Page 22 of Leave It On The Field (Grand Slam 3)
“Adie!” I throw up my arms. “Gross. Don’t say virile. That’s enough wine for both of you—for the rest of the trip. No more drinking. I apologize, Butch.”
“It doesn’t bother me. Moms love me and I love them right back.” He winks at Mom and Adie. “And Mrs. Miller, your son’s a very virile man. If I swung that way, I’d be after him myself.”
Adie and Mom start giggling as they smile up at him.
“Butch!” I point at him again. “Stop encouraging. What is happening right now? We’re leaving. And you two, stop drinking.”
“Nope,” Mom says, pulling Adie back toward the kitchen, “if I can’t tell you what to wear, you can’t tell me what to drink.”
“Or how much to drink,” Adie yells as they turn the corner. “See you tomorrow!”
“Ahh!” I put my face in my hands. “So embarrassing. Let’s escape while we can.”
When I start rolling my suitcase toward the front door, Butch grabs my arm and pulls me back.
“Lesson one,” he says. “If I’m protecting you, I go through doors first. Always. No exceptions. You never know what’s on the other side.”
“I’m guessing not much,” I say, laughing. “This island is so isolated from the real world.”
“Lesson two,” he says. “No guessing. We only move forward with certainty or if that’s not possible, we move when I say we move. Do you understand me?”
“Butch, I don’t know what Seb told you, but I think he’s blowing this way out of proportion.”
“Sophie.” He puts his hand on my shoulder and leans down so he can look me directly in the eyes. “Seb asked us to protect you and that’s what we’re going to do. One more time. Do you understand me?”
“Yes. I understand. And thank you for doing this.”
He nods, opens the door, and does a quick survey of our front entrance. “We’re good. Let’s go.”
He opens the rear door of a huge black SUV. His head keeps swiveling back and forth surveying the front yard and the driveway as he helps us into the back.
“What happened to fun Butch?” I whisper to Raine as we crawl into the SUV. “He did a one-eighty in like ten seconds flat.”
“You think he’s bad?” Raine laughs. “Wait until Mason takes his shift covering you. He doesn’t play when he’s working. Neither of them do.”
“They’re not working. This is just silly stuff. No one’s really after me.”
“Maybe,” she says as Butch climbs into the driver’s seat. “I’ve done some research on the social media trolls who are after you. Most of them just seem stupid, but that miamibballbabe is a little too threatening. Plus the user seems to have some inside information. Do you have any idea who it could be?”
“None. I stopped looking at her stuff months ago. Is she still at it?”
“Yeah. I’m not convinced it’s a woman, but I’m almost certain it’s someone who knows you or who has at least met you or been around you. Do you know of anyone who doesn’t like you?”
“Doesn’t like me?” I roll my eyes. “Everyone hates me.”
“What?” Raine scrunches up her face. “No one has ever hated you. You were universally loved when we were growing up.”
“And then I married Seb, and all of a sudden, everyone hates me.”
Butch glances back at us in the rearview mirror. “I’m guessing most of that is jealousy. You think this bballbabe lady just wants to get with Seb?”
“Maybe,” Raine says. “Like I said, I’m not sure it’s a woman. How about that Savannah maniac who was at your wedding? Or any of that mean girl group?”
“I haven’t seen any of them since the wedding. I cut them out of my life after that week.”
“I’m guessing that pissed them off,” Raine says.
“At first,” I say, “they texted me a bunch of shit, but then it faded away. Maisie still talks to them a little bit. I think everyone’s moved on.”
