When I got upstairs, Marcus cocked an eyebrow at me.
“Brother, you weren’t actually supposed to come up here,” he said with a guilty laugh. “I was trying to bring the party to you, you know what I’m saying?”
“I do, and I appreciate the thought. But…”
I couldn’t say it out loud. Not with all my teammates around. Marcus, to his credit, didn’t call me out even though he thought I was insane.
“Really hope you got your mind right on this one, brother,” he said. “Cuz ain’t no one in this room who would think you’re sane for what you did.”
As if to further emphasize the point, Reanna brushed right by me, not so much as even looking at me, as she found her next target and put her hand on him. I didn’t need to watch another three seconds to know my teammate would not have any of the same hang-ups I did.
“I hope so too.”
* * *
The Next Day
Whenever we landed after a long trip, whether a quick hop down to play the Los Angeles Dodgers or a longer trip like this, everyone headed for their cars immediately to get some peace and quiet. We all loved our brothers, but we also valued space and not seeing each other sweaty and naked all the time. There was something to be said at some point for just getting away from it all.
But I might as well have been alone because I only lasted about fifteen more minutes at the party before bed. Izzy and I had texted some in the morning, but the lack of spark still wasn’t there. The only good news was she had agreed to meet me on Saturday; whatever came of that was going to be a much easier outcome for me to accept than playing this stupid game of text and unspoken and unheard words.
I got off the plane, grabbed my bags, and made a beeline toward my Tesla, ignoring even Marcus. I got to my car, slammed the door shut, and checked my phone. Twenty new texts? The fuck? I’d checked it right when we landed and had caught up. Did I just get traded and I’m learning about it here?
“Damn boy, your new girl is smokin’.”
“Who’s the lady????”
“Lookin’ suave with the fire.”
The hell…
Oh no.
I knew what they were talking about, and even as I pulled up my web browser to check, even as I prayed that my suspicions weren’t true, I already knew they were. There was no way that everyone from former college teammates to my siblings were texting me about something other than Izzy.
And sure enough, there on TMZ: “Nick Ferrari’s New Ride? New Season, New Fling for All-Star Outfielder!” And beneath the outrageously awful headline was the photo of Izzy Saunders and I leaving Downtown Cocktail Lounge from a month ago in Sacramento. The only—only—good thing was that Izzy’s name was not included, but anyone who knew her would now know…
And it wasn’t helped by the fact that she was holding my hand, looking very excited to be by my side, and leaning into me. There was no plausible deniability here; there was no bullshit excuse I could have someone from the Giants PR team write up for me. If this was admitted into a courtroom, it would be considered foolproof evidence.
“Fucking hell…”
I wondered what had changed that had caused them to release this photo now. I did remember getting emails asking for bribes to keep the photos hush-hush, but given that they weren’t exactly pornographic or offensive, just private, I’d ignored them on advice of the Giants’ staff. So maybe they’d waited and hoped that I would bite before timing it just around opening day.
But now that I saw it on the front page of TMZ’s website, now that I knew that Izzy would have to suffer…
And to say nothing of that psychotic ex she mentioned on the date. Now he’s going to know who she’s with. My own publicity agent is going to murder me here.
I couldn’t go home right now. If I did, I was going to send off some nasty emails to TMZ that were going to get me in trouble. I didn’t want to spend time with the team—as much as I loved them, they were going to razz me when I needed comfort. But I knew quickly where to go.
Twenty minutes later, I pulled up to Ferrari Wines. Even though it did not open until late afternoon, I knew at least Brett would be there, maybe Layla if she wasn’t traveling. My father would be too, but there was no chance that I wanted to speak to him. I needed a peer, not a father.
I had held off—perhaps stupidly—on texting Izzy, thinking maybe she wouldn’t notice, but I knew as soon as I stopped that it was a weak excuse; I didn’t need to go any further than the fact that she worked in marketing to know I had no shot of keeping this from her.
“Hey,” I wrote her. “You probably saw TMZ posted the photo. I’ll work to get it removed. I’m sorry—I’ll do everything I can to keep your privacy.”
But I knew there was nothing I could do, and Izzy probably knew that, too.
I headed inside, my walk a stomping gait, and found Brett waiting.
“Well, someone looks like he struck out every at-bat.”
“Save the smart-ass quips, Brett,” I said. “Where’s everyone else?”
“Dad is visiting the uncles in Vegas. Apparently, some
