder these two with my bare hands is palpable, and the sensation ripples down my back muscles as if I’m a dog ready to attack.
I reach them and just begin swinging. Fist on bone, saliva on my hands, followed by blood.
There isn’t a rational explanation of why I can fight off these two men when I’m only one person. Probably because they’re impaired, I smell alcohol all over them, or maybe my adrenaline is just pumping so hard, but my punches are landing square and effectively. The one guy is knocked out cold before I even have to fire another back at him, which makes me believe taking down the other won’t be too difficult either.
I knock his body on one side of the jaw with a right hook, and he stumbles, but stays up, staggering backward. I see it in his eyes, he’s weighing whether he should come back at me, try to combat me. A split second later, he must decide that it’s not worth it, because the piece of shit scampers off into the night.
“Get in my car,” I order her, not sure when the bozo on the ground will wake up, or who might be still in this parking lot.
“But my—” she stammers, shock speaking for her.
“Colleen. Get. In.” My voice leaves absolutely no room for argument.
I walk robotically, my hand at the small of her back, ushering her toward my vehicle. I don’t care if her car gets stolen, if someone says something about it being here in the morning, or what not. There is absolutely no way I’m letting her drive home alone right now.
All but hauling her up into the passenger seat of my Range Rover, I make sure she’s completely in before stiffly putting my bag in the back seat and climbing behind the wheel. I seem to be moving on auto-pilot, my body stuck between the chaos of the fight and coming down to complete and utter exhaustion. Reality sets in, the buzzing in my ears growing stronger. There are too many emotions coursing through me right now, and my mind feels like it’s slipping into a spiral I won’t be able to come out of.
“Fuck!” I growl, slamming my hands against the steering wheel.
In the passenger seat, Colleen visibly jumps, and I try to take a deep, calming breath. I’ll only scare her more if I get myself worked up right now, but I’m pissed as all hell that I didn’t at least get a picture of the two men who attacked her.
I’m weary to look at her, but I know I have to. I know I have to put on a soothing voice and make sure she’s okay, make sure that they didn’t …
The thought of either of them touching her makes my blood curdle.
Slowly, I turn my head toward her, trying to assess her physical and mental state in the dark lighting in the cabin of my SUV. Her hair is half torn out of the clip or hold it was in, falling around her face haphazardly. It’s roughened, frizz puffing up in chunks. There doesn’t seem to be any visible marks on her face, but when I get down to her blouse, I see that the seam at her right shoulder is completely torn. There is a gaping hole there, the white gauzy fabric ruined. There are a few buttons missing down the front of it as well, and I have to clamp my teeth down on my tongue to stop from growling in rage again.