Ballsy Page 11

  “Really?” Baylor cocks an eyebrow at me. “Good. Let’s find her.”

  The journey back to the hotel and the long elevator ride up to our suite are spent in absolute silence. Both of Baylor’s hands are balled into fists, clenched so tight that his knuckles turn white. Every once in a while, I think he’s about to say something, but the only sound he makes are those of angry huffing and puffing.

  I start rehearsing what I’ll say. We pause in front of our suite, neither of us in any hurry to barge on in. I think Baylor might be starting to regret his request. Then, he swiftly pulls the keycard out of his pocket and swipes it over the scanner. The door clicks open.

  Baylor takes a deep breath. I’m on the verge of losing my nerve. I know I’m on the right side of this, but that’s not enough. Rachel might be able to dispel truth. I’m walking to my own demise.

  That’s the feeling that’s permeating every cell in my body, that of a condemned man about to march to the scaffold.

  “After you,” Baylor says.

  I turn the knob, push the door open, and cautiously step inside.

  All three of the bedroom doors are wide open, as are the windows. The wind is howling through the whole suite. The place feels utterly deserted.

  “Rachel?” Baylor calls, rushing to their bedroom. He retreats a few seconds later. “She’s not here.”

  “I don’t think anyone is here.” I don’t bother trying to mask the relief I feel. “Look, Baylor—”

  “No, no, no.” Baylor is on the brink of shouting again. “Let’s find her so we can get to the bottom of this.”

  I follow him back out, phone in my hand as I frantically tap a text to Joey. The sound of a body being slammed against a wall gets my attention. When I look up, I see Baylor has Randy trapped in a chokehold.

  “Where the fuck is she, Randy?” Baylor barks.

  “Baylor, come on man, let go—”

  “Where is she, Randy?”

  “Baylor, what the fuck is the matter with you?” I bellow. I shove my phone in my pocket and race over to them. I grasp onto Baylor’s arms and yank him off Randy.

  He storms off.

  “Jesus.” Randy clenches his jaw. “That guy is asking to get his ass kicked, I swear to—”

  “I don’t even know what to say.” I massage my temples. It reminds me of Joey, who does the same thing when she thinks she might be getting a headache. Weirdly, Joey and everything else feel like they belong in someone else’s life. This entire ordeal has aged me a hundred years. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” Randy’s usually pale complexion is flushed. “Look, man, I didn’t know how to tell him but… The last time I saw Rachel, she was with Desmond. They ran off somewhere.” Randy stares straight into my eyes and then averts his gaze.

  It’s all the confirmation I need.

  “Desmond is in your suite, right?”

  “Yeah,” Randy says. It dawns on him what I’m getting at. He starts to shake his head. “No, no, no. I want nothing to do with this. If he nearly bit my head off for shrugging and saying I didn’t know where she was—”

  “Randy, I just need the key. Come on.”

  Footsteps approach us. I take a cursory look to see who it is. To my utter astonishment, it’s Baylor.

  Randy quickly produces a keycard. “I’m outta here before someone gets killed or arrested.”

  He takes off in the opposite direction, headed to God-knows-where.

  “What’s that?” Baylor nods toward the keycard.

  I don’t need to answer. He already knows. He grabs the keycard off my hand and starts walking with eerie calm toward Desmond and Randy’s suite.

  I trail after him, my hands working overtime to write out a coherent text to Joey. Randy’s right: there’s real danger that someone might get hurt depending on what we find.

  Point is, I need some fucking backup.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  JOEY

  Meet me in suite 4002. ASAP. It’s urgent.

  Well, well. I’ve never been so happy to duck out early from a post-victory party. Even Coach Allen and his disciplinarian ways can’t contain the team’s high spirits tonight. He gave up about an hour ago, when the guys first started showing signs they would take over the lounge and pool area of the hotel. It’s only to get things started. I know for a fact the guys all plan to empty out their wallets and probably bank accounts down at the casino once they get some alcohol in their systems. I stuck around because I didn’t know where Kieran and Baylor’s conversation would take them.

  If Kieran is summoning me with such a cryptic text and to a suite that isn’t ours, it must mean everything went well and he wants to celebrate. Privately.

  Or at the very least wants to give Rachel and Baylor some space to work their shit out—or maybe just break up—back in our suite.

  Whatever the reason, I’m happy to be called away from the chaos.

  I don’t just have a bounce in my step—I’m practically skipping as I make my way to the elevator. I pull my bodycon skirt—the only skirt I own, actually—down, nervous about what awaits me when I get up to the suite.

  The ride up takes forever.

  35.

  36.

  37.

  38.

  My heart races.

  39.

  The elevator bell rings and the door opens when it get to 40.

  Here we go.

  I’m three steps out of the elevator when I realize something is wrong. There’s shouting coming from one of the rooms. I turn the corner and—

  Kieran. He’s pacing up and down the corridor. He looks up, sees me, and his entire being seems to light up.

  I jog over to him and bury my head in his chest, pulling him close to me.

  “What’s wrong?” I whisper.

  “Baylor.” He breaks away from our embrace. “He asked me to wait outside after he saw them—”

  “Wait, what?” I grip his arm. Hard. “Is Baylor okay? What’s going on?”

  “Well, he’s okay in that he’s alive, but he’s not okay in that I think the other guy might need medical attention soon.” Kieran starts pacing again. “Fuck.”

  The shouting starts again. The voices are too muffled for me to understand what they’re saying, but I think someone says something about ‘whore’ and ‘fuck you.’

  Suddenly, everything clicks.

  “Was… Was Rachel in there with someone else?” My eyes bulge, nearly popping out of their sockets. “Did Baylor walk in on them?”

  “Yes, and yes.”

  And I thought he was calling me here for a romantic rendezvous.

  I clutch at my shirt, over where my heart is. I feel it pounding against my ribcage, violent and unyielding. I imagine Baylor’s own heart cracking as he first realized what he was seeing and then shattering in a massive explosion, shards of it blowing everywhere once it truly became clear he had a liar and a cheater for a fiancée.

  “Fuck, that was my hard limit for staying out of it,” Kieran declares. He heads toward the door.

  I follow him. “Wait, what? Clue me in, Kieran!”

  “Didn’t you hear that? The glass breaking?”

  “Oh.” I paused and mused for a fraction of a second. “I thought that was just my imagination.”

  “Joey, focus!”

  “Get the FUCK away from me, Rachel.”

  There’s a brief silence before the sound of scuffling becomes audible through the door. Kieran pounds against the wood frame desperately.

  “Baylor! It’s Kieran!”

  “And Joey!” I shout. “Bay, open up! Please!”

  The door swings open. Rachel darts out and stops cold near me. She stares at the door, waiting to see what happens next. Her mouth quivers and big, cartoon-like tears stream down her face, tracking her mascara in their wake.

  “You fucking coward,” Baylor roars. “You fucking coward. It’s all fun and games until I catch you fucking my fiancée, isn’t it, you motherfucking bastard?”


  Kieran rushes inside. Rachel tries to take my hand for some reason, but I yank it away and trail after him. Inside, Baylor—more belligerent than I have ever seen him—towers over a shriveled ball of a person. He’s got Desmond pinned under him, cowering and covering his face while Baylor keeps railing him.

  Kieran doesn’t waste a second before he’s on top of Baylor, prying him off Desmond. At the first moment he realizes Baylor’s death grip on him is loosened, Desmond suddenly decides it’s time to start fighting back. He raises his fist and takes a shot at Baylor.

  I kick him in the balls before his sucker punch lands on my brother.

  Desmond howls out in pain.

  Kieran uses the opportunity to push Baylor away for good.

  Desmond takes the lack of immediate physical threat as license to just absolutely collapse. He crumples, and suffers his pain or whatever is left of it in silence.

  “You motherfucking coward,” Baylor continues.

  He struggles against Kieran’s hold on him, thrashing and lashing out until Kieran lets go.

  I glance over my shoulder at the door. Rachel, with her shoulders slumped and her entire body convulsing in a rather masterful display of sheer desperate wailing, stands there, blocking the frame.

  My brother turns. Sees her.

  If looks could kill, she’d be declared dead before her body hit the floor.

  “Baby, please, I promise you—”

  “Shut the fuck up, Rachel.”

  Baylor’s face is red. A vein in the middle of his forehead bulges out, pulsating. Catching sight of that level of anger is terrifying, and I say that as his sister, someone he doesn’t have a beef with. For the tiniest, briefest second, I almost feel sorry for Rachel.

  Almost.

  “He was—” She sniffles. Hiccups. Breaks down crying—no, bawling—all over again. “He is so strong. I couldn’t—I couldn’t make him—I couldn’t make him stop.”

  Pure revulsion clouds my brother’s face. His breathing is irregular, and he can’t seem to catch his breath. After all the excitement, we reach a standstill. All the fight appears to have left Baylor, who simply stands there with a thousand-yard stare.

  “I don’t know what I ever saw in you,” he finally says in an unnerving monotone. He doesn’t look at either Rachel or Desmond. “I don’t know what I ever saw that made me trust either of you. Burn in hell.” He shrugs. “Or don’t. I don’t care either way. I’m done with both of you.”

  Kieran tries to steer Baylor out of the room, but Rachel is still obstructing the doorway. She gets on her hands and knees and begs Baylor for a second chance.

  I question how I ever managed to hate her with such a burning passion. When all is said and done, she is just so…

  Not worth the effort.

  Baylor regards her without betraying an ounce of emotion. He steps around her and walks away. Kieran and I exchange a look and we both follow suit, leaving Rachel and Desmond to fend for themselves.

  “Well,” Baylor says when we stop in front of the elevator doors, “I sure could use a drink.”

  “Luckily for you, we’re literally in a hotel in Vegas,” Kieran says. “Let’s go to the bar.”

  “And the casino,” my brother adds. “You know what they say. Rotten luck in women translates to baller levels of luck at gambling.”

  I don’t think anyone says that, but I’ll go along with anything he says. This is how he will begin to heal… provided he doesn’t drink himself to death first.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  KIERAN

  There’s no keeping up with a man who’s just discovered his fiancée is an adulterous bitch, so I don’t even try. But I do drink a ton. Not a metric shit ton, not an imperial shit ton, but a ton, nonetheless. Enough to get one hell of a good buzz going but not so much I don’t know what’s going on.

  “Hm.” Baylor puts on a big show of considering his hand. He alternates between staring at the cards in vague contemplation and staring at his chips. Then he does what he has done for literally every hand and says, “Lady fortune has chosen not to favor me this round. Madam dealer, I fold.”

  It’s early still, but that’s a big sign of the old Baylor returning. Even though he’s repeating the same bit over and over, he somehow still manages to be entertaining. The others at the table are total strangers and they all fall over laughing when he does an impression or quip.

  Joey is utterly enchanted by his rapid transformation back to his old self.

  “Check,” she says demurely. She thinks I don’t know her tell, but I do. It’s when she bites her lip just like she is right now, so fucking cute I could die looking at it.

  I have no choice but to raise. “You’re gonna have to put your money where your mouth is, darling.”

  Shit.

  I immediately look at Baylor to see if he noticed my slip-up. He’s playing air guitar to some song that’s come over the sound system, too drunk for anything to register.

  I wink at Joey but she’s not having it.

  “Don’t try to charm me,” she chastises. She taps her chin and thinks long and hard before deciding to raise the bet.

  We keep going like that for the next several hours. Joey tries to cut Baylor off multiple times but all he has to do is start to say Rachel’s name and Joey gives in. After we win, then lose, then win again—an obscene amount of money, actually, so maybe there is some truth to that thing Baylor said about luck—Joey sticks to her guns and reins Baylor in.

  “Come on, Bay.” She looks like a puppy trying to drag its massive parent somewhere. “Vegas will still be here when we wake up. I promise we can liquidate your entire savings tomorrow if you want. Let’s just please get some rest. I can’t take the sound of that goddamn slot machine anymore.”

  At least five people had won a jackpot during our stay at the casino. It made Joey irrationally angry. “Do you know the odds of that happening so many times in a few hours?” she asked us time and time again during poker.

  “Oh, lighten, up, little sis.” Baylor waves her off. “We can sleep when we’re dead.”

  Joey shoots me a pointed look.

  I’m in a pretty feel-good place where all I’m interested in is going with the flow. But the Joey wind is blowing the flow in the opposite direction, and I receive the message loud and clear.

  “Bay, come on.” I wrap his arm around my shoulders to prop him up. “We’ll come back tomorrow.”

  “You guys are such party poopers,” he complains.

  Once we start walking toward the exit, he pretty much acquiesces.

  “I’ve got the best best friend and sister in the entire world,” he declares during the ride up to our suite. “You guys are the best. The best. The—best—the—best— the—best. Hey, that’s a pretty cool rhythm, right?”

  “Does drunk Baylor come with an off button?” I muse.

  “Nah, but if you get him to a bed, he’ll start drooling on you in a matter of seconds,” Joey whispers back. “Bay, we’re almost at the suite. Kieran is just going to check on something real quick, okay?”

  Our journey here lulled Baylor into a near-slumber. He nods and takes a seat on the floor in front of the elevator. Joey tries to move him—in vain. Meanwhile, I go on ahead to our suite to make sure that Rachel isn’t there. After the Oscar-worthy performance she gave when she tried to convince Baylor that it was all a misunderstanding and that Desmond was actually a sexual predator, I don’t put anything past her.

  Just thinking about it is enough to turn my stomach and get me raging. So I opt out, scan the suite and all of its rooms, and then return to where I left Baylor and Joey. I flash an all-clear signal to her. Together, we haul Baylor to the room, tuck him into his bed, then tip toe out into the common area.

  “Wow.” Joey crashes into the couch. “What a roller-coaster of a day.”

  “God bless alcohol,” I say. “The night would have ended a whole lot differently if Baylor had to get through it sober. I see quite a few alcohol-soaked days in
his future.”

  “I can’t believe he caught Rachel in the act. How the hell did you guys manage to do that?”

  “It’s a long story.” I yawn. “And who cares? Rejoice, the witch is gone.”

  “‘Witch?’” Joey air-quotes. “That has to be the single most adorable thing you’ve said all night.”

  I beam. “It’s the most generous word I can think.”

  “And then there was no wedding to be had.”

  “I wonder if the universe balances that out in some way?” I muse. “Okay, this is going to sound ridiculous, but what if there’s a certain number of weddings that are fated to happen. Think about that, okay? And then, now that Rachel and Baylor won’t be getting married, it causes some kind of huge imbalance to the fates.”

  Joey bursts out laughing. “How drunk are you?”

  “I’m not drunk, I’m happy,” I correct her. “And you? You seem to be holding your liquor pretty well. And here I thought you were a lightweight.”

  “So you think that it might mean a great tragedy for the world that Baylor and Rachel aren’t getting married? Explain this theory of yours to me, please.”

  “Not a great tragedy to the world. It’s not as apocalyptic as all that.” I stumble over the word apocalyptic. “Anyway, it’s more like, Vegas is owed one wedding that it’s not getting.”

  “Well, people decide to get married on a whim all the time.” Joey slides her shoes off. “I’m sure that Vegas will have no trouble reaching its, uh, quota.”

  A light bulb went off in my head.

  “Maybe you and I should get married,” I say.

  Joey gives me a bemused look. “Sure.”

  I stand up only to get on my knees in front of her. “I mean it. Marry me.”

  Joey’s eyes widen when she realizes I’m not joking. She starts to say something but stops herself before the words come out of her mouth.

  “Don’t leave a fella waiting on his knee. I beg you, fair maiden, to please say yes and make me the happiest man in the world.” I add a little hand flourish to make her laugh.

  But she doesn’t. “You’re serious? Because if you’re not, this isn’t funny. Not even the Baylor-like Renaissance speak can make something as serious as a proposal funny if it’s all a joke.”