Switch Hitter Read online

  “What about Slade?”

  Automatically, Dixon looked to the bull pen, his gaze landing on the tall jaguar shifter. As he watched, Slade wound up and threw the ball into the catcher’s glove. Last season, an injury sat Slade on the sidelines for several months. Now, he was back. With something to prove if his pitching numbers meant anything.

  While Dixon could appreciate the guy, he didn’t feel the sparks or butterflies like he did when he hung out with Tucker. Not even close. “He’s a good guy. Just doesn’t do it for me.”

  “What about Mack?”

  Dixon shook his head. “Nothing.”

  Tucker slapped him on the shoulder. “The way I see it, bro, is that you either need to jump in with both feet or invest in that blow-up doll.”

  “You’re just too damn easy,” Dixon threw back without menace.

  “And you’re too hard.” Tucker smiled lopsidedly. His eyes twinkled with mirth. “Probably in all kinds of ways.”

  The teasing went straight to Dixon’s needy cock. Not for the first time, he appreciated the looseness of the uniform even if the cup presently chafed his sensitive skin and compressed his genitals into what felt like a sardine can. “You’re a mess.” Dixon couldn’t resist grinning.

  “Not the worst I’ve been called.” Tucker stood and headed to the steps to watch the game better.

  Dixon couldn’t take his eyes off Tucker’s rear the entire time.

  Now this is the life. Dixon chuckled to himself, relished the breeze, and enjoyed the scenery before him. The baseball diamond faded away as he stared at far more interesting things.

  Good thing the game seized his undivided attention when he was on the field playing third base. Life on the hot corner could be dangerous at times.

  So could cornering Tucker and spilling his feelings.

  No sooner had the thought arrived than Dixon shut it down. The time wasn’t right.

  It’ll never be right at this rate. Stop being a dumbass and just tell the guy. The inner voice belonging to his gray fox chastised him rarely, and always about his social life or lack thereof.

  Dixon ignored it, just like he’d done before.

  If it’s meant to be, then it’ll happen.

  The phrase fell flat even in his own mind.

  Chapter 2

  TUCKER TOOK his normal position on second base for infield practice. Rain the night before left the usual dirt patches slick and muddy, although the temperature had cooled considerably, making the morning on the verge of chilly. Much better than the steamy tropical feeling of yesterday.

  He hit his glove with his free hand, bent his knees, and shifted his weight. His focus latched onto the ball presently in Steve, the pitching coach’s, hand. The guy normally threw batting practice, but helped in other ways as well.

  A line drive had Tucker laying out toward the first base side. He hit the ground hard, sliding a couple of feet through a small mud puddle, and still came up empty-handed. Annoyed, he stood up, glanced down, and found himself damp from the ground and covered in the slippery substance. What a wonderful way to start the day, he grouched to himself.

  “I hear wild dogs love mud,” Dixon said from third base.

  “Something about mud baths?” Wiley added.

  Tucker snorted but didn’t take offense. The nature of their relationship revolved around giving one another a hard time. “Are you talking about spas? Never been to one, but I understand wolves like to have their nails painted there while getting one of those goopy face treatments.”

  Wiley growled, then dove for a sharply hit baseball. He collected it and tossed it to Tucker, who automatically stepped on the bag before throwing a laser to Ram waiting at first.

  Before Tucker could say anything more, a fly ball came his way. He backpedaled, adjusted, then reached out, only to have the ball bounce off the end of his glove. “Well, shit.” He picked it up and threw it back to Banner who handed out the balls to Steve.

  “Tucker. What’s with you today?” Banner hollered across the field.

  Tucker waved briefly with his glove. “Just getting good and awake.”

  Banner didn’t say anything more, though he continued to feed balls to Steve.

  The next one bounced toward Dixon. Dixon squared up just in time for the ball to take a large hop, right over his head. Dixon turned a full circle, obviously searching for it.

  “Hey, Foxy. It’s between your feet.” Tucker chuckled at the bewildered expression on Dixon’s face.

  Dixon bent over, barehanded the ball, and threw it back in. Task complete, he flipped Tucker off.

  “Yeah, yeah. Maybe it would help if you grew a little.” Tucker couldn’t resist yanking Dixon’s chain. They were good friends from day one. He’d arrived at the team’s facility not knowing a single person. Dixon made the first overture, welcomed him, and helped him settle into a new city. Since then, they were tight buddies on the field. Off, they tended to go their separate ways. Tucker somewhat regretted not hanging out with Dixon, but he had his hands full with the ladies and little free time to spare due to their relentless schedule during baseball season. He made a mental note that when the season ended, he should make a point of attending guys’ night out with the rest of his buddies.

  “This coming from the walking mud monster?” Dixon responded tartly. The twitching of his lips clued Tucker in that he was just throwing verbal crap right back rather than getting truly irritated.

  “I might be covered in mud, but at least I can find the ball.” Tucker lifted his chin and added a haughty quality to his voice.

  “You’re such a furball at times.” Dixon shook his head while chuckling.

  “Guys,” Wiley said.

  “Takes one to know one,” Tucker retorted.

  “Guys!” Wiley hollered.

  Not to be dissuaded, Tucker walked toward Dixon and stopped. There’s a better way to show him a thing or three. In the blink of an eye, he shifted into his wild dog form, shook off his uniform, found the mud puddle, and rolled.

  “I thought we were practicing!” Ram yelled from first base.

  Tucker ignored him, ran over to Dixon, stopped a few feet away, and shook. Water and small clumps of mud flew through the air, landing mostly on Dixon. Wiley, due to his shortstop position, caught a few as well.

  “Oh, no. You didn’t.” Wiley growled, then quickly changed into his wolf form.

  He took out after Tucker, but Tucker was too fast. His long legs gave him an advantage in speed, while Wiley’s heavier form gave him the edge in strength and bulk. But not by much.

  “Oh, hell. We’ll never finish practice at this rate.” Dixon crossed his arms and scowled at them.

  Tucker changed direction and launched himself at Dixon. The force put Dixon on his ass. Tucker barked with laughter, grasped Dixon’s glove in his strong jaws, then sped away. He didn’t get too far before he glimpsed Dixon following suit, becoming his gray fox, and joining in the chase. The change from light brown hair to a light gray coat always surprised Tucker as most shifters carried the same coloring in both forms.

  “Canines.” Trigger spit out the word in disgust.

  “Someone might as well throw them a ball already,” Ram said.

  “Here. Catch.” Ares lobbed a baseball into the frenzy.

  Ram snorted. “I think you meant fetch.”

  Ares grinned and shrugged, then morphed into his animal form, obviously not wanting to be left out of the fun. His dingo-wolf form sported a tall body with a thick coat just a couple of hues from being perfectly white. More like a hint of strawberry in the coloring. Tall and powerful, he seemed to be the epitome of both species. Tucker appreciated him even more after seeing his shifted form.

  For a split second, Tucker wondered how Ares’s family dealt with his hybrid genetics. Before he could consider it further, Dixon darted at his side, sharp white teeth shining as he moved to take back the glove.

  Tucker evaded him, lifted the glove higher in the air, and took off toward right field,
Dixon right on his heels.

  “This is exactly why we need more bears on the team. You wouldn’t catch any of us out there playing ‘keep away.’” Trigger’s voice carried easily to Tucker whose hearing became all that more advanced with the shift.

  He glimpsed Banner rolling his eyes in reaction. “At least canines are halfway social and easy to deal with. Bears, on the other hand….”

  “Are the best,” Graham finished.

  Tucker eavesdropped on the conversation, then hit full stride in order to dodge Wiley and barely avoid a collision with Ares. He turned to discover Dixon still right behind him and keeping up, despite his shorter legs and more compact frame.

  That guy can run. Tucker gave credit where credit was due.

  His animal side yipped in his mind, happy to be free at what had spontaneously turned into a dog park.

  Dixon right on his tail only made the fun all that much better. One of the most laid-back players on the team, Dixon was as steady as he was talented. The guy didn’t always let his hair down or his fox out to play. But when he did, it was on.

  Tucker was just as thrilled as his inner beast. It’d been a long time since he’d run with friends. Never with pack mates. Now, he had the chance. For down deep he considered the team his family. His pack. And his future.

  He was home and he knew it.

  “I’M JUST going to say this straight out. You’re rusty, Tucker. Not sharp this preseason. Not anywhere close to your usual level.” Banner picked up a piece of paper and studied it for a second.

  The large wooden desk not only separated them, but also dominated the entire office. It also provided a distinct professional persona that carried through clearly. This wasn’t about socialization. No. This was all business. And that concerned Tucker.

  Players had whispered they thought Banner was making up for other shortcomings with that beast of a desk. Right now, Tucker didn’t care. He had other problems. Namely, being called in for a one-on-one with the manager. The tone could only be called serious and tension permeated the air.

  Tucker tapped his fingers on his thigh. His heart picked up speed as a healthy dose of trepidation washed over him. He felt like an eight-year-old visiting the principal’s office.

  “You’re hitting one-twenty-five and your infield play is sloppy. Too many errors and not enough offensive production.” Banner returned the paper to the desk and met Tucker’s gaze solidly. “What’s going on with you?”

  Tucker ran one hand through his hair. “I don’t know, sir. It’s just not clicking for me yet this year.” He swallowed and hastened to add, “But it will. I know it will.”

  In all his years of playing baseball, Tucker had never been in this type of predicament before. Teams fought over him, they pursued him. They never took him to task for his less than stellar play.

  Damn it. Raking him over the coals was one thing, but his gut told him that Banner had other ideas. A lump formed in his throat as he considered what Banner’s plans might be. Trades happened every day early in the season. Demoting players to the minors also was common, though rare for a player of his reputation and caliber without an injury rehab needed.

  Tucker studied Banner carefully, trying to catch a hint of what was to come next. He needed to brace himself and prepare for the worst while hoping for the best. Unfortunately, Banner had his poker face on.

  “Nothing happening in your life that is a distraction?” Banner asked.

  Tucker shook his head. “No, sir. Everything is on the up and up.”

  “No fights with your latest girlfriend? No problems at home?”

  “No. Gloria and I are fine.” Tucker swallowed heavily. “No problems at home either.”

  The answer rolled off his tongue. Since he’d been an outcast from day one, he didn’t consider anywhere home. Except in Preston. With his team. The one place he’d settled down after years of hopping from town to town.

  Banner’s lips thinned a tiny bit and his eyebrows furrowed.

  Tucker lowered his chin to stare at his folded hands on his lap. He caught the flash of inquisitiveness on Banner’s face and needed to dissuade his line of thinking and fast.

  “Do you miss your pack? Need more time with them?”

  Hell, no. “Nope. I’m good.” Tucker lifted his chin and met Banner’s gaze. By damn he wasn’t going to divulge his deepest secret. Not here. Not now. Besides, Banner would probably consider it a ploy for mercy. Tucker never asked for leniency in his life and wasn’t about to start now.

  Banner sat back and folded his arms across his chest. “Are you burned out? Tired of baseball?”

  “No way.” Tucker leaned forward, making the old wooden chair creak in the process. “Baseball is all I’ve ever wanted to do. I love the game.” A hint of desperation trickled into his sincere tone.

  “What about your teammates? Are you getting along with them?”

  Tucker grinned slightly in halfhearted amusement. “Are we including Trigger?”

  Banner snorted. “We’ll just consider him the exception in this particular discussion.”

  “Good enough.” Tucker sat back. “The guys are great. You saw for yourself today. We’re brothers. On and off the field. Even the rookies are fitting in.”

  “You know, sometimes it does a player good to spend some time in the minors. Get your head on straight. A new environment, new team. That can jump-start a guy’s career. Just look at Graham.”

  Graham, the team’s best pitcher, was called up from the minors in the middle of the season last year. He’d rediscovered himself after a rocky patch, and flourished with the Predators. In addition, he’d found his mate in the process.

  Well, shit. His fears seemed to be coming true. The last thing he wanted to do was suffer a demotion to the Double-A or Triple-A leagues. However, he couldn’t argue the fact that his play sucked thus far this season.

  For a long moment, Banner sat quiet.

  The wait worked on Tucker’s nerves even more. No matter what, I’m not going to beg or plead.

  Just as Tucker bit his lip to keep from asking, Banner opted to speak. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I think you can make it right.”

  Hope flared. Tucker held his breath.

  “There’s no doubt you’re good for this group. You keep things light and fun with all the guys. Every team needs a couple of players like that.”

  Banner rested his forearms on the desk and stared at Tucker. “For now, I’m putting Lance as the starter in your place, beginning with the opening day game.”

  Tucker’s mouth fell open. He promptly closed it. Pride forced him to maintain eye contact. Keep it together, Tucker. Yelling at Banner won’t solve a thing. Neither would growling at him as his inner beast did in his mind.

  “Get your head on straight and back in the game. Earn back your starting spot. Prove to me that you still love the game.”

  Tucker nodded just once, too stunned to think past the fact that he’d just been replaced.

  “We’re not trading you, although a short trip to the minors isn’t out of the question,” Banner continued. “Bring up your level of play and show me that I made the right choice.”

  “Yes, sir.” Tucker stood and strode toward the door, working hard to appear in control when his frustration and anger raged inside him.

  “Tucker?”

  “Yeah?” He paused with his hand on the knob.

  “I’m rooting for you, kid. Show me what I know you can do.”

  With one more look, Tucker opened the door and escaped out into the hallway, still reeling from what had just happened.

  He trotted down the hall and out of the building, pausing only long enough to punch a nearby large plastic trash can, sending it flying.

  Why me? Why now?

  No answers came.

  What am I going to do?

  Nothing short of figuring out where his skills and mind had gone would do. Unfortunately, no matter how hard he delved into the situation, he still came up empty
.

  One thing did pop into his mind. He recalled the party thrown by the team’s owner scheduled for that evening. The same one Gloria had been pestering him constantly about attending. They had dinner reservations first, though.

  Just because his day officially sucked didn’t mean he had to cancel everything, go home, and mope like a four-year-old. Even though he really wanted to. Life didn’t stop just because his career got a little off track.

  Besides, the party would have free liquor. The scales tipped.

  After checking his watch, he made a decision. “Party time it is.”

  His gaze raked the parking area, landing on the jet-black Porsche parked in the front row. His pride and joy, purchased the first year he’d joined the Predators. A sign of his affluence and success. Now, that prestigious lifestyle was in jeopardy.

  He’d worked for years to pull himself out of the poverty he’d grown up with. Never did he want to go back to digging through the trash for leftover food or shivering in the winter because there was no money for heat or thick clothing. His mother tried her best, but with no pack and no family support, she was pretty much destined for failure.

  I’m not going back there. No way.

  He attempted to wave off the worry, but failed. His gut churned as his mind whirled with the decision set down by Banner moments before.

  “I can’t fix it this very minute. So, might as well shelve it for tonight.” Perhaps the evening ahead would give him ample opportunity to forget his problems. At least for one night.

  With a hurry in his step, he headed toward his car.

  Chapter 3

  “CHEERS TO a great fucking day.” Tucker tipped the small glass of whiskey and gulped the liquid down. The burn barely registered after drinking so many in the past couple of hours. The buzz, on the other hand, hit him strong and fast, making him smile fleetingly. He set the glass down on the wet bar counter. “Hit me again.”

  He’d originally decided to snub the team party held at the baseball team owner’s house. After all, he wasn’t in the right frame of mind for a celebration. Then, things changed and all he wanted was to have a few drinks and forget the past several hours.