How Much I Care (Miami Nights Book 2) Read online

  Jason glances at me. “If I can just say one thing… That was one hell of a game he pitched last night.”

  “Wasn’t it awesome?” And then I’m crying again, sobbing all over Carmen when she wraps her arms around me.

  “I’m sorry,” Jason says. “I didn’t mean…”

  “It’s not you.” I wipe away tears with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. “That’s been happening a lot since last night. Why couldn’t he have just turned out to be an asshole?”

  Carmen nods, in sync with me as always. “Right? That would’ve been so much better.”

  “I’ll never understand women,” Jason says, making me laugh for the first time all day.

  “We could’ve hated him that way,” Carmen explains. “This sucks more because Mari knows he’s a good guy and she can’t have him.”

  I use my thumb to point at Carmen. “What she said.”

  “Ah,” Jason says. “Strangely enough, that actually makes sense to me.”

  “There may be hope for you yet,” Carmen says, smiling at him.

  “We should go and let Maria get some rest,” he says.

  “I’m glad you guys came over. It helped to see you.”

  Carmen hugs me tightly. “We’re here if you need anything.”

  “I know. Thanks.” I walk them to the door, hug them both and see them out.

  “Call me tomorrow,” Carmen says.

  “I will.” I close and lock the door, shut off the lights and take myself off to bed without doing any of the stuff I normally do on work nights. Maybe I’ll take one more day to myself tomorrow before rejoining my life to work Saturday night at the restaurant. I can’t afford to miss a waitressing shift.

  Before I can guilt myself out of it, I text Angie. Still feeling shitty. I’m going to take tomorrow, too, but I’ll be back Monday. Sorry about this.

  No worries. Feel better.

  I shut off the alarm on my phone and snuggle into bed, wishing I could shut off my brain as easily as I turned off the alarm. Wouldn’t that be awesome? To be able to slide something on a screen to shut off any thoughts you no longer wish to have. I’d pay good money for that ability right now. But since that’s not possible, I wallow in my thoughts of Austin, the confidences we shared, the love he showered me with and the happy feeling I got every time I read one of his heartfelt messages.

  It’ll be a very long time before I stop thinking about any of it, and I’ll never forget him or Everly.

  AUSTIN

  Everything goes to shit after Maria and I decide to quit while we’re ahead. We haven’t won a game since Detroit, and I got shellacked on my next start in Seattle. Mick pulled me in the fourth after I gave up five fucking runs. I couldn’t find the strike zone to save my life, and everything I threw was pure shit. I’m one hundred percent certain it’s Maria’s fault. She’s all I think about, even when I should absolutely be thinking about other things, such as why I suddenly can’t throw a strike.

  It’s always been this way for me. When my personal life is in an uproar, I suck on the mound. That’s why I didn’t even try to come back last year after Ev’s diagnosis. I knew there’d be no point.

  “I don’t know what the fuck has happened to you,” Mick rants at me at a meeting he requested on our first day back in Baltimore. “But whatever it is, work it out. You haven’t gotten this far to fuck up your chances now.”

  That’s the first time he’s so much as hinted at what’s ahead for me in the off-season. Since the O’s aren’t really in the running to keep me on their roster, he and I have gone out of our way to avoid discussing the elephant in the room.

  “I hear you, Coach.”

  “You’re a good guy, AJ. One of the best pitchers I’ve ever seen come through this game. The sky’s the limit for you, and you fucking know it. Get your head out of your ass and finish this goddamned season, will you, please?”

  “I will.”

  “Good. Now get the fuck out of here.”

  I leave Mick’s office and nearly run into Santiago outside the door.

  “Ouch,” he whispers.

  “Nothing I didn’t already know.”

  “What gives with you, anyhow? You were on fire in Detroit and then shit in Seattle. How does that happen practically overnight?”

  I know exactly how it happened, but I’ll be damned if I can figure out a way to fix it in time to pitch once more here in Baltimore and then for the last time in an O’s uniform in Miami, Maria’s hometown, where I’ll get to meet her in person.

  That ought to make everything better. Not.

  “I’m working it out,” I tell Santiago. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Later.”

  I head home after practice and the meeting with Mick, eager to see my baby girl. She always makes me feel better, no matter what’s getting me down. On the drive across the city to my condo in Fells Point, I realize I totally lied to Santiago. I’m not working out shit, because I can’t talk to the one person who could fix what’s wrong with me. She’s off-limits, and I miss her something fierce.

  Trust me, I know it’s insane to be grieving the loss of something I never really had. I feel worse about losing Maria after four days than I did about breaking up with Kasey, who I was with for three years and is the mother of my child. This hurts in a way that never did, probably because I connected more with Maria without ever having touched her.

  It wasn’t like that with Kasey, who was fun and funny and sexy and all about having a good time.

  Maria is all substance and depth, which is just what I needed after the ordeal with Everly’s illness.

  There’s really no comparing the two women, except to note that Maria filled a need in me I didn’t realize I had until her. And now she’s gone, and I ache for her. I’d give anything to be able to pick up the phone and hear her voice and listen to her laugh and be able to tell her all my first-world problems.

  I park in the garage under the building and take the elevator to the fifth floor, where my parents and I have side-by-side units I bought after the breakup with Kasey forced me to reengineer my entire life. Having my folks next door has been a lifesaver in every possible way. I knock on their door and wait, even though I have a key. We’re considerate of each other that way, which is critical to the success of our arrangement.

  Mom comes to the door with Ev in her arms.

  Everly lets out a screech when she sees me, launching herself in my direction.

  I grab her before Mom can drop her.

  “Honestly, Ev,” Mom says. “I’ve told you not to do that.” To me, she adds, “I’m afraid I’m going to drop her.”

  I should chastise her for misbehaving for Mom, but I can’t do that, having just gotten home after eleven endless days. I’m so damned glad to see her. When I got home from the airport late last night, I crawled into bed with Ev at Mom and Dad’s and slept next to her all night. I woke up when she plugged my nose and startled me awake, which is one of her favorite tricks. She laughs and laughs and laughs, which of course makes me laugh, too.

  I follow Mom into their condo, which looks out on Baltimore’s scenic Inner Harbor, like mine does, too. My mom has short blond hair and a trim, athletic figure she maintains through regular tennis matches at a local club. I’m the one who looks the most like her, and I joke about being her favorite, but duh, I am. I tell my brothers all the time that she loves me so much, she needed to move in next door to me. They know I’m full of shit, that without my parents to help with Ev, I’d be totally fucked.

  Everly has wrapped herself around me, clinging to me the way she always does for days after I get home from a road trip. While I love the way she welcomes me home, I hate being away from her in the first place.

  “How’s my baby girl?”

  She squeezes my neck with her chubby arms.

  “Did she nap?” I ask Mom.

  “Briefly.”

  Lovely. That means she’ll be a bear by bedtime.

  “I’m making spaghetti and meatballs
for dinner if you guys want to join us.”

  “Sure, thanks. That sounds good—and it smells good, too. Where’s Dad?”

  “In the study.”

  “Let’s go say hi to Papa, Ev.”

  “Papa,” she says, which is one of her favorite words, along with Dada, Gamma and no. That last one is her most favorite. She’s a late talker, and the doctors have said to relax and let it happen when she’s ready. They say the delay isn’t due to her illness, but I suspect it’s directly related since she went mostly silent during the worst of it.

  I walk into the study where my dad is seated at his desk, poring over the day’s papers while he puffs on one of the cigars my mom has been trying to get him to give up. He’s allowed to smoke only in the study because she hates the smell. When he sees Everly is with me, he extinguishes the cigar. He never smokes when she’s in the room. His wiry gray hair is standing on end, and he hasn’t shaved in a couple of days, which is something that never would’ve happened before he retired.

  My brother Ash looks just like him, only he has the dark hair my dad had as a younger man. Dad’s hair turned gray while Ev was sick. He can be tough as nails, but when it comes to Everly, he’s like pudding. Her illness took it out of all of us.

  “How was the meeting with Mick?” Dad asks, cutting straight to the day’s headline.

  “He ripped me a new one, which I expected.” I take a seat in one of the plush leather chairs Mom picked out, rubbing Everly’s back as she snuggles me. She’s always so relieved to see me that I feel guilty for days after I get home. I give her as much of me as she wants while I’m here.

  “What the hell happened in Seattle?”

  My parents don’t know that I’ve been in touch with Ev’s donor or that I fell halfway in love with her over four unbelievably awesome days. “I’m not sure. It was just an off night.”

  “Tell that to someone who doesn’t know you as well as you know yourself. What the hell happened?”

  I should’ve known Dad wouldn’t buy my shit. I never have been able to pull one over on my first coach and the man whose voice is always in my head. “I’ve been dealing with some stuff… It’s nothing to worry about. I’m working it out.”

  “You’ve got two more games to seal the deal with your next team. You gotta get your head on straight. Don’t give them any reason to hesitate pulling the trigger on signing you.”

  “I know. I get it. I’m working on it. Had a good practice today. Seattle was a fluke.”

  “I sure as hell hope so.”

  As we talk, I rub circles on Ev’s back until I realize she’s fallen asleep in my arms. “She’s out. I’m going to take her in to rest for a bit before dinner.”

  I carry her into the room my parents put together for her so she’d feel at home in either condo. I stretch out on her bed, keeping her on my chest while she sleeps. I love the feel of her warm, sturdy body in my arms, and the fragrant scent of her baby shampoo. There’s no question that the crap start in Seattle rattled me, but after what I’ve been through, I keep it in perspective. The only freaking thing that truly matters is that Everly is healthy and thriving.

  I doze off, too, waking when Mom comes in to let me know dinner is ready.

  I kiss Everly awake, knowing that if she sleeps too long at this hour, bedtime will be a nightmare. Like always, she’s cranky when she first wakes up, but she’s so happy to have me there that she rallies for dinner. Afterward, we go home to our place, where I give her a bath and read five stories at bedtime.

  I stay long after she’s asleep for the night, because I love being with her again after the days apart. I finally drag myself out of her bed and go in to take a shower, standing under the rainforest showerhead for a long time, letting the hot water work out the tension I’ve been carrying with me for a week now.

  I haven’t felt this shitty since Ev was diagnosed, even though that was way worse than anything else has ever been. I keep telling myself I can’t let four days of correspondence and conversation with a woman fuck me up this badly, but really, it was much more than four days. It was six months of thinking about her after that initial exchange and counting down to the day when I could contact her under my real name and share my real self with her.

  I ended up sharing more with her than I have with anyone other than my family. The connection we built through words was among the most powerful things I’ve ever experienced, and I’m lost without it now that I don’t have it any longer.

  But my dad and Mick are right. I have to get my head on straight before my last start in Baltimore two days from now. I want to give the fans my very best after the way they’ve supported me over the last six years, especially when Ev was sick. When I returned to start on opening day this year, they gave me a ten-minute standing ovation that reduced me to tears. I want to leave on the best possible note, which means I have to bring my A game.

  I change into sweats and a T-shirt and grab a beer from the fridge before making my way to the sofa to watch SportsCenter. I check my phone for the first time in hours and see that Aaron, my agent, has responded to an earlier text. He doesn’t agree that Miami ought to be in the mix and has been giving me all the reasons why for days now.

  I still want to give them a look.

  He writes me right back, which is rare for him. So you said. What you haven’t said is WHY.

  Personal reasons.

  Let’s talk on the phone tomorrow.

  He’ll call and try to talk me out of Miami, but I’m serious about considering the Marlins. They’re a young, dynamic team with a real chance of being competitive. They check most of my boxes, except for one. I’d be the number two starter there, behind their ace, Joaquin Garcia, the Dominican phenom who’s in the running for the National League Cy Young Award.

  I’d be the ace with any of the other teams we’re considering, and that’s why Aaron is freaking out about me adding the Marlins to our list.

  It’s funny how things that would’ve mattered a few weeks ago don’t now. I call up my email and scroll through the messages until I find the stream from Maria. I go all the way back to the first messages and read them all again, like I have every night since the last time I talked to her. I’m not sure why I keep torturing myself this way, but I can’t seem to break the habit where she’s concerned.

  My phone chimes with a text from Erica, the team’s promotions manager, about the event we’re going to do before the first game in Miami. Hey AJ, I talked to Maria tonight, and we’re set for a brief ceremony at 12:50 on the field before the 1 p.m. start of the first game in Miami. Can you please confirm that Everly and your parents will be available to attend as well? This will be AMAZING. We’re all excited about it.

  I write back to confirm the time is good and everyone will be there. Thanks for arranging it.

  My pleasure!

  My heart is all fired up at the reminder that I’m going to see Maria, in person, in just over a week. I feel better in that minute than I have since the last time I talked to her. But another thought occurs to me that stops me short. I’m going to meet Maria, for the first time, in front of thousands of people, my whole team, my family and probably hers, too. That feels wrong on every level to me.

  I don’t like it at all. Long after I turn in, I stew about that, tossing and turning and trying to figure out what to do. I’m no closer to a solution in the morning when Ev crawls into bed with me and goes back to sleep for a while as I stare out at the Inner Harbor, trying to decide whether it would be okay to ask Maria if we could meet privately the night before the ceremony.

  I hate the idea of meeting her for the first time in front of all those people, and by the end of that day—a game day—I’ve convinced myself that I have to reach out to her and at least ask if we can get together on our own before then.

  We win the game in extra innings, but I don’t get home until after midnight, so I wait to text her until the next morning.

  Ev eats her cereal while I stare at my phone, hoping I’m do
ing the right thing as I type a text to Maria. Hi there, Erica let me know we’re set for the ceremony before the game, but I was wondering if it might be okay if we meet up the night before? I hate the idea of having thousands of people watching the first time we meet in person…

  And I hate this message almost as much. I have so much I want to say to her, that the words on the screen just look stupid and inadequate to me. Before I can talk myself out of it, I send the message.

  Everly and I spend the next hour playing in her room, which basically consists of her dressing me up in her princess attire and putting pretend lipstick on me. We have a tea party, and I sit still while she pretends to paint my nails the way my mother does for her. “Dada pwitty.”

  That’s a new word I welcome with nearly painful relief. “Not as pretty as Everly.”

  “Dada silly.”

  Make that two new words. I hug her and kiss her and annoy the hell out of her with my effusive response.

  “No, Dada.” She pushes me back and grabs my hand to finish the manicure.

  My phone chimes with a text, and though I’m dying to check it, I give Ev my full attention until she tires of playing manicure. Then I lunge for the phone and see the message is from Maria.

  I devour her words. I’d really like that, too. I was sort of worried about what it would be like to meet in front of all those people.

  She has no idea that she’s given me a new lease on life with that message.

  I respond right away. We land around four on Friday. We’re playing Saturday, Sunday and Monday in Miami, which is an odd configuration, but that happens at the end of the season sometimes. Could I take you to dinner?

  I stare at the phone for what feels like an hour, waiting for her to reply. It’s really only five minutes, but they seem like forever.