“Are you falling for him?”
I shake my head and start walking toward the employee entrance. “I’m going to have fun and put aside all the warnings. I know he’s leaving, but right now I’m letting my hair down. I’m going enjoy the attention that he wants to give me.”
“Well, I think you deserve all the attention. So I say go for it. Do what makes you happy.”
When I get in, I greet the rest of the staff members and open the door to my office. On my desk is a large bouquet of roses that makes Stella gasp.
“I bet they’re from your lover,” she singsongs.
“He’s not my lover. He’s my love-fuck buddy.”
“Excuse me, what?” she laughs.
I shrug. “Cooper called it love-fucking because it was intense, but so damn hot and romantic, but we’re not together, so what we did would totally be classified as fucking.”
“And now he’s sending you roses? That’s it, I’m finding me a baseball player. Do you think any of his friends are single?”
I ignore her question and pull the card from the roses. The handwriting is masculine, and I’m assuming it’s his.
Ainsley,
Yesterday meant everything.
#25
“I’m officially jealous.”
“Don’t be. It’s not what you think.” I don’t know if those words are for her or more for me. I have to remind myself often that this is only temporary.
“So what about one of his teammates?”
“Most of their bios tell you if they’re married. Why don’t you go shopping for one and I’ll ask Cooper, or you can on Saturday when we go to his game.”
“Oh, man, you’re already planning to go to more of his games?”
“And wearing his number. Let’s not forget my level of insanity. I’ve gone from hating the male athletic population to sleeping with one and parading myself around in his shirt.”
“You’re a goner. He showed you the goods, and now you’re a cleat-chaser.”
I’m not a cleat-chaser. This isn’t something I plan to do again next year. Dating someone like Cooper is a one-time thing. The last thing I wanted to do was fall for him, and that is exactly what I’ve done. I thought I could ignore him, but Cooper was determined to break down my wall.
Dear Renegades,
The fans have high hopes for the season so yesterday’s game really isn’t sitting well with us!
With that said, the Renegades lost their first spring training game. Such a loss isn’t a big thing, but it still sets the tone in the clubhouse.
Cal Diamond shocked no one when center fielder Cooper Bailey got the start. It’s been pretty clear that Bailey is being groomed to take over for Bainbridge. It’s unfortunate that Bailey’s batting average stayed in the zeros in his first game. We’ll chalk it up to jitters.
The highlight of the day were the fast bats of Ethan Davenport, Branch Singleton, and Preston Meyers, all batting in runs and trying to put the BoRes ahead. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to overcome the deficit, and the Renegades earned their first L of the year with a 7–4 loss.
GOSSIP WIRE
Divorces are ugly and none more so than the Bainbridge’s. A judge ordered Lisa Bainbridge to bring their minor children to Fort Myers so their father can see them. After a very public ranting session on the steps of the courthouse, Lisa boarded a plane (not a private jet, which she had requested) and flew to Florida. Rumor has it that Lisa was none too thrilled to be flying commercial.
Speaking of center fielders, it seems Cooper Bailey has taken interest in one of the staff members from the zoo. According to my sources, she met his father at the game, making Day One a family affair.
Bryce Mackenzie has called off his engagement to Gabby Nolan, citing time and distance as the cause. We’re sure it couldn’t be because Ms. Nolan was seen entering the home of pro tennis player Ralph Amato, who was once rumored to be having an affair with the model turned designer.
Easton Bennett has been seen with a young blonde while out and about in Florida, which continues to spur rumors that he’s not the father of his on-and-off-again girlfriend’s child. Maybe Bennett is housing Anna and her son until she can get back on her feet?
Don’t forget, the BoRes will have some charity events coming up, plus a chance to run the bases with your favorite Renegade!
The countdown begins until our Renegades are back in Boston where they belong…freezing with the rest of us!
The BoRe Blogger
Chapter 17
Cooper
Sending Ainsley the roses was probably the cheesiest thing I’ve ever done, but I had to show her that she was on my mind. The last thing I wanted her to think was that the night before hadn’t meant anything to me. It meant everything to me, and I want to show her properly.
After dropping my father off at the hotel, I made my way to the park to get ready for our road game. We’re traveling a whole twenty miles down the road to play Minnesota again. Today’s outcome will be different if I have anything to say about it. My workout with Bainbridge opened my mind, not only with my batting but with him as well.
He’s my teammate, but I want the starting spot. Cal Diamond could move me to another position in the outfield, but Kidd and Meyers are both stellar players, and the only way I’m taking one of their spots is if they’re getting a night off.
Maybe I should seek a trade. My agent can easily work a deal that gives the Renegades some draft picks, except this is where I want to play.
In the clubhouse, the guys are loud, and when I walk in they all say hi, everyone except Bainbridge.
“Rookie, we missed you yesterday.” Kidd slaps my back as he walks by. “Today, though, no excuse.”
“I can’t. I have to be up early,” I tell him. I don’t mention that I’m hoping Ainsley calls and I end up seeing her tonight. I also don’t want to tell Kidd that I’m planning on meeting Bainbridge here in the morning to work out. Jesus, just thinking about him helping me, and the fact that I want his starting spot, makes me feel like a fucking douche. It’s the nature of the beast, though. Bainbridge is my teammate, and that’s what we do for each other. I know that I have a lot to learn from him, but if the roles were reversed, I don’t think I’d be willing to help someone.
As soon as we’re dressed, we’re on a bus heading crosstown to Century Link for our game. I’m ready to avenge the loss from yesterday and show the coaches what I can really do. The Cooper Bailey that they were witness to is not who I am when I’m up to bat. I’m usually focused, steady, and know what pitches are for me.
The drive to the stadium is short, and when we get off the bus, the fans are waiting by the fence for autographs. I drop my gear and head over, taking the lead and start signing everything from balls, to bats, to programs and baseball mitts.
“Thanks for coming out,” I say as I sign my name. The first time I signed my name was the first game I played in college. Kids were lined up after the game eager for my autograph. They thanked me for a great game. That is when I realized that watching baseball was their entertainment, and I was responsible for getting the job done.
I never felt any pressure to get the job done in college or in the minors. Everything flowed naturally. I never felt uncomfortable up at bat or nervous in the outfield. Yesterday’s jitters could easily be chalked up to it being my first game, and with the added pressure, I freak myself out.
I continue down the line, making sure to get every single person in line. Even adults are lined up, pushing their merchandise toward me for an autograph.
“Are you excited to finally be a Renegade?” an older man asks, catching me off guard. In my mind, I’ve always been a Renegade. It was just a matter of being called up. When they drafted me, I knew I was pegged as Bainbridge’s replacement, so waiting a year in the minors wasn’t going to be an issue. I was able to excel there and pretty much forced their hand into either bringing me into the fold or trading me.
“I’m happy to be playing ball,”
I tell him. Playing baseball is all I’ve ever wanted to do. It’s really all I’ve known. It’s what I love. I’ve said this before. If I’m not playing for the Renegades, I’m playing for some other team.
“Can I have a picture?” a young girl asks as she leans over the fence.
“Sure thing.” I crouch down and get into the viewing space of her camera. She fumbles with her phone, trying to get us both in.
“Here, let me do it. My arms are a little bit longer.” I take her phone from her and snap our picture a few times, even giving her a silly-faced one.
“Thank you,” she says, giggling, as I hand her phone back. She huddles with her friends as they look through the photos.
“They like you,” Bainbridge says as we near the end of the line.
“I need fans if I’m going to compete with you,” I tell him honestly. He pauses and grabs my arm, halting my steps.
“We’re not in a competition, Bailey. We’re teammates, and that means we have each other’s back, regardless of who is out on the field playing.”
“That’s easy for you to say, Bainbridge. You have the starting spot that I want. I have goals that can only be achieved by playing. If we’re rotating, or I’m playing every third or fourth game, those goals will never be reached.”
He shakes his head. “You’re young; the accolades will come. Develop your game first, get a feel for what you have to do to better yourself. Most importantly, love the game and your team. We’re a family, and it’s not meant to be dysfunctional.”
Bainbridge walks away, shaking his head. A hard pat on my shoulder has me looking to see who’s next to me.
“He’s been around a long time,” Davenport says. “He came into the league at eighteen and had a rough few years. From what I’ve heard, he was hazed and treated like shit, so he tries to make sure that doesn’t happen to anyone else.”
“I’m not being hazed.”
“No, I guess you’re not, but maybe he feels like you’re hazing him.”
“What do you mean?” I ask Davenport, unsure why he would say something like that.
“We’ve all been there—trying to fit in and make a name for yourself—but there are ways to go about it, and from what I see, you’re trying to keep Bainbridge at arm’s length.”
“He was supposed to retire,” I remind him. “Last year, that is what I was told, and when I got the call, I thought the retirement announcement was coming. And here I am, vying for a position against one of the best outfielders in the league. The pressure is building.”
“Dude, it’s our second game. Go out and have some fun. Give yourself until the middle of the month to start freaking out. We’re rusty. Most of us sat on the beach all winter.”
“Speak for yourself,” I mutter to myself as Davenport walks away. I replay his words over in my head, wondering what sort of attitude I’m projecting when I’m out there. Thing is, until someone points it out, I don’t know what to fix. Telling me that I’m being an ass isn’t exactly showing me that I am one.
Bainbridge gets the start, and as I stand in the dugout, I look at the grandstands and easily spot my father. Thankfully, I can’t see the scowl I know is on his face from where I am. I know he’s part of my problem. He’s so hell-bent on me being perfect that it’s what I expect of myself. There’s never any room for error and definitely never a learning curve.
The Twins take the field, and the warm-up pitches are sent across home plate. Kayden Cross, our first baseman, steps up to the plate and takes the first pitch, a ball that looked high and outside. The second is delivered, and he sends it soaring down the third base line for a fair ball.
“Yeah, that’s the way to get us started, Cross,” Kidd yells as we clap. The fans behind us boo. “They’re a bunch of tit wipes,” he says, causing me to choke on my water.
“You come up with the best one-liners.”
“It’s his way of coping with his epic douchiness,” Easton Bennett, our shortstop, says in reply to my statement.
“You’re such a nut beater, Bennett,” Kidd says in retaliation, causing the rest of us to laugh.
“Now batting for the Renegades, right fielder Preston Meyers.”
“Let’s go, Meyers,” I yell out.
“Remember, you’ll get farther being a teammate,” Davenport says before he climbs the steps and heads to the on deck circle.
I try to ignore him, but he’s right. Since I’ve been here, I’ve been worried about me. And my individual accolades. Baseball is a team effort: not a single person can do everything.
Meyers walks, putting two on for Davenport. The crowd cheers loudly for him when he gets up to bat. He takes the first two pitches before blasting a shot to deep left. We’re all on our feet, yelling for him, Meyers, and Cross to run.
When all is said and done, Davenport is sliding into third for a triple with Cross and Meyers safely crossing home plate, giving us a two-run lead to start the game.
Branch Singleton is pumped and jumping around as he steps into the batter’s box. He swings at the first pitch, missing. Same with the second. Our third base coach, Patrick Phelan, calls a time out to settle Branch down. He steps back into the batter’s box and takes the next pitch, a ball. The fourth hurl has him swinging and missing.
“Fuck,” he yells as he marches toward the dugout. No one really says anything because it’s all stuff we’ve heard before, like “you’ll get it next time.” There’s always a next time.
The skipper makes changes in the third, sending me to center field with the score tied at two apiece. I run out and start my warm-up with Kidd. We toss the ball back and forth while our pitcher warms up with five pitches to get the bottom half of the inning started.
Brian Dozier, the second baseman for the Twins, steps in and takes the first pitch before smacking the shit out of the ball and sending it between Kidd and me. Kidd is yelling that he has it, so I move into position to back him up in the event he drops it or it goes over his head.
“I go, I go,” I yell once I have a better angle, but Kidd doesn’t budge. I say it again, this time more forcefully, but Kidd continues to backpedal. I’m left with no choice but to move out of his way and let him catch the pop fly even though it should’ve been my catch.
He jumps at the last minute, snagging the ball before it goes over his head. There’s a collective boo from the crowd and a large audible sigh from me.
“That was close,” he says, laughing.
I’m not sure what’s funny, so I head back toward my space and wait for the next batter.
We escaped the inning with no runs, still leaving the score tied. Heeding both the words of Bainbridge and Davenport, I try not to let the earlier situation with Kidd bother me. The ball was caught, giving us an out, and that is what’s important.
“Up to bat for the Renegades, center fielder Cooper Bailey.”
“Knock it out of the park.” I hear my dad’s call as I walk toward home plate. I had forgotten he was here, somehow blocking him out of my mind. Earlier at breakfast, he left a sour taste in my mouth, and his words aren’t easily forgotten.
As I step in, I remember my early morning session with Bainbridge and how he helped me, reminding myself that he’s a teammate and my success is his as well.
I take the first pitch. It’s high and outside, and when I look over at the dugout, Bainbridge is leaning over the railing with his head turned in my direction.
The next pitch is low and called a ball.
“Wait for your pitch,” someone yells, probably my dad. If it is, he needs to remember I’m in the majors. I don’t have to be told to wait. I already know.
The third pitch looks good, and I start my swing, only to hold off as the ball sails high and out of my strike zone.
“Fucker got lucky,” the catcher says, trying to throw me off my game.
I dig in and square my hips. “Maybe you can have him send me a meatball instead of this shit.”
“Yeah, rookie.”
My next pitch is
exactly what I want. It’s fast, down the middle, and prime for the taking. I swing, connecting with the ball. It sails toward the right field line, meaning I was behind on my swing. I lean toward the left, willing my ball to stay fair. If it does, it’s a home run. When it hits the stands, I drop my bat and start running toward first base amidst the cheers from my teammates.
“Foul ball,” the ump yells, causing Diamond to come out of the dugout and me to falter in my steps. I turn around and throw my hands up.
“That was on the left side of the line,” I say, pointing in the direction of the ball. There are a few fans also voicing their displeasure with the call.
“Bill, what the hell? That ball is clearly fair,” Diamond says when he reaches the umpire.
He shakes his head. “I saw it go right.”
“That’s fucking bullshit, and you know it.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
“You’re outta here,” he says, tossing me out of the game. I stand there, shocked at what just happened, while Diamond is up in his face. Coach Phelan and our first base coach, Shawn Smith, step in between Diamond and the ump, separating them.
Diamond grabs my arm and drags me to the dugout, pushing me toward the long hallway that leads to the clubhouse.
Once inside, I throw a few chairs across the room until Diamond appears in the doorway.
“What the fuck was that?”
“Sorry.”
“You’re sorry? Your job is to play the game. That is it. If it’s a foul ball, you get your fucking ass back in the batter’s box and wait for the next pitch. I’ll do the dirty work.”
I nod, knowing he’s right. He slams his hand against the wall and sighs.
“This is your second game, Bailey. Being ejected does not look good and will not bode well.”
“I know.”
He doesn’t say anything else, leaving me with my thoughts. It’s only day two, and I’ve fucked up royally.
Home Run Page 11
