by Megan Ryder
“Maybe not, but wouldn’t you like to prove everyone wrong?” Cole grabbed his arm and swung him around to face him, eyebrows furrowed and eyes burning with a barely banked heat. “You and I both know your shoulder is balky and you probably don’t have too many years left. Another big injury and you’re done. But you have a chance to go out on a high note, a chance to play in the playoffs, maybe the World Series. The only thing standing in your way is this team of young, stupid players. You can turn them around.”
Jason stared at him dubiously. “I thought you wanted me to avoid your young players, to not corrupt them. Now you want me to mentor them?”
Son of a bitch. This was a turnaround he never expected. Cole Hammonds, who thought Jason was a demon seed, now wanted him to act as the wise old man on the team. So now he was no longer a corrupting influence but a positive wizened old player? Shit, was he ready for that? It was one step closer to retirement. Then again, he wasn’t that far away now either. And Stacia would be dancing a jig if he could show some, what did she call it, team fucking spirit.
Cole shrugged. “In the game, not the after-hours activities. From what I gather, they have a good handle on the partying. An encouraging word here, a guiding touch there. You never know. It could help.”
“Is this a condition of my contract?”
Cole’s eyes grew cold and stony. “Do I need to make it a condition?”
Jason shook his head. Yeah, they all thought he was in this for the contract, the short deal. But maybe, just maybe, he had a chance to be part of a team. It had been so long. He missed that. Missed the camaraderie. Missed the winning. “Nah, I’ve got you. I’ll see what I can do. But I do it my own way.”
“Fine.” Cole nodded, a smile crossing his face for the first time that Jason could ever remember. “Just don’t break any more radios, okay? And if it takes a few days to replace the one in there, I’m good with that. A little silence and soul-searching might be good for these kids.”
“Yeah right. Communing with the baseball gods? I don’t see these kids as choirboys.”
Cole clapped him on the back. “We just might be coming to some sort of agreement here, Friar.”
Chapter Fifteen
The next few games after the radio incident were quiet. The guys avoided him, for the most part, shooting daggers at him with their eyes. At least they were trying to right the ship on the field. Going on the road and being forced into close quarters was a tinderbox waiting to explode. Bill Monroe continued to work with the players, spending more time being their friend than doing any real coaching. He made a few overtures to Jason, but Jason just walked away. He was just as isolated as before the radio incident, with no real plan of how to inspire these kids and get them to see him as a leader. Leading on the field hadn’t worked and he’d broken a perfectly fine radio all to no avail, although he enjoyed the silence.
Now, on the road, the radio was back and things were slowly returning to what passed for normal with this team. Radio blaring. Partying every night, if a bit more subdued when they lost. Things between him and the other players were unsettled, churning like the ocean after a hurricane. He wasn’t their buddy but a few of them had started to ask his opinion and advice. Hardly the mentor Hammonds had wanted him to be. How the hell was he supposed to mentor these kids? What did a mentor do?
Jason absently swirled the beer in the tall thin glass, the light glinting off the amber liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. In the background, the recap of the game on Sports Center droned on and the commentators regaled the audience with I-told-you-so’s about the demise of his career and how aging stars should retire gracefully.
What the hell did they expect? A home run a night? Batting a thousand?
Whatever.
The bartender slid a hamburger under his arms. Jason swallowed the remaining beer and nodded for another. The lighting was dim and the bar almost empty. Perfect for his morose mood. He bit into the burger, enjoying the solitude. Idly he wondered what Stacia was doing that night. He missed her. After spending most of the past few weeks trying to get rid of her, now he wished she were here, not for the sex, although that was pretty fucking awesome, but for conversation. She was right. He was lonely. Surrounded by twenty-five guys and he was lonely. How pathetic was that?
She was working so hard to make him a success, position him for next year. Obviously that wasn’t working. He didn’t have the heart to tell her he had almost given up on that plan. Unless this team pulled their act together, he was going down in flames.
A small voice inside murmured that maybe it was a good thing. Maybe he could stay in Savannah, with Stacia. See where that led. He was a part of something now, and not on the field. He shook his head. He was a job to her, a job with benefits. But it would be nice to see if there really was something there. Something permanent.
A few bites later, a disruption at the bar’s entrance caught his attention. A few of the younger players on the team stumbled in, talking in loud voices, being obnoxious, well on their way to true intoxication.
Cody Patterson had not yet forgiven Jason for the radio and showing him up in front of the guys. He sauntered to the bar next to Jason and called, “Hey, bartender? Couple of pitchers of Bud and some wings, okay?”
The bartender acknowledged it and began pouring the pitchers. Cody, satisfied he’d completed his task, turned his attention to Jason. “Quiet night, old man? Can’t party like you used to?”
Old man? When was thirty-four old? Maybe to twenty-somethings. Jason slowly swiveled on the stool and arched an eyebrow at the young man. “We just lost our fifth game in a row, ten losses in twelve games. I’m not much in a partying mood.”
Cody clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s no big deal, old man. We’ll come back. We always do. I’m pitching tomorrow. We’ll kick their ass.”
“Like last year, when your team was in the cellar?” Jason arched an eyebrow. “No, when we lose on the field, it’s stupid to go out and party.”
He leaned forward, warming to his topic. “Tomorrow night, we have a nationally televised game against one of the toughest hitters in baseball, Hernandez. You may not have any respect for him but I do. I’ve faced him and he’ll kick your ass back to the dugout in record time. Good morning, good afternoon, and good night. Even a hotshot like you won’t have a chance unless you’re rested and focused.”
Cody straightened, his face turning a deep red. “Hey, I care about the team as much as you do, maybe more since I’ve actually been here playing for the whole season and you just got here.”
Jason looked at the rest of the group and the girls flirting with them, and then back at Cody. Stupid jackasses. “I can see that.”
“Yeah, like you were a monk.” Cody snorted. “I’ve heard stories about you. Girl in every city, partying all night.”
“I wasn’t in a slump and my team was winning. Besides, rumors can be exaggerated.” He sighed, embarrassed by his own past. “It was stupid. I was stupid to act like that.”
“Whatever, man. I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”
“Hungover? Man, pitching without sleep is pretty fucking stupid but to be drinking? I get that you want to blow off steam but you’re just pissing away your shot.” Jason shook his head. “I wasn’t a saint, but you’ve got talent. Don’t repeat my past; learn from it.”
Cody laughed. “The way I see it, you partied your way through the majors and were at the top of your game. Age killed you. Besides, I need to protect my hands. You’re there to catch the balls. Not my fault if you can’t field. Even the commentators agree with me.”
Jason shrugged and went back to his burger. “Whatever you want to believe.”
Cody stood there for a moment, staring at Jason for a few long moments. “You don’t think I can handle Hernandez tomorrow night?”
“Few can.”
“Please. I’m leading all rookie pitchers this season in ERA. I can handle it.”
For the first time, Jason heard a hint of doubt
creeping into Cody’s voice. He knew things were shaky and didn’t have the experience to pull himself out of the tailspin. He also heard something else. Hope. A plea for help, even if he couldn’t voice it. Jason smiled. He’d been there. He could help.
“You couldn’t handle Percival last week. His bat speed’s slower than Hernandez’s. Make one mistake and he’ll take you out of the park.”
“He’s one guy.” Cody shrugged, false bravado back. “I can handle the rest of the lineup So, I’ll watch some tape tomorrow. I’ll be fine.”
“Not if you show up to the park two hours before the game, hungover. You can’t blame everyone for your mistakes. I never blamed anyone but myself, no matter what. Grow up and take responsibility.”
The words echoed in his head but not in his voice. In Stacia’s. Shit, she was getting to him.
Cody grabbed Jason by the shoulder. “I don’t like what you’re insinuating, old man.”
The bartender glanced up from cleaning a glass. A couple of the guys stood and walked over. “Having a problem, Cody?”
Jason wiped his mouth and got to his feet. He threw a few bills on the counter. “Thanks, Charlie. No, we’re not having a problem here. Just a difference of opinion.”
“The old man thinks our partying is inappropriate with our losing streak.”
The other guys stared at him and laughed. Cody grinned. “That’s what I said. The original party animal of baseball. You have no credibility.”
Jason shrugged. No skin off his back if they didn’t listen to him. He could wait. “Whatever.”
“Wait. Care to make a bet on tomorrow’s game? Nothing major. I’ll bet I’ll get Hernandez out every time I face him but you won’t get a single hit off of El Presidente, their ace.”
“What do I get when I win?” Jason felt the first hint of life entering him. God, he loved competition and a chance to take this kid to school.
“When? Yeah right. Okay, a steak dinner.”
“Had one. Don’t need another.” Jason grinned. Bring it, punk.
“Okay, what did you have in mind?”
Jason paused a moment, considering. “Okay, if I win, no parties until we win three in a row. If you win, I buy all of you a steak dinner.”
Cody and the guys cracked up. “Whatever, man. That will be one expensive steak dinner.”
“Your choice of place. Chicago has some great restaurants,” Jason replied, referring to their next city. “But they’re also a tough team, leading the AL Central Division. Going to be tough to win three against them.”
The younger man snorted. “We could easily win against them. We beat them in April.”
“Yeah, they didn’t have their top two starters. They’re tougher now. See you tomorrow, boys. Good luck!”
Jason grinned as he walked out of the restaurant. Finally, a reason to up his game.
*
He got to the park early the next afternoon and sequestered himself in the video room with his notebook. Bill Monroe poked his head in after about thirty minutes.
“Want to go over the tape together?”
His shoulders tightened and a dull throb began to pound behind his eyes. The usual reaction to Bill Monroe. “No thanks. I can figure it out.”
Bill closed the door behind him and crowded into the small media room. “Look, I know you have something against me, who knows what. But I’m the hitting coach and you could use some help. Besides, I know your swing as well as you do.”
Jason lunged up, almost knocking his chair over in the process. “It’s been fifteen years. Fifteen years since we’ve worked together, but that’s not what you told Hammonds to get this job, was it?”
The old rage, pain, betrayal rose up inside, choking Jason with its intensity. He was done suppressing it. Done pretending it didn’t matter. Done with Monroe and the lies. He wanted to have this out? Jason was ready to oblige.
“Is that what’s bothering you? That I exaggerated slightly to get the job? Well, I’m sorry. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“Slightly? Fifteen years is not slightly. I haven’t seen you do much for these young guys and their swing except be their buddy. Looking for your next meal ticket, Monroe?”
Bill grabbed the front of Jason’s shirt and shoved him against the wall. Tapes clattered to the floor and Jason’s chair toppled over. “How dare you, Friar! I made you what you are today!”
Jason gritted his teeth. Everyone thought they made him, they owned him. No one owned him. He owed nobody. “No, I made me. You used me for a job at Texas A&M.”
“You had a full ride there. I got you that.”
“My skills got me that scholarship. You got a cushy job there by selling me out to them.”
“I never sold anyone out.” Bill’s round face reflected shock, a redness creeping up as anger burned to the surface. “I just ensured that you had support when you went there. It was all for you.”
A loud noise at the door had them both turning. Sam, the manager, and the first base coach stood there, astonishment written on their faces. Bill dropped his stranglehold on Jason’s shirt, smoothing it as he let go. Jason took a sharp step back, shaking off Bill’s help.
Sam cleared his throat. “Bill, some of the guys want to hit in the underground cage. Why don’t you give them a hand?” Before Jason could slip out, he held up his hand. “Friar, stay for a few minutes.”
The room cleared out. Jason fixed the fallen tapes and chair. Sam lowered himself into one of the chairs and gestured for him to take the other one. “It’s been awhile since I’ve been a hitting coach, but I might be able to help with McCarthy. Nasty pitcher. Let’s take a look at what you’ve got.”
Jason struggled to calm his heavy breathing, waited for Sam to say something about the confrontation. After a few seconds, he gestured to the screen. “It’s been awhile since I’ve gone against this guy. It doesn’t look like he’s changed too much except for this new arm angle on his slider, which is more like a cutter.”
Sam leaned forward and studied the tape himself. “Never noticed that. I’m new to this guy. Does he drop that arm every time?”
“No, only against lefties and only on out pitches. Tough angle to see the ball.”
“The break is late too. And always out of the zone.”
“Sneaky bastard.” Jason nodded, seeing the angle for himself. “Going to be tough for some of these young guys to lay off of it.”
“Yeah, great catch. I noticed a couple of things in your swing, if you want to run through it.”
He and Sam watched more tape of Jason and then pulled out the previous season’s tape and compared them. After a while they went to the cage and practiced. Finally, just before his arms were too tired, they ended.
“I think you got it.”
“Felt good. Now rest before tonight.” Satisfaction buoyed his spirits. Finally, it felt right. The swing, the team, the connection. He wasn’t the has-been, the outsider anymore. He felt…free.
Chapter Sixteen
Cody Patterson strode to the mound for the first inning. The first two guys went down on three pitches each, barely swinging at the ball. Neither made contact. Cody looked confident and even arrogant. Hernandez strode to the plate, his arrogance a match for the kid’s.
Jason jogged over to the mound with the catcher. Cody shot a glance at Jason. “Watch how it’s done, old man.”
Jason hid a smile and waited.
Three pitches later, they watched the pitch sail over the left field fence and Hernandez in his slow home run trot around the bases.
Cody kicked the mound in frustration. “Next at-bat.”
Jason smothered a grin at the frustration. The younger guy was almost ready for his lesson.
The next inning came fast as Cody struck out the next hitter. Jason strode the on-deck circle and swung the bat overhead, stretching his arms. He mentally ran through the changes to his swing, and took a few practice swings trying to get the feel back. He glanced out at the mound and El Presidente, Tr
oy McCarthy, grinned, much like an evil mastermind. Next victim.
Not this guy.
He strode to the mound and dug in. First pitch brushed him back, a little too close to his head for comfort. He glared out at the mound and got a little bring-it look from the pitcher.
Next pitch was clearly a mistake and Jason hit it on the sweet spot, right over the short porch in right field.
Home run.
He broke out into a big grin and jogged around the bases like he was floating on air. He glanced into the crowd, half-hoping to see Stacia there. Then he looked directly into the camera next to the dugout and tipped his cap. Maybe she’d get his message. The home crowd, only moments before taunting him with chants, were silenced in disbelief. He couldn’t wait to see what the commentators said about the old man on Sports Center that evening.
He jogged into the dugout accepting high fives from the other guys until he came face to face with Cody. “Lucky shot.”
“Good luck, then.” Big grin. Nothing was going to bring him down. Nothing and no one.
And it was on. Cody pitched well, handling the line-up and listening to his catcher for once, while Jason saved him from two errors. Jason also had two more hits, while Cody couldn’t seem to get Hernandez out.
Bottom of the ninth, the Knights were up by one but the bases were loaded and Hernandez was striding to the plate. Cody was staring out at him and his body language had him beat. Jason and the catcher jogged over, while the pitching coach also headed to the mound.
“Ramirez is almost ready. Stall for some time,” the coach advised.
“I want this guy.” Cody was stubborn, implacable, but the coach was shaking his head. “Trust me. I can handle him.”
“You haven’t been able to handle him all night, kid. Don’t worry. There are few pitchers who can.”
Cody looked at Jason, a hint of pleading in his eyes. Jason stepped up. “He still has the heat.”
“The heat is what this guy wants. You need something else,” The catcher said, glancing over his shoulder.