Safe at First

  Safe at First

  THE BOYS OF BASEBALL #3

  MAC DAVIES

  by

  J. Sterling

  SAFE AT FIRST

  Copyright © 2021 by J. Sterling

  All Rights Reserved

  Edited by:

  Jovana Shirley

  Unforeseen Editing

  www.unforeseenediting.com

  Cover Photographer:

  Michael Laurien

  Cover Model:

  Tobias Worth

  Cover Design by:

  Michelle Preast

  www.Michelle-Preast.com

  facebook.com/IndieBookCovers

  E-book Edition, License Notes

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Please do not participate or encourage the piracy of copyrighted materials. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-945042-29-4

  Please visit the author’s website

  www.j-sterling.com

  to find out where additional versions may be purchased.

  Other Books by J. Sterling

  Bitter Rivals—an enemies to lovers romance

  Dear Heart, I Hate You

  10 Years Later—A Second Chance Romance

  In Dreams—a new adult college romance

  Chance Encounters—a coming of age story

  The Game Series:

  The Perfect Game—Book One

  The Game Changer—Book Two

  The Sweetest Game—Book Three

  The Other Game (Dean Carter)—Book Four

  The Playboy Serial:

  Avoiding the Playboy—Episode #1

  Resisting the Playboy—Episode #2

  Wanting the Playboy—Episode #3

  The Celebrity Series:

  Seeing Stars—Madison & Walker

  Breaking Stars—Paige & Tatum

  Losing Stars—Quinn & Ryson

  The Fisher Brothers Series:

  No Bad Days—a New Adult, Second Chance Romance

  Guy Hater—an Emotional Love Story

  Adios Pantalones—a Single Mom Romance

  Happy Ending

  THE BOYS OF BASEBALL

  (THE NEXT GENERATION OF FULLTON STATE BASEBALL PLAYERS):

  The Ninth Inning—Cole Anders

  Behind the Plate—Chance Carter

  Safe at First—Mac Davies

  About the Author

  Jenn Sterling is a Southern California native who loves writing stories from the heart. Every story she tells has pieces of her truth in it, as well as her life experience. She has her bachelor’s degree in Radio/TV/Film and has worked in the entertainment industry the majority of her life.

  Jenn loves hearing from her readers and can be found online at:

  Blog & Website:

  www.j-sterling.com

  Twitter:

  twitter.com/AuthorJSterling

  Facebook:

  facebook.com/AuthorJSterling

  Private Facebook Reader Group:

  facebook.com/groups/ThePerfectGameChangerGroup

  Instagram:

  instagram.com/AuthorJSterling

  Dedication

  Not every guy who plays on a team is a player.

  This is for all the girl’s who pushed past his defenses to find the diamond inside.

  This is for all the guys who try so hard to be tough when all we want is your soft.

  The right girl is worth opening up for.

  The right guy is worth fighting for.

  Table of Contents

  Other Books by J. Sterling

  About the Author

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Senior Year

  Boys are So Frustrating

  Not Ready for This

  Party of One

  The Universe Hates Me

  Stupid, Perfect Jerkface

  You’ve Got to be Kidding Me

  There Might be a God

  Can’t Believe I’m Doing This ... Again

  Sweet, Broken Boy

  Breaking All My Rules

  Pick a Personality

  Can’t Say No to Her

  What the Hell Just Happened?

  More Confessions

  It All Makes Sense

  No Days Off

  And So It Begins

  The Baseball Gods Hate Me

  Ex from Hell

  Clearing the Air

  Life is Good

  No More Surprises

  First Class to New York

  A New Kind of Friendsgiving

  The Big Apple

  NYC is for Lovers

  Back Home

  End of the Semester

  My Favorite Person in Arizona

  Merry Christmas to Me

  He’s Here

  Gifts & Goodies

  New Year, New Me

  Senior Season

  Baseball Sucks

  Life After Ball

  Epilogue

  Other Books by J. Sterling

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Last June

  MLB Draft

  Mac

  It was stupid, and I was being an idiot. Here I was, back in my and Chance’s shared hotel room, feeling sorry for myself. I was happy for my best friend and teammate. I’d always be happy for him because he deserved to get drafted, but I wanted it too. That was why I’d left the second he sat down with the reporters. I was afraid that he’d be able to see my jealousy. And I didn’t want to ruin that moment for him.

  When the rest of the days came and went and my name was never called in the Major League Draft, I couldn’t help but feel that pang of disappointment in my guts. I wondered if that was how my other teammate Cole had felt when he didn’t get drafted in his junior year. I thought about calling him and asking. I needed someone to talk to, but I didn’t want to sound like a pussy. Plus, he’d eventually gotten drafted, and he was already in spring training for the season. The last thing Cole Anders wanted to hear was my whining.

  I had one more year of baseball eligibility left. One more year to show the scouts that I was worth it. That I was good enough to play professional baseball for them and the team they worked for. But honestly, I wasn’t sure that I was. I was good enough to play for one of the best college baseball teams in the country, but that didn’t mean that I had what the scouts were looking for to go beyond that. So far, not a single one had approached me. There were no agents banging down my door, hoping to represent me when the time came. No emails, no phone calls, no messages through Coach Jackson. No nothing.

  And as much as I hated to admit it, there was a pretty damn good possibility that I’d be going back home to Arizona after my senior year and taking a job with my dad’s company. It had always been the backup plan. One I hoped I’d never need. One my dad assumed I always would. The thought alone made me want to get on a plane and disappear forever. Having my failure thrown in my face daily wasn’t som
ething I looked forward to. I really fucking wanted to prove my dad wrong, but so far, all I was doing was proving him right.

  After our appearance at the College World Series, Chance and his girlfriend, Danika, had left for Florida. The Mets had sent him to their Class A Advanced team instead of regular Single A. I knew he wouldn’t be there long either, so I hoped Danika liked packing up and moving because she’d be doing it often. They seemed really happy though. And that was when I realized that playing professional baseball wasn’t the only thing I wanted in my life.

  I wanted the one other thing that had kept eluding me—or maybe I’d pushed it away—a real girlfriend. I knew I came off as the team’s biggest player, but it was all a front. A defense mechanism. As long as I called all the shots and kept the ladies playing by my rules, I couldn’t get decimated, like I had during my freshman year. All that needed to change, and I had no idea how to do it. Especially when girls only wanted to hook up with me because I was a baseball player. What happened if I was no longer one? Who would want me then?

  My phone vibrated, and I looked down, seeing a new private message waiting for me on one of the social media apps. I clicked on it, noticing that it was from Sunny, Danika’s best friend. We’d started following each other a few months back, but I’d done my best to never comment or like any of her pictures even though they were fucking spectacular. That girl never seemed to have a down day. She was always smiling, looking happy, and quoting glass half-full type of shit in her captions. Sunny was a ray of fucking sunshine, just like her name, and I was drawn to all of it.

  She was also one of the few girls at Fullton that I’d hooked up with who didn’t chase me after the fact. Sunny accepted that I didn’t want a relationship, and she never tried to talk me out of it or change my mind. Other girls didn’t work that way. They were always pushing for more. Which always pushed me away. The problem was, I would have actually considered changing my ways for Sunny, but I knew that she deserved way better than someone as damaged as me. So, I kept her at arm’s length, and she let me do it.

  I clicked on the message and read it out loud, “I’m sorry you didn’t get drafted this year. I’m here if you want to talk.”

  She included her phone number, and in a moment of clear weakness and vulnerability, I found myself dialing it. We talked for hours that night. Longer than I’d ever talked to any girl before in my life, including my ex. It was easy. Comfortable. And I felt like Sunny understood me when it seemed like no one else had ever even tried to.

  She gave me stellar advice, listened quietly when I wouldn’t stop talking, and reminded me that everything I felt was totally normal and justified. Sunny made me feel less crazy when I felt like I was completely unraveling. She calmed me in every way.

  I wasn’t sure what I would have done without her, but I was pretty positive I would have self-destructed and sabotaged it all if left to my own devices. She saved me that night.

  So, what did I do after we hung up?

  Never fucking called her again, of course. And I left her on Read anytime she messaged me after that, which stopped pretty quickly because, apparently, Sunny had self-control. I knew that I was doing the wrong thing when it came to her, but I couldn’t seem to stop it. I hid behind a million excuses and reasons, convincing myself that she was better off without me. Which was most likely the God’s honest truth.

  What the hell did I have to offer a sweet, perfect girl like her?

  Nothing.

  And I damn well knew it.

  Senior Year

  Mac

  My dad pulled over to the curb in the departing flights section of the Phoenix airport. He wasn’t even parking in the short-term lot and walking me inside to say good-bye. Nope. Just a quick drop off for his only son. Richard Davies—or Dick, as I mostly called him in my head and not to his face—would never waste his time coming inside an airport he wasn’t leaving out of. Did I mention that we had driven in my car? My stunning two-door charcoal-gray 3 Series BMW that Dick Davies—aka DD for short—had bought me for my high school graduation. It’d had one of those big, fucking obnoxious red bows on it and everything. It would have been completely embarrassing if it wasn’t so fucking cool.

  I’d driven this car all of about three months total since the moment I got her because in true Dick Davies fashion, he’d bought that beautiful piece of machinery more for himself than he ever did for me. DD wanted other people to see how successful he was, how prominent, how rich. Everything DD did was for show. If things appeared perfect on the outside, no one would dare question what went on behind closed doors. And what went on behind the doors of our house was anything but perfection.

  “It’s my senior year. Just let me take my car to school,” I’d begged my parents.

  But they’d both said no. It was the one thing they seemed to agree on. The only thing really.

  My mom firmly believed that me not having a car in California kept me safer somehow. Like car accidents couldn’t happen if someone else was driving and I was in the passenger seat. I’d actually stopped myself from looking up statistics to prove her wrong, knowing that it would only backfire on me somehow. The last thing I wanted was to be stuck here for any longer than necessary. My mom would most likely read those stats and demand I never leave Arizona—or the house—again. Not that she could stop me. It was hard stopping your only kid when you were too drunk to walk in a straight line anymore.

  She hadn’t always been like that, and I wasn’t sure when it’d even started in the first place, but she had seemed to be drunk more than she was sober lately. Clearly, my mom hated her life, and I couldn’t even blame her for it. My dad really was a miserable, selfish prick. It fucking killed me, seeing her that way, but I knew that I couldn’t be the one to save her.

  At least, not yet. I had to save myself first.

  “Are you still going to play this year?” my dad asked me from the driver’s seat. Of my own damn car.

  “What?” I looked at him like he’d grown twelve heads when it was just more proof that my old man didn’t understand me at all.

  “Baseball. Are you going to play? I mean, you didn’t get drafted, so what’s the point?”

  He’s serious. He’s absolutely fucking dead serious, asking me this question right now.

  “I have a scholarship to play baseball. I have one more season. I’m the starting first baseman. It’s not over yet. Of course I’m going to fucking play.”

  “Don’t take that tone with me, Mackenzie. And watch your damn mouth when you speak to me,” he chastised, using my full name.

  I cringed. He was the only person who ever called me that. Ever. No one, not even my teammates at Fullton, knew my real first name. I couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of Arizona and out of my car.

  “I’ve been gone all summer, playing. Why would I stop now? I just don’t understand the question,” I tried to explain in a calm tone, but I knew I sounded anything but.

  Dick Davies lived to piss me off.

  My dad had never been an athlete, so trying to get him to relate to my state of mind when it came to baseball was futile at best. He had no idea what it felt like to have this kind of passion burning you alive from the inside out. For better or worse, baseball gave me purpose. And in the blink of an eye, it could all be gone.

  DD shifted in his seat and pulled at his tie. It was something he did whenever he was frustrated. And I was clearly frustrating him. “You’re just wasting time when you could be focusing on working for me and learning the ropes.”

  Here we go again.

  “You should have been spending your summers in the office, so you don’t have to start in the mailroom and work your way up the ladder.”

  “I want to play baseball for as long as I can,” I said instead of picking a fight with him.

  There was no use in saying all the things I’d already said a thousand times before. Dick Davies refused to listen to me anyway. He didn’t care what I wanted.

  “Doesn’t look like tha
t will be for much longer.” He looked me dead in the eyes without blinking. It was a challenge. He was baiting me. I’d tried to avoid the fight, but he wanted one.

  My mom had stopped arguing with him years ago, and in return, DD had started picking battles with me instead. I’d accepted it at first because it meant that he would give my mom a break, but the dynamic had taken its toll. I thought DD liked it—the arguing. It made him feel powerful somehow. He used his words to wage war, to cut down his opponents and make them feel like nothing. He felt bigger that way.

  Today, I refused to play. I knew he was just looking for an opportunity to remind me of all the ways in which his career was superior to my hobby. DD’s main point was always about how much money I’d be making if I gave up baseball already and came to work for him. As if money made a person happy. We both knew that it didn’t.

  Money might buy you a bunch of nice and pretty shit, but that was the extent of its power. I should have thanked him for teaching me that lesson early on in life, but I didn’t. There was no point. And he never deserved my thanks anyway.

  “Baseball’s been a fun hobby for you, but it’s time to get serious, Mackenzie.”

  Cringing again at the sound of my full name, I suggested, “Maybe if you came to a game and actually watched me play, you’d understand why I love it so much.” I knew he’d never in a million years do it.

  “You know I don’t have time for that,” he bit back, his tone a mixture of disgust and annoyance. “And even if I did, why would I watch you play something that’s done nothing but stop you from being the man you’re supposed to be?”

  I held myself back from punching the fucking dashboard. I couldn’t remember the last time my dad had gone to one of my baseball games. I knew he’d watched me play when I was a little kid, but at some point, that’d all changed. Maybe it was once I’d started obsessing over playing professionally.

  Once, back in high school, I’d asked him if he was coming to the championship game, and he’d told me that watching me play gave me the wrong idea. DD said that it filled my head with false hope and gave me the impression that he supported nonsense, which he considered baseball to be. I thought he believed that if he never showed up, I’d stop wishing he was there. Or maybe he thought I’d stop wanting to play altogether without his support. Neither had proven to be true.