Curveball (The Philadelphia Patriots)

by Sykes, V. K.

  “I’ll check on whether there are any mixed martial arts fights in town,” Ryan said, apparently seriously.

  When Taylor gulped, Ryan noticed. “Well, I’ll tell her to bring her Xbox,” he continued. “She can get her kick-ass fix there.”

  “I’ll try to come up with some ideas on my own.” Taylor had visions of outings to the Art Museum and the Franklin Institute, and maybe the zoo. She’d be damned if she’d let the kid play video games all weekend—at least if she could help it.

  “I’ll call her first thing tomorrow,” Ryan said. “I’m sure she’ll be excited about coming.”

  “I hope so. I’m looking forward to getting to know her.”

  His dark gaze locked tight on hers, drawing her in so very easily. “Taylor, thanks for this. It means a lot.”

  “You’re very welcome.”

  But as she sipped her wine and watched the tension drain from his handsome face, Taylor couldn’t help wondering if she would ever be more to Ryan Locke than a convenient emergency babysitter.

  26

  TAYLOR GENTLY PUSHED open the door to her guest bedroom. She didn’t really expect Devon to be stirring yet—not when it was only ten o’clock on a Saturday morning. The girl had been up until at least three playing video games and listening to music on her iPhone. That was the last time check Taylor remembered before finally falling asleep, exhausted after a nerve-wracking day. While she’d been happy to volunteer with Devon, the responsibility of taking care of a fourteen-year-old she’d only just met had suddenly become very real and a little overwhelming.

  She’d picked Devon up at Ryan’s apartment after work and taken her for pizza and then a movie before heading back to her place and setting her up in the spare bedroom. It was only the second time she’d met the girl—the first had been when Ryan introduced them over coffee at the stadium late Thursday afternoon—and Devon had remained mostly uncommunicative. Ryan had made it clear that he expected her to return with him to Edenwood the following week to face the music, as he’d put it.

  But last night, every time Taylor had tried to probe gently about what the girl was feeling, Devon had either dodged the topic or ignored her completely. She’d finally given up, since that particular part of the puzzle was not her problem to solve.

  Still, Taylor refused to feel discouraged. When she’d raised the possibility of spending the day at the Six Flags Great Adventure amusement park in New Jersey—Ryan had told her his daughter was into thrill rides—Devon’s dark brown eyes had suddenly flickered to life, as if she’d just been plugged into an electrical socket. Taylor didn’t really get the attraction—in fact, thrill rides both scared and nauseated her—but she was more than happy to let Devon ride to her heart’s content if it would cheer the poor kid up.

  When the phone started to ring, she softly closed the bedroom door and hurried back to the kitchen to pick up.

  “I’m betting good money that she’s still asleep,” Ryan said in a morning-husky but playful voice.

  “Well, good morning to you, too,” Taylor answered as she grabbed her half-full coffee cup and shoved it into the microwave to reheat. “And I’m not about to take that bet.”

  “Hell, I just got up myself, so I can’t criticize. How about you? Are you okay? How did it go, anyway? Is your place trashed?”

  Taylor laughed. “So many questions, Dad. Were you worried?”

  “Hell, yeah.”

  “Well, there was no need. We’re both fine, and you did warn me that she was a night owl.”

  “Did you get more than yes and no answers out of her? I hope she wasn’t too rude. She’s a nice kid, really, it’s just that—”

  “Relax, Ryan. We just had a pizza and went to see GI Joe: Retaliation. Not my cup of tea, but she enjoyed it.”

  “Great. Thank God.”

  “Stop worrying.”

  “That’s like telling me to stop breathing. But thanks. Really. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”

  “You had a good game last night.” Taylor diverted the discussion because she wanted to know how he felt about his performance. He hadn’t made any errors, but he’d still looked tentative almost every time a ball was hit in his direction.

  “It’s great whenever you can win the first game of a road series.”

  “Sure, but I meant your game. A single and a walk in four at bats—you did a good job.” She’d recorded the game on her DVR and watched it after they got home from the movie. Devon had joined her for maybe five minutes before wandering off to her bedroom.

  “Thanks. No errors. That was the most important thing.”

  Yes, but you didn’t have to make a single throw when it counted, either. “So, you’re feeling good about it?”

  “Feeling great,” he said, a little too quickly. “Anyway, what are you guys up to today? Is Six Flags a go?”

  “Big time.”

  Ryan chuckled. “For her, the bigger and scarier the coaster, the better.”

  “Yuck. I hope she has a really strong stomach.”

  “Absolute cast iron, just like her dad’s.”

  “Lucky you,” Taylor said enviously. Not that she had even the slightest desire to experience any gut-wrenching thrill rides.

  “Well, I should let you go. Maybe you could have Dev call my cell sometime before practice?”

  “Sure. I’ll wake her up in a little while so we can have some brunch before we head out.” But whether Devon would actually call Ryan was a big question. Her hostility toward her father had been clear last night, and didn’t seem to have been muted by coming to Philadelphia.

  “Thanks again, Taylor.” He couldn’t seem to thank her enough.

  “You’re welcome. And don’t worry. Just focus all your attention and energy on getting ready for the game this afternoon, okay?”

  “Roger. Got it, boss,” he said in a joking voice.

  Taylor’s stomach tightened instantly. The last thing she needed was to be reminded of their professional relationship, even in a humorous tone.

  “Talk to you soon,” she said as brightly as she could manage. “Have a great game.”

  Please, God, help him have a good game.

  * * *

  Ryan’s body finally started to relax as jets of hot water from the big showerhead pounded over his aching shoulder muscles. He flexed and stretched as the heat started to do its work, but he knew the days were gone when he could punish himself physically and not feel the effects the next day. By athletic standards, he was a senior citizen, even though in some ways he was in the best shape of his life. His playing weight was barely more than it had been at twenty, and yet he had added pounds of muscle mass in all the right places through hard work in the clubhouse gym, as well as a brutally rigorous off-season training regimen that included regular Taekwondo sessions.

  But all the extra practice since the trade had been taking its toll on his body. What were the options, though? He had to somehow get more comfortable playing first base, and the only way he knew how to do that was to keep working his ass off. He figured that all his grueling daily work with Pedro Delgado should impress management, too—demonstrating his commitment to getting past his problem, as it was politely being referred to.

  Was it impressing them, though? While a few guys on the team and on the coaching staff continued to act normally toward him, a lot of others seemed to be more or less shunning him, making him feel like a leper. It wasn’t that they were pissed off at his error-prone play, or concerned about his attitude. No, they were either avoiding him or tippy-toeing around him because they didn’t know what to say. That was just the way it was in the clubhouse and the dugout when a player was on the skids. Most players who were in trouble liked to be left alone in their misery.

  At least his conversation with Taylor this morning had eased Ryan’s mind a little. No catastrophes had occurred in the twenty-fours since he’d left Philly. Not that he thought Devon would make things tough on Taylor. She was a good kid, despite all her threats and
blackmail. And maybe Taylor would talk some sense into Devon over the weekend, though that seemed like a faint hope. Even if she was prepared to listen, he doubted that Taylor would push her to go along with her father’s wishes to finish her year at Edenwood. He had a lot of respect for Taylor—she was smart and she’d been through a lot herself as a teenager—but she’d never been a parent and didn’t have a clue what it was like to raise a kid. Sure, it would be easy to give in to Devon and make her happy for a day or a week or a month. But what would that do for her future?

  Their differences over what do about Devon paled, though, when he stacked it up against what Taylor wanted to do about him. Her and Dembinski both. They seemed oblivious to the fact that any stint on a shrink’s couch would stick to him for the rest of his career, no matter what the outcome. Even if the treatment, whatever the hell it was, worked—which he totally doubted—he’d be branded for the rest of his baseball career.

  As a head case.

  To hell with that.

  Ryan knew what he had to do. No matter whether his throwing improved or not—and it still felt like it was totally out of control—there was one thing he knew he could manage.

  His hitting.

  Because his performance at the plate had dived just as suddenly as his ability to throw straight, he’d be an idiot to think the two weren’t directly linked. But while his arm still didn’t want to take orders from his brain, he’d started to feel more comfortable in the batter’s box over the last few games, and his concentration was coming back. All week long he’d been seeing the ball better as it left the pitcher’s hand. He’d pounded out some key hits, and hadn’t had a single dismal performance since the benching. If he could string together a few more hits over the rest of the weekend, Ryan knew his confidence would get a big boost, errors or no errors.

  In the end, his hitting was all that counted when it came to his future, and Devon’s, too. Because his arm and brain didn’t want to communicate, the Philadelphia experiment probably wasn’t going to work out. Hell, it had been misguided in the first place. But if he could stay in the lineup long enough to prove he still had what it takes when it came to his bat and his eye, he had little doubt that an AL team would come knocking on the Patriots’ door and offer them a trade. And even if that didn’t happen right away, consistent success at the plate would stand him in good stead when it came to free agency in the fall.

  So what if he couldn’t throw? There were some designated hitters in the American League that couldn’t play much if any defence any more. The teams accepted their limitations when they wanted those guys’ bats in the lineup badly enough.

  That was his future, not continuing to struggle with a new, unfamiliar position here in Philadelphia. That was the ball he was going to have to keep his eye on every minute of every game.

  * * *

  NITRO. THE PARK advertised the appropriately-named roller coaster as the most explosive ride on the planet. On a mile-long track that plummeted to the ground from a height of twenty-three stories, the ride’s three big cars reached speeds approaching eighty miles per hour. It had made Taylor feel sick just looking at it.

  Earlier, Ryan’s daughter had browbeaten her into trying what she’d called a kiddie coaster, the wooden Rolling Thunder. The girl had been excitedly relentless all through their late lunch, shaming Taylor for wimping out on what was supposed to be a fun afternoon for both of them. In the end, Taylor had capitulated, anxious to build on the sudden enthusiasm Devon had demonstrated as soon as she studied the lineup of exciting—or in Taylor’s view, terrifying—thrill rides. So, she’d given in to the pressure and boarded the Rolling Thunder, only to find that it was actually not nearly as gut-wrenching an experience as she’d feared. Maybe her stomach had strengthened since her dad had taken her to this same park eighteen years ago.

  But Rolling Thunder was one thing. Nitro was a different beast entirely, and utterly petrifying, at least to someone like her. As Taylor watched it hurl what looked like about a hundred riders seated four-abreast through a string of tight loops, she grabbed onto Devon’s wrist.

  “No, way, girlfriend,” she said firmly. “I’m afraid you’re on your own for this one.”

  Devon heaved a wildly dramatic sigh. “Oh, man, don’t wimp out on me now. The other one wasn’t so bad—you said so yourself. And you don’t want to let me have to go on this monster alone, do you? I’m just a kid, you know.”

  Taylor laughed, seeing that the girl’s expression was playful, not pained. Suddenly, it even seemed like a breakthrough might be imminent. “Oh, come on,” she said, deliberately rolling her eyes. “You’re fourteen years old and as big as I am. Not to mention a black belt in something or other. I’ll bet nothing scares you.”

  Devon laughed, too, as she shielded her eyes against the glare of the afternoon sun that was behind Taylor now. “Okay, you got me on that. But it would be a lot more fun with you, Taylor. It was awesome when you screamed like a little girl on Rolling Thunder.”

  It was the first time Devon had called her by her name. It felt like a small but very important victory, and Taylor almost gave a little fist pump.

  Taylor looked over Devon’s shoulder at Nitro. God, I really should suck it up and do this. Seize the opportunity.

  Somehow it seemed terribly important that she establish a real connection with Devon. Maybe she still harbored hopes that, against all odds, she and Ryan could have a lasting relationship. But that ship had already sailed, hadn’t it?

  Or maybe it was important simply because Devon clearly needed a friend.

  Hell, Taylor needed a friend.

  Or a family of her own, better yet.

  How bad could the big, scary coaster be, anyway? If she closed her eyes, wouldn’t the ride be over in just a couple of minutes of insane loops and vertical drops? After all, she wasn’t doing something truly dangerous—just a little sickening.

  Okay, a lot sickening.

  Taylor sucked in a big breath as she grasped Devon’s thin, wiry arms. The girl was so lithe and fit. “Devon, you realize that if I do this, you’re going to owe me.” She gave her a mock glare.

  Devon laughed again as Taylor dropped her hands. The girl had a sweet, infectious laugh that instantly transformed her whole demeanor when she let herself forget her anger. “Okay, but not if you gack on my shoes.”

  “Deal,” Taylor ground out before she had a chance to back away from the horrifying prospect. “I mean, I’ll do my best. No guarantees.”

  Devon grabbed Taylor’s arm and more or less dragged her to the waiting mouth of the beast.

  * * *

  “I HAVE TO say, that was a pretty awesome afternoon.” Devon stretched out as best she could in the passenger seat, wiggling to get more comfortable. “I only wish you’d have tried Kingda Ka. That was, like, awesomely sick.”

  After Nitro had propelled her into a state of pure terror, despite her closed eyes and white knuckle grip on the bar that kept her from becoming a human missile, Taylor had drawn the line at the equally horrifying Kingda Ka. Devon had taken pity on her—no doubt because Taylor’s face had appeared the approximate color of key lime pie. Somehow overcoming her earlier stated aversion to riding alone, Devon had climbed aboard a car and was launched hydraulically forty-five stories into the air at over a hundred miles an hour before spiraling back down.

  “I will, should I ever get an overwhelming desire to be blasted into space,” Taylor deadpanned as they headed along the highway back to Philadelphia. “Your father must have taken you to a bunch of amusement parks, because you’re sure a pro when it comes to thrill rides.”

  Devon sipped from the frosty chocolate drink she’d brought with her from the park, clutching it with two hands like a little kid. “Yeah, but not all that often,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s not like he didn’t want to. It’s just hard, you know, with his playing schedule. And by the time the season’s over, the parks are closing for the winter.”

  Taylor nodded. “One thing maj
or league players don’t have much of is extra time, at least not for about eight months of the year.”

  “We both hate that. When Dad was home, I was always in school. Saturday afternoons, he was either playing or on the road. Even in the summer, we couldn’t do all that much because he always had to be at the park early for practice, or physio, or whatever.” Devon exhaled a little sigh. “Now I don’t know what we’re going to do. Everything’s so messed up, for both of us.”

  She angled her body so she could face Taylor more directly. “Taylor, is he going to be okay with the Patriots? It sounded pretty awful, the way he talked to me about it.”

  Taylor’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel. Ryan had been tight-lipped about his problem with her, but must have revealed more of his true feelings to his daughter. At first that seemed backwards to her, thinking that he’d want to shield Devon from his worries as much as he could. But she couldn’t forget that Ryan always had to take into account that Taylor was management, no matter what their personal relationship was. So, she supposed it made sense, at least in that regard.

  Though she didn’t want to duck Devon’s question, especially now that the ice between them had finally thawed, she knew that if she said too much it would be both unprofessional and inappropriate.

  “I’m the team’s assistant general manager, Devon,” she said carefully, “so it’s kind of hard for me to say anything about your dad’s playing situation, no matter how much I might want to.”

  Devon frowned. “Sure, I get that you’re management. But I thought you were his friend, too.”

  Oh, oh.

  “I am his friend,” Taylor said a little defensively. Then she forced herself to remember she was talking to a fourteen-year-old girl, and a fragile one, at that. She softened her tone. “Look, Devon, your dad is struggling now, and nobody can be certain of what the future’s going to bring. All I can tell you is that he’s busting his butt out there on the field every single day. As far as I’m concerned, there’s nobody in baseball that’s more dedicated and hard-working than Ryan Locke.”