We decided on a sinker and I centered myself before throwing a textbook sinker. I heard Mason’s bat cutting through the air as he swung and missed. He shook his head as he got into position and I knew he knew what I was doing. Jason signaled for another sinker and I nodded. Strike two.
The count was stacked in my favor, with no balls and two strikes. There was no doubt that Mason assumed I’d change it up, which was exactly why I didn’t. It was a gamble, but one desperation made worthwhile. Everything about the pitch felt perfect, right up to the point where Mason connected with it. I scrambled toward first base, ready for Keith Henderson to toss me the ball for the out. He fumbled before scooping the ball and lobbing it to me. The ball connected with my glove at the exact moment Mason’s foot crossed the plate and we both looked to the ump for the call.
“Out,” he hollered as he sliced his hands through the air.
“Getting old and slow, Atley,” I goaded him as he muttered something under his breath.
“I’ve got your old right here,” he responded, cupping his groin crudely. I shook my head as I made my way back to the mound, my spirits slightly raised.
It may not have been what Jason wanted me to do, but keeping Mason from getting on base was a turning point for me. If I didn’t let him get in my head, there was no reason to let anyone else there, either. The rest of our team worked together like a well-oiled machine to get the final two outs of the inning and we made our way back to the dugout.
I watched as Kevin Green knocked one into the bleachers to start the second inning. As much as I wanted to hate him for taking Eric’s spot on the roster, there was no denying he had one hell of a swing. We all congratulated him when he got back to the dugout and I made my way to the stairs, ready to do my part to stretch our two-run lead. To make up for my mediocre performance on the mound, I had to do something from behind the plate. Henderson ran as if he were in the Olympic trials, losing the race to first base by a split-second. Nothing was riding on my performance at the plate, other than my own desire to do something, anything, to make up for that first inning. I waited out the pitches, collecting a strike and two balls before making contact with a curveball.
As I hustled to first base, I was in shock that I’d even hit the ball. My disbelief only grew as I watched the ball sail past me into the Bulldogs’ dugout. I practically sauntered to second base, happy to be able to sit back and relax a bit before being forced to do a damn thing. It wasn’t pretty, and it wasn’t a run, but I was in a good position.
“You got lucky,” Mason grumbled as I stretched my legs a bit.
“I think Colfax knew how much you wanted to see me and this was his way of giving us some time,” I quipped, rubbing a bit of salt in the wound over the fact that Chicago was having a worse game than we were. Townsend slapped Sully on the back before jogging back to the mound.
“Yeah, that’s it. He’s good that way.” He turned his attention back to the game as Jason walked up to the plate. The third base coach shot me a disapproving look and I shrugged. We might be on opposite sides today, but that wasn’t going to stop me from talking smack with a friend.
I’d like to say we turned the game around and had the defense to keep the Bulldogs from scoring, but that’d be a lie. The second through fifth innings weren’t much better than the first, and Stu pulled me from the game with one out in the sixth. Our saving grace was that the Bulldogs continued to struggle as well. We held onto our lead, winning by one run. I was credited with the win, but I wasn’t sure I deserved it after my lackluster performance.
The mood in the locker room was somber following the game. No one celebrated, other than to quickly congratulate the guys who helped us earn the win as they headed to the showers. We kept waiting for Stu Ackerman to come storming in to scream at us, but it seemed he was sympathetic to the fact that Eric’s sudden departure had thrown nearly every player out of his typical routine. Whether they’d admit it or not, every man had his own pre-game ritual, and his play suffered when it was disrupted.
It was shortly after five in the afternoon and the next game wasn’t until the following evening, which meant most of the guys planned to hit the hotel bar or nearby clubs for drinks and debauchery. If nothing else, copious amounts of tequila would help them forget today’s disastrous outing. Jason invited me to go for drinks with the older, mostly married players and I turned him down the same as I did every other night. It was yet another reminder that Eric was already on a plane headed west.
Not in the mood to party, I pulled my cell phone out of my duffel and tried calling Mason. A low-key night at his condo with a six pack and a pie sounded perfect. The call went straight to voicemail, which meant it was still turned off from before the game. I followed the rest of the guys out to the bus back to our hotel, even though I knew exactly where I’d find Mason and I could grab a ride with him. After a day like today, it was best not to piss off Stu.
Chapter 2
I fucking hated days like today. There was no reason for our shitty showing, other than the fact that our team was so green it surprised me we didn’t lose anyone in the meticulously groomed outfield. After Ray gave us a thorough dressing down, most of the guys cleared out as soon as they showered and changed into street clothes. Not me. I needed to ground myself, to get back in harmony with the park. No one understood why I did half the shit I did, but they didn’t give me a hard time about it, because it worked for me.
I snuck into the dugout after everyone had left and watched the grounds crew raking the sand. Watching them drag their rakes along the baselines reminded me of the small Zen garden my mother built in our backyard when I was a kid. She’d sit out there for an hour every day, working until the lines were perfectly straight. “Mason, someday you’ll understand the peace to be found in the simple things,” she’d tell me when I gave her a hard time about it. Now, I got it. I understood what she meant because all of the tension seeped out of my body as I watched them work. When I closed my eyes, the soft scraping of metal across sand steadied me.
As the last groundskeeper finished for the night, he looked to the dugout and gave me a quick wave. I’d much prefer they not know to look for me, but such is life when you’re struggling to get through the season. I was far from the only problem child on our team, but my problem wasn’t talent, it was that my head wasn’t in the game. My life was unrecognizable compared to last winter, and I was getting tired of trying to juggle my personal issues with my job. Teresa seemed content to make my life as miserable as possible right up until the minute she signed the divorce papers.
When I was younger, I had this delusional idea that I’d have it all by the time I reached thirty: the wife, a house, a career they’d be talking about for decades to come, and maybe even a kid or two running around in the backyard. Now, a few months shy of that benchmark, I had nothing I dreamed of. Instead, I had a soon-to-be ex-wife, a rented condo in the city, a career that seemed to be fraying by the day, and wasn’t sure I’d ever have a little boy to teach how to throw a ball. It was unsettling, to say the very least.
I stood from the bench and leaned on the railing, looking out over the silent stadium. The sun dropped behind the outfield wall, signaling that it was time for me to pack it up and head home. To my empty condo. I’d get a dog, but then I’d have to hire someone to keep an eye on the damn thing when we were on the road. The more I dwelled on it, the more miserable my life seemed.
I waited until I was in my Jeep before turning on my cell phone. It was a habit, more than anything else, to not have the distraction when there might be some kid straggling behind to get me to sign something for him. I remembered all too well what it was like to be young and have the men I idolized blow off the kids at the fence. I promised myself long ago that I’d never be that guy. There was a text message waiting from Sean with nothing more than a room number. It was a call for help, and I turned the opposite direction from home as I left the parking lot. I figured both of us needed a night to forget about the stinker of
a game we’d just played. Seriously, there were rec leagues out there that could’ve have whooped either of our teams.
A few of Sean’s teammates waved to me as I made my way through the lobby of the Westin and I returned the gesture. The groupies were already circling like sharks around chum and I chuckled, glad that wasn’t me tonight. I used to be the guy who’d gladly take a girl to his room for the night, but the luster of that wore off before I’d even met Teresa.
It was a shitty thing even to think, but I should have never asked her to marry me. There was a time when she and I got along. Hell, she was one of my best friends for a time, but it was never the type of relationship that led to happily ever after. Before her own career took off, she was always there for me. I married her because it was what I felt as though I owed her for putting up with my tantrums after bad outings, the stresses of extended road trips, and all of my eccentricities, as she referred to them.
“Excuse me, sir.” I looked up to see a bulky security guard blocking me from pressing the elevator call button. “Are you a guest at the hotel?”
“No, I’m here to see a friend,” I told him. He crossed his arms over his puffed-out chest, as if daring me to try to go around him. If I hadn’t been so busy wallowing, I would have asked Sean to meet me down here. It was standard procedure for hotels to tighten their security when a team was in the building. We brought in enough money between three-hundred dollar a night rooms and bar tabs that they didn’t want to risk us going elsewhere.
“He’s good, Paul.” I turned to see Jason Klein standing behind me, smirking. “Hey Mason, glad you came down. Our boy’s in pretty rough shape up there. I tried getting him to come down for a drink, but he’s taking Eric’s trade pretty hard.”
Shit. That explained a lot. Sean had tried telling me repeatedly that what they shared was no different from our friendship, but I wasn’t stupid. There was something about the subtle glances when they didn’t think anyone was looking and the way Eric’s hand dropped slowly when he’d smack Sean’s ass on the way back to the dugout. I didn’t think it was enough for anyone else to notice, but the signs were there if you knew what to look for.
Rumors had been circulating for a few weeks that the Mavericks wanted to trade Eric to the Seattle Wildcats, but there had been no announcement as of this morning when I shut down my phone. Had I known, I would have gotten in touch with Sean before the game to set up something for tonight.
“He’ll be fine,” I assured Jason. One of the first facts I learned about Sean was that he never allowed his personal life to affect the game. It might trip him up momentarily, but he’d always bounce back, more determined than ever. “When was the trade announced?”
“Not even two hours before game time. When I got to the locker room, Eric had finished packing his gear and was walking out the door. He barely had enough time to take a cab back to the hotel, grab his suitcase, and get to the airport.”
Seeing that I wasn’t a psychotic fan or a reporter looking for salacious gossip, Paul pressed the call button and gave me a quick apology. It was apparent that this was his job whenever teams were staying at the hotel, and he knew when to back down. I appreciated his vigilance, even if it was a bit inconvenient.
“I’m going to see if he wants to go back to my place. He’s done for a few days, and the last thing he needs is to sit in that room all night dwelling on shit.” I didn’t know why I was telling Jason this, but it seemed like a good idea to make sure someone knew where he’d be tonight.
“Sounds good. Do something mindless to help him get out of the funk before his next start.” Jason and I shook hands as the elevator door opened and I played Candy Crush on my phone as the elevator climbed to the tenth floor. They should call that game Candy Crack because it was addictive as hell. Most of the time, it was exactly what I needed to clear my head, but it did nothing to help the images of Eric and Sean together.
You have no proof of anything, I chided myself. I swore this had to be the world’s slowest elevator. I’d nearly convinced myself I’d be trapped in a broken elevator when the doors opened.
Sean was waiting at the end of the hall for me when I stepped off the elevator. It didn’t shock me that Jason had given him a heads-up, and I was grateful he had good guys looking out for him. He turned to face me and I saw how much of a toll today had taken on him. Even from a distance, I saw the dark circles under his eyes and there was tension radiating from his body.
“Hey, bud, you look like hell,” I criticized as we did that whole man-hug, back slapping thing. I followed him into his room. It was painful watching him wander aimlessly around the small space, pacing as though he had no clue what he was supposed to do. I reached out to him, curling my fingers around his wrist to stop him before he drove both of us crazy.
“Thanks. I don’t know if you heard, but it’s been a pretty shitty day.” His gaze shifted to the still made bed near the window, pristine except where someone sat on the edge of the mattress.
“I might have heard that,” I teased, trying to lighten the mood. “Which is why we’re going to get the hell out of here, pick up a pizza on the way home and kill some shit on the Xbox tonight. Sound like a plan?”
Sean looked up and gave me a tight smile. “Yeah, sounds like just what I need. Give me a few minutes to grab some clothes and then we’ll head out.”
An hour later, I unlocked my front door and ushered Sean inside. He let out a low whistle as he took in my new place. “This is a far cry from the old place,” he observed.
He was right. Teresa picked out and decorated the house we shared. If not for my Xbox and a few pictures hanging on the wall, no one would have known that I had lived there at all. When I signed the lease on this place, I called my mom and handed over my credit card. She had a blast ordering furniture and picking out accessories while I was in Florida for spring training.
Had I been left to my own devices, I likely would have jumped on the freeway and spent an afternoon in Ikea. The following week, I’d have stared at boxes strewn all over the place while cursing Teresa for being stupid enough to get caught cheating on me. It wasn’t the first time she’d slept around, but once pictures began to circulate, I had to do something. If I’d stayed with her, it would have led to more speculation about our marriage, and neither of us needed that. No matter what she might have done, I knew that the assholes who worked for the rags wouldn’t stop hunting until they found a good story, and the only skeleton in my closet was a doozy.
“Good or bad different?” I asked, looking at the rich wood trim and warm color of the walls.
“Definitely good.” Sean flopped onto the microfiber sofa and reached for the remote while I dished out pizza and grabbed two bottles of beer out of the fridge.
It dawned on me as I nudged him to move over and make room for me that this was the first time I’d had anyone over to my place, other than my parents. They were here frequently when we were playing in town because it was too far to drive back and forth to my hometown and they didn’t like missing my games. I might be almost thirty, but my parents still acted as if I were a pre-teen playing on the traveling league.
They would have been here tonight, except one of my dad’s friends came in from out of town and had a big announcement to make over dinner. It was amusing to hear my mom freaking about the fact they were going to miss one of my games. She seemed to calm down once I reminded her that it was early in the season and there would be plenty of time to make it up to me.
We settled back into the couch, both of us with our feet on the coffee table. We watched some corny sitcom in syndication as we shoveled food into our mouths as fast as possible. I’d regret binging on pizza tomorrow, but for tonight, I didn’t care. Beer and pizza were exactly what we needed after today.
“It looks like you’re getting used to the single life again,” Sean muttered around a mouthful of pizza.
“Not much to get used to, really,” I admitted with a shrug. “We’d spent so long trying to avoid one a
nother that the divorce is nothing more than a technicality.”
“You’d have saved yourself a lot of money if you’d listened to us,” Sean chided me as he reached for another slice. “We all told you the Ice Queen wasn’t right for you, but you decided you were going to prove us all wrong.”
“Did not,” I protested. “When I asked her to marry me, I loved her. She was the one person who’d put up with my bullshit and not complain too much about me being gone half the time. It took me a while to see her true colors, and by then it was too late.”
“We all told you Teresa was a bitch, but I truly believe that you loved her. Hell, I wouldn’t blame you if part of you still does love her. It’s not like that’s the type of thing you can turn on and off like a light switch.” I’d never known Sean to have anyone in his life for more than a night or two, yet he spoke as if he’d experienced that type of loss. The way he stared blankly at the television rather than make eye contact with me made me wonder if he’d felt that for Eric. I didn’t want even to think about that.
“But if I’d listened to everyone when they told me how vile she was, maybe I wouldn’t have married her and we wouldn’t be here now.” I didn’t want to talk about this. It was the first time I’d spent any quality time with Sean since before the start of spring training, and I’d rather kick back and relax than talk about my divorce.
“Nah, I think you still would have done it. I really do wonder if you married her partly because everyone told you not to.” I glared at him, trying to come up with a witty retort, but my mind drew a blank. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. Anyone who’s spent fifteen minutes with you knows that you’re about as bull-headed as they come. When someone tells you that you shouldn’t do something, you have a tendency to think it’s your job to prove them wrong.”
“I do not,” I quipped, starting to sound like a broken record. I didn’t think I was all that bad.
“Whatever, this is me you’re talking to. Remember that time Rodriguez swore there was no way you could match him shot for shot?” That night wasn’t one of my finest moments, but I was young and stupid. If it hadn’t been for Sean and our other roommate at the time, I would have wound up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning. They stayed by me all night, forcing me to drink so much Gatorade I thought I’d pee blue for a week. Unfortunately, puking most of the night and trying to rehydrate wasn’t enough to keep me from hurling one final time all over Coach’s feet after he forced me to run sprints. I’m convinced the asshole knew how hungover I was and was trying to teach me a lesson. He probably was.
Wild Pitch Page 2
