By the time we reach the warning track, the twenty-five-man team is in a row doing calisthenics. We laugh, joke, and razz each other no differently than what I’d imagine brothers would do.
We break off and start warming up with our groups. The infielders take grounders while the outfielders work on catching pop flies in the sun. After about an hour of this, we drag our asses back into the dugout to get the game underway.
As our names are announced, we step out and wave to the crowd before disappearing under our awning again. Diamond barks out for us to drink water and stay hydrated throughout the game before he sits back down in the corner where there’s some shade.
“You okay, Skipper?” I ask, but he waves me off before telling me to get my ass out into center. I do as he says, jogging out after the National Anthem is played and some local kid yells for us to “play ball.”
The first pitch is sent, and the crack of the bat has everyone yelling. I turn and run, watching over my shoulder as the ball sails toward me. My cleats touch the warning track, and I know I only have a few feet before the wall and I become close friends. The ball is high, and at the last moment I jump up, never taking my eyes off the ball, and squeeze my glove when I feel the hard rubber hit it.
When I land, the ball bobbles out of my mitt, but my other hand is there to snag it, and Kidd and Meyers are next to me, waiting to see if the ball drops. I raise my arm up high, and the umpire, who has come out to center field, signals an out. The crowd roars, and the guys slap me on the back.
“Good thing you caught that you tit twister,” Kidd says as he jogs back to his position in left field.
“What the fuck, Kidd?”
He starts laughing and says something that I can’t make out.
Tadashi gets the last two outs to end the inning. Justin Shaw is pitching for the O’s today, who happens to be Davenport’s old teammate from college.
Kayden Cross is up to bat first and singles to right, barely beating out the throw. First base coach Shawn Smith is riding his ass about running harder, and I agree. When there’s a chance you’re going to be thrown out, you run your ass off.
Preston Meyers is up next and takes the first three pitches as balls. There’s no way he’s swinging at the next pitch, regardless if it’s a meatball or not. We all watch as Shaw delivers the pitch for ball four, and Meyers flips his bat toward our dugout as he jogs to first.
“Hit away, Davenport,” Diamond bellows from the dugout. He’s still sitting in the shade and sweating profusely. I’m not sure if we should be worried about him or not, but it doesn’t seem normal for a man who is resting.
Ethan steps into the batter’s box and stares at his former college teammate. Right now, in this moment, they’re enemies, but once the game is over, they’ll be friends again.
“Swing the damn bat,” Daisy Davenport yells from behind the dugout. We turn and look at her, only to be given the stink-eye.
Davenport swings at the next pitch and sends it sailing toward the left field line. Cross and Meyers are running their asses off, and both score easily while Ethan is sliding into third untouched.
“Bring him home, Branch,” multiple people in the crowd yell. When Branch steps up to the plate, I move into the on-deck circle and start my warm-up. I time my swing with Shaw’s pitch, trying to get an idea for what he’s throwing. This is my first time facing him, so the element of surprise is on both of us. Of course, it’s always hit or miss and just depends on if it’s going to be your day or the pitcher’s. Right now, we’re in his head so I’m banking on it being my day.
* * *
Today wasn’t my day offensively, but we came away with the win nonetheless. Shaw didn’t get the better of me, but his fielders did. Prior to now, I’ve been hard on myself, tearing apart each action until I could make it better, but now I’m in the bar, sitting next to a very good-looking woman while she talks about interior design and how much she loves her job, and I’m asking myself, why can’t I be more like Kidd and just sleep with any woman who comes my way?
Probably because I’m still somewhat hung up on Ainsley, even though I’ve stopped calling her. It wasn’t doing me any good to hear her voice and the same message repeatedly. She’s been hard to get over, and the few dates that I have been on haven’t yielded anything promising.
I’m not sure if the woman next to me is the one for me, either, but I’m going to try. I angle my body toward her and open up to her. She continues to ramble about her business and starts listing off her clients.
I hold my hand up, and she stops talking. “I’m not looking for an interior designer yet. I still rent and can’t see myself investing money into something I’m not keeping.”
“Oh my, I feel like such a fool. I thought that’s why you started talking to me.”
I shake my head and try to hide the grin that is forming. She blushes and tries to hide behind her long, dark hair, a complete opposite of Ainsley.
“It’s my fault. I started talking to you because I think you’re pretty. I think that my pickup lines need some work, don’t you?”
She covers her face, hiding even more of herself from me. I want to reach out and pull her hands away, but I’m not that forward. Slowly, she regains her composure.
“I’m sorry,” she says, sticking her hand out toward me. I take her hand in mine and shake it. “I’m Carrie.”
“Hi, Carrie. I’m Cooper.”
“Oh that’s funny, Carrie and Cooper.” Once she finishes her sentence, her eyes go wide with terror, and she’s covering her mouth again. “No, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“It’s okay. I was thinking the same thing.” I try to let her know that it’s okay, and it was only a blunder. Hell, I’ve done it so many times.
I signal for the bartender and order us another round of drinks. She’s making me laugh, and that is something I haven’t done in a long time. Not since I was in Florida. It feels good to be like this again.
Carrie and I spend the rest of the night talking, sharing a small corner of the bar with the Davenports and a few of their friends. Not once does Carrie ask about baseball or what I do for work. Maybe she already knows, since everyone seems to know Ethan. It’s nice to be able to sit and talk without the pressure of being on.
At the end of the night, I hail her a cab, not wanting her to drive home after drinking. Before she gets in, I give her my number and a lingering kiss on her cheek before she’s being driven down the road.
Davenport yells my name from behind, and when I turn to look at him, I see nothing but fear.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s Diamond. Stone just sent out a text that there’s a press conference first thing in the morning. He’s announcing his retirement effective immediately, and Stone will announce a replacement.”
“What?” I pull out my phone and read exactly what Davenport just relayed to me. “This doesn’t make any sense.”
“I think he’s been sick,” Daisy says as she wraps her arms around Ethan’s waist.
“Yeah, I read that over spring training, but he seemed fine.”
“Something is definitely up. I mean, why is Stone bringing in someone new and not making Fisk or King the interim?”
“I don’t know,” I mumble while reading the words of the text message over again. Diamond has been my cheerleader from the get-go, always there to remind me that I belong in the majors. I’m finally confident with my game play, but with a new manager coming in, he could want something different.
“We’re going to take off. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Yeah, okay.” I lean in and kiss Daisy on the cheek and watch them walk arm-in-arm down the street. Both our places are close to the bar, but in opposite directions. I pocket my phone and head toward my apartment with my thoughts running rampant. I hate feeling insecure about my future, and just when I thought I had it all figured out, a shit storm starts to brew.
After much speculation, Cal Diamond, our beloved skipper, announced
his retirement effective immediately. As we’ve been reporting for the past year, this is health-related, but Cal assured us this morning that it is not cancer. It is heart-related, and he will be facing surgery in the upcoming months.
General manager Ryan Stone introduced Diamond’s replacement, Wes Wilson. Wilson is best known for leading Team USA to an Olympic gold medal in our last games, as well as having a few NCAA titles under his belt. His recent stint in the minors adds to his résumé.
When asked why Stone didn’t promote from within, he stated, “The job was offered to Cole Fisk, who turned it down, stating he was comfortable at the position of pitching coach.”
Second baseman Bryce Mackenzie added, “I’m excited for Wilson to take the helm and saddened to see Diamond leave us. He’s been a great manager and I’m going to miss him.”
Wes Wilson was present at the press conference and added, “The Boston Renegades have a long-standing tradition of excellence, not only on the field but in the community. I have big shoes to fill in the wake of Diamond’s departure and fully accept the challenges that face me. Right now, we have a winning organization, and I expect that to continue. Tonight’s game will be no different. Cal and I have already sat down and gone over the roster. The fans should expect to see the same Renegades they’ve come to know and love.”
First pitch is at 7:05 p.m. when the Renegades take on the Toronto Blue Jays.
Everyone at the BoRe Blogger would like to wish to Cal Diamond a speedy recovery and thank him for the wonderful years he’s given us.
The BoRe Blogger
Chapter 26
Ainsley
Her bedroom door mocks me every time I walk down the hall. Just when I think I’m ready, I can’t twist the doorknob that will bring me face-to-face with everything she left behind. It doesn’t matter that it’s been a month. I can’t do it. Dr. Sanchez suggested I donate all her clothes to a store that benefits cancer patients and their families, and while I think that’s a wonderful idea, I don’t know if I can part with her belongings.
Losing my mom has been hard. From the constant “I’m sorry” to the “It’ll get better” comments, I’ve had enough. I don’t want to be treated any differently or have people walk on eggshells around me. Her life should be celebrated. Laughter should fill her house, but as of now, it’s only dread. I can’t get out of my funk. My nights are sleepless, and I often find myself on the couch or staring out the back window. My days are lonely, and not even the television can keep my attention. Stella tries, but even her presence in my life seems to be forced lately.
Life needs to be normal again. My routine needs to go back to the way it was. I want to wake up to freshly brewed coffee, drive to work with the top down and the wind in my hair, and feed the animals. I want my job back working with the giraffes now that I don’t need to be at home all the time. I’ve always been told it’s there when I need it; I just don’t know if I can pull the proverbial trigger and ask for it.
There’s a knock on the door, and before I can bring myself to answer it, the door opens and in walks Stella. The smell of food makes me nauseated. I haven’t felt well since my mother died, but I had hoped it would subside by now.
“I brought wine,” she says, walking into the kitchen.
“Wine sounds good. What’s in the bag, though? It’s making my stomach roll.”
“Really? It’s just Caesar salads.” Stella busies herself with opening the wine while I get the salads out. Whatever was bothering me a minute ago has seemed to subside. I empty the salads onto plates and set them on the table with Stella following quickly behind me with two glasses of wine.
“Hmm, this is good.” It’s been a while since I’ve had a glass of wine, probably since before my mother went into the hospital. Hanging out with Cooper…my thoughts falter as I think of him. Since my mother passed, I haven’t paid attention to baseball, dismissing him completely from my mind. He hasn’t called me, not that I expected him to.
“It is. I had it the other night with dinner.” Stella pauses and catches my eye. For months, she’s been eating dinner with me, and by the reddening of her cheeks I know she’s been hiding something from me.
“Spill,” I say as I set my glass down.
She slumps in her chair, almost as if she’s been defeated. I know she’s hiding her happiness from me and I get why, but she shouldn’t have to.
“I met a guy,” she states. “And I didn’t want to tell you until I thought it might be serious.”
“When did you meet him?”
“About two months ago.”
“Jesus, Stella! You met someone two months ago and haven’t told me?”
“You’ve been busy, Ains. Preoccupied with your mom, and I didn’t want to burden you with my tales.”
The fact that she thinks she’s a burden to me causes me more heartache than I care to experience right now. She’s my best friend, and if weren’t for her, I’d be a pile of nothing trying to survive on crackers.
I reach across the table and take her hand in mine. “Stella, I love you, and I don’t care what’s going on in my life, yours is just as important, and I don’t want you to feel like you can’t tell me anything. I’m sorry I made you feel that way.”
She shakes her head and comes over to my side of the table to give me a hug. “I’m sorry for not telling you.”
“It’s good. We’re good,” I remind her. “So tell me about him.”
When she sits back down, her grin is electrifying. “His name is Zeb, and we met at work. He’s a horticulturist who has been dealing with an infectious bug we found.”
“Wait, we have a bug?”
She nods and takes a sip of her wine. “Nasty little shit, but anyway, Zeb has been dealing with it, trying to get rid of the creature and keep it away. I had to show him around the first day, and the next he came in and asked if I could kindly remind him where to go.”
“And let me guess, you jumped his bones?”
Stella looks shocked, but only for a minute. “Actually, no. He asked me out, and at first I said no because of your mom and all, and it didn’t feel right to be enjoying myself, in case you needed me. The next day we ate lunch together, and I told him what’s going on and how I’m helping, and he said he’d wait until I was free.”
“Wow.”
“I know! Anyway, that did it. I took him up on his offer, and we’ve been seeing each other ever since. Want to know the best part?” She leans forward as if it’s a secret, and I automatically mirror her position. “The sex is off the fucking charts. The man knows how to make my body sing like no other.”
“Ugh, I miss sex.”
“Call him,” she says.
I look at her questioningly and shake my head. “Call who?”
“Cooper Bailey. Number twenty-five.” She waggles her eyebrows at me.
“No. I’m not calling Cooper. Besides, he lives in Boston, and I live here. It’ll never work.”
Stella refills our glasses while saying, “You have nothing keeping you here, except for your job, which you can do anywhere, especially Boston. They have a zoo, and I know this because I already looked. I’d call him and see if you can ride that train again.”
I throw my napkin at her. “I’m definitely not calling him and asking for sex.” Although jumping between the sheets with him again would definitely be worth it, but I’m sure he’s moved on. And if he has, I don’t want to know about it. The rejection I felt, seeing him with that other woman, is enough to keep me here and away from anything that has to do with Cooper Bailey.
After dinner, we take our bottle of wine and sit on the back deck. I have to put this condo on the market because technically I’m not allowed to live here. I’m neither the right age nor am I retired.
“Are you going to help me pack?”
“Yeah,” she says as she sips her wine. “Zeb will help, too. His muscles are big.”
“I bet,” I say, laughing. Stella takes it one step further and puts her hands up, showing m
e just how big. When the laughter dies down, her face softens.
“Let’s go start packing your mom’s room.”
I have to look away. I don’t want her to see me crying. “I can’t.”
Stella reaches for my hand, threading her fingers in between mine. “I’ll be there with you. I know it’s going to be hard, but it has to get done. We’ll start tonight.”
I hesitate for a bit before I nod. I don’t know if it’s the wine giving me the courage or what, but she’s right. I need to do it, and I’ll need her with me.
Stella has to drag me up the stairs. She stops briefly in the closet where she’s been storing boxes and takes a handful down the hall with her.
“Wait, I’ll do it.” I stop her before she can open the door. As much as it’s going to hurt, I want to be the one who opens the door first. With a deep breath, I close my eyes and twist the doorknob and step in.
Her room is basking in the late evening sunlight, creating a halo over her bed. I gasp and cover my mouth as Stella wraps her arms around my midsection.
“She’s here,” she whispers to me.
“I know.”
“This is the right time.” I want to disagree with her, but I can’t. Deep down, I know she’s right. Stella lets go and takes the boxes over to the bed while I stand there and look around. Everything seems frozen in time. My mom’s bed is still unmade, and her slippers sit by the foot of the bed. The afghan she used to keep warm is haphazardly draped over her rocking chair with a glass of water sitting on the small table.
The sound of ripping tape grabs my attention. Three boxes are on the floor, ready to be filled, and Stella is taping the next one. I want to ask her to stop so I can have some time, but I need to do this.
“We should put all her shirts in one box, pants in another,” I tell Stella. “I want to keep her scarves, I think.”
“Okay.”
“Obviously I’m going to keep all her jewelry and pictures.”
“I can call tomorrow and have the bed picked up.”
Home Run Page 17