Scoring

by Kristin Hardy

  “Maybe she didn’t want to.”

  He shook his head. “Not a chance. She wanted me, she was just afraid of the meat.”

  “Maybe you should have been.”

  The sarcasm went over Morelli’s head. “So the meat asks her is there a problem, and she says yeah, this guy won’t leave me alone. Next thing I know, he’s got a blade out and he’s trying to carve me up.” Morelli grimaced. “What is it with this place? When are they going to give me something for the pain?”

  “You’ve got too much alcohol in you. They don’t want to risk it.”

  “I’ll risk it for them.”

  “Morelli.” Something steely in Mace’s tone finally penetrated through the haze of alcohol and pugnacity in Morelli’s brain. “This is a wake-up call, and if you’ve got a brain in your head, you’ll listen to it. You’ve had a lot of talent handed to you on a platter, but you’ve been doing nothing with it and the organization knows it. Now you’ve gotten yourself injured so that you can’t play, which is going to directly impact the team’s performance, and if you don’t think that management is going to come after you about this, then you don’t know much about how baseball really works.”

  “But…” Morelli opened his mouth, but Mace cut him off.

  “You’re done with talking for now. You talked tonight in that bar and see where that got you? This sport is littered with players who had tons of skill but zero control. Teams won’t touch ’em because they know they’re problems. You’re not good enough for a team to stick its neck out for. Yeah, maybe if you were in the majors and had had a couple of all-star years they’d take a risk on you, but if you keep screwing up at this level, buddy, they’ll just let you rot, because there are way too many guys standing in line behind you.”

  “But you did the partying and they kept you on.”

  “That was hype, not reality, and management knew the difference. I made a few mistakes when I was starting out, but I was lucky.” Was he really, Mace wondered. Was he really if something he’d done a decade before had torn away the one person he wanted most in his life?

  BECKA WALKED back to Morelli’s bedside. The drape was pulled around the bed, lending the illusion of privacy, but she could hear the two men talking through the barrier.

  “So it worked out for you, then,” Morelli said.

  “I said one or two mistakes. I didn’t go around picking bar fights.”

  “No, you just picked up babes.”

  Frustration shaded Mace’s voice. “Morelli, stop being impressed. What I did didn’t mean anything at all. It was for show, and it turned me into a collector’s item. That was it.”

  “Oh come on, Duvall. You had some of the most beautiful women in the world on your arm. Don’t act one way and then come around lecturing me.”

  “I’m trying to tell you that I screwed up,” Mace said angrily. “I’m trying to get you to stop and look at yourself so that you don’t throw away your career. Little stuff, stuff you think is over and done with can dog you. Your past is always there, you know? I fight against mine all the time. Tonight, I had something that happened ten years ago bite me, and I may have lost someone who’s really important to me.”

  Hope and despair filled Becka at his words.

  “You mean Florence, right?” Morelli’s voice came through the barrier. “Don’t give me that look, I’m not blind, you know. I see the way you guys are together. It looks pretty hot.”

  “And now it’s pretty well not. She won’t get over my past, and maybe I shouldn’t be trying to. Trust me, you don’t want to be the guy with rep. You’re whoever they say you are, and you can never get away from it. But we’re not talking about me.”

  “Sure sounds to me like we are.”

  Mace sighed. “Morelli, something stupid that I did ten years ago has just blown apart my future, something nobody would have even known or cared about if I hadn’t had the profile I do.”

  How could he throw it off like some small dating snafu? Becka pressed her palms to her temples, willing the pain to stop. How could he talk so seriously about caring for her and yet be so callous about his past?

  “Morelli, are you even getting this at all? You’re at a crossroads right now. You can get your act together and maybe wind up in the Hall of Fame someday or you can wind up drinking yourself blind in a sports bar somewhere, talking about the career you almost had. You decide.”

  A doctor brushed past Becka and walked into the bay. “Okay, let’s get you stitched up.”

  Becka followed him in, not looking at Mace, fighting to remain expressionless. The doctor would put in some sutures and give the usual tetanus injection. Morelli would heal. Maybe he’d even get straightened out and have a successful career.

  Now if they just had some sutures for the heart.

  19

  BECKA SAT in the training room at her desk, turning a white envelope over in her hands. She should be happy, she knew, she should be thrilled. The envelope contained the passport to her future. Inside was a contract with the Lowell Weavers for the following season. It was everything she’d hoped for.

  It meant nothing to her at all.

  How to make things matter at a time when it felt as if nothing did, this was the riddle she struggled with every day. Another time, she might have cried on Ryan’s shoulder, but Ryan was on a beach somewhere in the Greek isles. Ryan, the romantic, would search for hope in what had happened, she’d search for love.

  She wouldn’t understand that just then Becka’s life held neither. In the three days that they’d been back from the New York road trip, she and Mace had barely spoken. It seemed there was nothing to say.

  The Weavers were one win from clinching their league title. Morelli had bounced back surprisingly well from his ordeal, chastened and subdued, but healing rapidly. Even Mace was on his way out, slated to leave the next day. His work—even where she was concerned—was done.

  MACE WALKED into the diner, looking around for Stan.

  “Yo, Duvall, over here,” Stan called from where he sat in a booth along the wall, a cup of coffee in front of him.

  Mace eased himself down on the dark blue vinyl seat and waved to the waitress. “Bernice, coffee please?”

  She gave him a hard look. “When I get time.”

  He sighed, knowing from experience that fallout from Calista’s little stunt was just going to keep hitting him unexpectedly.

  “What’s going on, buddy? You don’t look so good, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

  Mace gave a humorless grin. “I take it you haven’t been looking at the entertainment news lately.”

  Stan shook his head. “No. What’s up?”

  “Calista Stockton released her memoirs a couple of days ago, and yours truly figured into it pretty heavily,” Mace said grimly.

  “How’s she playing it?”

  “According to her, she wanted home and baby and I was the louse who got her pregnant, cheated on her, booted her out of my life, and indirectly made her have a miscarriage.”

  Stan blanched. “But it’s a pack of lies!” he burst out.

  “You know that and I know that, but she’s hitting the talk show circuit and I’m a washed up has-been. Who do you think people are going to believe?”

  Stan looked out the window for a moment. “Well, I can see why she’s doing it,” he said thoughtfully. “Her career’s been in a slide for years. So she decides to write a book, and what better way to rack up sales and get free press than to attach a nice, juicy scandal? What I don’t get is why you? Why not some big Hollywood name?”

  “That’s easy,” Mace said, wondering if he’d ever get his coffee. “I’m a safe target. People still recognize the name and face. No career means no money, and no money means no threat of a lawsuit.”

  Stan shook his head, bewildered. “Yeah, but you’ve got plenty of money.”

  “She doesn’t know that. Trust me, Stan, I know the way her mind works.”

  “Well, you can sue her over what she’s s
aying, get her for slander or libel or whatever it is.”

  “She’s too clever for that. According to Wally, she never came out and said the words, just implied it. And even if she had, first I’d have to prove slander, and that gets into some pretty ugly territory.”

  Bernice came up with her order pad. “What’ll it be, hon?” she asked Stan.

  “Uh, short stack and ham.”

  “We got blueberry pancakes on special this morning,” she said, pencil poised over her pad.

  “Sign me up.”

  “Good move,” she approved, then flicked an unfriendly glance at Mace. “You?” she asked simply.

  “Farmer’s breakfast, scrambled, and coffee,” Mace ordered. “Oh, and I’d like some water, too, when you get a chance.”

  “You’ll get it when I’m ready,” she said rudely and walked off.

  “What’s up with her?” Stan asked as she walked away. “That ain’t the way to get repeat customers.”

  “I’ve been getting a lot of that the last couple of days.” He stared moodily into space.

  “How’s Becka taking it?”

  Mace winced. As usual, Stan had unerringly hit upon what was bothering him. “Becka’s out the door. She saw Calista in an interview and that told her everything she thought she needed to know.”

  “Did you tell her it wasn’t true?”

  Mace turned his palms up in a gesture of futility. “What’s the point? Ever since we met she’s been convinced that I’m some worthless creep. I finally get her to trust that I’m not and then she hears this story.”

  “But you didn’t tell her your side of what happened?”

  “Why bother?” Mace shrugged. “It wouldn’t have done any good. You saw how Bernice was just now. It doesn’t take much to destroy your credibility.”

  “Yeah, well, Bernice ain’t sleeping with you.” Stan gave her a squint. “At least I hope she’s not.”

  “Funny.”

  “Becka cares about you, Mace, she knows you. She’s going to want to know the real story.”

  “Not anymore. She’s done with me. And I’m done with her,” he said, with a finality he didn’t feel. “I don’t want to keep fighting to get her to believe in me. There comes a point where you have to trust.”

  Stan gave him a level stare. “She matters to you.”

  “Yeah? So?” Mace looked up as Bernice thumped down a coffee cup in front of him and poured steaming brew into it. She ignored his thank-you and walked away.

  “Duvall, I can count the number of women you’ve been with since Calista on one hand, and you never brought any of them along to meet your friends.”

  Mace shrugged. “I didn’t feel like it, or it wasn’t convenient. Look, why are you harping on this?”

  “Because you can’t see the difference in you. When I stopped by your house in Florida, you were like some kind of hermit, hiding away, doing your hobbies, trying to pretend it was okay. I know you weren’t happy that I pushed you out of your little cave, but you’re alive again. And Becka’s part of that. It wasn’t just finding the right job, Duvall, it was finding the right woman.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just falling on her as a way to escape,” he countered in frustration. “I can’t even figure out if I can trust my own feelings, and she can’t figure out if she can trust me. It’s not a real promising basis for a future, Stan. And let’s not even get into the question of what would happen if we did decide to try—we live in different states, we work all over the place. You can’t have a relationship if you’re never together.”

  “Oh, cry me a river, Duvall.” Stan’s voice rose. “You really learned to feel sorry for yourself when you were in the hospital, didn’t you?”

  “Spare me the pop psychology,” Mace snarled.

  “Then spare me the self-pity,” Stan threw back at him. “You know, I remember times playing with you when we’d be behind in the bottom of the ninth, maybe one or two outs, and you’d still go up to the plate convinced you were gonna make us win.”

  “This isn’t baseball, Stan.”

  “Bullshit.” Stan slapped the table. “Baseball isn’t about baseball, it’s about what’s inside you, what you bring to the game. Same thing with life. Don’t tell me you don’t know how you feel about this woman, you know. And if you want her, then fight for her. Convince her. As far as futures, hell, you’ve got enough dough you can spend the off-season anywhere you want. During the season, you’re set if you want it—they want you as batting coach in Pawtucket.”

  “Pawtucket?” Mace’s head snapped up. “The triple A club?”

  Stan grinned. “Yep. It’s yours if you want it.”

  “Hell yes!”

  “Am I talking with the guy who told me he didn’t want anything to do with teaching?”

  “You’re just dying to say I told you so, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t want to waste it when I know you’re going to have a few more coming to you. Get the rest of your life straightened out. Then I can give you a blanket version.”

  “You never let up.”

  “Not when it’s for a good cause. You know,” Stan said casually, “Pawtucket, Rhode Island, is only about an hour from Lowell.”

  “FIRST PLACE,” Stats whooped after the game that night. “We got to go out and celebrate, guys. Wings and beer. Morelli, you’re in. Who else?”

  Morelli shook his head. “I’ll leave the hard living up to you guys for a while.”

  Stats stared. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.” He yawned. “I’m going to head back to the dorms for some sleep.”

  “But you were part of the team all season, you gotta go,” Stats protested. “You’re part of the reason we’re here.”

  Across the room, Chico nodded in agreement. “Stats is right. Come out with us.”

  Morelli’s face brightened. “Thanks for asking, guys. I’m going to pass, but I appreciate the invitation.”

  “Ah, you turning into a wuss in your old age, Morelli?” Chico razzed him.

  “No,” he said soberly. “I’m turning smart.”

  BECKA SLID ONTO A BAR STOOL at Double Play. This early in the week, the bar was quiet. A pair of guys sat at a table watching ESPN. At the end of the bar, a lone drinker hunched over a beer.

  Mallory wiped the surface of the bar. She tossed a bar mat down in front of Becka. “What’ll it be?”

  “A shot of Dewar’s.”

  “Whoa.” Mallory stepped back. “Okay, what’s going on? It wouldn’t possibly have anything to do with a man, would it?”

  Becka raised dark smudged eyes to her. “It’s not a joke anymore, Mallory.”

  Mallory studied her. “I can see that. I’m sorry, hon,” she said gently. “Let me get you your drink.”

  Becka held up the glass of whiskey, studying the warm, golden liquid. The color of Mace’s eyes, she thought, and the emotion swamped her again. “So what do you do when every blessed thing in your gut tells you that a guy is on the level, but people on the outside say he’s scum?”

  Mallory blinked and set down her bar towel. “Well, they are pretty serious charges. What does Mace say?”

  Becka looked at the ceiling as though the answer hovered there. “He won’t say anything, keeps telling me that I won’t believe him anyway. I mean, if he would at least talk with me, maybe I’d understand.” She took a deep drink of the whiskey and felt the liquid flame through her veins. It didn’t warm her heart, though. That remained chilled. “Maybe there’s something to explain it. I know he’s not who the papers make him out to be. Maybe there’s something about this whole mess, too, but he won’t say anything.”

  “Have you tried asking him?”

  “I asked him the night I found out about it, but he said I’d already made up my mind.”

  “Had you?”

  Becka hesitated. “I don’t know. Maybe, at first. I mean, I’d been sitting there thinking how impossible it all was, but I’d finally convinced myself to tell him how I felt about him.
And then she came on the television.” Becka looked directly at Mallory. “I was just so horrified, you know? And she was breaking down in the interview. It was awful, and I kept thinking he had done that to her, but it doesn’t fit with the guy I know. If you’d asked me a week ago, I’d have told you Mace would never have intentionally hurt anyone ever, but here she is crying her eyes out on national television, twelve years later.”

  Mallory crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “Twelve years later, huh?”

  Becka glanced at her over the rim of her glass. “Yeah, why?”

  “Well, she is an actress.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning if she hasn’t gotten to the point that she can talk about this without crying twelve years later, she should ask her therapist for a refund.”

  “Okay, you might have a point there.”

  Mallory shrugged. “People always want to believe the worst of anyone, and once a rumor’s out there, it’s hard to quash. The whole time I was growing up, all my aunt ever told me was that I was no good. I got to where I wouldn’t even fight it if some outrageous rumor came out about me. I just figured there wasn’t any point.”

  Mallory broke away to attend to another customer. Becka studied her glass. Anguish on demand was Calista’s stock in trade. Could she be playing up the whole incident for publicity? The truth, Becka thought impatiently, she needed the truth.

  “Becka?” a voice behind her asked. She turned to see Stan Angelo at her elbow.

  It was all she needed, one more reminder of Mace. One more reminder of the good times. “Hi, Stan. How are you?” she said briefly. “I saw you at the game but…” she flapped her hand vaguely and didn’t finish the sentence, hoping he’d leave so she could talk with Mallory.

  Meanwhile, Mallory returned, nodding her head at Stan with a questioning look. Becka sighed. “Mallory Carson, this is Stan Angelo. Stan used to play baseball with Mace.”

  Mallory cocked her head and looked at him, and a broad smile bloomed on her face. “Pleased to meet you, Stan. I’m Becka’s neighbor. Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll get you something to drink?” She placed a bar mat in front of him, ignoring Becka’s pop-eyed look. Stan sat and ordered a beer, staring moodily at Becka.