by Faith O'Shea
“Hey, Allie. What’s up?”
She looked up to see Seb alone and walking toward her, a smile on his face. Rique, who was from Brazil, the dark features giving him an international flair, was concentrating on something Mateo was saying. With bat in hand and wearing a serious expression, the Cuban looked to be showing Rique a different way to hold it. From what she was seeing, her belief that he could be a leader in that aspect of the game was confirmed. He had it all.
The tongues of guilt and regret tickled her fancy. The attraction was still there, the one she’d almost acted on, would have acted on had he not mentioned he was a ball player. Her body was recommending she pick up where she’d left off, but he was way off-limits now. And it wasn’t only because he was a member of the team and she had to keep her hands to herself. She’d found out a long time ago, baseball players might be her life, but only in the professional arena. She’d wasted a year on one in her last year of college, a guy in the minor leagues. Met him when she’d been cycling through the marketing department for the Greenies. They’d hooked up, spent time together when they could. She didn’t know until too late he was hooking up with other women when she wasn’t around. Every member of the team knew, and the pitying looks they gave her in the aftermath were humiliating. She’d sworn never again.
And she’d meant it. It didn’t matter at all that Mateo Arteaga Alvarez made her knees weak.
When she noticed him walking toward her, Rique in tow, she stiffened.
“Alicia, it is good to see you.”
It was his voice that tickled her now, right into breathlessness. She unconsciously thumbed the finger where his ring had sat as if she missed its weight.
A bittersweet crest of emotion filled hers. “Mateo. How are you doing?”
“I am good, although I would be better if I was out of the hotel. It is lonely.”
She felt more than a tad of regret she hadn’t gotten to housing sooner, like before he’d arrived. She’d certainly had enough time to have something ready and waiting. It had only been in the last couple of days that she’d gone on the hunt and it hadn’t taken her long to find what she’d been looking for. It was within walking distance of Harborside Field and she thought it would be a good way for him to learn the neighborhood. She’d filled out the application earlier this morning, and the rental agent told her she’d be in touch as soon as she went over the paperwork with the owners. It was ready for occupancy so she was assured he could move in as soon as the lease was signed.
“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long but we’re close. I’m hoping by tomorrow.”
“I couldn’t have stayed with you?”
Cutting her eyes to the both Seb and Rique who’d heard the question, she felt another strand of anxiety coil in her gut. They were now looking at her for an answer. She’d already told Mateo why when he’d asked upon his arrival in Boston.
“You know the answer to that. And from what I’ve heard, the guys are keeping you busy.”
She nodded to the two men who were listening intently to their conversation.
Mateo asked, as if pleased. “You know this?”
She flicked her eyes from one to the other to the other. “Leo told Dan, who told me.”
Dan was keeping her up to date on all the latest news concerning the Cuban. She wished he’d stop.
Seb chortled. “She keeps track of all her boys.”
She arched her eyebrows in dismay. “I’d prefer to think of you as men. Mature, competent, driven. I’m considering listing grow up as one of your short-term goals.”
He laughed good-naturedly and said, “Maybe you should make it a long-term goal instead.”
With that, he wandered away, moving in the direction of the cooler. It would be stocked with Gatorade and water so they could stay hydrated. From the sweat circling their underarms, they’d been worked hard.
Rique said, “I took him to my place for supper last night. Fifi made sure we were well fed.”
Her brow wrinkled. For some reason she didn’t like the fact that he’d already had dinner with another female.
“Fifi?”
Mateo corrected, “Her name is Fiona.”
Rique explained, “She’s the dog walker and house sitter. I guess you could say she’s becoming a friend.”
Alicia said in exaggerated fashion, “A friend, huh?”
“Yeah, a friend. She’s keeping me in line.”
Mateo suggested, “I think he likes her, but he won’t admit it.”
“I admit I like her. But that’s where it ends. She knows it, I know it, now you know it.”
He kicked the turf and walked away, as if there was no more to say.
Mateo said with a smile, “He’s lying. It will be interesting to see where it goes between them.”
She couldn’t imagine Rique settling down even though it would be good for the team. The relief that came was knowing Fifi…Fiona was in Rique’s sights, not Mateo’s.
That thought made her uncomfortable.
Leo called out, “Okay, you bums, break is over. Let’s see some sprints. Three times around the field.”
Mateo flicked her a smile as he backed up, keeping her in his sights until he began to jog away. The three men were running together, in harmony, their strides evenly matched.
She felt a flicker of pride in a job well done. She’d brought them all here, to this place, with the hopes that they would be the anchors the Greenliners needed to claim that ring. Not the brass one, but the one that proclaimed they were the best to the world. She could hear the pounding pulse of the song “We Are the Champions,” reverberating in her head.
Leo came over to where she stood as the men ran their laps.
“I think you might have hit the jackpot here, Allie. Their chemistry is off the charts. I’ve started calling them the triumvirate. Mattie’s helping Rique with batting, Seb’s keeping them laughing, and Rique’s been quite hospitable, taking Mattie under his wing. And I’m quite impressed with our new shortstop’s work ethic. I think you were right about him. All he needed was play time.”
“And Mateo?”
“He’s a natural-born third baseman, but we’ll get more out of him than we thought. He’s going to be one hell of a powerhouse hitter.”
“He’s getting comfortable here?”
“Still serious but I’m beginning to think that’s just his nature. Seb’s the only one who’s gotten him to crack a smile.”
“I’d love to sit down with you before I meet with them. I want your feedback before I get to the nuts and bolts of their individual development plans.”
“Email a couple of times that work for you. I’ll arrange my schedule accordingly.”
“Thanks, Leo.”
As Leo trotted away, her eyes were drawn to Mateo’s form as he ran around the outfield, now a few strides ahead of Seb and Rique. She was glad she’d found him when she did, glad she’d been able to get him here for the start of the season, and she was glad he was making friends. There were still some concerns, and one very major problem but she wasn’t going to worry about it today. But when she glanced over one more time before leaving, he was smiling at her. His eyes were bright, his cheeks crimson from exertion, an unruly wave pasted against his forehead. He was bathed in sweat.
Okay maybe there was more than one major problem, the one that had her marry the man.
She wanted to kiss those cheeks, drown in those eyes and share that sweat. She gulped back the desire and retreated.
CHAPTER TWO
Mateo Alvarez watched Alicia leave the field as he came around the circumference of the path, he’d set for himself. It was the first he’d seen of her since they’d disembarked from the plane that had taken him from Brazil to Boston, the country where he’d been counting down the days until his visa was approved. Keith Zamoutto, his agent, had been waiting at end of the concourse, and had whisked him to the hotel where he was now in residence.
He still didn’t understand why she’d turned down his
request to stay with her. She’d given him a variety of reasons, but none made much sense. She’d told him that she didn’t have room, that it would look odd, but more importantly, she couldn’t set precedent. Didn’t her job include helping the new recruits settle in? And the thing about setting a precedent was laughable, from his point of view. He was sure she’d broken that in bigger and better ways than anyone would guess. It should have irked him that he’d gone along, but there was something about her that drew him in. Add that to some universal hand’s intervention in the pairing and it couldn’t be ignored. She’d become the river flowing through him and he finally understood what Rumi had meant when he said lovers didn’t meet, they resided in each other for all of time. It had to be that. They hadn’t spent enough time together since meeting in that bar in Cancun last October to grow this feeling. It had taken less than a week for her to work out all the arrangements for his transfer of talents from Cuba to America, from hiring Keith to getting his contract negotiated. He was now owned by the Boston Greenliners, one of the National League teams in Major League Baseball. It still felt surreal. Not only would he be competing against the best in the sport, but he’d be earning money doing it. And that was only one small difference between here and there. Here there’d be no shortage of audio or visual electronics, no gaping holes in the stadium’s roof or ramshackle seats, and no lack of a livelihood. The stadium where he’d be playing home games was brand- new, the locker room fit for a king, and he’d be earning a huge paycheck, in addition to a small percentage from the sale of his merchandise. He might not be playing for the celebrated socialist sports machine any longer, but he’d eat well. That he had to defect, leaving behind his citizenship, hadn’t made the news. It was no longer a story. It was the wave of Cubans who’d come before that had stolen the spotlight with some grizzly tales about how they’d gotten here. He’d learned well from them and had slipped quietly away in the dead of night with a friend and trusted ship captain to arrive safely on Mexican shores. He hadn’t even been a blip on the radar.
The one thing that was the same? Baseball was a fixture in both cultures. Now he just had to prove he had what it took to play here.
Seb’s laugh finally caught up with him.
“Do you always have to show us up?”
Mateo slowed down, coming to the end of the three laps.
“Sorry. I need to prove I am worth the money they are paying me.”
“You are so ready to play here it’s crazy. I don’t understand why they think you need handling. You can speak English and you have a burning desire to be the best. You don’t need much else.”
Rique, out of breath, asked, “Is Alicia hiring someone to help you navigate the ropes?”
“What kind of ropes?”
Rique was bent at the waist, his hands on his thighs.
“Income taxes. That was a big one for me. Make sure you have an accountant. American laws are very strict when it comes to paying your fair share. And learning to drive here. There are a lot more traffic laws here than in Rio.”
Seb nodded at that but added, “And the fans. They can be obnoxious. Doesn’t matter you’re starting at ground zero, you’ll have a base in no time with the way you hit. They’ll be hounding you to sign just about everything from your number thirteen shirts to your balls, and I don’t mean baseballs.”
The number he’d chosen to wear had a significance, but he wasn’t sharing what it was. Not yet.
What he did share was his aversion to what Seb was suggesting. “The women are that forward? I thought I left that behind with my Alfareros shirt.”
Rique said with a labored breath, “Too bad you didn’t leave your hat behind. That violation could have earned you a couple thousand more laps.”
Mateo had made the mistake of wearing his Cuban team’s baseball hat to his first meeting with Leo. Wearing an opposing team jersey had gotten Rique a tougher workout than usual and he’d wasted no time pointing out Mateo’s mistake.
Repeating the words Leo had spoken after he whipped it off, Mateo said dryly, “I didn’t bring an attitude.”
“I’m exorcising that as we speak.”
If the shortness of breath and sweat were any indication, he was telling the truth.
Leo approached them, pointing to the paddle boards, and the drills began again in earnest and lasted until late afternoon. They were all wrung out, but Rique seemed to be the one most out of shape. He was limping as they returned to the van for the short ride to Harborside, the field where the Greenliner’s played.
As they were pulling up to the steel building, he heard the peal of a siren that jarred and Leo’s bark. “What the fuck?”
They all streamed out, Leo hurrying ahead, asking questions as he followed the EMTs into the passageway that led to the offices.
Someone was pacing furiously outside Farina’s office. Mateo knew whose it was because he’d met the team manager just yesterday for the first time, had sat in that very room, Farina welcoming him to the city, asking him if he had any concerns, upbeat about the team Alicia had helped assemble. He’d been looking forward to a winning season. Now… Mateo was as unsure as any of them as to what it mean if he was no longer around.
The tension was thick, the air filled with anxiety, and he half-expected to smell the pungent aroma of what he’d come to know as death. The foul odor had permeated the house when his grandfather had died, and it took days to bleach it out. The cleansing had also wiped out all other familiar scents that reminded him of the old man, the fruity aftershave they’d bought on the black market, stale cigar smoke, and his salt-tinged hair. His grandfather had been the only man in his life and the death had felled him. It was Uriel Arteaga who’d introduced him to Rumi, the Persian poet, when he was just a boy. The ancient tenets were universal in their appeal and had become the old man’s religion in the absence of those forbidden ones, and the tenets had become the food and drink for the soul he could find nowhere else. Mateo had picked up the old, battered copy of The Illuminated Rumi after the funeral and immersed himself in his teachings and found them filled with meaning. Farina’s death was the emptiness Rumi spoke to. With his absence, they would live among the ruins. At least for a while.
He noticed the confusion on Rique’s face, but he wasn’t going to offer what he suspected. He waited until the medical team came out with the gurney, a sheet covering the man who’d been in charge of the team up until… his last breath.
Leo had been the only one mumbling. Not direct conversation, more a mantra of the two-word phrase, “shit, fuck,” as if in meditation. By the pallid and panicked look on the coach’s face when told Farina was dead, he knew they were in for an upheaval.
As soon as the body had left the building, Leo gathered himself together.
“I’ve got to make some calls. You guys get showered. Everyone else back to work. There’s nothing we can do for him now.”
Most of the other witnesses dispersed back to their offices, leaving the three players standing stock-still, their eyes darting back and forth to each other. He finally took the lead, willing to do what was instructed, and moved toward the locker room. Seb and Rique followed in unison behind him, Seb visibly worried about what would happen to the team now.
“We’re so close to spring training. Who the fuck is going to take his place?”
Mateo wasn’t as concerned as the other two. He was used to upheaval. Coaches for the Cuban teams came and went as the political winds blew. The team carried on without hesitation, the routine so ingrained it didn’t matter who held the reins. The Greenliners’ problem was, with so many new players filling key positions, they hadn’t been able to set any protocols yet. The only constant to this point had been the infield coach who they’d been working with.
Mateo wondered out loud, “Will they promote Leo?”
Neither of his teammates had an answer for him. Even Reid Jackson had no clue. He’d been shocked by the news when Rique had called him, and it might have sent all thought about the
future into oblivion. There were men and women who would mourn this loss in true grief. There were others, like him, who would be more reserved in their condolences. Without a past or direct connection, this loss wouldn’t affect his life, and he let nothing affect his game.
As the water cascaded over him, he washed away the grime of the day, believing that everything happened for a reason and that out of this death, something new would be born.
After he showered and put on his street clothes, he waited for the other two to finish up. He knew they’d take longer, move more slowly, weighted down by their anxiety. He didn’t have their fear of the unknown. He’d braved that with his defection, leaving everything he knew behind. If he’d been careless, he could have been kidnapped, held hostage, become a prisoner to some cartel looking for ransom. Even though he’d been deliberate in his escape, his future hadn’t looked all that secure from that stool in Cancun. It had taken a miracle whose name was Alicia Nilsson to get him to America.
A new coach was a bump in the road, not a major incident. It would not affect him. His intention was to stay, one way or another, be it with the Greenliners or if they let him go, with some other team. He didn’t know what that would mean for Alicia, but he wasn’t going to think about that yet. Not until something concrete was decided.
When Seb came out, a towel wrapped around his waist, he said, “I think this calls for a stiff drink.”
Still thinking of the woman who risked all to get him here, Mateo said, “Maybe two.”
The three of them were sitting at the bar in the Greenies’ local post-game hang out when the story broke. Mateo watched interviews, heard sound bites, and listened to the wild speculation about who would take over the team’s mission. It was becoming obvious that Mac Calipari was in the running, the odds looking good that he’d be the one chosen. The legendary player and minor league coach was high on everyone’s list, and with each contributing opinion, Seb sank deeper into the doldrums.
