Clutch Hit, Faith O'Shea [read along books TXT] 📗

was good. It was too bad she was female. She might have used those genetic markers she’d inherited to play professional ball. The ones she’d inherited from both sides of her family tree.

They both have a right to know.

The thing was, she hadn’t wanted anyone to know and had kept it a secret for months. In shock mode the moment that damn stick read yes, she’d gone on an emotional roller coaster ride, the curves and hills, creating as much nausea as the pregnancy itself. There was denial, panic, depression, grief, until she’d finally found acceptance. After she’d gone over all her options, she’d decided there’d been only one course of action. For her anyway. Allie became her confidant; sat holding her hand while she cried her eyes out and accompanied her to her first doctor’s appointment where it was officially confirmed.

She knew she couldn’t avoid telling her parents but never in a million years did she think she’d have to have that conversation with them. Getting into any kind of trouble was out of character for her. She’d always followed their rules, tried to please at every turn, wanted to be the daughter they deserved. She’d always insisted on using protection, but there were a couple of times they’d slipped up. She was naïve enough to believe they wouldn’t get caught, and held an underlying belief that if they did, it wouldn’t be any big deal. They’d just get married sooner than anticipated. She’d never been so wrong in her life.

A few weeks before she started college, she knew she had no recourse but to sit them down and tell them. She remembered the day, vividly. It was the second worst of her life. The first had been the break-up and all the repercussions that came with it, one she hadn’t even suspected, and it was a big one that scared her shitless.

As if isolating herself from the shock and disappointment she knew would come, she sat on the love seat in the family room, opposite the couch where Mac and Galen were sitting side by side, a united front, waiting patiently for her to get to the point. Her tears had pre-empted the telling and when it finally came spilling out, they’d already figured out the worst.

Her mother had cried. Face in her hands cried. It was one of the only times she’d seen her mother break down like that. Usually so staid and calm in the face of crisis, it had completely undone her. Her father had wanted to wring some necks. But she’d made them promise her they wouldn’t do anything rash, like call and tell him. She’d laid out her reasons for not wanting the father to know, like a detailed map and they’d agreed. More out of anger than consensus.

The anger had withered over time as Charlotte became an intricate part of their lives and Mac had suggested more than once that the girl’s father had a right to know. The first time had been after Seb’s graduation from Tulane. He’d been drafted by the Greenliners and his first stop should have been Pittsfield where Mac was in talks to become the manager. She’d avoided the bullet when Seb was sent to Cranston rather than the triple A team her father eventually coached. She thought Mac would drop the subject after that, but it became a yearly reprimand, usually on Charlotte’s birthday.

The badgering picked up speed when Mac took the job as Greenliner manager, knowing Seb would be attending spring training. Actually, it became more of an ultimatum. He all but threatened to tell him without her consent. Her mother, of course, was on his side.

It will be impossible to keep this from coming out, Casey. We need to handle this before it becomes a real problem. Like your father said, it’s way past time.

The long-held secret was gasping for air and she was gearing herself up to let it breathe.

Unconsciously, she rubbed the rim of the coffee mug she held, her mind a whirling dervish of unwanted thoughts and unavoidable feelings. She was on a seesaw; to tell or not to tell. That was the question. If she told, she might be putting her heart on the line again and it wasn’t as resilient as it used to be. It had been glued back together one shattered piece at a time and it was tight and withered from lack of use.

As she chewed on her nail, she castigated herself for not remaining back in Boston. She would have avoided the upheaval, the restless nights and secretive days. The only good thing that had come out of the move was her broken engagement. She should never have accepted the proposal, and still didn’t completely understand why she’d said yes. Greg was a good man beneath it all, but he didn’t… understand her. And there was no passion there. That had been stripped away from her arsenal of emotions a long time ago. The only thing she missed was the security blanket he’d wrapped her in.

She brushed her hair back, pushed her glasses up and looked back over the field before snapping out of her trance. Her dad had stopped hitting balls to Charlie, to look across the field at the man walking toward them.

He could still make her heart flutter, but she had no time to take in the rangy body, the confident stride, the muscles that she knew rippled beneath the shirt. This was her worst nightmare taking center stage in her reality. Was it coincidence or…? Couldn’t be. Not the way it was playing out. She’d been checking her watch every ten minutes, knowing exactly when the players would start arriving and she was determined to be long gone by the time it happened. Her father’s incessant demands had hidden an ulterior motive and anger might have flared if terror hadn’t taken over.

She jumped out of her seat and raced down the stairs, and across the concourse until she came to the