by Aubrey Gross
“We don’t have time, though, Reed. You and I both know the minor league season ends in three weeks and then the conference playoffs begin. We have time to get me three, maybe four rehab starts before then.”
“I should have known you would make this difficult.”
Matt brushed his comment aside. “Just give me a chance to prove I’m okay, Reed. Give me a few starts in the minors, see how I’m pitching and if I’m mentally solid out on the mound. Even if you and the team decide my stuff isn’t there, at the very least I’ll be able to be in the dugout for the end of the season and the playoffs and provide some of that leadership you say you respect so much.”
“I don’t know, Matt. It’s too risky.”
“It’s not like you don’t have an insurance policy on me.”
“It’s not about the money.”
“Bullshit. It’s always about the money.”
“Not this time, not when player safety is involved.”
Cars flew by in front of him. “Just one chance, Reed, that’s all I’m asking.”
“And what happens after that one chance?”
Matt grinned, knowing if he hadn’t managed to completely sway Reed he was damned close. “You give me another.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Ladies and gentlemen, do we have a treat for you this beautiful Friday night. On the mound for your Oklahoma City Twisters is Wranglers Ace Matt Roberts in his first rehab start since being hit by a line drive just over two months ago and undergoing brain surgery. Stay tuned, because this promises to be a game you don’t want to miss.”
Jenn bit her thumbnail as she listened to the Twisters’ feed via the minor league baseball app she’d downloaded on her phone.
Matt had called her late Tuesday night and told her about the ambush at the Oklahoma City offices, and how he’d managed to convince Reed Thornhill to let him pitch again. Jenn wasn’t surprised that Matt had successfully argued his case——the man could be incredibly convincing when he wanted to be—but the thought of him out on the mound again had nerves dancing in her belly.
He’d assured her that he was going to wear a special hat to help protect his head, but she had her doubts regarding its effectiveness, especially considering from everything she’d read most players refused to wear them because they were uncomfortable. Google searches had also shown her photos, though, and she had a feeling most of those players simply didn’t want to look un-cool.
They’d talked and texted throughout the week when they’d had a chance—he’d been busy throwing bullpen sessions and taking in scouting reports, and she’d been busy with in-service since classes began next Monday.
“And we’re back as the Twisters defense takes the field here in the top of the first inning. Carl, tell us about the River Cats’ offense.”
“Well, Jack, the Sacramento River Cats’ offense has been one of the best in the minors over the past month, posting a team batting average of .398 with twelve homeruns, twenty-six RBIs and twelve stolen bases on thirteen attempts. Their lead-off hitter, Eric Cole, has reached base safely in twenty consecutive games, the longest running streak in the minors right now, and their clean-up hitter, Enrique Palomas, has a batting average of .423 over the past month.”
“Sounds like the Twisters have their work cut out for them tonight. Your Twisters lineup looks like this: Arturo Blanco in center and leading off, Will Bowen is your shortstop and number two hitter in the lineup. First baseman Hank Adams batting third with left fielder Ed Young in the clean-up spot. In the five-hole is third baseman Ernesto Salvador and batting sixth is right fielder Michael O’Brien. DHing tonight is Jackson McCoy, followed by catcher Adrian Soto at eighth in the order. Batting last is second baseman Thomas Everett, who Twisters fans will notice has dropped down in the batting order over the past week or so.”
“Yeah, Everett’s had some problems seeing the ball the past couple of weeks and Twisters manager Wallace Carter felt dropping him down in the batting order might help take some pressure off the youngster.”
“Right you are, Carl. And on the mound we have Matt Roberts in his first rehab start with the Twisters since that horrific line drive to the head just over two months ago.”
“Honestly, Jack, I’m surprised he’s back so soon, especially considering how long it’s taken other pitchers to come back after suffering similar injuries.”
“Well, you have to think that the Wranglers organization is being very cautious with Roberts’ rehab stints and that he’ll be on a short leash. You’ll also notice he’s wearing one of the padded caps that was approved by MLB a few years ago. Even though they’ve been available for a while, players have mostly opted not to wear them, citing discomfort and heat as their primary reasons.”
“Well, there’s also the fact that they don’t look very cool.”
“I would hope players are taking their health more seriously than how their uniform looks, but when you’re dealing with a lot of young guys, mostly between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five, you do have to wonder if looks don’t play a part in the decision to wear or not wear the protective gear.”
“Ah, the folly of youth.”
“And the umpiring crew has signaled the game’s ready to begin. Adrian Soto jogs towards home plate as Eric Cole steps into the batter’s box. Roberts shakes off a few signals before approving one, winds up for the pitch and oh, just outside for ball one.”
“Jack, that fastball was clocked at ninety-six miles per hour.”
“It sure appears that Roberts’ velocity hasn’t been affected any. Roberts approves the pitch selection, winds up and wow, that was a nasty twelve to six breaking ball. In there for a strike.”
“All Cole could do is stand there and take it.”
“Cole signals for time and steps out of the batter’s box, adjusts his gloves and his helmet before stepping back up to the plate. The thirty-five-year-old veteran right-hander fires a fastball right down the middle for strike two.”
“So far Roberts is looking very comfortable out on the mound.”
“Roberts approves the signal from Soto, winds up and gets Cole with a slider just inside the strike zone. Cole can’t believe it and walks away shaking his head as River Cats first baseman Mario Gonzales makes his way to the plate. Gonzales gets ready and takes the first pitch for a strike.”
“Jack, that looked to me like another slider, low and on the outer edge of the plate.”
“I do believe you’re right, Carl. And Gonzales takes ball one. Man that was barely outside of the strike zone. Here’s pitch number three of the at-bat, a fastball down the middle fouled off by Gonzales. Roberts sets, nods to Soto, and Gonzales makes solid contact and holy mackerel sends it flying right back to Roberts, who ducks then easily reaches up and snags it for out number two of the inning!”
“Jack, I imagine everyone in the Wranglers front office saw that just then and felt a brief moment of panic.”
“Carl, I imagine everyone here at the ballpark and everyone listening on the radio almost had a heart attack when they heard the way that ball came off the bat, and then the gasp from the crowd. Roberts, however, made a heck of a play to grab that as it flew past him, and smiled as he climbed back up on the hill.”
Jenn’s heart was racing. Could she listen to any more of this? She looked down at her thumbnail. Crap. She’d bitten it and three of her other nails on that hand off. Oh, God, this was driving her crazy.
She couldn’t not listen, though, so she left the game on as she tried to do other things, like finalize lesson plans, dust the mini blinds and finally read a book. After browsing through the new releases she finally settled on re-reading an historical romance she’d read a while back and had completely fallen in love with. The hero was a mathematical genius who did the accounting for a gaming hell in London, and the heroine was a geeky science and mathematical genius in her own right—a bluestocking in Regency terms—who decided to explore the darker side of London before settling down to married life. It w
as fun, sexy, and made her cry just a little bit.
In other words, it was the perfect thing to get her mind off of the baseball game she couldn’t seem to turn off.
As she flipped through virtual pages on her e-reader, she listened to the game with half an ear and her stomach in her throat. She was in the middle of chapter four when they pulled Matt in the top of the fifth inning. He’d given up two hits on forty-six pitches, striking out six batters and showing full command of all of his pitches. Pretty damned good, considering he hadn’t even picked up a baseball in over two months.
She listened to the applause as he left the field, and reached for her phone. She turned the radio feed off—she loved baseball, but her nerves were shot right now—and then texted Matt.
Great game tonight.
He wouldn’t see it until much later, but she wanted to let him know she’d been listening and supported whatever decision he made, even if most of those decisions ended with her in Del Rio and him somewhere else.
#
Great game tonight.
Matt read Jenn’s text and smiled, barely resisting the urge to call her right then and there. He still needed to shower and get changed, then address the media.
Unfortunately, that meant it was probably at least another hour before he would be able to call her.
Matt: Thanks. I’ll call you when I’m done here. Might be late.
Jenn: That’s okay. Call when you can. Miss you.
Matt: Miss you, too.
He’d just put his phone up when Thomas Everett, the Twisters’ second baseman threw his helmet into the locker beside his, muttering to himself as he tore off his gloves and then cleats.
Matt looked around the locker room. Everyone else was ignoring Thomas’ little temper tantrum. He sighed and said, “Everyone has bad nights, Everett.”
The twenty-four year-old stopped in the middle of removing his socks and looked up at Matt. “Sure. But I’ve been having a bad night for the past three weeks. If this shit keeps up I won’t even be in the starting lineup in another week.”
Matt sat on the bench that ran in front of the lockers and casually untied his cleats. “Defensively you’re doing great. That catch you made tonight in the top of the seventh?” Matt shook his head. “That was amazing, man.”
“There’s a ‘but’ in there.”
Matt bit back a grin. “But offensively, when you get up to the plate, you’re thinking too hard and you’re pressing. We pitchers love guys like you——super talented guys who are in a funk. Y’all overthink, then you press and you start swinging too early or too late. You hack at everything, even garbage balls in the dirt. It makes for an easy out.”
Thomas slumped and dropped his socks to the floor. “I know, and I don’t know how to fix it.”
“You never went through a hitting slump in college?”
Thomas was a Stanford graduate who’d been a first-round pick out of high school but had chosen to go to college instead of heading directly into the minor league system. As a senior two years ago he’d been chosen by the Wranglers in the third round and had quickly worked his way up through the minor league system until he was now just one step away from playing with the big boys.
Matt had a feeling the pressure of trying to make it up to the main ball club on the forty-man September roster, or at least get an invitation to spring training next year, had a lot to do with the kid’s current slump.
“I had one in college.” Thomas shook his head. “Of course, the guys all told me all I needed was a slump buster, so they went to some local bars trolling for a chick to bring back to me.”
Matt rolled his eyes at the long-standing idea that sleeping with a, ah, plus-size woman would magically cure all hitting woes. “So what happened?”
“I’d decided to stay in—I had mid-terms coming up and had an academic scholarship to uphold—and around midnight I heard banging on my front door and drunken giggling. I opened the door and two of the guys pushed this chick into my room, slammed the door and ran off. She was actually kind of cute, but definitely more on the, shall we say voluptuous side, and obviously drunk off her ass. I asked her where her phone was and she couldn’t find it, then she ran back outside and started puking over the railing outside. Next thing I know she’s basically passed the fuck out on my doorstep, so I carried her back inside, put her on the couch, called my teammates and chewed their asses out. When I woke up the next morning she was gone.”
“I think that’s the most fucked up slump buster story I’ve ever heard.” And he’d heard some doozies.
“I know, right? Weirdly, though, our next game I hit two home runs and had five RBIs, so I guess it worked. Kind of.”
“I’m not finding a drunk woman and taking her back to your apartment.”
Thomas shook his head. “Thank God. That was embarrassing and awful, not to mention kind of demeaning towards her. But that still doesn’t tell me how to get out of this slump I’m in now.”
“So the theory is that a slump buster works because sex gets you to relax, right?”
“Right.”
“In your case, you didn’t get laid, but something made you stop thinking so much at the plate. The key is figuring out what that was and try to replicate it.”
Matt peeled his socks off while Thomas sat on the bench beside him, silent but at least calmer now. “Man, I have no freaking clue.”
Matt stood and clapped the second baseman on the shoulder. “Here’s the great thing—you don’t have to get it figured out today, or even tomorrow or the next day. Everyone in the Wranglers’ organization believes in you. All hitters—even the great ones—go through slumps. All it takes is one good at-bat to get you out of it.”
Matt grabbed his bag out of his locker and headed towards the exit, but was stopped by Thomas yelling at him, “You’re not as big of a jerk as I figured you would be.”
Matt smiled and shook his head. That seemed to be a common sentiment here lately.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Matt managed to get three more starts in with the Twisters before the minor league season ended on September second. All had been good starts, with management finally letting him pitch a full game in his final start on Sunday. The final game of the Twisters’ season had been the next day, and the minor league club had unfortunately been one win shy of making it to the conference playoffs.
In the three weeks since he’d last seen Jenn they’d talked every single day, usually at night after a game or in the evenings once she’d gotten home from school if he’d had a day game. His brother had also gotten his head out of his ass, groveled appropriately to Jo and they’d gotten engaged just last weekend.
He’d made sure to send an anonymous bouquet to Jo’s school, just to make Chase jealous and piss him off.
No, it wasn’t the most mature thing, but it had been pretty funny to hear Chase rant about some anonymous douche who’d sent his fiancée flowers until Matt had finally come clean and told him the anonymous sender had been him. Chase hadn’t been as amused as Matt had been, but Jenn and Jo had gotten a good laugh out of it at least.
Today, though, Matt found himself in the dugout in Oakland, the smell of sewage combined with sweaty men pungent in his nostrils. God, he hated Oakland’s stadium. It was notorious for having sewage backups during heavy rain events, and unfortunately there had been some flooding just two days prior. While the sewage backup had at least been taken care of, the scent still lingered in the air.
They were a month away from the post-season and were up four games over Oakland and leading their division. He hadn’t been put back into the rotation yet, and when he’d tried to ask Toby about it earlier today he’d been brushed off.
He leaned against the railing of the dugout, the sound of his teammates’ chatter like a faint buzz in the background. Vaguely, he realized they were in the seventh inning when the PA announcer told everyone it was time to stretch, but his mind was elsewhere.
He missed Jenn. Even more, though, he
missed the joy he used to feel every time he took the mound or, hell, every time he heard the Star Spangled Banner before every game. While his four minor league starts had been great on paper, the spark he used to feel hadn’t been there.
#
“So have you heard from Matt?” Jo asked Jenn over the phone a few days later.
Jenn lowered the volume on the TV broadcast of the Wranglers’ pre-game and sighed. “Yeah. We talk pretty much every day.”
“That’s a good thing, right?”
“Yeah, I guess.” She toyed with the hem of her shorts.
“Okay, what’s going on?”
Jenn shrugged, even though Jo couldn’t see the action. “I don’t know. That’s the problem. We talk constantly. He’ll send me random text messages and photos from wherever he is. He’s sent me flowers every week since he’s been gone. We have these really deep conversations sometimes about the future, about life in general, but I still don’t know exactly what’s happening with us.”
Jo chuckled. “It sounds like you have a boyfriend.”
“On paper, yes.”
“Jenn, Matt cares about you. I’m pretty sure he’s totally gone over you. Have you told him how you feel?”
She cringed. “Hell, no! For one, there’s still a tiny bit of fear there that he’ll break my heart again. For another, he’s got enough on his plate to worry about; he doesn’t need me freaking out and pressing him for a declaration he isn’t ready to give.”
“I really don’t think he’s going to break your heart again.”
“How do you know that, though? He didn’t even mean to the first time, but it still happened. And now? Jesus. If I took everything I felt ten years ago and multiplied it by a million that still wouldn’t fully encompass everything I feel now.”
“As someone who was recently there, don’t keep holding your feelings in. Tell him. My guess is he’s either scared to say the words first or he hasn’t quite labeled his feelings yet, even though they’re there. He’s a smart guy, but he’s still a dude. They need a little help sometimes.”
