Chapter Seven
Luke
“Tell me about this girl,” Gabe ordered.
I squeezed my phone in one hand, the steering wheel in the other. Our house was crawling with snobby ladies putting together a charity event for those less privileged than themselves. In their world, that meant just about everyone. When it was over, they’d toast over martinis and pat themselves on the back for helping the people they’d mock on any other given day.
“What do you want to know?” I asked my brother.
“Where did you find her? Does she really ride a motorcycle? Mom said she’s one of those Goth chicks. I didn’t realize Mom even knew what Goth meant.”
“I met her at school. She does ride a Rebel but she’s not a Goth chick.” I wasn’t going to tackle that one.
“She must be amazing if Mom and Dad dislike her so much.”
“They don’t know her.”
Gabe scoffed. “When has that ever mattered? You can probably thank your ex for that. Do you know Mom and Jaclyn have been having lunch together on the weekends? Dad was talking about it at the office.”
I bristled, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “I didn’t. That would explain a lot though. I knew Mom and Dad wouldn’t like Meg. They haven’t even met her. But that hasn’t stopped them from ripping on her every chance they get.”
Mom, especially, was “troubled” by what she hoped was “a simple act of rebellion” and she had faith I’d “come to my senses sooner rather than later.”
“No doubt Jaclyn is still pissed that you dumped her, even if it was her fault. She seems like the vindictive type. I’m glad you’re rid of her.” He chuckled. “From what I’ve heard, this Meg is the complete opposite of Jaclyn. Dad says it like it’s a bad thing. I say hold on to her.”
“Gabe. We haven’t been together that long.” I turned into the city park and cruised to a parking spot closest to the ball field.
“I’ve got just one piece of advice for you, little brother.” Gabe’s tone was suddenly serious. “I know it’s a long way off, but when you get married, marry for love. That’s the one thing I did right in my life. Beth and Madeline make everything else bearable.”
“Is it really that bad? Working for Dad?” I rested my head against the seat and waited for the answer I knew was coming. Gabe had been warning me about what was in store for me for a while now.
“Worse. He’s got me working on a case right now that curdles my blood. A big corporation is accused of dumping contaminants into a river. Downstream dozens of kids have gotten sick. Two have died. The company refuses to acknowledge any wrongdoing, though everyone knows they’re lying. My job is to convince the jury of their innocence.” His tone dropped. “I think this billion-dollar corporation has the judge in their pockets. I wish I could find a way to prove it and really bring this little town some justice.”
“Would you?” I sat up straight again.
“I would,” he finally admitted. “I’ve been thinking long and hard about this. There’s a good chance the other side might be receiving some pertinent information, absolute proof that these chemicals were dumped. It will all be sent anonymously, of course. It would most definitely swing things in their favor.”
“You’re planning on throwing the case? Dad would disown you if he ever found out.”
“He’s a pretty shoddy father, but he’s a damn good lawyer. He’s sneaky, underhanded, ruthless. It’s not something to brag about, but I’ve learned a lot from him. He won’t find out. Once this case is done, so am I. I’m giving up the house, the paycheck, the guilt. He always holds my inheritance over my head. I just don’t care anymore. Let the bastard write me out of his will. Beth and I are going to start over. I’m thinking some small town, some boring job, a few more kids.”
“Damn. I’m impressed.” Walking away from Edward Prescott would be a ballsy move.
“Yeah, well. I haven’t gone through with it yet.” He paused. “Anything new with you? Any luck on the camp in Colorado?”
“What do you think?” I grumbled.
“I think Dad’s a jackass. I wish I could just write you a check so you could go.”
“It’s not about the money,” I reminded him. “I’m still a minor. I need a parent’s signature.”
“Keep working on it. I know what this means to you.”
“I’m trying.” He knew how important the training camp was—and why—but he had no idea the lengths I was willing to go to try to get there.
He was silent for a moment before saying, “I know I’ve said this before, but it’s worth repeating: Get out from under Dad while you still can. Get out before you’re in so deep that you have to claw your way out. Catch you later, kid.”
I tossed my phone into the cup holder.
Frustration buzzed through my body as I scraped my hand over my face.
There was a nine year age gap between Gabe and me. There’d never been any sibling rivalry, just a whole lot of hero worship on my part. If my big brother told me to do something, I was going to try like hell to do it.
I hopped out of my vehicle and grabbed my bat bag. I looked around but didn’t see Meg yet.
Our city park was pretty decent. There was a basketball court, lots of running trails, a playground for the kids and best of all a few years ago they’d added a baseball field. Surprisingly, it didn’t get a lot of use. It was probably too much trouble to scrounge up enough people for a game. Most people that wanted to practice went to the batting cages where their hits and pitches would be contained.
Knowing she’d find me at the field, I headed that way.
I’d expected her to resist my request to meet me. When she didn’t I couldn’t help but feel like we were making progress.
I’d contemplated the cages but the evening was too nice to be stuck inside.
As I dropped my bag on the ground I couldn’t help but feel guilty about lying to my brother. He would never approve of what I was doing with Meg. Even if it was for a damn good reason.
“Where’s the list?”
I’d been digging through my stuff and hadn’t seen Meg walk up.
“The list?”
She nodded, causing the floppy bun on the back of her head to wobble. “Apparently I need to add…‘Meg must be at Luke’s beck and call.’”
Ball and glove in hand, I stood to face her. “You didn’t have to show up.”
Her brows furrowed, as if she hadn’t realized that.
Huh. Maybe I needed to loosen up a bit. I wasn’t the control freak she seemed to think I was.
She jammed her hands onto her hips as she glanced around. “Who are we putting on a show for?”
I couldn’t tell her I couldn’t go home so I’d called her because I was bored.
I motioned to the busy street. “You never know when someone’s going to drive by.” Already I thought I’d seen Jaclyn once, but I’d caught just a glimpse. I was probably being paranoid. When I first broke up with her, she followed me around, always hassled me. “Now that you’re here…” I held up the ball. “We might as well have some fun.”
“Fun?”
I slapped a hand over my chest, the one holding my glove. “Your skepticism hurts.”
She scratched her temple. “Okay then, let the forced fun begin.”
“If you don’t want to be here, I’m open to ideas. Did you have something else in mind?”
“I guess not.”
“Let’s go then.” I tossed my ball and glove toward the pitcher’s mound. Swiping up my bat, I led her to home plate.
“The key to a good, solid hit is to hold the bat correctly. You want to remember to hold it in your fingertips, not the palm of your hands.”
I demonstrated the proper stance before handing the bat to her. She took it with an amused smile.
Progress.
Feeling encouraged, I moved behind her. My arms slid around her body until my hands rested over her hands. Her body tensed as it pressed against mine. She was so close her hair tickled my cheek. The scent of her perfume about knocked me senseless. Or maybe it was the way her form curved into mine so perfectly that had me feeling lightheaded.
“Relax.” I wasn’t sure if the command was for her…or me. “Save all your power for the swing. You want to pull the bat back like this.” Keeping my hands over hers, I guided the bat backward. My left arm crossed over her body, pressing her even more tightly against my chest. I heard her breath catch, so before I made her too uncomfortable, I guided her through a swing.
We ran through the motions a few more times before I stepped away.
“Make sure you keep your eye on the ball.”
Meg looked at me like I was an idiot. “You’re supposed to be this baseball superstar. That’s the best advice you have? What, you think I’m going to start bird watching?”
“It might seem obvious,” I retorted, “but you’d be surprised at how many people, especially girls, cringe and close their eyes when the ball is headed their way.”
“Especially girls?”
I grinned. I loved getting her fired up. “Yeah.”
“You know this?”
“I coach sometimes.”
She gritted her teeth, her hands clenched the bat, and she dug her feet in, perfectly mimicking the stance I’d shown her.
I jogged to the mound where I swiped up my ball and glove. I slammed the ball into my palm a few times, pretending to warm up. Mostly, I was just admiring the view. She looked damn hot, her expression fierce as she waited for my pitch. I’d fired her up all right.
I wound up and then let go with far less force than I was used to.
Meg let loose, executing a perfect swing. The bat connected, the sound echoing beautifully through the park. My head snapped up as I watched the ball fly over, not landing until it was well into the outfield.
Sure, I threw her the perfect, easy pitch. But damn…
I’d caught the split-second smirk she quickly covered with her hand. She gave me a wide-eyed look, pretending to be surprised.
I stalked over to her. “What the hell was that?”
“Beginner’s luck?” Her tone oozed mock innocence.
“Beginner’s luck, my ass.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Her eyelashes fluttered, rendering me momentarily speechless. Who knew Meg Matthews had a playful side?
“Let’s try that again.” I returned to the mound, throwing a toss almost identical to the first. It arced, descending straight toward the sweet spot on the bat.
Meg swung, dropping the bat comically low as she ducked out of the way of the ball. I knew she was doing it on purpose, not wanting to gift me with another hit like the first. What she didn’t count on was dropping the bat so low that she ended up stepping on it, tripping over it, and plopping backward onto her butt.
Her laughter caught me by surprise.
“You deserve that.” I loped up to her, reaching out both hands. She grabbed hold, and I tugged her to her feet. “You lied to me.”
I wasn’t used to a girl being able to look me in the eye so easily. I still held her hands in mine. It didn’t allow for much distance between us.
I’d dated my fair share of girls. All of them pretty, and they knew it. Every single one of them chose to flaunt it. Meg was different. She had an understated beauty. Sure, I’d noticed her before the night at the school. But I hadn’t really noticed her. Not the way I was noticing her now. Her eyes were as dark as coffee, her lips full, and her skin creamy and smooth. The contrast with her red hair made her look almost exotic.
She looked damn near flawless.
I realized I was staring when she tugged her hands away.
“Who said it was a lie?”
She twisted away from me, heading for the benches.
“Not so fast.” I ordered. “You said you hate sports.” Was I shocked that she lied? Nope. Getting information from her had been like squeezing a compliment out of my father. Damn near impossible.
I jogged after her, scrubbing my hand vigorously over her butt when I reached her.
“Hey.” She swatted at me.
“Just helping out. You want to walk around with your backside covered in dirt?”
“Oh.” She gave herself a few good swipes.
“What’s the story here?”
We dropped down on a bench.
“I played softball in middle school. Soccer, too.”
“Why’d you quit? You must’ve been pretty good.”
She shrugged. “I was okay. Stuff came up. Life happens. I guess what I hate about sports is that I had to give them up.”
Her expression clouded over. I wanted the smiling Meg to come back.
“Paint any more murals lately?”
Her gaze snapped to mine. The fire was back in her eyes. “No.”
“I can’t believe your parents let you ride a motorcycle. I can’t think of a single girl I’ve dated who would’ve gotten away with that. Your parents must be really laid back to not care.”
“They care,” she said a bit defiantly, as if my words had been an insult.
Intuition told me I’d accidentally poked a sore spot. Curiosity made me poke it again. It seemed to be the best way to keep her talking. “Really?” I let doubt cloud my voice.
“My dad got his first motorcycle when he was sixteen. He’s pretty much always had one. When I was a kid, he used to take me riding all the time. It was just…a normal part of life.” She got a faraway look. It took her a few heartbeats to come back. “Mom was never a fan, but Dad always argued that they were safe.” She shrugged. “When I decided to start riding, Dad wasn’t thrilled, but what could he say?”
“I suppose it would be sexist of him to tell you not to when he did.”
“Exactly. And he was younger than I was when he started riding.” A smile tilted up one corner of her lips.
“What?”
“Would you still think the Rebel is sexy if you knew it belonged to him?”
“Uh…” I tried not to get a visual on that, not wanting the original to be ruined.
“It was just sitting in the garage, collecting dust. I needed a way to get around. I missed riding. I was comfortable on it, and familiar with it. I thought, why not?” She frowned. “He put up a bit of a fight, but my arguments wore him down.”
“And now look at you, cruising around on your crime-mobile.”
“Would you stop?” She shoved me so hard I almost fell off the bench. The spark in her eyes kept me going.
“How is it that your parents let you go out at night?”
“Who says they let me?”
“You little rebel you.” I gave her a much softer shove than she’d given me. “They don’t hear you coming and going?”
She scrunched up her face. I was becoming familiar with that look. She was debating whether or not she was going to tell me something.
“I walk the Rebel down the block before I start it. Then walk it home.” She scowled at me but it was missing its usual bite. “Just so you know, it’s not like I go out all that much. I don’t paint nearly as often as you seem to think. But once in a while I just like to get away.”
“Yeah. I can relate to that.”
Her stomach growled.
Loudly.
“Maebelle’s?” I asked, half expecting her to decline.
“Sure. I’m dying for some onion rings.”
We gathered up my gear and loaded it into my vehicle.
I pulled the notebook out and dug for something to write with. I found a broken pencil.
She groaned. “What are you doing?”
“Making a rule for you.” I started to scribble.
“It’s blasphemous,” I added.
“Blasphemous?” She snorted.
“Baseball is sacred.”