by David Horne
A brisk walk accompanied the move around the desk to the office door. Martin turned off the light before Vincent came out of the space. He didn’t say anything but felt there was a breach of etiquette that one or both of them tried on the other and failed.
“Good to meet you, Martin.” Vince headed down the hallway and around a corner.
Martin stood squeezing the handle to the examination room door. He wanted to shout at the man to call him by his title. Doctor was an important designation. It went beyond investors with VIP passes. But Martin stopped short of saying anything. The title was new to him still, and he wasn’t feeling any sense of entitlement.
He moved along the hallway and turned the other direction. The offices under the stadium were small but practical. At the end of the hall, near the exit, Joel’s office door hung open. Inside, Martin heard Joel’s voice as the man spoke on the phone to someone. He was a great communicator. The phone was Joel’s conduit to movers and shakers. He was good at his job.
Since Martin’s inclusion into the upper management, no one had anything negative to say about their Marketing Specialist. He waited until the receiver slipped into the cradle before Martin peeked around the doorway.
“Want to get dinner again tonight?” he asked.
Joel gave him a rich smile that spoke before the words left his mouth. “I would love to. Where are you taking me?” he asked.
“I saw a few greasy fast-food places we could drive by on the way to somewhere nice.” Martin shrugged. “I’m at the mercy of Google and restaurant reviews.”
“Maybe we can just get something and eat in.”
“That’s an idea. I don’t have a kitchenette in my hotel room.”
Joel frowned. “I happened to have a perfectly good kitchen, and I have a car. You’re still paying for your rides.”
“Well,” Martin sounded, unable to argue out of that logic. “I’ll buy dinner while you chauffeur.”
“And we cook it together.”
Martin felt that familiar hammering in his chest. The elated sensation that came from the proximity of Joel and it quelled his distraction from the rude investor who had full reign to the players and their private space.
“Can’t wait,” he said.
“We’ll head out after eight tonight. I have a conference call.”
“I’ve got some patients.” And he turned around, heading back to the office to wait for the players as they exited the field.
Chapter Ten
Grocery stores are exactly the same no matter where one goes in the United States. The relative experience Martin had shopping was better in the company of Joel. They had a system carried over from college days — the movement through the aisles, their particular needs, and their matched pace that wasn’t hurried or uncomfortable. It occurred to Martin that even the simplicity of shopping for fresh dinner food was exceptional when he had the company of someone who mattered most to him.
“I wanted to talk to you.” Martin finished slicing the carrots and tomatoes for their salads. Joel occupied himself over the stovetop, sautéing mushrooms and watching the grilling of their steaks.
He looked over his shoulder at Martin. It was a look of concern, and the knitted eyebrows suggested he’d expected the tête-à-tête before that moment.
“I think I know what this is about,” he responded. He turned off the burner and wiped his hands on the available kitchen towel.
“You were thinking I wanted to talk to you about what happened between us,” Martin started smartly. “But I wanted to talk to you about a man named Vincent Key.”
“Okay,” Joel said drawing out the word. “I’m not sure he’s your type. But I think he’s single.”
Martin felt surprised. “I just wanted a little background on him. And how do you know he’s not my type?”
Joel laughed. “I think I know your type.”
“Oh really?” Martin felt a wave of heat explode from his chest. It had been a long time since he’d felt any sense of attraction. It was so easy to fall back into their well-worn and comfortable groove. “Well, I’ll let that go for now. Just tell me about him.”
“Not much to tell, as far as I know. He’s been around since last season. He and Irving are golfing buddies. I’m not sure if he makes any investments in the team.”
“Isn’t that your specialty?” Martin prodded playfully.
“It’s one of my many talents.”
“You have any others?” Martin quipped.
“I made this dinner!”
“You cooked mushrooms and meat. We’ll see how that turns out later.”
“You’re feisty tonight.”
“I don’t mean to be,” Martin said softening. “I just felt encroached by that guy today.”
“I understand.” Joel nodded. He stood close to Martin, but neither touched the other. “I can do a little checking.”
“Please don’t make a big deal about it. He probably was just feeling entitled when he came into my office.”
“That would bother me too. I don’t know the guy.”
“He spends a lot of time around the field. He’s probably just lonely and retired.”
“That’s a good explanation.” Joel’s hand brushed Martin’s side when he put the towel on the counter. There was an electric shock that jolted through Martin’s body from the touch. “I was thinking about something.”
Martin swallowed his throat suddenly dry. “What’s that?”
He felt the hand glide around his waist. Joel’s fingers gripped Martin’s shirt as he pulled against him. His lips parted, and Martin felt the one thing that had been missing from his life since before medical school. Joel’s mouth tasted like mint and wine. He breathed deep and wrapped his arms around his lover. They kissed for a long time. The sound of sizzling meat from inside the oven made them focus again.
Joel turned off the broiler and popped open the door. A thick puff of smoke spilled from inside. The scent of burnt steaks filled the kitchen.
“So, I think we’ve established one of your talents was misguided.” Martin looked over Joel’s shoulder as the oven door closed again, like a gate to a mausoleum. Close to Joel’s ear, he whispered. “I wasn’t that hungry anyway.”
Joel rolled his shoulder as he turned around. His mouth found Martin’s again. They embraced and moved away from the stove. He felt Joel guide him backward through the kitchen. The two-bedroom apartment was close to downtown Tampa. The sound of traffic outside the building came through the closed windows as if they were on the street level. Martin allowed Joel to maneuver him along the hallway to the master bedroom.
Joel had style and simple tastes. Space was open and accessible without a lot of clutter. While their date seemed spontaneous to Martin, Joel’s apartment was spotless. It was orderly and had hints of air-freshener that suggested Joel orchestrated their liaison accordingly. It didn’t matter. Martin needed this. He needed Joel. Even if it was a lifetime ago, Joel was the one person in Martin’s life that made sense.
He felt the edges of his shirt pull from the waistband of his pants. Their lips parted when Joel continued to lift shirt off Martin’s body dropping it to the floor, Martin watched Joel remove his own shirt before he hungrily went after Martin’s mouth again.
Naked chest to naked chest, their bodies pressed together. Lost in Joel’s kisses, Martin felt fingers undo his pants. He did in-kind. Joel’s cock was stiff in Martin’s grasp. The soft flesh over the hard penis moved in Martin’s hand. Joel was uncircumcised. It wasn’t out of religion, or Americanized values. As Joel put it, his parents overlooked the change when Joel was born, settling for a healthy baby. But it didn’t change anything in their lovemaking in the past. And Martin knew enough now to know he’d missed everything about Joel, including the personal touches.
Somehow their clothes disappeared, and Martin felt every part of Joel’s nakedness against him. Here was the part of his life that came with the cravings in his heart: a lonely bed, a missing beat that made up all th
e rest. There wasn’t a broken heart or screaming matches that ended their relationship. Now together again, Martin felt as if they’d just been away for an extended time.
On the bed, lying on his back, Martin breathed deep. Joel straddled him, looking down. His face close in the dark, a glimmer in his eyes, Martin felt his warm hand caress his face.
“I missed you.” Joel’s words managed to caress Martin’s heart as tangibly as the touch on his face.
“You went away.” Martin didn’t allow the words to catch in his throat.
“I won’t do that again.” It came out immediately as if in a moment of clarity that didn’t need any contemplating. His mouth followed the words, pressed against Martin’s lips. Tongue to tongue, mouth to mouth, body to body, the rest of their night went without the meal. There was something more they both needed more than food.
Chapter Eleven
The following day felt as if Martin flew instead of walked. He went through the emails from the night before and didn’t hear when the examination room door opened.
“You look like you’re enjoying your day.” Leslie gave Martin a look that suggested she’d had a window to what he’d done the night before.
“I was just trying to enjoy the Florida atmosphere.”
“Did you want to get some coffee?” She had a team jersey and ball cap on. The jersey was too big for her petite frame. She’d knotted the base of the jersey at her waist on the side. “I’m going for a coffee run.”
It wasn’t nine in the morning, and Martin hadn’t drunk any coffee that morning because he woke in Joel’s apartment. He showered with Joel before the ride to the hotel to change clothes. Then after the journey to the training camp, Joel had business elsewhere, and they parted in the parking lot. It was a gentle goodbye full of promises. Martin felt as if he was still riding the high from the night before. Adding caffeine to the mix was just a bonus.
“You want me to buy?”
They left the park. Leslie drove to a nearby coffee shop, and they waited in line. Martin enjoyed getting away from the field. And while Leslie’s company was pleasant, he already missed Joel.
“So, what do you think so far?” Leslie asked after they collected trays of coffee mixtures for the others in the offices.
The players had their own routine and access to the cafeteria. Upper management had their preferences for more expensive tastes. The collective purchase for the morning treats, which included another stop at the nearby donut shop, went beyond $100. But Martin didn’t worry about the money.
“It’s interesting. I was telling Joel yesterday that I’m still trying to get used to not having so much to do all the time.” He gave Leslie a look of propriety when she opened the hatchback so he could put the four dozen donuts in the back. “I’m used to long hours and a lot more patients.”
Leslie nodded. She got behind the wheel, and they went back to the ballpark. “So, you and Joel?” It came out as a statement, like someone pointing out two perfect clouds in the sky.
“Yup,” Martin said without pressing the point.
“He recommended you for the job.”
It was a surprise. They never discussed it. “I didn’t know that.”
Leslie waved it off as she pulled the SUV toward the back gate, near the side entrance to the business office under the stadium. “He’s been excited to get you here.”
“Well,” Martin replied feeling a sense of belonging. “I’m glad I’m here.”
***
He heard the voices before he saw the two men. Martin slowed his pace in the back hallway as he approached the office.
“What’s your plan if this works out?”
“We’re going to approve the drug after the testing.”
“Make sure you include me in the finder fees.”
“Don’t worry, my man, we’ll both come out ahead on this.”
Martin strolled by the open doorway to the conference room as if he didn’t know Irving and Vincent were inside. His initial feelings about Vincent were confirmed in the limited eavesdropping of their conversation.
He unlocked the door to the examination room and went through to his office.
“So, Martin, how are you getting along here?” It was Irving’s voice that called from the hallway. Both men entered the examination room before Martin unlocked the door to his office.
He smiled at them reflexively. “It’s going fine. Is there something I can do for you gentlemen?”
“No, we’re just heading out to the field.”
Martin nodded. “I’m going to request that only immediate staff and players are allowed in the examination area.”
Neither men spoke. Both looked surprised at Martin as if he’d just pulled a weapon on them.
“Don’t take it personally,” he continued. “I want to make sure this area is available at all time for my players. It’s my way of making my patients comfortable.”
“Well, that’s understandable,” Irving said. But Martin watched Vincent. The man loomed over Irving as if a gentleman’s gentleman in a comic book. He was tall and strong and the kind of bodyguard persona needed to keep the villain safe. So far, as far as Martin understood, he’d heard nothing more than two people talking about something that had no aberrance to the team. He didn’t bring it up; he didn’t have anything to add about their conversation.
“Did you get some donuts?” Martin asked, avoiding any turmoil that rolled in Vincent’s eyes. “Leslie and I went to the bakery this morning.”
He didn’t wait for the men to speak before continuing into the office. Neither of them approached his space. Instead, they left without another word.
***
Watching practice later, it was difficult to understand what happened. There was a conversation that turned into a fistfight between two players. Once the fight started, the rest of the team jumped in to break up the punches. The attending audience cheered on the match like spectators to a gladiator sports.
Martin had the shortstop player in the examination room. A cold compress to his cheek, he said nothing. Martin heard Floyd shouting angrily at the catcher, the presumed agitator of the confrontation.
Martin attended to the player while the unmistakable rant from the head coach reached every part of the offices under the stadium. Martin left the injured player and went toward the noise.
Cleats on, pacing erratically, the team catcher, an African-America man named Billy Reyes, received the focus of Floyd’s berating. Martin stood back, watching Reyes and Floyd. Mentor and student, confronted and miserable, they ignored the rest of the players and management.
Reyes struck a nearby locker with his fist. The steel door crumpled under pressure. Martin flinched thinking the young man might have a hand injury added to the conflict. It was another point Floyd made after the punch. Responding to continued verbal assault, Reyes turned to face the aggressor. That was as far as it got. Teammates stepped in and held back the young man from striking Floyd.
On his way out of the locker room, Floyd glanced at Martin. His face was as red as the stripes in his jersey. Martin felt the man’s heated exchange and obesity would result in the man having an adverse health reaction. Instead of following Floyd, Martin closed the distance between Reyes.
“What’s going on with you?” he asked. There was a look in the man’s eyes. A deep glare of black irises surrounded by a glassy white, Martin looked close. “I think you need to come to my office.”
“No,” Reyes responded. Pushing back against anyone who had something to say to him was a reaction to what he’d already been through. Two assistant coaches stayed behind while his teammates retreated. In their eyes, and as Martin understood it, Reyes was another causality of the training season.
“I think it’s a good idea.” The man who spoke stood beside Martin. He was the first assistant coach, and most of the players took their orders from him as a conduit from Floyd. Riley McGowan was in line for Floyd’s job. It was something everyone knew, and no one talked about.
/>
At least not in Floyd’s presence; Martin knew. Leslie gave Martin a complete rundown on all the scuttlebutt that went on inside the management offices.
“You’re going to come back to my office, and we’re going to have a conversation while I take a look at your hand.” Martin noticed Reyes favored the right fist. It was a subtle indication, and until Martin looked at it, he wouldn’t know exactly what happened.
“You can take a shower,” Riley told Reyes. “And then go see the doc.”
“No,” Martin corrected him. “You’re coming with me now.” He didn’t wait for Reyes to follow. One last glance at Riley, Martin turned and marched through the doors. It was impossible to argue with someone about undermining his authority. Anyone who experienced the passive-aggressive behavior of misguided authority knew what it meant to have someone step on toes and diminish the control from people who were supposed to respond to direction.
Chapter Twelve
It was a moment of tense waiting when Martin got to the examination room. He went into his office and logged into the medical records. Making notes about Reyes in the files, it was long minutes before the outer door opened.
He waited a moment, collecting his patience before leaving the office. It wasn’t Reyes standing in the examination room.
“Where’s my player?” Martin felt another breach of control had undermined his ability to do the job he’d been hired for.
There stood a man who dedicated his life to playing a game. Now Martin had to defend his actions to an assistant coach who likely sustained some debilitating injury early in his career. Forced to live vicariously through the baseball players, Riley was a man who didn’t respond well to direction from people younger than him.
“I think it would be a good idea if Reyes cools off before you see him.”
