"Wow. I can't believe it!" Carrie exclaims, shaking her head in amazement.
"Yeah. Neither can I," Roberta mutters. "It's certainly created a lot more work for me. All I know is there's something major going down at the stadium today, and he plans on leaving soon to get down there for it."
"Nobody told me." Carrie's eyes go wide. "Roberta, we have to talk to him before he leaves. Please, I know you're not Scott's biggest fan, and probably for good reason." She shoots me a sympathetic glance, and I hold my hands up like it's okay. Whatever she needs to say to get us back there to see Arnold works for me. "But, Roberta, I need you to look past your personal feelings just this once."
"Then I want this asshole to apologize to me," Roberta says, lifting her chin at me.
"Apologize for what?" I cry out.
"For not calling me, for dropping off the face of the earth, for making no attempt to reach out to me again," Roberta huffs. "Scott, you asked for my number. Why would you do that if you never meant to call me? If it was a one-time thing, fine. But you could've had the decency to tell me that yourself instead of being the little chickenshit that you are."
"Scott, I think the lady deserves an explanation," Carrie says, glancing over at me.
This is about to get messy.
I sigh, "I didn't call you, Roberta, because I didn't put your number in my phone."
"But I saw you!" Roberta insists.
"I only pretended to," I admit, feeling like a complete jackass for having to cop to this in front of Carrie. "Roberta, I never planned on calling you, all right? I knew it was a mistake the second after it happened. You're the boss's right-hand gal. There's no way I was gonna go messing around with you again. I'm sorry I gave you the wrong impression at the time."
"But you'll fuck the boss's granddaughter," Roberta spits in my face.
"Hey!" I reprimand Roberta when Carrie lowers her head.
That was way out of line, and Roberta knows it. There's no way I'm going to stand here and let her talk shit about Carrie like that.
"You know what, Carrie?" Roberta raises her arms, seething. "Do whatever the hell you want. You will anyway. I have laundry to put away."
"Roberta, wait!" I call out to her, but she acts like she can't hear me, marching away with the laundry basket tucked under her arm.
"That went well," Carrie deadpans.
"And that's only the opening act," I groan.
"Scott…" Carrie looks at me, her cheeks turning pink. "You didn't take Roberta where we—"
"No! Of course, not," I answer at the drop of a hat, realizing that Carrie's referring to the time we almost had sex in the weight room of Kings Stadium until she got all paranoid that it would break my hitting streak.
"Okay, good," Carrie sighs in relief. "Because I don't think I could've handled that."
"Everything with you has been a first." I reach out and stroke Carrie's cheek, feeling the warmth of her blush on my fingertips. "Why do you think I'm here with you now? Roberta's right. The little chickenshit I was never would've stuck his neck out like this for anyone."
Carrie holds her hand out to me. "Then let's do this thing."
With her Heimlich blood boiling in her veins, she boldly strides down the hallway. I crane my neck to look through the skylight of the domed ceiling while we walk. But my attention is quickly diverted to the photos lining the walls. I catch a glimpse of a younger version of Carrie, and I stop to look, but she tugs my hand, quickly pulling me away, probably not wanting me to see what she looked like before she lost all the weight. But there are no fat chicks on that wall. I only catch a glimpse of the beautiful girl I fell in love with. Someday, I'm going to have her sit down and show me pictures from her past, and I intend to kiss every doubt and fear of hers away once and for all. Her dad, her grandpa—they're both jackasses for making her feel like she's unworthy of being loved for who she is, no matter what her size.
We stop short at a half-open wood-paneled door, and Carrie raises her knuckles and knocks, giving me a nod of encouragement. I smile back at her, glad that we decided to do this together.
"What is it?" comes the proper diction of an automated voice. "I am busy."
"Grandpa, it's Carrie. I'm here with Scott." Her shoulders rise and fall as her breathing increases. "Can we come in?"
"Hold on a minute, Gayle," Robo-Voice dictates.
"Gayle?" I mutter as Carrie looks up at me in alarm.
And then the door slides open all the way on its hinges, and I'm impressed by how it's been mechanized to compensate for Arnold's paralyzed state.
Arnold's eyes fly over a screen attached to his wheelchair, and out of the speaker comes, "Why am I not surprised to see the two of you here?"
"Grandpa, it's so good to hear you speak in full sentences again!" Carrie leaves her fears at the door and rushes in to give him a hug. "It's a miracle."
Arnold shows no emotion as his granddaughter embraces him, his eyes fixed on the damn screen. "No, the miracle is that this former player of mine made it through the front door."
I enter the room. "How are you, Mr. Heimlich, sir?"
His reply comes quickly. "Steaming mad."
"I'm sorry to hear that, sir," I respond, taking a deep breath, trying not to let him rattle me.
"Grandpa, just listen to what Scott has to say," Carrie urges, coming to stand beside me. "He's here to tell you something very important, something that could very well impact the team."
"Do not waste your breath telling me things I already know. Why do you think I had this voice box installed?"
"To yell at Scott?" Carrie snaps, her temper rising.
"Carrie—" I put my hand on her shoulder, but she shrugs me off.
"No, she is right," Arnold interrupts us. "It was brought to my attention that, since my stroke, people have been viewing me as weak, saying I am not the man I used to be. People I have trusted for decades have been taking advantage of me behind my back, thinking they can undermine me. That ends today."
Carrie steps toward him. "Grandpa, are you saying—"
"That I know about Terry? Yes, I most certainly do," he confirms.
"Fuck!" I mutter, looking down at the carpet.
"Language, Harper," he corrects me.
"Sorry, sir," I apologize, noticing that, although the machine allows him to communicate better, it can't capture the razor-sharp anger that's flashing in the old man's eyes.
"But, Grandpa, how do you—" Carrie is asking when another voice issues from the area around Arnold's desk.
"Carrie, is that you?"
"Gayle?" Carrie cries, shooting me a puzzled glance.
"Over here," Gayle calls out. "On Arnold's computer."
I follow Carrie behind the desk, glancing over her shoulder at the monitor. Gayle's face comes into view via a video chat connection.
Carrie peers at the screen. "Gayle, what's going on? You told Grandpa?"
"Jilly gave me fair warning about what Scott was planning to do," Gayle says, waving at me when she sees me behind Carrie.
I have no choice but to wave back, surprised that Jilly ratted me out.
"Scott, you've already taken such a hit for the team. I couldn't ask you to take another one. Jilly was planning on blowing the whistle to the media if your meeting with Arnold didn't go well today, and I knew I couldn't hold back any longer. I couldn't take that chance. It would rip the team apart."
"Gayle, you didn't have to do this," I respond, realizing the huge risk she took on my behalf by confronting such a powerful man like Arnold with the truth.
"Yes, I did, Scott." Gayle lowers her glasses from her face. "I've had my suspicions about Terry for a while, and now was the time to make my case to Arnold. One of the guys Terry hired last year to burglarize the apartment of Jilly's fiancée finally cracked, and I was able to prove what he was doing to you guys through phone records and e-mails. The amount of pain and suffering he's inflicted on all of you just so he could gain the upper hand and not have to pay you what you deserve, well… It h
ad to stop."
"And it has. Terry Bloom has been terminated effective immediately," Arnold's digitized voice booms out as he cranks up the volume on his speaker.
"But, Grandpa, we're right at the beginning of the season." Carrie stares at him over the monitor. "These kinds of drastic moves aren't usually made until the end of the year. Who in the world are you going to get to replace him?"
"You are looking at her," Arnold responds, and I swear the corner of his mouth turns up.
"You mean Gayle?" Carrie shrieks, covering her mouth with both hands as I rest my hand on her shoulder.
"Meet the first female GM of the New York Kings," Arnold announces with a twinkle in his eye.
"Oh my God, that's wonderful!" Carrie exclaims, jumping up and down and throwing herself in my arms.
"Congratulations, Gayle!" I yell over Carrie's head. "You deserve it."
"All right. Enough of the schmaltz," Arnold says, his automated voice sounding more and more like him by the minute. "Time to get back to business. Gayle, we will talk before the one-o'clock press conference to announce your position. Click the screen off, Carrie."
"Gayle, you're gonna do great!" Carrie gives her a big thumbs-up.
And Gayle raises her New York Kings coffee mug in return. "Here's to better times ahead."
I can feel Carrie's laughter against my chest as she taps the screen and ends the call with a big smile on her face. I kiss the top of her head, unable to restrain myself.
And then Arnold says, "You can both leave now. Everything has been handled."
"I don't think so, Grandpa. What about Scott?" Carrie asks, patting my chest.
"What about him?" Arnold responds, his eyes glazing over.
"Carrie," I whisper, urging her to back down.
But as usual, Carrie doesn't listen. "You're bringing Scott back to the team now, aren't you, Grandpa? You have proof that Terry was the one who leaked those photos. You can quit punishing Scott now for something he didn't even do."
"That is not why I traded him," Arnold says, rebuffing her plea.
I step up behind her. "It's because I got involved with you, Carrie."
Carrie starts to shake, but I refuse to cower in front of Arnold. I rub my hands up and down her arms, doing anything I can to ease her distress.
Arnold watches us, a stormy expression brewing on his face. "For once, Harper, you are not as dumb as you look."
"Grandpa, really?" Carrie snaps, her sense of shock quickly turning to anger. "You have no right to tell me who I can and cannot love."
"Love, is it?" Arnold quips.
"Yes, Grandpa. I love him," Carrie declares passionately, and I feel my heart expand in my chest. "And he's a damn good ballplayer. You're a fool for letting him go."
Arnold's eyes shift to me. "Are you going to let her do all the talking for you?"
"No, sir." I clear my throat, which is tight with emotion. "But I think I know why you're resistant to have me back."
"Astonish me," Arnold mocks.
"You want me to prove myself to you." I try to move closer to Arnold's wheelchair and plead my case man to man, but Carrie wraps my arm around her, refusing to let me go. I regroup. I need to fight for what we have, find the words to make things right. "Mr. Heimlich, you wanna see if this prolonged separation will lessen my feelings for your granddaughter. You don't think I can walk the line."
"I wanted to get rid of you after Roberta," Arnold takes pleasure in informing me, making me gulp. "I was waiting for her to say something to me about you. One word and you would have been out the door, but she never did. She swallowed her pride and moved on. You lost my respect then, Harper. Now, it is up to you to earn it back."
"And you have every right to be upset with me over that," I agree with him. "But I'm not that guy anymore, sir. The love I have for your granddaughter changed me. She makes me want to be better than I ever thought I could be."
"And that is your one saving grace to come out of all of this. You have never played with more drive than you are now," Arnold admits, giving me credit for something at least.
"That's why he needs to be on the Kings," Carrie jumps in.
"And he will be," Arnold says, and my heart nearly stops. "If he can do one thing."
"Anything, sir." I'm willing to promise him my right nut at this point.
"Break DiMaggio's record," Arnold replies, and my stomach drops. "You do that and I will make sure that you end up back on my team before the All-Star break in July."
"But I'm only at thirty-six games. I'd have to get a hit in fifty-seven." I mentally do the math. "That's twenty-one more games, sir. That's the rest of May and into the beginning of June."
"You do not think you can do it?" Arnold baits me.
I feel my shoulders droop, my spirits sinking. "It's a lot of pressure, sir."
"You do not think my granddaughter is worth it?" Arnold needles me.
"I didn't say that," I protest, pulling Carrie tighter against me.
Arnold is silent for a while, and all Carrie and I can do is breathe, hold each other, and wait.
"Today, I fired the man I trusted the most in my organization. I am a little down on humanity at the moment, and I need something to restore my faith in it, so I will be generous and offer you a little incentive. You get to fifty-six games, and I will have you back in pinstripes for the fifty-seventh so you can break the record as a King."
"And if I don't?" I ask, nearly choking on the words.
"I am not in the mood to entertain any more negative thoughts today, Harper. You either do it or not," Arnold responds, readily dismissing me.
"I won't fail you, sir," I vow. "I won't fail your granddaughter."
"Now, get out of here before I have Roberta throw you out," Arnold snipes, his generosity only extending so far.
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." I back out of the room, taking Carrie with me.
I don't stop until we're halfway down the hall. I spin her around, pinning her against the wall. I take her face in my hands and kiss her like my life depends on it. She reaches up on her toes, clasping my neck, pulling me down closer. I slide my hands down her body, allowing my thumbs to quickly graze the sides of her breasts, feeling her moan against my mouth. I bunch the silky, flowing fabric of her top in my hands, letting them come to rest above her fine, sweet ass, careful not to take things too far. Not after we were just granted a reprieve of sorts.
"That's such good news," I whisper, gasping for breath, resting my head against hers. "Fantastic news, actually."
But Carrie shoves me away. "But why did you have to be such a pushover?"
"You're seriously mad at me right now?" I ask, bewildered.
"You could've really backed him into a corner in there, but you didn't," she chews me out, her lips all swollen from my kiss.
"Carrie," I sigh. "The man's had a rough morning. I don't think going head-to-head with him would've solved anything."
"Scott, trust me. He's not as upset as you think he is," she huffs. "I haven't seen him look that alive in ages. He's a warrior. He loves stuff like this where he gets to take charge and save the day."
I rock back on my heels. "Then you don't think I can break the record, do you?"
"Scott, players have tried since 1956 and no one's been able to do it!" she cries out, pushing me aside. "Not even guys like Chase, who had over three thousand career hits. Hall of Famers. MVPs. Batting title champions. It's like sending a man to Mars. It can't be done. He's setting you up to fail."
"That's funny." I smirk at her. "I thought you were someone who knew a thing or two about bucking the odds. No one would've thought you stood a chance in hell of landing that job as the Kings' clubhouse reporter, but you did. On your own merit. Andy told Gayle that K-TV received over two thousand audition videos, but yours was the one that stood out."
"Well, sometimes, you get lucky." She shrugs with her back to me.
"Exactly. Because I don't think you're afraid of me breaking the hitting streak." I reach
out and turn her around. "I think you're more afraid of me being away from you. You think I'm gonna do something stupid and mess it all up. I'm not gonna cheat on you, Carrie. I love you."
"It's not that I don't trust you," she whispers. "But this last week was so incredibly hard, Scott. I hated not being able to see you every day. I don't know how I'm going to survive being without you…if you can't…if you can't do this."
"I'll do it."
"Scott—"
"I'll do it." I run my thumb across her cheek, promising her so much more than hitting a damn baseball every day. "If that's what it takes for us to be together again, I'll play like I've never played before. Just you watch me."
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Scott
"I'll be so glad to get out of this friggin' city. These people are crazy, man."
It's Sunday already, and I walk despondently behind my new teammate, Charlie Ortiz, listening to him bitch and moan about playing in New York. I don't want to hear it. My heart is heavy as I shuffle down the line, waiting to get off the team bus, which is parked in front of the airport. I'm jittery about having to fly, and I hate the fact that I have to leave Carrie behind. But it's up to me to at least try to make friends with these guys. No one wants to hang around a sullen mope all season.
"You're just sore 'cause they were riding your ass down in the bullpen," I banter back.
"There are only so many insults a man can take about his mother. You know what I'm sayin'?" Ortiz shoots me a pained look, tilting his head in my direction.
I can't help cracking up, especially when he starts laughing too.
"I'll be glad to get back to my hippie-lovin', San Diego stoner crowd. They don't know what's goin' on half the time, and I like it that way."
"Not me, dude." I shake my head at him. "I like it when the fans are into the game."
"That's 'cause you're used to New York. It doesn't bother you as much," he replies, smacking my arm.
"When you play for a team like the Kings, the fans cheer you when you're doing good and boo the heck outta ya when you're doing bad," I reply, letting him know that it's by no means a cakewalk. "They're pretty vocal about letting you know how you're playing."
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