He acted as if he were used to this type of luxury. He wasn’t. His own apartment downstairs was smaller and the view was less impressive. But he still had to pinch himself each morning he woke up staring at something other than a crack in the ceiling. It had taken years for him to get used to simple things like sheets that didn’t feel like sandpaper and the absence of roach traps.
Maisy dumped her bag and walked around the apartment in a full circle. “This just sits empty waiting for whoever needs it?”
She moved to the window and stared outside. The view was great. His favorite part of this apartment. But she wasn’t smiling. She was tapping her foot and biting her lip. “Or is it just for lucky charms?”
“Maisy, you and I both know that you have nothing to do with how Kevin plays. It’s a ridiculous theory.” On this point he was earnest.
She raised her chin. “Oh, I had everything to do with Kevin’s success. Just not the way the fans think. I was part of ‘Team Kevin’ since I was twelve years old. I probably gave him more advice in high school than his coaches. Definitely more than his mother ever did.”
Sam needed to make her understand. “The problem is that people are grasping at straws. They want Kevin to pitch like he used to. But with the exception of that game you were at, he hasn’t been in the zone in years. Tonight, when Kevin gets pulled before the sixth inning, and the team loses, you can go home and no one will bother you again.”
Maisy screwed up her face. “You’re an odd manager, to be talking that way.”
“I have a statistics analyst who keeps me up to date on all the probabilities. He’s the one who first told me about this thing with you and Kevin.”
“This thing?” She laughed. “It’s history.”
He nodded, not really believing her. Didn’t they say you never got over your first love? “Of course. I think it is safe to say, after the game, you will never have to give Kevin another thought.”
She crossed her arms, as if already regretting her decision. “I don’t think of him now.”
She was far too defensive. He needed to remind her that good things were going to come from her decision. “I’ll make sure to start the process of getting a check to your elementary school. Is there someone we should contact?”
“The principal, Dr. Harding. I’ll send her contact information to you. Wait — I don’t even have your phone number.”
He shared everything with her, thinking about the fact that, a few short weeks ago, he had wanted to get her number for another reason. Odd how that had worked out, after all. He swallowed past the sour taste in his mouth.
“The kids will really appreciate this,” she said.
“Great.” Never had he felt so rotten about giving money to kids.
An hour later, a driver dropped Sam off at the Turbos front offices. He wore his Nike shoes. He had left the laces as loose as he could manage, but he still felt a dull throbbing from his fractured toe.
Joanie checked out his running shoes, light pants, untucked button-up shirt, and blazer with interest. “I like the casual look. We should call GQ.”
Sam ignored the comment and told her to prepare the check for Maisy’s school. The task made her eyes light up. “Nice work, boss. Those kids will be very happy.”
He grunted and limped toward his office before she could ask him any more questions. He didn’t feel like sharing his run-in with a temperamental horse, his evening in Comeback, or his drive with Maisy.
Joanie called after him. “Someone’s been waiting to see you.”
Sam found a tall bearded man slumped outside his door. His head was thrown back against the wall. His eyes were closed. He was snoring.
Sam hobbled over to him and crouched down. He would take great joy in waking the sleeping giant. “Kevin!”
Kevin Halderman sat up so quickly the People magazine in his lap fell to the ground, exposing a picture of Alexa Ventura posing at the Golden Globes.
“Relaxing before the game, I see,” Sam said caustically. He was in no mood for Kevin today. Or any day, for that matter. Something about thinking of Kevin and Maisy together made him ornery. He started into his office.
Halderman followed him. “Hey, Sam. Zoom called a little while ago and told me you got Maisy to come to the game tonight.”
Sam didn’t comment.
Halderman made his way to Sam’s office every few weeks. Usually he had some inane question that could have been answered by Fuzzy or his agent…or his mother. Like, should Kevin pose for Men’s Health magazine in a suit or shirtless? Or was the latest iPhone included in his contract this month? For some reason, Kevin thought of Sam as some sort of mentor. Ridiculous.
“Is it true?” Kevin prodded.
Sam collapsed in his chair and grabbed the bottle of Whammo sitting prominently on his desk. Sam was trying to acquire a taste for the stuff. Not only had the president of Whammo liked the idea for the seventh-inning stretch commercial spot, but he liked Sam. The two had gotten along quite well, actually. Whammo was thinking about buying space on the billboard behind the right field bleachers.
“Maisy is coming to the game. She’ll be here in Zoom’s suite.” Sam took a sip of the drink and didn’t spit it out.
Halderman put his hands in his pocket and smiled. “Wow. Maisy’s back. That’s cool.”
What the hell? Besides Kevin’s simple vocabulary, which always irritated Sam, Halderman didn’t seem the least bit worried about Maisy’s pride or his current girlfriend’s feelings.
“She’s doing it for the fans.”
“And me. She always was a good sport.” Kevin rubbed his hand across his chin, not really listening. “Maybe I should shave. I didn’t have a beard back when we were together.”
Remembering her comment at Plato’s, Sam curled his lip. “Nah, she said likes the beard. But maybe a haircut. Especially the back.” Where it was thinning. Sam reached back and smoothed his own thick waves.
“Good idea. I still have time before the game. I’ll probably be interviewed on ESPN after I win.”
Sam grinned and added, “Sure, Halderman. By the way, your momma says hello.”
Kevin muttered something that sounded like “shit” on his way out the door.
Sam buried himself in his work for several hours, ignoring the restless feeling that made him want to call Maisy and make sure she hadn’t changed her mind. He didn’t. He was afraid she would hear the regret in his voice. Afraid he might tell her to forget everything and return to Comeback.
At five, Tristan stopped by his office. “Word is out that we’ve got Maisy Gray. Talk radio is all over it, and 97.1 is betting on the score differential now that Kevin’s good luck charm is going to be in the stadium.”
“That’s good…” Sam absently rubbed his throbbing temple. This spectacle couldn’t end soon enough.
“It’s not all good PR, though. Gino Lambino is doing a Rate Kevin’s Woman Contest.”
Sam’s head jerked. “What?”
Tristan’s tone was disapproving. “He’s debating the value of the girl next door or the girl in Kevin’s bed.”
Joanie made a squeaking sound and joined Tristan in the doorway. “That’s awful!”
Tristan pinched his lips and nodded. “So far Alexa is winning.”
Sam flipped the switch on the radio that sat behind his desk. “Ninety minutes to game time and we haven’t seen Maisy Gray yet. But you still have time to enter our poll. The Cute Chick or the Hot Chick?”
He pulled the radio out of the wall so hard that the cord snapped back and hit the top of his shoe.
“Goddamn it!” He let a string of expletives loose.
Tristan’s mouth hung open and Joanie’s eyes bugged out.
Sam reached in his pocket and threw Tristan the keys. “I want you to go pick up Miss Gray.”
“Me?”
�
��Yes. You!” Sam didn’t trust himself not to tell her to run. He was mad. He was regretting everything.
Joanie stepped up like a drill sergeant. “I’ll go with him.”
Sam nodded and gave them their last instructions. “No radio in the car. And whatever you do, don’t talk baseball.”
Chapter Eleven
During all the years Maisy had come to watch Kevin, she’d paid for her seat herself and she had never been given the VIP treatment. No suites. No special hats or towels. No free drinks. She’d always wondered what went on in the luxury skyboxes. Now, she watched the other guests of Charlie Zumaeta hover around the buffet holding their martinis and wineglasses and concluded…no big deal. Her old seat was closer and more fun.
Sam’s secretary, Joanie, and his data analyst, Tristan, had been extremely nice to her on the ride to the stadium. They’d asked her about teaching and the farm. They’d escorted her to a private entrance so she wouldn’t have to wait in any lines. And they were remarkably interested in Faygo colliding with Sam’s foot.
Sam met them when they arrived at the suite. Before leaving, Joanie gave his foot a long look and said, “Maybe get out of the way next time, boss.”
Maisy ignored his scowl. She was distracted by the roar of the crowd and the flashing pictures on the jumbotron. A layer of sweat was building on the back of her neck despite the air conditioning in the suite. In contrast, her mouth was dry.
Sam’s hand on her arm and a whisper in her ear brought her back. “This will be over in a few ugly innings. Try not to worry.”
“As GM, is it ethical to hope your own pitcher tanks?” Maisy mumbled to Sam.
He handed her a soda. “I like to think of this as a tactical maneuver. Sometimes you have to lose the battle to win the war.”
She pointed to his foot. “Just be careful, soldier. You’ve only got one good foot in this fight.”
A half dozen members of Zoom’s family were eyeing her with curiosity. The women wore slinky, low-cut dresses that made Maisy feel dowdy in her white cropped pants and black peasant blouse. When she had thrown the extra set of clothes in a duffel bag, she had been thinking about dinner with Heather’s mom. She hadn’t packed for baseball. She especially hadn’t packed for baseball royalty.
A woman with unusually pert breasts flicked butterfly eyelashes at Sam. Sam introduced her as Veronica Zumaeta, Zoom’s wife.
“It’s been ages since we’ve seen you, Sam.”
Tristan popped up over Sam’s shoulder. “Hi, Mrs. Zumaeta.”
“Hello, Thurston.”
“Tristan,” he corrected her.
“You sure you don’t want a real drink tonight?” she asked, leaning toward Sam.
Tristan looked hopefully at the bar. “Do they serve Chianti?”
Sam shook his head. “Coke is fine for those of us working tonight. You wouldn’t want to mix the numbers up, Tristan.”
Veronica Zumaeta laughed and wagged a finger at the bartender. “One of these days I’m going to have them sneak some rum in there, Sam. You deserve a little fun.”
Noise from the back of the suite caught everyone’s attention. A large man filled the doorway. He ignored guests who moved to shake his hand and crossed the room in two strides. “Maisy Gray, it is so nice to meet you. We are very honored to have you as our guest.”
Kevin had introduced them once, but there was no reason for Charlie Zumaeta to remember it. “How do you do, Mr. Zumaeta.”
“Zoom!” He patted her on the shoulder. “Call me Zoom, Maisy.”
He took her by the crook of the arm and dragged her to the large wall of glass that overlooked home base. A doorway to the suite’s outside balcony seats stood open. She planted her feet, refusing to go any farther. The thought of facing the crowd made the tips of her fingers numb. She gripped the soda harder, hoping she wouldn’t drop it on the wooden floor.
Bursts of applause and the stir of excitement reached the suite. It had only been a few weeks since she had made that first trip back to Turbos Stadium with her class. But it felt like years.
Zoom explained the stadium layout and the numbers on the jumbotron as if she had never seen a game before. He described warm-up and announcements and she pretended fascination as he told her all that she had known since she was a little girl. Kevin’s name was broadcast through the stadium as today’s starting pitcher, and for the first time, she considered what Kevin thought of all this. Was he as uncomfortable with the situation as she was? And what about Alexa Ventura, the other woman? Maisy took a tiny bit of evil pleasure in thinking about how uncomfortable the supermodel must be with Maisy’s sudden fame.
The national anthem was announced, and Maisy had a small reprieve. Zoom gave up coaxing her to the outdoor seats and made his way outside with his family and friends to sing the anthem with the rest of the fans.
The owner’s box was quiet for one short moment. She took a deep breath, steeling herself to face the crowd.
A tall figure fell into place beside her.
She should be angry at Sam for convincing her it would be all right to come to the stadium. None of this would have happened if he had never shown up in the paddock yesterday. But instead of feeling like her enemy, Sam felt like her ally. He was the only person in this box she really knew. The only one she trusted. He’d been nothing but honest with her from the moment he had come out to the farm. They both wanted the same thing. For the craziness to end.
She hadn’t exactly been honest with him about her feelings. She’d told him she didn’t care about baseball or the Turbos or any of this.
Lies.
The emerald outfield was perfectly groomed. The bases gleamed in the bright lights like stars. In the middle of it all, the pitcher’s mound beckoned like a throne waiting for its king. The energy that always came at the end of “The Star-Spangled Banner” could have lit up the city if it were harnessed.
She cared. Very much.
She just might burst from it all.
Sam grasped her glass. Maisy blinked.
He set the soda on the high-top table beside her.
“Shall we?” he said, waving toward the balcony where Zoom waited. She was going to have to do this, after all. Despite all the times she’d sworn she wouldn’t come back. Sam reached for her hand. The feeling slowly started to return to her fingers. They tingled with the need to grab his and hold on for dear life.
The last time she had been in this stadium she had felt unbalanced. The view of the game on the field and the sound of the crowd had reached her like a fuzzy TV signal. This was full HD.
Kevin knew she was here.
The fans would recognize her.
They all knew her story about being dumped.
She couldn’t hide beneath the brim of a John Deere cap or from the cheap seats in the upper deck.
Sam gently ushered her out the door and down the steps of the box. Zoom spotted her and made a grand gesture, as if the queen had just entered the stadium. He stepped forward and crushed her in a hug as if they were seeing each other for the first time. Then he pushed her to the front of the balcony.
From the suites nearby, a smattering of applause erupted. Then a larger cheer burst from the infield box seats. The outfield seats and the bleachers were last. Maisy felt like a jelly-filled donut winning the race on the jumbotron.
She shouldn’t feel so bitter. This was all in good fun. And not everyone knew what was going on. Many people here didn’t read the local papers or listen to sports radio or follow Turbos baseball. In fact, there were probably a lot of football and basketball fans in the stadium who had no clue who she was. Right?
Suddenly she was on the jumbotron. It was weird to see herself, bigger than life, smiling and waving to the fans. So, this was what it must feel like to be a baseball player. To be Kevin. Did he ever get used to it?
The camera shifted to
the field. She forced herself to look down. Their eyes met, and for the space of a moment, a time warp bent the air, making it feel like it had been just yesterday when they were together. Her heart had been on the mound with him back then. Every pitch he’d thrown had made her shoulder ache. Every strike had made her heart race.
Kevin removed his cap and nodded to her. He smoothed his hair and set his cap back on. Then, he turned and walked in a circle, gazing up at the sky through narrowed eyes. The first Yankee batter stepped out of the on-deck circle.
Two surprising things occurred to Maisy when she was able to breathe once again.
One, after the initial wave of memories receded, they settled back into the ocean of nostalgia and stayed there. There was nothing left.
And with that came a second surprise. She was going to be all right, after all. It helped that the man standing behind her made her feel like she wasn’t alone. Tonight was their inside joke. They knew how this was going to end.
Zoom put his arm around her and posed for a picture. She even smiled for real.
Then, Maisy did something she’d never thought she would do again. She’d thought about it as she was sitting in the apartment waiting for her ride. There was one gesture that the fans who had been following her story would understand. It was important that they have no doubts, no excuses when the game was over.
Maisy spun in a circle, popped a wad of Dubble-Bubble gum in her mouth, and saluted the pitcher’s mound. It would be the last time.
She sank into her seat.
The fans exploded.
“Nice touch,” said a deep voice behind her.
Chapter Twelve
A limousine dropped them off in the half circle of the Commodore just before midnight. They crossed the lobby, ignoring the doorman who met them at the heavy brass door with a cheerful greeting. After the silence that had dominated their journey from the stadium, Maisy’s sandals on the marble tile and the whir of the elevator were explosive.
Sam’s toe ached. It felt like it had swelled to double its size in the past few hours. He limped into the elevator and held the door for Maisy. Her stride was sluggish, her restless energy gone. No foot tapping. No knee bobbing. Nothing.
Come Back to the Ballpark, Maisy Gray Page 13
