The Lucky Charm (The Portland Pioneers)

by Beth Bolden

  “I’ll call ahead,” he confirmed. “Make sure you bring the wig.”

  “It’s in my bag,” she called over the shower curtain. Relaxing into the hot spray, Izzy began to plan.

  After she finished drying her hair, she found that Jack had already left. It was early to go to the ballpark, even for him, and she felt a pang in her heart. He wouldn’t want to worry her; wouldn’t want her to know how upset he was about the possibility of the minors.

  Of course, having the house empty also made it easier for her to do what needed done.

  She ate a banana bran muffin over the sink during her first phone call. “Nick, glad I reached you,” she said brightly to the one cameraman she didn’t think Toby had in his pocket. He’d been kind to her on more than one occasion, and she could only hope that she hadn’t mistaken his trustworthiness. “I need a huge favor.”

  Her second phone call was to Corey Rood. Right before she dialed, Izzy had a moment of blinding panic that this was all too last minute and he wouldn’t be available to film today, but she shouldn’t have worried. He was thrilled that she’d actually called and wanted to do the interview and agreed to meet in an hour.

  Izzy took extra care with her hair and makeup, and chose a tailored jacket the color of ripe oranges, and a slim black skirt. She hoped she’d look cheerful but serious; a respected journalist but one who could take a joke.

  Even Toby would have been impressed by how carefully she shaped her interview questions. The one thing she could say she’d learned this year was that stories were all about the superficial. People would believe what she wanted them to believe, if she could only present it to them the right way.

  Corey Rood just wanted the attention. Jack didn’t want the attention, but he needed it. And she only had to convince Toby that he should run the story he needed instead of the story he wanted.

  Izzy gave her reflection one last glance in the mirror hanging in Jack’s entryway and pressed a hand to her stomach, trying to calm the nervous butterflies in her stomach.

  Piece of cake.

  “You wanted to see me?” Jack leaned against the doorjamb and tried to look casual, when in reality, his heart was about to beat right out of his chest with dread.

  Please don’t send me down, please don’t send me down, please don’t send me down.

  Hector looked up from the papers he was sorting on his desk. Probably putting together his lineup for the night’s game, Jack thought. “Thanks for stopping by. Close the door.”

  The hesitant, trying-way-too-hard-to-be-casual expression on Hector’s face sharpened his anxiety to a deadly edge, and he shut the door with a quiet click and skirted the desk to sit in the spare chair. It creaked as his butt hit the vinyl seat, and Jack felt fear clench around his heart. Was this the way it went down? Was this the way you ended up being moved from relevance to nameless obscurity? Shuttled from team to team until you faded into nothing?

  Jack’s palms began to sweat as Hector eyed him seriously.

  “Why do I get the impression you don’t have your head on straight lately?”

  Jack’s only thought was deny, deny, deny. “It’s just a little slump,” he replied, slowly. Casually. Like he hadn’t wondered the same thing a hundred times in the last month.

  Hector’s eyes narrowed.

  “Let me make it clear.” Hector leaned back in his chair and folded his arms behind his head. “I don’t give a shit if you strike out some, or don’t hit the ball very well for a few games. I get worried when you start trying too hard at the plate. When your at-bats start to look like dog crap.”

  Jack’s throat tightened. “Dog crap?” he asked.

  Hector leaned back in his equally creaky chair. “You’re thinking too hard. Wanting it too much. You gotta relax into it and trust your instincts. Like you used to.”

  Jack wanted to grimace, but he kept his expression neutral. The truth was, he hadn’t needed Hector to say it; he knew what he wasn’t doing at the plate and that his batting average wasn’t going to do him any favors, but it felt wrong to not be trying harder. Working harder. Not doing everything in his power to not throw this season away.

  “I’ll work on it.” Jack shifted restlessly in the chair, hating the feeling that he was somehow being interrogated on his fucked-up mental state. Because between Izzy and Ismael moving the team to Vegas, he was a big churning mess of need to succeed.

  “I didn’t bring you here to lecture you,” Hector sighed. “I want to know what’s got you up in a big twist, chasing balls. Jumping the gun.”

  Jack just shrugged.

  “Is it what I told you about Vegas? About moving the team? Because that’s not a sure thing, you know. And you playing your heart and soul out, it’s not going to save the Pioneers. This is a numbers game for Butler. He couldn’t care less what you do on the field.”

  He wished this was actually true, and for a split second, he almost told Hector about the deal Butler had made with him, but something kept him quiet.

  Maybe he didn’t want to ruin anybody else’s sleep at night.

  “I know that.” Jack mulishly crossed his arms over his chest and focused his gaze on the crack on the wall behind Hector’s head. “I know he doesn’t give a shit.”

  “But you do,” Hector said shrewdly. “You care a lot.”

  “What do you want me to do about it?” Jack asked, annoyed. “I can’t just stop.”

  “Okay, then, tell me what you’re trying to force.”

  “It’s not to stay…” Jack finally admitted. “It’s because it’s the last chance. You always tell us to make the most of our opportunity. I just want to make the most of this year. If I get what I want, maybe it won’t piss me off too much when Butler moves us to Vegas.”

  And it was true. All of it. He needed to leverage it all to do the nearly impossible.

  Hector smiled sadly. “I can’t tell you to not try for the playoffs. That’s what we’re all supposed to be trying for, when it comes down to it.”

  “But?” Jack asked.

  “If it’s supposed to happen, it will. You can’t force it, you can’t singlehandedly drag the team to the World Series. It doesn’t work that way. Slow down. You love the game. Enjoy it.”

  Nothing had felt right since Butler had issued that ultimatum. Not at the plate, not in the field, not even hanging out in the clubhouse. He wished he could return to a time when he hadn’t known the price of his own peace of mind.

  “Jack, nobody is expecting you to be Miggy Cabrera. You’re a good player, sometimes a great player. You hold this team together, but if you keep going this way, you’ll hate the game by the end.”

  “I don’t want that.” And I don’t want to hate myself either, for not trying hard enough, and for falling short.

  “Then go, hit a few balls around and try to remember what used to make pitchers hate you. I’ve got to finish this batting order.”

  “Yes, sir.” Jack gave Hector a mock salute.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “I know you’re angry.” Personally, Izzy was kind of proud at just how livid Toby was and how calm she felt. Actually, it was more of an out-of-body experience. She could practically see herself as she faced off against her boss over the interview he’d never authorized her to conduct.

  “Really, Isabel? You think I’m angry?” His lips curled into a sneer and he practically spit the words at her, his hands curled into fists on top of his big desk.

  “I understand this interview wasn’t your idea, but I think you should watch it and let the tape be your deciding factor.”

  “It’s that good?” His tone told her exactly how good he thought the interview probably was, but he still picked up the DVD case she’d slid across the desk.

  He toyed with the case for a good minute, just glaring at her. Izzy felt her breat
h shorten in her chest, but every heart-stopping pause was worth it. Not only could she protect Jack from being sent to the minors, if this story blew up the way she hoped it would, Toby could stop looking for the mysterious redhead. And that was good for everyone.

  Finally, Toby opened the case and slid the DVD into the player behind his desk. Taking a steadying breath, Izzy looked up at the TV and prayed that out of three quarters of a mostly disastrous season, this interview was her Mona Lisa.

  They watched in silence. Toby didn’t even make his usual grunts, and Izzy hoped that was a good sign. But then, she’d known she’d nailed the interview as she’d stood in front of the camera, and watching it now was only a confirmation of what she already believed. The real question was whether Toby was capable of letting go of his irrational hatred and admitting she’d done something well.

  The interview drew to a close and Toby hit the power button, leaning back in his chair, contemplating her through narrowed eye slits.

  “You’ve been holding out on me,” he finally said.

  She wasn’t exactly sure what he meant. It was good, right? She hoped so.

  “Where has this reporter,” Toby continued, gesturing to the dark TV, “been the rest of the season? Hiding?”

  Love and desperation—a potent combination that makes you do crazy things with almost no hope of success.

  Izzy raised her chin a notch. “I’ve learned a lot this season.”

  “I can’t say Bennett’s going to like it too much,” Toby said.

  “He doesn’t have to,” Izzy said in a rush, though she had tried her very best not to make him look too terrible. He’ll understand, she thought, he has to know I didn’t have much of a choice.

  The one thing she could give him was a little advance warning that it was coming. Maybe then he wouldn’t be unpleasantly surprised after the game when all any reporter was going to want to talk about was his predilection for riding mowers.

  “No, he doesn’t. And he’d probably like it more than the expose I wanted to run on his lady friend.”

  “Does that mean you aren’t interested in that story anymore?” Izzy asked innocently.

  Toby just shrugged. “Unless her identity shows up in my inbox, there’s not a lot of point. We needed one good story on Bennett before his slump killed him for the rest of the season, and you got it. Of course, I didn’t think this Corey Rood thing was going to pan out, but you made it work.”

  That was high praise coming from Toby and she flushed with pleasure. Of course, her reaction was more because he’d agreed to let the other story drop, but there was no reason he had to know that.

  “Thank you, sir,” she said, and realized as she walked out that she was leaving his office for the first time this season with a genuine smile on her face.

  Izzy knew his habits. She knew Jack would check his phone after his shower, and before he met with the media after the game. He’d only have about five minutes to figure out what the hell he was going to say about the story that had run during the game, but she figured he thought quick enough on his feet.

  Five minutes was better than no minutes, right?

  Of course, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to be pissed. As she sat in one of the rickety chairs in the basement room they used for after-game press conferences, Izzy jiggled her crossed leg and tried to calm the butterflies that hadn’t quit all day.

  Hector walked out to the single table and sat in the middle chair. He leaned back in his chair and observed the media with all the confidence of a manager whose team had won twenty out of their last thirty games, and had an inside lock on a playoff berth.

  He answered a few meaningless questions about pitching rotations and bullpen strength, and though Izzy usually tried to pay attention in case Toby asked her a test question, she was too nervous to focus on either the questions or the answers.

  Finally, a reporter from the Oregonian asked a question about the only topic she really cared about.

  “Did you see the interview with Corey Rood about Jack Bennett?”

  Hector smiled long and slow, and Izzy couldn’t help it. She leaned forward, her breath catching in her throat, and her heartbeat hung on every word out of his mouth.

  “I saw a snippet,” Hector drawled. “I think maybe we need to get Bennett in for more batting practice or something. Maybe he needs a girlfriend. Sounds like he’s got a little too much time on his hands.” The room chuckled, and Izzy exhaled with something that was only relief, but felt much bigger. Now if only Jack could laugh the story off the same way he had the first time they’d discussed it.

  “So you won’t be disciplining him?” the Oregonian reporter pressed.

  “Hell, no,” Hector said. “That’s Jack’s business. Next question.”

  The reporters moved on, but she could see from the amusement on their faces that there’d be at least a couple inches of column dedicated to the story tomorrow. Just enough to entertain. Look at what that spitfire Jack Bennett did now.

  Jack walked in then, and the low-level hum in the room raised a couple of octaves. His eyes met hers, and she couldn’t seem to read any emotion in them whatsoever, but then he broke out in a big smile and took the chair to the right of Hector.

  “Jack, did you see the interview?”

  Izzy’s heart froze and she tried telling herself that it didn’t matter what he said, but even as she thought it, she knew it wasn’t true.

  “You guys found me out. Or I guess Izzy did,” he said, a hint of blush on his tanned cheeks. “It was kinda fun to get under that guy’s skin, so I kept doing it. Maybe went a bit above and beyond.”

  “What’s your favorite song to play?”

  Izzy could see the question had taken him a little off guard, and it was tough to keep the triumph of victory from showing on her face. She’d done it. She’d saved them from Toby’s investigation and she had turned him into a genuine celebrity with his own wacky story. Next year when she was probably unemployed and lost and had no idea what to do with her life, she’d look back on this as the pinnacle of her journalism career.

  “You mean when I’m mowing?” Jack’s face turned a little redder, and then Izzy could see the moment he relaxed and let himself go along with the story. “Well, I’m kind of partial to that one about the sexy tractor.”

  The room erupted into laughter and this time, she let herself laugh along with them. Everything was going to be just fine.

  “I see you finally managed to pull yourself away from your adoring fans,” Izzy teased with an impudent smile as Jack finally showed up at their dark booth at the back of the sushi restaurant.

  He flopped down and leaned toward her, the serious expression on his face belied by the twinkle in his blue eyes. “You’re insane, Red,” he said, flicking a tendril of her wig and giving her a look of such affection, her heart melted.

  “I love you, too.”

  “You could have told me you were running it today.”

  Izzy gave him her most innocent look. “I gave you five minutes, babe. I didn’t think you’d need any more.”

  “I figured Toby would want to capitalize off me sooner or later.”

  Hesitating, Izzy wrapped her fingers around her mug of green tea and took a sip. “It wasn’t Toby’s idea, Jack. He didn’t even know about it until it was already filmed.”

  He’d been absorbed in studying the menu card but glanced up in surprise at her words. “What?”

  “I did it on my own.”

  His forehead creased in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

  “Toby’s been looking for Red for three weeks now. He wanted to run that story instead of Corey Rood. I had to convince him to stop looking.”

  Jack set the menu down with a frown. “You should have told me sooner.”

  “You had enough o
n your plate.”

  Leaning back, he crossed his arms over his chest and she didn’t like how serious his eyes had become. She’d had to tell him, right?

  “I asked you this morning if anything was wrong, and you flat-out lied to my face. You told me everything was fine.”

  For a moment, Izzy considered defensively protesting her innocence, but the truth was, he was right. She’d lied to him, even if she’d had good reasons. “You’re right, I did. But this was something I could take care of, so I did.”

  “Yeah, and now most of the Portland metropolitan area thinks I’m a total nutjob who loves a tractor and likes driving my neighbors crazy.”

  “You’re a fun nutjob, though. One who doesn’t take himself too seriously. Who’s unpredictable and a little wild and someone they should be paying attention to.”

  Jack’s eyes narrowed. “You convinced Toby to run the story to get butts in seats?” he scoffed. “To make me famous?”

  She rolled her eyes; she literally could not help it. “There are so many reasons it was the right thing to do. Would you like me to list each one for you?”

  “No.” Jack held up a hand and slumped down in the booth, the fight suddenly out of his expression. “No. I don’t. And I don’t want to argue about it, either. I just want you to tell me things.”

  “I do tell you things,” Izzy said and this time she could feel the defensiveness creeping into her voice.

  I told you about my mom. And my dad. I freaking told you I loved you.

  “You didn’t tell me anything about this.” He paused and the stark honesty in his gaze made her heart ache. “You have to tell me about these things, Iz. What’s going on with your life. What’s going right, and what’s going wrong. Especially if it’s something to do with me.”

  “I was trying to help you,” Izzy insisted, and she knew she was being stubborn. He was right. She needed to let him in, to let him help her with everything she was dealing with, but it wasn’t easy to just flip flop and become a less-guarded person.