by Elley Arden
“Wine?” he asked, and she nodded, turning his words over in her head. Then he smiled at her, and all the words fled — they weren’t needed. He reached across the table and took her hand, squeezing it lightly.
“Call it silly, but I’ve been waiting all week for this. Not the wins, not the chance to go to the Series — just this.”
When she didn’t answer, he raised an eyebrow. “You don’t believe me?”
“I believe you, but I don’t understand you. And I really don’t trust you — well, not you, specifically. But — ”
“Ballplayers?” He nodded at the waiter holding a wine out for his approval and then looked across at her. “Ready to order? Then we can send all these nice folks packing.”
“Go ahead,” she concurred. “As long as it’s not fish.”
He ordered plates of fajita with choriqueso as an appetizer, and slumped a little in his chair once they were alone.
“So, what’s the deal with us, Mandy?” he asked, straightening and leaning forward to run gentle fingers over her cheek, the touch burning her skin and igniting flames she’d so carefully kept tamped down. For a few brief seconds she pressed his hand to her cheek, not wanting him to pull away, but then common sense kicked in, and she let go and eased away.
“Someone might see.”
He laughed. “Aren’t we supposed to be seen?”
“Coming and going,” she reminded him primly. “Not doing … anything else.”
“That sounds almost promising.”
Their waiter set a bubbling platter of cheese cooked with Mexican sausage in front of them, along with more baskets of fresh tortilla chips.
She spooned some of the choriqueso onto a plate, and then scraped some of the gooey appetizer onto Josh’s dish.
“So, seriously, Mandy. I want to know what I’m up against.” He dipped a chip in the cheese then held it out for her. It was a strangely intimate gesture. She felt silly but ate it anyway.
“I know your dad cheated, and Skypes was an asshole to your sister, but is that it? I feel like there’s something more to the story here.”
Mandy took a large gulp of wine then twisted the goblet in circles. She couldn’t meet his eyes, just started talking while her gaze fixated on the red liquid swirling and sparkling.
“We went out to dinner,” she added, her voice becoming toneless. “Dad, Mom, Shelley and me. For my birthday.” She took a deep breath. “A woman walked up to our table with a little boy.” A tear trickled down. “My father’s little boy. It was his birthday, too. She said he’d just turned four.”
“Wow,” he said softly. “That must have been awful.”
The scene at the restaurant — cursing, screaming, her mother had been taken out by police, though they wound up not bringing charges — he didn’t have to know all that.
“The next day, Shelley and her boyfriend confronted my father about his hypocrisy and lying. They left, and he had a stroke. Apparently he’d known he was at risk for one, but we didn’t. You know the rest. After awhile we didn’t even talk about it anymore. Losing her was the worst thing baseball ever did to me.”
She picked up her napkin, dried the tears off her cheeks and took a deep breath. “Dad used to talk about other players cheating. He always swore he was different. Then, when a child of his turned up, you should have heard him! Excuse after excuse! ‘Everyone did it. He’d been trapped. It was the loneliness of the game, the opportunity to screw around.’ Every good thing I’d ever believed about baseball players went down the toilet in a few hours.”
She fought back more tears. “I’m not a fun date, am I?” She tried a smile but knew it was pretty feeble.
“Thanks for telling me,” he said gently. He stood suddenly and moved his chair next to hers, sitting and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “But the one thing I want you to remember, Mandy, is that not all of us are like that. I’m not like that.”
The obvious argument was that neither had her father been like that for years, or at least no one had known he was. But she didn’t want to make that argument. Instead, she let her head fall against his arm. Just for a minute.
The waiter came in with sizzling plates, which he set down carefully.
“Are you still up to attracting attention?” Josh asked, his breath mussing her hair a little. She nodded, enjoying the feel of his face pressed against the top of her head.
“Sure.”
He called the waiter over and asked him to box it.
Mandy pushed away a little and looked up, surprised. “Which attracts attention, because?”
“We’ll be taking our food and leaving for a wild night in bed.”
Mandy flushed, either with heat or fury, and Josh laughed. “Priceless,” he said. “I thought we could eat at my place. Let them imagine what our other plans are.”
They left to stares and murmurs and warm wishes for the rest of the season. A waiter insisted on walking out with them, carrying the bags. Had there been that much food? Maybe he’d ordered extras to get him through what would probably be a tough week.
On the way to his house, Mandy leaned back in the plush upholstery of his SUV and refused to think, worry, hope — she just concentrated on going along for the ride.
“I have a confession to make.”
Mandy froze, bracing herself. Just when she’d started to believe him, to think he really could be different.
“I talked to your mother yesterday” he said suddenly.
Her breath rushed out in relief, then confusion took hold. She turned to him. “My mother? Why?”
“The situation with your father; I figured it was difficult. I just wanted her to understand what was going on — our plan to help the store — to be sure she was okay with it.”
Mandy flushed. She hadn’t planned on telling her mother just in case something fell through. She didn’t want it to be a big thing, though, and her mother would have known in the long run. “Okay.”
“She told me that your birthday was coming up,” he added.
“Tomorrow,” she admitted. “We don’t celebrate it, though, ever since … ”
“You should have a birthday, but I’ll be in and out tomorrow. So … ” he smiled, his face hopeful. “I’m giving you your gift tonight, Mandy.”
“You didn’t need — ”
“Don’t argue. I invited your mom, anyway. The cake should have been delivered already.”
Edna waved them through the gate, and he parked in front of his house.
“Think your mom will like me?” he asked, and actually looked a little nervous.
“Too much, probably,” Mandy muttered. “You’re not playing fair, Josh. How can I refuse to date you when I’m having my first birthday celebration in seven years?”
He just shot her a cryptic smile and walked around to open her door, helping her slide down out of the seat. The wine and the emotion hit, and as she slid, she wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his lips.
For a moment he clasped her close, and she could feel his hardness, his desire, but after a long, needy kiss, he eased her away and reached for the food.
“Behave, Mandy,” he ordered, “your mom’s inside. And your presents are there. Besides — this is our first date.” He winked as he said it, though.
They went up the stairs together, but Mandy hesitated with her hand on the knob. How could she face her mom? They’d never discussed not celebrating her birthday, but they’d just both stopped, finding no joy in remembering.
“Go on,” Josh urged, and she opened the door and stepped in.
Her mother was on the couch, and when she saw Mandy, she rushed across the room and hugged her, tears streaming down her face so copiously that Mandy pulled back, terrified. “Mom? What’s wrong?”
And then someone emerged from the shadowed hallway, and Mandy’s heart thudded painfully. “Shelley?” she whispered, and her knees went weak.
Josh caught her arm, steadying her. Her heart skipped another beat. Behin
d her sister, a little girl peeked out, wide-eyed and alarmed.
“Happy birthday, Mandy,” Shelley whispered, and then Josh and her mother were gone, taking the little girl with them, and Shelley and Mandy were wrapped in each others’ arms, hugging until their legs went limp, and they collapsed together on the floor.
• • •
Pandemonium. Mandy knew the word, but she experienced the full meaning of its craziness only when she, Shelley, and her niece, Amanda Clare, were escorted into their section of seats by a smiling Scorpions’s usher.
“I’m surprised Mom didn’t come,” she shouted to Shelley, unable to speak normally over the excited uproar around her.
Shelley didn’t answer, just shaking her head a little and clutching her daughter closer as throngs of fans rushed by in search of refreshments.
“Y’all are sitting here,” Rachel called, indicating four empty seats. “It was so cool that you closed the store so we could be here.”
Exchanging greetings with the employees around them, the sisters sank into their seats, protectively putting Amanda between them.
“We cut it close,” Mandy noted. “You and your makeup!”
Shelley laughed. “Making up for lost time! Besides, you look great, and we’re here now!”
Mandy looked out at the field. The players were lining up along the base lines, waiting to be introduced. This might be only a regular season-ending game on paper, but for the Scorpions, it might have been game seven in their first World Series. From snatches of conversation with Josh and the local news reports, the team was pulling the stops out and giving everyone an afternoon full of festivities.
She spotted Josh among the players and felt her breath catch in her throat. He’d kept his word, popping in and out of Dad Warner’s and showing up at her house once or twice to visit, playing with Amanda Clare, listening to Shelley as she struggled to rejoin the family she’d left, even coaxing her father to sit up a little and talk about baseball. And life.
The announcer began his spiel, welcoming the fans and making the stakes clear. The second-year Scorpions could go home for the season in second place — or they could be the National League champs. Her stomach clenched with nerves, wanting a win for the team, but mostly wanting it for Josh. He’d given her hope again, a sister, a niece — a family.
Tears stung, but she blinked them away.
“And so,” the announcer went on, “we’re starting a tradition here, honoring players important to the game, because they’re the reason we’re here, those larger-than-life heroes who keep baseball relevant and exciting for each new generation of players. Eventually, our own players will be here, being honored, but this afternoon we’re going to recognize a catcher who spent his life giving to others: MVP for the Braves twice, a multiple Golden Glove catcher, annual appearances in the All-Star Game, and a leader who earned the name ‘Dad’ to dozens of players — ”
Mandy straightened, looked out at the field in disbelief.
“Ladies and gentlemen, help me welcome Ed ‘Dad’ Warner as our first Scorpion ‘Legend of the League’ recipient!”
And there, scooting out on the field, surrounded by a small group that included her mother, Hank, and a number of Scorpions’ front office people, was her dad.
“Oh, my God,” Shelley said softly, and even through the thunderous applause, Mandy heard her.
The procession stopped near the pitcher’s mound, where the team owner and the Scorpions presented her father with a gleaming trophy. He held it for a moment then turned it over to his wife. The crowd went wild, and all around the stadium, fans were rising as one to their feet in acknowledgement.
And then, slowly, one hand pushing against Hank’s shoulder, the other grasping his wife’s arm, Ed Warner forced himself to stand up. Legs shaking, he took a half step away from his chair, and lifted his cap in a brief, triumphant salute to the crowd.
Tears washed down her face, and Shelley reached across her daughter, her hand clutching Mandy’s arm so hard it hurt.
“Now we can go on,” she whispered, grinning through her own tears.
Mandy nodded, unable to speak. They could.
Mandy glanced at the clock; it was almost 10 P.M. She’d left the stadium three hours ago, after participating in the wild celebration when the Scorpions clinched home field advantage and became the National League champs. They’d simply wiped out the competition, batting around in two innings and bringing the already buoyant crowd to its feet every few minutes with a sparkling play or a perfectly placed hit. Mandy didn’t think the game would matter much after her father’s emotional introduction, but she outscreamed everyone in the park except Shelley and Amanda Clare. She still couldn’t quit smiling or fight the anticipation bubbling through her.
She heard Josh come in whistling and went out to meet him.
“Congratulations, Mr. MVP,” she greeted him, kissing him. He wrapped her in his arms and held her close, his lips lingering on hers, his tongue teasing while his hands caressed her back. After a minute, though, he stepped back and sniffed.
“Spaghetti again?” he asked, walking into the kitchen.
“I … I really don’t cook a lot, she admitted. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all. You’re off?”
“With Shelley back, I don’t have to go back to the store for a while. I probably will, but — ”
“Not now. So, are you ready to give me an answer?”
“About?”
“Dating a player. This player.”
Mandy shot him a startled look. “We’ve seen each other almost every day since you brought Shelley home for my birthday. I’ve been cooking for you — spaghetti — every time you tell me you’ll eat here. Doesn’t that count as dating?”
“Mandy, did Shelley tell you why she couldn’t come home before?”
She didn’t want to give Shelley’s answer, but she knew he’d tell her if she didn’t say the words. “Pride,” she said. “And fear.”
He put his hands on her shoulders. “Pride and fear. She thought you’d blame her for your father’s illness. She hated the way Skypes dumped her. She was afraid you wouldn’t accept her little girl. Pride and fear — and she lived hand to mouth without anything but pride and fear and a little girl’s love. Mandy, give yourself more than that.”
“Josh, I don’t think we should rush this.” She reached up and touched his cheek. “The last few days have been everything I thought I could never have. It scares me. You scare me.”
“I scare you?”
She could hear the teasing tone in his question, but he needed to understand. “You’re more than I could bear to lose, Josh. And we really haven’t spent much time together — ”
“Okay, so we date. Keep dating,” he corrected. “But not for too long, Mandy. Because I want it all. I want you. I want a chance at forever with you.”
She stared at him, words clogging her throat but unable to voice her lingering fears. Or her hopes.
“Every game I play, I play to win,” he said softly, holding her gently against the counter, cutting off escape. “And every game, I play from the heart. I love baseball, and I know I might not win — but I know the games only matter when I step out on that field, Mandy. Love’s like that, sweetheart — if you’re not on the field, you don’t even have a chance at winning.” He stared into her face, his emotions unmasked. “Give us that chance, Mandy.”
Did he know how openly his intense gaze challenged her, comforted her, embraced her? She suddenly knew they could win. She wrapped her arms around him and urged him close, until there was no space between them for fear or pride.
“Play ball,” she whispered.
About the Author
Mention writing to most first grade students — or teachers — and everyone runs from the room, screaming or crying, respectively. I, however, love the challenge of convincing the technology kids of today that words create everything they use, everything they enjoy. Yes, even those horrible cartoons and video games tha
t are so foreign to me now. And the songs.
I, myself, was a published writer in first grade, first by the school principal, then by a novel but short-lived magazine written entirely by kids. I still remember the title: Kids. Paid me $1.50 for the last rhyming poem I ever wrote. “Dolphins are nice though they don’t like ice” something something.
Luckily, my poetry no longer rhymes, and my stories strive to portray the mishmash of cultures, events, characters, and times that are our lives — all our lives, even if not everyone had a lion or a roadside amusement park or hid in an arroyo on their wedding day.
There’s a circuitous route through most of our lives, and the publishing company that helped me learn to submit work for publication through their magazines and annual Writers Market, F&W Media, is now publishing my debut novel with Crimson Romance.
A lifetime of words away from first grade, but hopefully, you’ll enjoy my words. I love hearing from readers, and hope you’ll visit me one of these days.
Because words still have power, and always will.
Want more Leslie P. Garcia? Be sure to check the end of this book for a sneak peek from another Crimson Romance by this author!
That Ol’ Team Spirit
Bea Moon
Avon, Massachusetts
To Alice, Diane, and Michael for your input and support, and to Tara Gelsomino for her sharp editorial eye and her keen story sense, both of which were beyond helpful.
Chapter One
Trish Noonan looked at the scoreboard and cursed. The concession stand she ran with her grandmother was always busy when the Sharks played on Saturday, and she was ready to call it a day. The score was now tied at the end of the ninth inning, and the teams were warming up for the start of the tenth inning. If she didn’t leave right now, the postgame traffic would turn her twenty-minute drive home into an hour-long nightmare.
