No Time to Explain

by Kate Angell

  He figured she’d invite Lori and her aunt. Perhaps even Twyla’s beau, George. The two kept regular company now. His own role as groom for the afternoon—and the night—had come to an end. He debated removing his wedding band and leaving it on the bedside table. His gut clutched. Parting with it somehow felt like separating himself from Stevie. The idea of detaching from her left him cold, despite his uncertainty as to their future. Instead he switched it from his ring finger to his little one, where it was far less tight. Flexible.

  He next went to locate his dog. He found Turbo and Etta in the kitchen with Twyla. She’d fed them breakfast, gone on to portion a plate of scrambled eggs. Turbo’s manners surprised Joe. His boy was usually a food hog. But he now sat, took turns, and allowed the bulldog her fair share. Twyla didn’t question Joe’s night with Stevie. Instead she informed him that the two dogs would be together for most of the day, until Dean Jensen picked up Etta after the exhibition game.

  Game time neared. MLB Richmond Rogues versus Triple-A Rebels.

  Cleated footsteps now approached, and Joe cracked his eyelids. Jake Packer dropped down beside him on the bench and immediately asked, “You fuckin’ asleep, Zoo? ”

  Sam Matthews shook his head. “A nap? From the man who pulls all-nighters. What the hell?”

  Pitcher Will Ridgeway grinned. “More important question, who tired him out?”

  Pax’s eyes narrowed. “You left Rock Creek early Friday night,” he recalled. “We watched you go. Your posse stayed behind. All pouty and pissed. Sam hooked up with Cady, and—”

  Sam tensed, sucked air. Looking guilty.

  Joe rolled his shoulders, straightened. “And, what?” More interested than irritated. He’d left the women for Stevie. Sam and Cady had every right to make their own fun. Make love with their choice of partners. He’d often hoped Sam and Cady would connect.

  “I bought Cady dinner, and she took me back to her place.” Sam waited for Zoo’s hammer to fall.

  “Cool.” Enough said.

  Pax braved, “Roz spent the night on my sailboat.”

  Roz of the red hair; the low, sexy voice; and the kiss-me lips. She and Pax had a lot in common. Appreciation of the Gulf, fishing, and water sports. She had a speedboat and a cigarette racer. She would’ve fallen in love with Pax’s vintage Morgan. Maybe even with the man himself. Given time.

  Joe slapped Pax on the back. “It is what it is.”

  “You’re sure?” Pax wanted full approval.

  “It appears my posse is breaking up with me,” Joe said honestly. He’d hinted, initiated the split, and the women had taken it to heart. “I want the ladies to be happy—with whomever they choose.”

  “Alyssa won’t let you go without a fight,” said Sam. “She’s made her bed and wants you in it.”

  “I’m sleeping elsewhere.”

  His teammates grinned. Pax had the balls to say, “Unleashed.”

  “I’m renting a room.” Which both men already knew.

  “Stevie’s your neighbor,” said Sam.

  Right next door, in the next bedroom. Where he’d spent the night. Brass bed, twisted sheets, tangled limbs. Hot bodies and satisfaction.

  Joe went silent on his friends. Jaw locked, gaze slitted. His time with Stevie was too new. Privacy mattered. No need to put her name out there, if nothing came of their relationship.

  The remainder of the players hit the main field for pregame warm-ups. An hour of static stretches and short sprints, throwing and catching drills, and batting practice swings. Triple-A got ready on an adjoining training field.

  Joe kept his eye on Dean Jensen. The guy looked strong. Seemingly his weekend of marathon sex hadn’t weakened or slowed him down. The Rebels team captain was jogging, jumping, setting an example. Shit.

  Joe homed in on his own drills. Rylan Cates joined him for catch-and-throw. “No need to babysit me, Ry,” he said.

  “Get over yourself, Zoo. You’re one of eight. I watch all the guys.”

  Joe wasn’t fooled. Rylan watched him closer than most. Ry knew he was hyped. That he had a trigger temper. Ry threw a wild-ass ball, on purpose, forcing Joe to stretch and dive. “What the fuck?” He got to his feet with one grass-stained knee. Before the damn game even started.

  “Taking the edge off,” said Rylan. “Today is exhibition. It doesn’t affect our standings. Have fun, no crash and burn. Entertain the public. No individual conflicts.”

  “I’m not conflicted.”

  “You were born with clenched fists.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “Stay fixed on what’s important.”

  “So you keep saying.”

  “And I’ll continue, until you listen.”

  Joe smirked. “You’re such a mom.”

  “Triple-A cuts happen next week. Most will go back to Roanoke.”

  “I’ll pack Jensen’s bag, put him on the bus.” Joe powered a ball to Rylan; it smacked his glove. Ry shook out his hand.

  “Switch up,” Rylan called to the players. “Infield, at-bat.” The outfielders shagged balls until it was their turn to step up to the plate. Once the starting lineup wrapped up their pregame practice, they returned to the dugout. Their muscles were now warm, loose. Focus honed.

  Ry glanced into the stands on his way down the steps. He leaned against the short railing, said to Joe, “Your party posse just arrived to cheer you on.”

  The women were recognizable. Individually they were each sexy, but in a group, they knocked hotness out of the park. Each was skimpily dressed. Belly shirts, tube tops, short shorts. Displays of skin. Men all around them stared. Admired. Lusted. Joe watched as the women took seats in the field boxes. He’d purchased their seating. Before Stevie. Wanting them in attendance. They shouted and cheered, always supportive whether he struck out or slammed a home run. He’d see how he fared today.

  “The girls are branching out,” he told Ry. “They’re not here for just me anymore. There’ll be lots of applause for Pax and Sam, too.”

  “You’re okay with that?”

  “I set it in motion.”

  “The new you?”

  “The old me. I’m not looking to be part of a couple. The girls deserve commitment.”

  “Alyssa’s eyeing you for a walk down the aisle.”

  “Not happening.” He’d been Stevie’s groom for an afternoon. Her lover overnight. That was as close to a wedding as he ever cared to get. Or so he thought.

  His heart jacked when he saw Stevie, coming down the center cement stairs behind home plate with her friend Lori. He was glad to see her. For all of a second. Lori came down first, wearing a Roanoke Rebels T-shirt and khaki slacks. But the sight of Stevie stopped him short. Same tee, worn with jeans. What the hell? He’d thought her to be a Rogues fan. His fan. His teammates boarded their dogs at Unleashed. He lived there. They’d had sex. He would expect Lori to support the asshole Jensen. But, Stevie? Hell no. He didn’t understand. Where was her loyalty? Apparently not with him.

  She had nearly reached the safety netting that separated the stands and the field when he caught her eye. She looked at him—through him—allowing no more than a tight smile. She was quick to glance away. As if he mattered little to her.

  He watched the friends cut down a side aisle, winding toward the visitors’ dugout, soon locating seats several rows behind the Triple-A team. Leadoff hitter Jensen stood on the on-deck circle, swinging two bats. Weighing his options. He nodded, and Lori smiled. Stevie gave a small wave.

  “Who you looking at?” Halo Todd nudged past him.

  “No one.”

  “Death stare says someone.”

  Joe ran a hand down his face. Baseball was his life. He was good at it. He’d wanted to share the game with her. To know that she was in the stands close by. To show off a little. To nail a home run. She’d denied him.

  Had he been selfish? Not in his mind.

  Illogical? He wasn’t always rational or reasonable.

  Crazy? Most t
hought him insane.

  But despite everything, he’d thought they had an understanding. Of sorts. Apparently not. She now sided with the enemy.

  He cut his gaze, refused to look at Stevie a second time. He had no idea what game she was playing—and at his ballpark. She and Lori were tight. Yet if Stevie wanted to be near him, the girls could’ve split up. She knew how he felt about Jensen. He hated the guy. But she now sat across the stadium, rooting on the Rebels. Low fuckin’ blow.

  Whatever he’d felt for her suddenly splintered. He was stabbed by shards of disappointment. He’d never been hurt by a woman. Until now. He collected his feelings. He’d gone soft to her overnight. Now he hardened his heart. Cursed his stupidity.

  At one fifteen, the players were introduced. Starting with the Rebels. Applause was vigorous from the fans of Triple-A. Joe noted that Lori and Stevie clapped, cheered, and hugged each other when Dean was introduced. Joe swallowed hard.

  The starting lineup for the Rogues got a standing ovation. The Cates family and townies rallied around Rylan. He was the most popular player. Halo Todd and Landon Kane received enormous welcomes, as well. Joe’s name was called, and to his surprise, his posse stomped the bleachers, and others followed, creating a rumble. The women continued to support him. He couldn’t help but smile. He glimpsed Stevie from the corner of his eye. Her hands were steepled beneath her chin, as if in prayer. He looked away. There was no point in speculating what her expression meant.

  The remainder of the players’ names were called. The national anthem was sung. The Rogues grabbed their gloves and took the field. Game on.

  Will Ridgeway took the mound for the Rogues. Dean Jensen was the leadoff for the Rebels. Nearly all the action during a game was centered on the pitcher for the defensive team. Will delivered speed and precision. Jensen went down on three strikes. The next two batters followed suit. The first half of the inning was over in record time.

  Rebels to the outfield. Joe and Jensen passed near third base. Jensen glared. Joe growled. They were definitely adversaries.

  The Rogues picked up an early run. Halo connected with a fastball, and landed a line drive between first and second. Landon popped a fly ball. Caught. One out. Rylan powered what should’ve been a home run over the centerfield wall. The Rebels outfielder gave speedy chase, high-jumped, and snatched his chance. Two away. Halo stole second.

  Shortstop Brody Jones batted fourth. He smacked a curveball into left field. Jensen charged the ball, but couldn’t reach it in time. Which allowed Halo to round third and head home. Safe. Score!

  Brody stretched off second, waiting on Pax to bring him in. Consistent, patient, Pax focused. Choosing his pitch. He got under the ball, it went high, fell short, right into the second baseman’s glove. Third out. Rogues again took the field. One-zero.

  Top of the second became a one-two-three inning. Will Ridgeway got all three hitters out, allowing no walks, errors, or hits. First preseason game, and Will was showing no mercy. Rogues fans went crazy.

  It was the bottom of the inning—Joe’s turn at bat. He switched his baseball cap for a batting helmet. Located his Louisville Slugger. Moved to the on-deck circle. The low chant of his name gained momentum. He was known as the “wild party” Rogue, and the bar crowd was in attendance. The chanting swelled with his practice swings, echoing as far as the parking lot. He appreciated their enthusiasm. The fans paid his salary. He owed them a hit.

  He approached home plate. He slapped the head of the bat against his heel. Dug in. Took his stance. He batted left. Jaw clenched, his shoulders hunched, he blocked out the noise of the crowd and concentrated solely on the first pitch.

  It was down and outside. He checked his swing on ball one.

  An inside fastball shot by him, called as a strike.

  He punched the next ball foul. It flew straight over the Rebels’ dugout, landing close to where Stevie was seated. She ducked low, head down, afraid of being hit. A young boy wearing a baseball glove leaned over her and snagged himself a souvenir. He held it up to applause.

  Stevie straightened. Wide-eyed. Pale. Joe hadn’t been out to hit her. But he’d inadvertently gained her attention. He took advantage of her watching him. One ball. Two strikes. His entire body tensed, released, on a slider. Hit off the end of the bat, the line drive followed the left field chalk, stayed in play.

  Jensen charged, scooped the ball. He had a powerful arm on him. He relayed the ball to first. Joe hauled ass. He was the second-fastest base runner on the team. His foot hit the bag at the exact moment the ball smacked the first baseman’s glove. Too close to call. They both looked to the umpire. Awaited the call. That single second aged him.

  “Safe!” was shouted.

  Hot damn. Sam Matthews batted next. He seldom smashed it to the wall, but he was good for a single. His single took Joe to second. Sam on first. Joe took a long lead off the base, and when catcher Hank Jacoby knocked the ball over the shortstop’s head, Joe took off for third. Jacoby landed on first. Sam on second. Bases loaded.

  His fans were behind him. His name, a mantra. He stupidly glanced over at Stevie, and found her looking his way. He was on third, and Jensen out in left field. She could’ve been eyeing either one of them. Most likely the Rebel.

  Pitcher Will Ridgeway took his bat. The two pitchers faced off. Noah Scanlon for the Rebels had a surefire fastball. He took Will to full count, three strikes and two balls. Will swung on a changeup, jammed it between first and second base.

  The third base coach sent Joe home. The Rebels’ right fielder had speed. He claimed the ball and fired it to the catcher, who blocked the plate. Joe slid low, feetfirst, a heartbeat ahead of the catch.

  Earsplitting cheers from his party posse drew his gaze. The girls were excited, happy, giving each other high fives, hugs, dancing in the aisle. Supportive. He headed to the dugout. Each base still held a runner.

  Top of the order, and Halo Todd gave him a thumbs-up from the on-deck circle. Joe received slaps on the back from his teammates. He dropped down on the bench between Pax and Landon Kane.

  Landon whistled. “Damn, dude, you’re cutting those bases close.”

  Safe by seconds. Lady Luck had kissed him on the lips. Slipped him a little tongue. He wished it had been Stevie.

  Halo soon edged home plate. The Rebels pitcher made adjustments and came at the batters full-force. Halo struck out. Landon next popped up. Ball caught. Sam was cut off and tagged while trying to steal home. Three down.

  Inning over. Rogues ahead, two-zero.

  Top of the third, the Rebels flexed muscle. They gained two runs. One off an error by shortstop Brody Jones. The second came with Dean Jensen’s home run. Over the right field wall. Halo launched himself in a rocket man attempt. Long and gone. Tied score. The next three batters went out on strikes. Joe and Jensen passed in the outfield. Glared at each other.

  Pax entered the dugout behind him. “Let’s get our lead back. No way can we lose to these guys.”

  “They’ve kicked it up. Playing decent,” noted Rylan.

  “We’re better, and we need to put them in their place,” from Sam.

  “What place might that be?” asked Ry.

  “Second to us,” said Joe.

  Agreement echoed down the bench. Triple-A was going down.

  The tension intensified with each inning. Both teams pushed hard. The Rogues ran up the score. Eight to three. It was the top of the ninth, the Rebels’ last bat, when the atmosphere in the park suddenly shifted. Anticipation electrified the air. Excitement shimmered. The vibe intensified. Fans stood, some on tiptoe, craning their necks. All staring toward the visitors’ dugout.

  Time stretched. Empty air. No batter on deck. The umpire allowed the interruption. No one understood the delay of the game. It only lengthened.

  Rylan in center field, called, motioned, to Halo in right, Joe in left, to move in. Shortening their distances off the diamond to get a better look at what was going on. They stood a few yards beyond the infield dirt.
<
br />   “Play ball!” the umpire finally directed. He positioned himself off the plate.

  A cameraman, a TV reporter, and a batter simultaneously exited the dugout. The news crew took a spot near the stands off of first base. The batter came forward, his helmet low on his head, shadowing his face. He crossed to the on-deck circle, took three practice swings of his bat, then walked the walk to home plate. Assured swagger.

  Joe squinted, taking him in. He was tall, large. His confidence tangible. Far more certain than any previous Rebel. “Who the hell?” he muttered.

  Joe caught Rylan’s grin. “No, can’t be. I don’t believe it.”

  “Believe what?” Halo shouted their way.

  “Take a good look at the hitter,” said Ry. “Remind you of anyone?”

  They watched as catcher Hank Jacoby tipped up his wire face mask, started, then took a step back, giving the player significant room to dig in. Pitcher Will Ridgeway shifted on the mound, looking oddly indecisive for a man who’d once pitched a perfect game. Only twenty-three pitchers held the honor in Major League history. A victory that lasted a minimum of nine innings and in which no opposing player reached a base. Twenty-seven up. Twenty-seven down. An incredible feat.

  Halo raised his voice. “Dude’s not wearing the Rebels uniform.”

  Rylan’s grin broadened. “That uniform is a decade old.”

  Joe counted back. “The decade when Risk Kincaid captained the Rogues to the World Series and they won.” The team had changed ownership shortly thereafter. Several of the Rogues had invested in the team, wanting to keep the squad in Richmond. Risk became the managing general partner/cochairman of the ball club. He was highly regarded, and known to be both fair and decisive. A man with vision.

  The past had come to play in the present. Joe focused on home plate. The batter rested the Louisville Slugger against his thigh. Tightened the Velcro on his gloves. Adjusted his batting helmet. His face was momentarily visible. And recognizable. Richard “Risk” Kincaid. Rogues fans went ballistic. Explosive cheers and wild clapping rocked the stadium.