Payoff Pitch (Philadelphia Patriots)

by V. K. Sykes

  He had a line in the water, slowly trolling about thirty feet from the pristine lake’s shoreline in his buddy’s twelve-foot boat. Even though nothing was biting, he hadn’t bothered to change the lure since he’d dropped it in. As much as he enjoyed fishing, his escape today had little to do with any desire to pull in a nice walleye or two. He just needed to get away. Away from the team. Away from his house. Away from the big city.

  And away from Teddy, too?

  He shook off that wayward thought and focused once more on his line. A change of scenery had almost always worked for him back in Texas, his mind settling down whenever he headed to his quiet cabin on Lake Jackson. But then again, back there he’d never had this kind of life-changing decision facing him, had he?

  He hoped that some fresher air and greener vistas would get his brain working again, because for the last couple of days all it had done was spin uselessly in his head. He knew there wasn’t much point stewing about anything until he got the results from the MRI, but that hadn’t stopped him. As much as he had no desire to be the public face of the oil and gas companies in their pissing contest with the anti-fracking crowd, he didn’t relish the thought of letting his family down either. He and his father had their differences—plenty of them. But in the end they were Cades, and Cades stuck together when the chips were down.

  That historic and inflexible mantra had been drilled into him and Levi when they were growing up on the ranch and in Dallas. Besides, it wasn’t like he hated his family—the opposite, in fact, was true. He’d just always charted his own course and had expected to for several more years.

  Then there was the bigger issue. Did he really want to be the next CEO of Baron Energy? That question—once just a distant prospect that he knew he would eventually have to deal with—had now suddenly become real and pressing as age crept up on his father and on him, too. Noah knew that if he made the wrong choice now, it was more than possible that he might be putting up a hell of a roadblock in terms of having any future with the company.

  And, as he’d been forcefully reminded this morning, he could never ignore how Teddy Quinn had hurtled into his life and knocked his once-reliable compass out of kilter. She was stubborn and dogmatic and sometimes annoying. But he loved every minute he spent with her, even when she was being a pain in the ass. As pissed off as he was at her for the way she’d lectured him as they drove to the vet’s, he’d hardly been able to keep his hands off her whenever she came to the house. But he knew that if he acted on the desire he still felt for her, and if she wound up letting him carry her up to his bed, it would screw with his head so bad that he was liable to make his decision with his cock, not his brain. So, he’d reluctantly steered clear of her as much as he could.

  But then she’d shown up at the crack of dawn this morning, looking pretty and sad and like she wanted more than anything for him to take her into his arms. But once again they’d verbally circled each other like a pair of UFC fighters looking to launch the first strike. The brief encounter had been awkward and full of unspoken messages. When Teddy said she almost wished she could go with him to the Poconos, Noah had frozen for a second or two. Then his reaction had been pure, defensive instinct—to raise an eyebrow and throw the ball back into her court. What he might have done if she hadn’t quickly backed away, he’d never know.

  All he’d known for sure was that, for a moment, he’d wanted Teddy to jump into his car and come with him, running away from all their problems. He’d wanted it as much as he’d ever wanted anything from a woman.

  And, God help him, he still did.

  - 21 -

  Even though Teddy was a hundred fifty miles away, she could hear her father’s sigh and feel his disappointed reaction through the telephone line, loud and clear. “You think he’ll do it?” he asked.

  She’d just filled him in on what Adam Cade was pressuring Noah to do. She’d hesitated to tell him, knowing how much her father admired Noah. But a few seconds into the phone call he’d figured out that something was bugging her and had skillfully persevered until he’d wormed the whole story from her. She’d always found it kind of freaky that her father invariably called when she was upset about something, as if he had some kind of Dad ESP.

  “I don’t know what he’s going to do,” she said, squeezing her cell phone between her ear and her shoulder. She groped for her debit card as she stood in line at Starbucks, having just finished up some research at the university library. “I don’t think he really wants to, but he obviously feels a very strong sense of obligation to his father and brother.”

  “Well, that’s an admirable quality, isn’t it? Family counts for a lot if a person’s got any sense.”

  She almost dropped her phone. “Sure, but come on, Dad. You can’t think it’s okay for Noah to front a pro-fracking campaign.”

  Her father snorted. “Well, I wish the hell he wouldn’t, but I’ll bet the pressure on the poor guy is pretty intense. That’s all I’m saying, honey.”

  Teddy had no doubt on that score. She’d seen how haunted Noah had looked yesterday morning as he prepared to escape to go fishing. “You got that right,” she said as she swiped the card and entered her PIN. “He’s feeling a lot of pressure for sure.”

  “Listen, Teddy, you need to put the whole business out of your mind. I know how deep this stuff cuts for you, but you don’t want to jeopardize a job you really need. There will be other battles to fight, and this one just isn’t worth it.”

  She wasn’t surprised that her father would feel that way. He always put his children’s needs first. But what he didn’t understand was that far more than her job was involved in her decision. Noah had become so much more to her than a boss, regardless of what might or might not happen between them in the future.

  “I’m trying, Dad. Really, I am. But every time I think about what Baron is doing up there…” She got sick just thinking about it. “I know our farm’s safe, but I can’t bear the thought of our land becoming surrounded by drilling rigs as far as the eye can see.”

  “Yeah, this place is safe,” he said with a dry laugh, “unless Dalton decides to put a pillow over my head when I’m sleeping. He’s getting more and more agitated about all the money we’re supposedly missing out on. When Joe Henderson signed, I thought the top of his head was going to come clean off.”

  “He’ll get over it,” Teddy said as she moved over to the crowded barista bar. It seemed like every student at Temple had decided to get a latté, or whatever, at the same time. “And since you told me you’re leaving the farm to both Dalton and me, you can be guaranteed that there’ll never be a gas rig on our land as long as I’m still drawing breath.”

  “I know, sweetie. I thank God for that.”

  Teddy stayed silent because she could tell he was getting ready to say something else.

  “I’m sure you’ve made the case to Noah about why fracking is so bad,” he continued after a few moments. “But I was just mulling over an idea.”

  “I could sure use one because I’ve run out,” she said with a sigh.

  “Well, I think our Mr. Cade—Noah, I mean, not the old man—could use to hear directly from some of the folks around here. He should come up to the valley and talk to people. See with his own eyes what’s going on. See what Baron and Pendulum and the rest of the drillers are planning to do if they get their way. For starters, he could take a gander at Tom Dillon’s water. Maybe even taste it, if he has the stones for it.”

  Teddy couldn’t help a little laugh at her father’s turn of phrase. If she knew Noah Cade, he had the stones for anything life could throw at him. And her father’s idea struck her as making eminent good sense. Of course it would be better for Noah to hear straight from the people who had been directly impacted by fracking, or who might be. Everything she’d told him was either second hand or largely theoretical. Besides, they were so tangled up in each other’s wounded feelings that it was hard for them to have a rational discussion about the issue.

  But it wa
sn’t like the guy had nothing better to do with his time than hike off up to Susquehanna County to get his ass roasted by a bunch of irate farmers.

  “That’s a great idea, Dad, but he’s a little busy now. The team plays almost every day, as you well know.”

  “Sure, but he’s on the disabled list. He doesn’t have to sit on the bench every game. Not as far as I know, anyway.”

  Teddy hadn’t been aware of that, since she still knew little about baseball. “Okay, but he said he might have to see a surgeon in Alabama any day now. He gets the MRI results tomorrow.”

  “Hell’s bells, just ask him, Teddy. If he can find a few hours—anytime—I’m pretty sure I could set something up in a hurry. Hell, us farmers aren’t that busy, are we?” he joked.

  “Not at all. You only work about fourteen hours a day, so there’s another ten or so hours available for everything else,” she said sarcastically.

  “Ha! Well, then, just ask him, honey. You’ve always been a very persuasive gal.”

  Apparently not when it comes to Noah Cade, though.

  “Okay, I’ll give it a shot,” she said, starting to warm to the idea. It did make sense, especially since some farming families in neighboring communities had recently expressed regret over signing leases to allow fracking on their land. “Could you get some of the people who’ve had second thoughts about their leases in on this?”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Teddy took her latté from the barista and headed toward the door, thinking about the complications. But, really, what did she have to lose? She’d just play it low-key and try to convince Noah that a trip north would help him make a better-informed decision.

  “Then I’ll do my best, too, Dad. Let me broach the subject with him and see what happens. All he can do is say no, right?” she said in a light-hearted tone she certainly didn’t feel.

  “I have a feeling Noah Cade is no match for my little girl. And I’ll start talking to people today.”

  “Okay, but don’t tell them who it is you want them to meet,” Teddy hurried to say. “Because I don’t share your confidence that he’ll actually agree to this.”

  “Have faith, Teddy. Have faith.”

  “Easier said than done, Dad. But I’ll try.”

  * * *

  “Thanks for doing this, man,” Noah said as Nate ushered him into the foyer of his sprawling Main Line home.

  Nate was casually dressed in checked sleep pants and a white T-shirt and looked like he hadn’t shaved yet today. That was one of the things Noah liked about his friend—he was a laid back, regular guy despite his money and talent.

  “Hey, no sweat. Come on back,” Nate replied, leading him down the center hall toward the enormous, wood-paneled great room at the rear of the house. “How about a beer? Or coffee?”

  Noah flopped down onto a leather sofa across from a room-dominating TV at least a six feet wide and surrounded by speakers from an impressive home theater system. The entire room, in fact, was classic man cave. “I won’t say no to a beer. And that’s a great screen, dude. What does Holly think about it?”

  Nate grimaced as he opened two bottles of Corona. “She’s not thrilled about it, but hey, I don’t bug her about her cave, which is basically a full-on medical library. Anyway, I insisted the set-up was strictly for work, too—for baseball research purposes.”

  Noah laughed. “Well, you can see the batters’ motions in greater detail with a screen this size.”

  “Fuckin’ A.” Nate clinked his bottle against Noah’s before sitting down in the armchair opposite him. “So, what’s the verdict from the MRI?”

  Noah had met with the team doctor and the radiologist at the latter’s office only an hour ago. As soon as he got out, he’d called Nate on his cell and asked to meet since he valued his opinion on the issue more than anyone else’s.

  “What it comes down to is that the shoulder could probably be okay with a few weeks of rest. Okay,” he emphasized.

  “Okay, meaning not great,” Nate said, getting the implication.

  “Who knows? It could hold up for weeks or months or maybe even until I retire if I get really lucky. Or, it could blow up tomorrow with one pitch.”

  “Wow, that’s real helpful to know. You could get hit by a bus today, too,” Nate said sarcastically.

  “Tell me about it. Anyway, they think surgery is my best option if I want to try to keep pitching for a few more years.” He shook his head, trying to not to feel as sick at heart as he had when he first heard the recommendation. “I can try to manage it for the rest of the season and decide then, but it’s a risk because the damage could get worse.”

  “So, what was their prognosis for rehab if you have the operation?”

  The doctors had told him that the surgeon in Alabama was best positioned to advise him on that, but it depended on exactly what he found once he had Noah on the table. “In the worst case scenario, I’d have to be prepared to lose the rest of this season and as much as two-thirds of the next,” he said in a grim voice. “Basically, it’s a crapshoot at this point.”

  “Well, shit, that totally sucks,” his friend said in a disgusted voice. “Jesus, after you lost almost a whole year with the elbow, too.” He leaned forward, his gaze full of sympathy. “Look, nobody could blame you if you decided you’d had enough, man. You’ve already been through a hell of a lot.”

  Noah should have been upset by that response, but he knew that Nate was only saying it out of a sense of duty. He would bet it wasn’t what the veteran pitcher truly felt.

  Still, his gut torqued as he contemplated his future. “I could be done as a starting pitcher. It would be tough to get my velocity back even with the surgery. And I sure as hell can’t close games, either, or even be a set-up man. So, that leaves middle-relief work. Mop up stuff.” He snorted as he thought about being relegated permanently to that role. “Not exactly much to look forward to, is it?”

  “I totally get it. But you’ve had a great career, Noah. No matter what decision you make, every guy on the team respects you and supports you.” His friend paused for a moment, his gaze narrowing. “That being said, I think you could use an attitude adjustment.”

  That jolted Noah. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah, because it’s not just about you. The team needs leaders like you. I don’t give a crap whether you’re pitching seven innings every fifth day or one inning whenever you’re needed. You can be just as valuable in a new role as you were before all the injuries.”

  “That’s bullshit, man,” Noah scoffed. “Nice try, though.”

  Nate gave him a steely-eyed glare. “I’m serious. How many World Series rings have you got stashed away?”

  “None, as you well know,” he answered, puzzled.

  “Right. Now, how many rings has Jimmy Foligno got?”

  Noah had to think about that one. Foligno was still pitching for the L.A. Dragons at forty-three years of age, throwing eighty mile an hour junk an inning at a time. But the venerable lefty had been on a bunch of different championship teams in his long career. “Uh, four, I think?”

  Nate nodded. “Yeah, four. And with three different teams, too. He never won more than thirteen games in a season, but he still made it to the World Series five times and won four of them. So, how do you think he managed that?”

  Noah thought about that for a few moments, too. “Contending teams sometimes grabbed him at the trading deadline. Mainly because he’s so good with the other pitchers.”

  “Exactly. The guy’s never been an All-Star. Not once. But he has more Series rings than just about anybody. It’s because he’s the ultimate team man, and because he knows all the hitters inside out. When Jimmy’s on your team, it’s like having another pitching coach on the bench. And whenever he’s called on to give his team a clean inning, he drags his ass out to the mound, throws whatever sloppy shit he has left in his arm, and somehow gets the job done.”

  “So, I’m supposed to try to be another Jimmy Foligno?” Noah shook his head. �
�I think they broke the mold when they made him.”

  Nate shook his head impatiently. “I’m just using him to make a point. Nothing stays the same in this business for long. You know that. If you want to stay in the game a long time, you’ve got to be ready to do whatever it takes to stay valuable to the team.” He jabbed an index finger at Noah. “And you are valuable, you moron. You always will be unless you let your head fuck things up.”

  Noah stayed quite for a minute or so, pondering his friend’s words. The trouble was, he wasn’t sure he wanted to stay in the game badly enough to take on a role that would leave him a shadow of what he once was.

  “I’m getting some pressure to pack it in and join the family business,” he finally said. “In fact, my father wants me to front a media campaign for the gas industry.”

  Nate shrugged. “You’ve got the rest of your life to do that shit. Best case scenario, you’ve only got a handful of years left to pitch. Focus on your career here, that would be my advice.”

  That was exactly how Noah had always seen it, but lately life had thrown him a few curveballs. Still, there was no point trying to make Nate understand the sense of obligation he felt to his father and Levi.

  “Jimmy Foligno, huh?” he said. “Next thing I know, you’ll be telling me to learn to throw a knuckleball so I can be another Phil Niekro and pitch till I’m forty-eight.”

  Nate laughed. “There’ll never be another Phil Niekro. But you get my point, right? You do whatever you have to do. In your case, even if you don’t start games anymore, you can be damn important to the team by giving us solid middle innings. And,” he said with emphasis, “by mentoring the young guys coming up. You’ve got a lot more patience with that crap than me.”

  “Not likely,” Noah said. Nate had always been incredibly patient with the young hurlers and had freely given of his time and advice.

  But Nate’s point sank in, nevertheless. The veteran pitchers like Nate and him wouldn’t be around forever. One of the most important things they could do to ensure the continuance of a contending Patriot team was to pass on their knowledge and experience to the crop of youngsters currently rising up through the ranks of the minor leagues.