Star-Crossed in the Outfield (All About the Diamond #4)

by Naomi Springthorp

  “No, I’m just tired. I think I overdid it today.”

  I’m glad I came to the kitchen when I did, Sherry loves time in the kitchen and is apparently still learning her limits. She doesn’t act like a pregnant woman, but maybe she should. “Let me help you get to bed.” I walk toward her and she gestures for me to get her a chair. I slide a chair over to her and leave her sitting in the chair, with her head leaning against the wall. “I’ll be right back.” I run outside to find Seno before she can tell me not to. That woman is headstrong and wouldn’t want to be a bother. Seno sees me walk out of the house and notices the look of urgency on my face. He’s running to the kitchen before I can say any words. “I walked into the kitchen and she was leaning on the wall. She wouldn’t let me help her get to bed, so I got her a chair and was going to get you,” I fill him in as he goes to Sherry.

  He looks at her and picks her up, carrying her off to bed, “It’s okay, my queen, I’ve got you. I shouldn’t have let you do so much today. You’re fine. You just need some rest.” I watch as they disappear into the bedroom, wondering which of them he’s trying to comfort. “Thanks, Cross.” I need to take over the party and I need to get to know Syl, not just fuck her.

  I walk into the family room and Syl’s gone. I should let it go and be done with it, but I can’t.

  Text to Syl - Hey… where’d you go?

  Text from Syl - Getting a beer. Out by the pool.

  I walk out and join her, but I’m done drinking for the night. I need to be the responsible one. We talk and I give her a goodnight kiss, not anywhere kinky.

  Chapter Four

  Chase

  I wake up the next morning and wander out to take a swim before packing up my stuff for the drive back to San Diego. My head is clear, I’m not hungover, and I don’t have any regrets about last night. I’m looking forward to getting home to my little bungalow by the beach and hitting the waves with my surfboard. It’s early for me, so I do a double take when Seno’s sister, Sam, is in the kitchen. “Hey, Sam, what’s up?”

  “Just here to help. Rick wanted me to come help them for a couple days, get them back home, keep Sherry from doing too much. Duties of the older sister,” she smiles.

  “Give me a few minutes and I’ll help you get them packed up to go.” I swim some laps, thinking about what I need to get done today and know I’ll be on the waves tomorrow morning. I wish I could find out who the Seal Girl was, and I’ll probably never know.

  After my swim I find Sam texting and laughing, she left me with instructions to pack up the food into the ice chest and left to take care of an errand. I’m left to my own thoughts and I’m not sure that’s good. I think about the seal and when I think about the girl who wore the costume, I envision the seal and not her. Maybe I’m losing it. Maybe Sherry was right and I like the soft plush costume. I’m a sick puppy. I need to get home and everything will make more sense.

  It’s a five-hour drive to get home. I get my stuff loaded into my pick-up and stop at the stadium on my way out of town to clear out my locker. I have mail waiting for me, so I grab it and take it with me to deal with later. I hit the road and turn up my radio for the drive across the Arizona desert to San Diego. I listen to the new wave station on the satellite radio on my drive, I love that old British DJ dude and all the new wave music. I’m a bit eclectic, I like new wave and surfer music and a little punk, as well as current top forty and oldies. He was playing a set of Depeche Mode and talking about an upcoming tour as he played “Blasphemous Rumors,” “People Are People,” “Strangelove,” and “Just Can’t Get Enough.” I needed something with more for driving, so I switch over to listen to The Wrecks on repeat for most of the drive home. Still, I find myself looking at the cars I pass and searching for the girl from the seal costume, hoping maybe she’s going back to San Diego, too.

  When I finally get to San Diego, I pick up my favorite pizza from Little Italy on my way home and sit on my patio eating the whole thing while I watch the waves roll into the shore. It’s nice to be home. I’m tempted to hit the ocean and forget about unpacking, but the season is starting in a few days and I won’t have any extra time. There’s laundry to be done, or at least dropped off at the fluff and fold. Either that, or I really need to hire a maid that does that stuff for me. It would be nice to have fresh sheets more often and clean towels all the time. My patio is the reason I bought this tiny bungalow. It’s a huge concrete slab that drops off into the sand and it’s fenced with a worn out wood picket fence that’s about three feet tall with huge gaps between the slats. It doesn’t keep anything in, or anything out for that matter. You can step right over it and see right through it. But, it does have a gate that works and leads you to the white warm sand of Ocean Beach, and the Pacific Ocean just steps away. The bungalow itself is small. The realtor called it a two bedroom, but it’s more like a master suite and a small office, den or maybe a large closet. It doesn’t matter. It works for me. There’s only one of me and I don’t take much room. Yep, I have 800 square feet of living space with unlimited beachfront. It’s a good thing the flat screen is mounted on the wall because there isn’t even enough room for an entertainment center and a sofa in the living room. Then again, that’s based on my standards and everybody doesn’t require a sofa to be long enough for me to stretch out my 6’4” frame on for naps. My bedroom is a good size, I painted it myself and put in new bamboo flooring. It’s exactly what I wanted with dark brown and teal throughout the room, on the bed, and covering the windows. It’s my personal space and I’ve never brought a chick back to my place. It’s rare I bring the guys over. Usually, I’m picking them up because they’re on my way since I live farthest this direction from the stadium. Can’t get any farther than the ocean. I get my things unloaded and put away. I end up sitting on the beach, letting the water come up to meet my toes.

  Text to Sam - I’m home. Did you get the Senos home? Do you need help with anything?

  Text from Sam - We just parked. Everything is fine. Thanks for the offer. Kris is already on his way.

  Text to Sam - Cool. Let me know if you need me.

  Interesting, I’m Seno’s buddy. But, I guess this is Sam’s show and she’s always gotten along better with Martin. Sam thinks I’m a kid and, honestly, she’s probably right.

  When I finally go in for the night, I open the mail from my spring training locker. Mostly, it’s fan mail, autograph requests, photos that fans have taken of me and letters from younger guys telling me how they want to be like me when they grow up, asking for advice and I think I’ll always find that weird. I don’t think of myself as a role model. Then I find the pink envelope that just has my name written on the outside and I open it to find a letter that’s handwritten on matching pink paper.

  Chase,

  I didn’t mean for it to end this way. I left because I didn’t want to be just another baseball slut. I thought I was going to see you again, but I have to leave before spring training is over for a job opportunity. Probably better this way anyway. We didn’t exchange numbers or anything. It would have just been sex and I’m being a dumb girl if I think anything different. Better that we didn’t. No regrets.

  Good luck this season.

  The Seal

  It even smells like her. I still don’t know her name. I still don’t have her number. I look to see if there’s anything giving me a way to respond to her or contact her, but there isn’t and I’m sure that was intentional. I need to get over it. Maybe I need a seal costume for my own personal use. What am I supposed to say? It’s either her or the costume and I can’t have her.

  I enjoy the few days before the season starts and relax on the beach, spending hours floating on my board waiting for my wave to come. Can’t beat surfing in early spring, only in San Diego is the weather always right for surfing.

  I only leave the house to pick up food and I get fresh baked cookies while I’m out, dropping them off for Sherry so she doesn’t bake. I want to do my part and she has always taken care of me.
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  Chapter Five

  Chase

  It’s opening day and we’re playing LA, which is the same most years. The stadium is clean, fresh, and shiny. The field is manicured to perfection. All of the opening day decorations are out, the paint on the field, the banners, the bunting—it looks like there’s going to be a party. All of our lockers are full of uniforms, caps, gear, deliveries from sponsors and endorsement contracts, everything new for the new season. We’ve been briefed on opening day festivities. We know we’ll each be introduced as we run out to the first base line in front of our home dugout and there will be fireworks shot off with each introduction, which is better than last year and the attempt at the smoke screen we were supposed to be magically appearing out of.

  The stadium is buzzing. The gates open early and season ticket holders are able to come in and watch our early batting practice. It’s an attempt to make getting into the stadium easier for the sell out crowd and reward the regulars at the same time by making them feel special. Make no mistake, they are special. Without them, the seats are empty and nobody cares. We need the fans and we feed on their energy. I watch them swarm around the dugouts and behind home plate to get a good look at batting practice, they’re happy to be here. I remember when I was a kid, going to my first big league game of the year always made me happy. It’s something about walking into the stadium, seeing the field, getting the ballpark food I’d missed in the offseason and anticipating the win. I can only guess that’s how all these people feel and they’re the extremists being season ticket holders. Losing is not an option. They’re in it heart and soul, committed to the team like they’re in a marriage. Yea, that’s exactly what its like.

  I wander off into the underbelly of the stadium to get some quiet time and I swear I see the seal out of the corner of my eye. It kind of jars my state of calm before the game. It’s weird. The seal isn’t the problem, it’s the memory that it gives me. I’m going to have to make an effort to not let the seal get to me. Fucking mascot. That doesn’t help. No fucking the mascot.

  I turn around to go back to the clubhouse. I need my safe place. I need to be with the team. I need to stay focused. I see a girl walking away quickly, as if it’s only a shadow and I think it’s her. The Seal Girl. I try to catch up and get a better look, but she’s gone. That’s it! I’m going to the clubhouse. We’re winning this game. I’m getting laid tonight. This is bullshit. I should’ve jerked off.

  The clubhouse is amped up. The team is getting pumped up for the game and looks sharp in the new uniforms. Everybody showed up today with clean haircuts, trimmed beards, just looking good overall. Well, except me. I’m not cutting my hair and I couldn’t grow a beard if I wanted to, I don’t have the facial hair for it. Skip gives us a quick pep talk and we all walk the clubhouse high-fiving. It sounds funny, but its team bonding. We’re all loose and ready to go. Most of the starting nine go out on the field pre-game and get warmed up. Stretching, doing sprints, throwing the ball. Seno and the starting pitcher, Rhett Clay, walk out to the bullpen early. It’s Clay’s first opening day with the team and to get called for the start, that’s a big deal. I know he’ll be great, Seno has his back. Seno was cutting up about it this morning because Sherry called it after Clay had only played with the team a couple times last season, she said he was going to be an ace.

  I check behind home plate to see if Sherry’s here and she’s in the first row center, sitting with Sam. She won’t miss a game unless she doesn’t have a choice. She lives for baseball and she knows Seno wants her here, cheering for him every game. Hell, I love to hear her cheering for me, too. She has spunk and she isn’t afraid to use it. I can’t wait to hear what she calls the LA pitcher and what creative things she has to say about their hitters. She has had the whole offseason, so it should be good. The expression on her face tells me she’s happy to be here. She’s the definition of Seals Fan. I’m sure it made her happy to walk into the stadium today, even knowing its just the beginning of the season and having already been to spring training games.

  I keep seeing the seal and the Seal Girl out of the corner of my eye, but then neither of them are there. Focus Chase. It’s almost game time.

  I’m lined up in the dugout for my name to get called out as part of the starting lineup, announcing me as I run out on to the field to fist bump all my teammates. I’m pumped, listening to the buzz of the crowd and cheering for the players announced before me. I’m in the lead off spot today, that makes me the first hitter of the season. The coaches and players that didn’t make the starting lineup today have already been announced and are lined up waiting for me. The fireworks will start with me. I feel the pressure and hope I get a good reception from the fans.

  Then I hear it over the loud speakers as it echoes through the stadium, “And now your Seals opening day starting nine as written in by the manager Butch Hopp. Leading off, in center field, number 17, Chaaaaaaasse Crooossssss!” I run up the steps of the dugout and the stadium explodes, calling out my name and screaming. I smile uncontrollably. I’m not an attention whore, but who wouldn’t like this? It’s a total ego trip. Fans hanging over the railings like they’re reaching for me from the upper decks. Lots of girls wearing jerseys with my number, 17, on the back.

  Sherry is out of her seat, yelling and I can hear her, “Go Chase” She’s holding up a sign that says “Chase #17 Home!” and wearing a shirt that says “Future Seals Fan” with an arrow pointing to her belly. I can’t help but chuckle and I can’t take the smile off my face. The rest of the lineup gets announced:

  Hitting second and playing Short Stop, #28, Jones Mason

  Hitting third and playing first base, #2, Kris Martin

  Hitting fourth, your catcher, #6, Rick Seno

  Hitting fifth and playing third base, #13, Lucky Lucine

  Hitting sixth and playing in right field, #10, Mark Rock

  Hitting seventh and debuting at second base, #29 Andrew Brandt

  Hitting eighth and playing in left field, newly acquired Seal, #15 Cain Simms

  And, hitting ninth, your starting pitcher, #20, Rhett Clay

  Nobody gets the cheers like Seno and it all comes from behind home plate. You can hear where Sherry’s biases fall. The cheers for Kris were louder than mine, but that was Sam adding in. It’s funny how you can still hear Sherry over the rest of the stadium, even on opening day, or maybe we’re conditioned to listen for her because we know she’s here for us. I find myself scanning the stadium, wishing the Seal Girl was here cheering for me. I know she’s gone and I need to forget about her. If she wanted to be found, she would’ve given me a way to contact her.

  We get to our positions and I hear “Make it a win, Seno!” yelled out and followed by a “Wooooo!” as he gets set behind the plate. Yep, it’s time for baseball and the team is ready. I take the minute I have in the outfield before the first pitch and look around, enjoying the field and taking in the full stadium. I always forget to take time to enjoy where I am and have fun. I’m consciously trying to change that. I’ve seen what happens to players over the last couple of years and there are no guarantees I’ll still be here next season, or even tomorrow. It’s my reality. I think it’s why I play with the groupies, it all kind of goes together—nothing is permanent. The thing is, I want more. I want permanent. I want to be better at baseball, I want to be a record breaker, and I want to show everybody that I’m an offensive and defensive force. While I’m wanting things, I want more time for surfing and sitting on the beach, and it would be great if I had a woman to sit on the beach with me. Just one.

  Clay handled the top of the first inning perfectly, he’s on point and I may never get a ball in center this whole game with the way he’s pitching. Bottom of the first, time for my lead off at bat and I’ve never wanted to make an impact so badly. I want to be noticed. I want to give Clay some run support. My job is to get on base. That’s it, just get on base. My teammates will knock me in. I’ve got the speed. I can outrun the throw. I’m aware on the base paths
and I can steal, it’s why I lead off. Mason and I get on base, then Martin and Seno bring us home to score. It’s the plan. It doesn’t change. The team roots me on as I step into the on deck circle, I hear my walk up music “Turn It Up” by the Wrecks and Sherry yells, “You got this, Chase! Knock it!” The whole stadium is calling out to me. I get my footing in the batter’s box and eye the pitcher, ready for whatever he has to send my direction. The first pitch is way outside, ball one. The second pitch is down the middle and low, ball two. The third pitch is a curve and the bottom drops right out of it, I swing and miss. 2 - 1 count. Keep your shoes on, Chase. Chill out. You got this. The fourth pitch is on the outside corner, my favorite pitch location, and I ground it up the middle. I’m safe on first and I did my job leading off the game. Mason strikes out. Martin looks better than normal and I can hear that he’s still getting the extra support from behind the plate, he’s actually smiling and he’s all business on the field. The first pitch to him and he knocks it out of the park. I run the bases and he’s right behind me when I get to home plate, just enough time to turn around and high-five.

  Sam and Sherry, “Wooooot! Go Kris!” He turns to look at them, especially Sam, and I swear it’s a look I’ve seen between Seno and Sherry.

  “Nice work, kiddo!” Sherry gives me a thumbs-up.

  Seno was up to bat and I don’t know what he saw, but he did a repeat performance of Martin’s hit. Home run. The score is 3-0 Seals at the end of the first inning.