Inside Heat

by Roz Lee

  Nothing changed for him at UT other than he didn’t have to sneak around anymore. He shared a dorm room, and later an apartment with Jason, and they both brought women home on a regular basis – and shared those women, more often than not. He never thought much about their sharing. He and Jason practically shared one brain sometimes, and the women didn’t seem to care which one they were with. Quite a few subscribed to the "two is better than one" theory of sexual fulfillment, which hadn’t bothered him or Jason at all. They managed to keep their sexual escapades from becoming common knowledge, and then they were drafted by the Mustangs. For years, they’d been too busy building their careers to notice the women throwing themselves at them, but in the back of their minds, they’d been looking for someone. Someone like Megan.

  Jeff tried to concentrate on the novel he picked up in the airport, but all he could think about was how quickly his life had gone down the crapper. He had the whole row, and then some, to himself on the team’s charter flight. He knew the drill. Most of the team was pissed off at him for various reasons, and the ones that weren’t were afraid his slump might be contagious. He couldn’t blame them. Lately, he didn’t even like himself.

  “Mind if I join you?” Jeff looked up from his book when Andy, the team’s assistant manager joined him. He closed the book and tucked it into the seat pocket as he told himself to relax.

  Hell, yes! “No.” If he needed confirmation he had loser’s plague, this was it. “Be my guest.”

  He had to hand it to Andy. He was professional in the way he delivered his news, looking straight ahead as if they were talking about the weather, or the movie playing on the seat back screens. “Doyle wants to see you in his office when we get back.”

  “Trading me already?” Fear gripped his stomach and twisted it into a knot.

  “Just be there. He wants to have this talk before you go home today.” Andy unfolded from the cramped seat and returned to his seat in the first class section with the management team.

  Jeff slid the book out of the seat pocket and flipped it open to a random page. He tried to focus on the words, but his mind was already in Doyle Walker’s office. Shit. Could they trade him? Would anyone want him if they tried? He wondered if it were possible to keep this meeting quiet, all the while knowing it couldn’t be done. Everyone on the plane knew he’d been summoned, and there’d already be as many guesses as to what would be said as there were players on the team.

  Jason took the seat vacated by Andy. “Got called to the principal’s office?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What did Andy say?”

  “Nothing. There’s a meeting this afternoon.”

  “Trade?”

  “How the hell would I know? I don’t think they can trade me, at least not without my permission.”

  “You gonna give ‘em permission?”

  God, he needed to move around, but he didn’t dare let his head drop back against the headrest. Even that small gesture would telegraph defeat to everyone looking at him, and they were all looking. He could feel their eyes on him, watching his body language. They’d form their opinions based on how he reacted in the next few minutes, hours, days. Any weakness on his part would only fuel the speculation. “No.”

  “Good.” One word from his brother and an invisible weight lifted off his shoulders. He almost smiled at the relief. At least someone wanted him to stay. “Because I’d have to ask to be traded too, and I don’t want to go anywhere else.”

  “No worries. Doyle probably just wants to chew my ass for a while. I can take it.”

  “I’m sure you can, bro.”

  Silence stretched between them. Jeff thumbed the pages of the book to keep his hands busy.

  “Are we alright now?” Jason asked.

  Damned if he knew, but he couldn’t say that, not when Jason was making an effort. “Yeah.”

  “Good.” Jason shifted in his seat. “That’s good.”

  “I’ve got to do this…thing when we get back…” Hell, he couldn’t even say it. He didn’t want to think about what he faced. Trade. They wouldn’t send him down to the Minor League. That would be a death knell to his career for sure, but they would trade him.

  “I’ll let Megan know you’ll be a little late.”

  Jeff nodded. For once, he was glad there wasn’t another soul in hearing distance. He didn’t want to talk about Megan at all, but stopping to call her was out of the question. “Thanks. As long as you’re there, she won’t miss me.”

  Jason ducked his head and spoke low so Jeff had to lean in to hear him over the drone of the engines. “Is that what you think? If it is, your head is further up your ass than I thought it was.”

  Jason was several rows away before Jeff composed himself enough to consider answering his brother. He thought about following Jason up the aisle and beating the shit out of him, but he was in enough trouble already. Adding a fistfight on top of everything else wouldn’t help. Besides, what was between Jason and him was family business, personal. It had nothing to do with the team, and right now, he needed to focus on his job. If he could get that right, maybe everything else would fall into place.

  * * * *

  After a week and a half, Jason didn’t have anymore of a clue what was going on in his brother’s head than he did when they’d left on the extended road trip. Phone calls to Megan told him she didn’t know anymore than he did, and her reluctance to talk about it sent his suspicions into overdrive. To make matters worse, Jeff was obsessed with Martin McCree. The Miners would be back in Dallas for the last regular season series, and Jeff was determined to get the man out.

  Jeff had only been called on to close three of the eight road games, leaving him plenty of time to obsess, and to work on his pitches. Like most pitchers, Jeff had an ego only eclipsed by a full harvest moon. If McCree won the last battle, Jason couldn’t imagine how that would affect Jeff’s confidence. It had already taken a hit, and now it looked like the team management had noticed too. If they talked about a trade, Jeff would go ballistic. Then there was Jeff’s relationship with Megan. If that went any further south, heaven help them all.

  * * * *

  Jeff left his duffel and suitcase in his locker and headed to Doyle’s office. He’d taken his time, waiting until the other players left before he made the walk every player hated. He’d never had reason to hate it before today. Doyle had brought him up from the Minor League after just a few months and put him in the bullpen as a middle reliever. He’d taken a chance on Jeff, and Jason too, and for that Jeff would always be grateful. Over the years, the three of them had become friends, but this was business, and Doyle was in the business of winning.

  Jeff knocked on the open office door and Doyle waved him in from behind his cluttered desk. As usual, everything else in the office was organized and proclaimed the winning heritage of the franchise. Photos of Doyle with every celebrity and dignitary imaginable lined the walls alongside plaques and trophies declaring one winning season after another. The only thing missing was a World Series trophy, and there wasn’t a person associated with the team who didn’t want one of those more than they wanted their next breath. Doyle would give his right arm, and divorce his wife, if that would get him one.

  “Close the door, Jeff.” Three words that more than anything else signaled this was serious business. Jeff closed the door and leaned against it, eyeing his friend across the expanse of hardwood floor and the custom-made Mustangs rug that took up most of the floor space between the door and the desk. Hell, he couldn’t even say he’d been called on the carpet.

  “You wanted to see me?”

  “Yeah. Come on in. You can relax, I’m not trading you.” The knot in his stomach unwound a little at the news, and he pushed away from the door. Doyle walked around his desk. “Let’s sit over here.” Jeff followed him to the casual grouping of sofas and chairs on the other side of the room, declining his offer of something to drink. Some of the tension in his shoulders eased. Doyle never did his dirty work wit
hout a massive chunk of carved wood between him and his victim. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  “What’s this about?” he asked as he sank into a plush armchair and crossed one ankle over his knee. Doyle folded his lanky frame onto the opposite sofa and propped his heels on the coffee table.

  “I’m worried about you. What’s going on, Jeff?”

  “Nothing is going on.”

  “Don’t lie to me. I’m not asking as your manager, I’m asking as your friend. We’ve known each other for a long time, Jeff. Every player is entitled to a slump now and then, but this isn’t like you. Talk to me.”

  Jeff revised his previous thought. This was that bad. Worse. He might be able to lie to the press, but Doyle wasn’t going to settle for his usual B.S. He never had. Jeff didn’t know what to say, hell, he didn’t understand it himself so how was he going to explain it to someone else? Instead of talking, he studied the shoe dangling over his knee. Maybe he could get Megan to find him a new pair of dress shoes. Then he remembered Megan wasn’t his anymore and he frowned at the thought. It didn’t matter. She never would have gotten the shoes for him anyway. She could be accommodating, but she drew the line at being a doormat.

  Patience wasn’t one of Doyle’s virtues. “God damn it! Tell me what the hell is going on inside that head of yours or so help me, Holder I’ll trade your sorry ass faster than you can say bite me!”

  Everything that he’d lost, and stood to lose, churned in his gut and control slipped from his grasp. “You want to know what’s going on? I’ll tell you what’s going on!” Unable to sit still any longer, he jerked to his feet and took long, angry strides across the room and back again. He faced Doyle with his feet braced shoulder-width apart and his hands fisted on his hips. “My life is hell. McCree is making a laughing stock of everyone in the league. My brother is f…” He couldn’t say it, couldn’t do that to Megan. “Jason is…Megan…” Shit. “I’m in love with Megan, and she’s in love with Jason.”

  As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wished he could take them back. He thought this was what a spent condom must feel like, limp, used-up and unwanted. Deflated, he sank back into the chair he’d vacated earlier. His head felt like a lead weight dragging his shoulders down. His elbows dug into his thighs as he sat hunched over, staring at his shoes. Christ, he was falling apart.

  “Forget about McCree for the moment,” Doyle said in his calm manager voice. “Let’s talk about Megan. She’s the woman who’s been living with you and Jason for the last year or so?”

  His head shot up and his gaze locked on Doyle. “How do you know about Megan?”

  “Do you think there isn’t anything I don’t know about your life? I know you both sleep with her, and I know you do a damned good job of keeping your private lives private.”

  “Obviously, we don’t do a good enough job. How did you find out?”

  Doyle shrugged. “I’m an observer. It’s what I do. I watch my players on the field and off. Neither one of you date. You never bring a woman to any of the team functions, and the only person who ever uses your player tickets is a woman named Megan. She’s at most home games, but she always comes alone.”

  “That doesn’t mean we’re both sleeping with the woman.”

  “No, it doesn’t, but she picked you both up once after a road trip. She was late, and everyone else was gone. Do you remember?”

  “Yeah, I remember.” They’d come home from one of the longest and most successful road trips ever. Twelve days, and twelve wins. They’d set a team record with that string of wins. Jason had added a couple of homeruns to his stats, and Jeff had six more saves. Megan had missed them, and she was more than ready to celebrate their homecoming. As a matter of fact, the celebration began on the way home. She’d driven, telling them in excruciating detail exactly what she was going to do to them, and what she wanted them to do to her when they got home. They’d done it all, and then some.

  “I’d gone to my office to get something I needed for the game the next day, and when I came out…Let’s just say her greeting was enthusiastic – for both of you. I knew then.”

  “That was what, a year ago?”

  “Something like that. So, what’s changed? If she’s been with you and Jason this long, why have her feelings changed? I don’t get it.”

  “Neither do I, and I don’t want to talk about it. It’s none of your business.”

  “If it’s fucking with your head, and your game, then it’s my business.”

  Jeff sighed and flopped back in the chair. His arms hung like limp noodles over the chair's wide arms. Doyle was right about one thing. The whole situation was fucking with his head, but it still wasn’t any of the older man’s business. He couldn’t very well tell him that, even as a friend. Doyle had all the power in their relationship, especially when Jeff wasn’t holding up his end of the business arrangement. He’d been hired to win games, and in the last few weeks, he hadn’t delivered. He had to get his head on straight, or Doyle would hand it to him on a platter, right next to his trade papers.

  “I can’t think about that now. I’ve got bigger worries.”

  “McCree?”

  “Yeah. The press is feeding on his run at the homerun record. The son-of-a-bitch is making a mockery of the game, and there isn’t a fucking thing I can do about it.”

  “How’s the curve ball coming?” Jeff raised his head from the back of the chair.

  “Is there anything you don’t know?”

  “I don’t know if you jack off right-handed or left, but I’d guess right.”

  “Shit.”

  “Forget about McCree. Sooner or later he’ll get caught, and his record won’t mean shit. We need to win games. That means beating the entire team, not just one player. We only have to face the Miners one more time in regular season. We’ll deal with McCree, even if we have to walk him every time he comes to the plate.”

  “I can’t forget about him. This is a war I’m determined to win.”

  “With that lousy curve ball? I don’t think so. Forget McCree. I’m telling you to let it go, Jeff. This is one season, and in the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t mean shit. You’d do better to concentrate on your private life. Get that in order, and things will look a lot better all the way around.”

  “I don’t see any way to get my personal life in order. I always thought Megan was mine, and Jason was the ‘extra’, if you know what I mean.” He didn’t know why he was telling Doyle any of this, but once he got started, he couldn’t seem to stop the words from pouring out like water over the spillway. “Then this thing with McCree, and I’m blowing saves, and while my game is in the toilet, Jason is having one of his best seasons ever. And, get this – she's worried about him.” He shook his head. “Fucking unbelievable.”

  “Why is she worried about Jason?”

  “How would I know?”

  Doyle reached for one of the baseballs in a bowl in the center of the coffee table and turned it over and over – a sure sign he didn’t like what he was hearing.

  “Don’t worry. She’s worried on a personal level. Not that I can see a damned thing wrong with him. His stats are the best they’ve ever been, and he has Megan. What the hell else could he want?”

  Doyle dropped the ball back onto the stack and sat back again. “So, you think Megan’s affections are tied to your game performance? You’re blowing saves, and it looks like you’re the losing horse, so she’s going to hitch her wagon to the sure thing? Is that it?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.” It did sound pretty lame when put into words. “She’s not like that, or at least I didn’t think she was.”

  “Jeff, I can’t tell you what to do, but I’d strongly advise that you talk to Megan. If this isn’t going to work out, you need to make a clean break, let her go and move on with your life.”

  “I’ll think about it, Doyle. My ass is growing moss sitting on the bench, so put me in, okay? I won’t let you down, I promise.”

  Chapter Fifte
en

  Jeff recognized the sleek red sports car waiting at the gate, and the driver. Jason. Just what he needed – another inquisition. His brother unfolded from the driver’s seat and came around the back of the car.

  “Here, let me have one of those.” Jason held out his hand and Jeff slid the strap of his duffel off his shoulder.

  “Thanks for the ride.”

  “Least I could do. I had to hitch a ride with Tanner. Megan didn’t show.”

  “Why not? She always picks us up.”

  “No clue. She wasn’t at the house, either. Maybe she had to change her shift. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Or, she was taking another step to distance herself from one or both of them. Shit. Jeff’s already lousy mood took another dive. He climbed into the passenger seat and prepared for a NASCAR experience, without the professional driver or the safety of a closed racecourse. Jason always drove like there was a checkered flag waiting for him at the end of the road. Jeff wrapped his fingers around the handgrip on one side and clutched the center console with the other. Jason peeled out of the empty parking lot in a spray of dust and gravel.

  “Slow down. The last thing I need today is to end up dead.”

  “So, how did it go?”

  Jeff cringed as Jason swerved around one car and darted between two others to make the transition from one freeway to another. “Christ, you’re a maniac. Slow the hell down!”

  “Close your eyes if you can’t take it.”

  “I’ll tell you everything if you’ll slow down. The only thing on my mind right now is getting home in one piece.”