Hope's Last Chance

by Jennifer Foor

  A Jennifer Foor Novella

  Copyright © 2016 Jennifer Foor

  ©2016 Jennifer Foor

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a written act of fiction. Any places, characters, or similarities are purely coincidence. If certain places or characters are referenced it is for entertainment purposes only.

  This book is not to be copied or shared.

  This novella is dedicated to all the readers of the first book, A Hope and A Chance. You asked for this. Hope you enjoy the next chapter. Xoxo

  Chapter 1

  It’s the bottom of the ninth inning with two outs. The score is three to four with bases loaded. His team is behind one run. Chance, my beautiful, brave husband is up at bat, and as I grip onto the orange and black seat in front of me for some kind of stability, I watch him swing and make contact with the side-armed pitcher’s curve ball. It only takes seconds, but I observe as if it’s slow motion – the bat shattering, pieces flying in the stands around me, and Chance taking off toward first base like life depends on it.

  The centerfielder charges the line drive coming his way, scooping it up and shooting it with the power of a jet engine in the direction of the first baseman’s awaiting leather glove. The prepared umpire watches for Chance’s foot as the ball nestles snug into the brown mitt. His right arm comes up and shoots the signal I’m praying I won’t see. “He’s out!”

  The crowd begins to uproar in disappointment. We needed this win, and as they chant around me, I sink down in my stadium seat to mope. My eyes focus on Chance’s reaction. He’s lifting his hands up and removing the helmet, then angrily chucks it into the dugout. Of course he’s pissed. There are no baseball players who want to get out in the last inning with little hope for continuation. The whole object is to score, or at least run some other players on bases home.

  The game is over, and unfortunately the Baltimore Orioles fans who once adored him will blame Chance for not being able to save the day. This is his seventh time at bat where the game depended on him making it on base. I can’t begin to assume what it’s like for him as I watch the team walk out and begin the clapping of hands with the winners. Chance keeps his head down while they break apart and talk amongst one another. He disappears to head to the locker room, probably where he’ll be met with local reporters who are covering the game. We’ve had to hire a publicist after he almost assaulted a guy who kept pushing his buttons, so I worry how this interview will go.

  The past few months have been trying on us as it is. I can’t help but fear I’m going to lose him, even when he continues to reassure me it will never happen.

  I hurry from my lower level seat to await him finishing up so we can leave quickly. We’re parked where all the other players’ cars are kept, so I don’t have to worry about fans bombarding him. Before this game I hadn’t seen him in eight days. His team, The Baltimore Orioles, had been on the road for that whole time. I literally picked him up from the airport and drove him straight to the stadium. He didn’t even get an opportunity to see our one year old daughter, who is being watched by her grandparents, my father and his new wife, Buffy, who happens to also be my husband’s sister. A few months after Chance started playing ball in Baltimore my father and his new wife up and moved to be closer to us. They now live about thirty minutes away, an hour in heavy traffic. My dad needed to stay close to the Virginia state line on account of his business. Plus he decided to rent out their huge home so eventually they would be able to move back in. I fear the day that happens because I’ll be completely alone to raise my daughter in her father’s constant absence.

  In some ways I’m glad Faith doesn’t know how hard it’s been on me. I don’t know what I’d do without the help from them. I want Chance to do well with his baseball career, but a part of me resents that he’s never home. Baseball consumes him, and even when it’s not in season, he’s still training and doing whatever it takes to improve his game. He hasn’t been in the big leagues long enough to make a name for himself, in fact he fears that if his standings don’t improve soon he’ll be sent down to play in the minors where we’ll most likely be traded to another state where life will become even more difficult for me. He doesn’t talk to me about this, but I know it burdens him.

  I’ve managed to stay in college in order to get my degree. Chance pays for my schooling, and he is very supportive of me wanting to have a career that will help provide for our future, but I sense a bit of hostility when he’s home. He wants all of my attention, but it’s only on his terms, and mostly because he wants to screw. After a game like this one, he’s uptight and angry. He’ll get drunk off his ass or head right to bed without a moment of time to reconnect. He’ll kiss Faith and I goodnight and we won’t see him until morning. Normally we’ll have three to five days before he’s on the road again, and in that time he’s still practicing and watching sport news to study and improve his knowledge of the game and his opponents. There are never enough days to cram in the time we need to consider our relationship healthy. I pray this isn’t how our future is going to be, but I know I’m a fool if I think it will change. My husband is a major league baseball player. He’s consumed by his job and his inability to impress society. He’s become obsessed to the point that I wonder if it will put enough strain on our marriage that we can’t survive.

  It’s hard to support him when I feel so alone inside. I love him. That’s never been the problem. When I look into our daughter’s eyes I know she’s his world, but his absence is a constant strain. He’s missing everything, and just because I’ve managed to record most of it on video doesn’t mean he gets to experience it the way a father should.

  Being young and married isn’t the easiest. Everyone warned us this was how it would be. Of course, they don’t have a clue what it’s like to be married to someone in the limelight – someone who is constantly being hit on and praised by other beautiful females. It’s not only his absence that kills me inside. It’s the not knowing. Is he tempted? Does he do things while he’s away to pass the time? Is this what being married to a professional athlete is like? Am I strong enough to look past indiscretions? The other baseball wives act as if it’s not a big deal. I suppose some of them are married to the paycheck and not the man. I’m not like them. I love Chance for all the right reasons. I know I’m young, but I’m able to give him everything he needs. I won’t let myself doubt my ability to remain strong. I won’t let some fame follower steal my man from me. One way or another I’ll figure out a way to make this work. I’ll keep our family together, even if it kills me. I won’t let my daughter go through what I did when my parents split up. I know firsthand what that is like for a child to go through. Marriage is about sacrifice. I have to continue reminding myself that in order to wake up every morning with a positive mindset, otherwise the unknown will tear me to shreds.

  Chapter 2

  Word had gotten out that this might be my last game as a major league baseball player, even though I suspected it to happen soon enough. There’s always talk among the players, at the least a bit of speculation as to comings and goings. I’m unable to explain why, but it feels like all of my skills have been taken from me, leaving me as a pretty shitty all around baseball player. For me, in my situation, it was quite damaging to my ego. I’ve been called a lot of things, one of them being a failure, so to prove those people were right I’d gone and done what probably could have been prevented.

  I’m not making excuses for my actions. Maybe if I didn’t have my head up my ass I could have focused more, but it’s damn near impossible when everything I love and appreciate is out of my reach, sometimes for weeks.

  I’d been on the road for a long series, mix that with missing my family and it made a potion for failure. No matter ho
w hard I attempted to improve my game, my batting average, or to come out with less field errors, I seemed to do the opposite.

  I can’t remember ever striking out each time at bat, and when I did make contact with the ball, I’d pop it up so it could easily be caught.

  I knew what my teammates were saying about me. I’m not deaf. They want me gone, most of them at least. How can I blame them when I’m being paid to produce and not following through? I can’t.

  My poor playing on the field has left me miserable. My wife complains when I’m home, not as much as when I’m away though. She hates the fact that I travel for work, and I can’t blame her. For the most part during baseball season, starting early February in my case, I’m an absent parent. Hope relies more on my sister and her dad then she can on me. On most nights I’m a mere image my daughter gets to see on a small computer screen.

  I’d be lying if I said it didn’t have a lot to do with my inability to perform on the field. My motivation is lacking, to say the least. Three coaches had pulled me aside and offered advice, none of which would help me. One of them even suggested I go out and get my dick wet by a crazy fan to distract my mind from my responsibilities I wasn’t taking care of at home.

  This past month has taken a toll on me especially. Hope is distant when I’m home. She’s not the same positive person who always makes me feel wanted. She’s quite the opposite. Instead of feeling happy when we’re together, she’s constantly nagging about what I’m missing, things I should be doing, and how she can’t live this way forever.

  She was there for me when I was at my lowest. She brought me out of the darkness with her love, and I’ll be forever grateful to her for that. I don’t even blame her for having animosity toward me. We went into this knowing the result the game could have on our relationship, on our marriage. We knew this wouldn’t be easy. She wanted me to follow my dreams, and as much as I’d like to say I appreciate her pushing me to do it, I’m angry she can’t see how difficult it is for me to be away from her and our beautiful daughter.

  Hope assumes I enjoy having freedom when we’re apart. I know in the back of her mind she wonders if I’m like the other players. Some of their wives know they sleep around while on the road. I suppose their in it for the money more than love can provide.

  My marriage isn’t like that.

  I want Hope. I need her. When we’re apart I feel like half of me is missing. It hasn’t faded with time. The space between us has only made me appreciate her more. When I try to reach out and explain it to her, she doesn’t want to listen. She’s withdrawn from me, and it’s breaking my heart. In some ways I think she’s in denial.

  We don’t communicate. She no longer calls me when I have a bad game, and I don’t blame her for that either. I’m angry and say things I shouldn’t. I’ve made her cry several times, all because I couldn’t control my temper.

  I’m at the end of my rope, already hanging from a tight noose I can’t seem to free myself of. I’m drowning in a field of broken dreams, and knowing everything that weighs on me only makes it a hundred times worse.

  When I’m low I turn to alcohol. It calms the blow, the shock of not being a better man, player, and companion. It soothes my mind, but mostly my heart, numbing me from the pain I know I’ll feel if I stop. Much like a drug addiction, it’s my go-to remedy for everything negative.

  Bad day on the field – Drink

  Fight with the wife – Drink

  Life crashing down on me – Drink

  When all else fails – Drink

  It’s my constant. My therapy, or at least it’s come to be the only thing that helps relieve the stress I’m under.

  I try to keep it under control so I’m not getting into trouble, but lately it’s gotten a bit out of hand. As soon as I wake up in the morning I’m wondering how long I have to wait to feel something warm burning as it travels through my throat. It takes the edge off of being horny when I’m on the road, and helps me sleep when the spot in the bed beside me is empty more than filled.

  I hate myself. When I look in the mirror I see a coward who is physically and emotionally incapable of handling any kind of situation. At this point, I don’t know how Hope can look at me and smile. I don’t know how she can trust me to watch our daughter while she runs out to the store, especially when the last time I fell asleep when I was supposed to be keeping an eye on Faith. Hope came home to an entire wall colored in black marker. The slip up made for a terrible few days home, so much that I actually looked forward to going out on the road.

  The excitement of the game has worn off. What was once my dream occupation has turned into a slow burning disaster. I know what Hope will say if I’ve lost my job. She’ll tell me I should have stayed in college and gotten my law degree. It would have taken years, but she’s a patient woman. We would have gotten by with little, because we’d always have each other. We wouldn’t have had to move to Maryland, my sister and new husband feeling the need to follow behind to keep us close together, especially knowing Hope would be alone while I was playing the game.

  Everyone has made sacrifices for me and I’ve done nothing but let them down.

  It’s a burden I don’t want to admit, but find it impossible to avoid. I’m hurting them, and I don’t know how to stop, and just when I think it can’t get worse, I have another horrible game.

  There’s a note on my locker after the game ends. I know what it means, and what will happen if I follow through. They’re sending me down to the minors, or worse letting me go all together. My income will suffer, as will my ability to pay the bills and keep my wife living in the lavish lifestyle she’s gotten quite used to.

  I change out of my uniform quickly, pulling my shirt over my head as I walk through the painted cinder blocked halls. My belongings, with the exception of my cell phone and wallet, will remain until I feel like returning. I can hear someone calling my name, but I’m desperate to get out of there. Reporters, who were once inside of the stadium, have now started making their way down to the locker room. I use a janitor’s exit to make my way out without being bombarded from the media. The Oriole’s center fielder, Juan, who is a good friend, once showed me how to leave the property without being detected.

  I’m almost to the gates when I hear someone calling my name. “Chance. Chance Avery, is that you?”

  Since I have no where to really run to avoid them, I turn and pray they aren’t the local news looking to humiliate me more than I already am.

  It’s two blondes, both of them with their large tits bouncing as they hurry in my direction. One is squealing, her body shaking profusely as if I’m some kind of rock star. I can’t help from feeling high over her reaction to me. It does a lot for a person’s ego in general to get attention, but this chick is making me feel like royalty.

  I know they could be my ticket out of the stadium without having to be caught in the parking lot. “How’d you ladies get in here?”

  The one blonde with huge blue eyes, and a body that can’t possibly be natural replies. “My uncle works here. He snuck us in earlier today.”

  “Oh yeah. That’s cool. Better hope security doesn’t catch you back here.”

  She giggles and bites down on her lip while giving me a once over. “Meeting you would be worth it.”

  I snarl. It’s a terrible idea, but if I want to get out of here and get a drink, I’m going to have to improvise accordingly. “How about I make your day even better?”

  Her friend is swaying as she continues. “We’ll do anything.”

  I know they will, no matter what I ask they’ll go through with it, because they think I’m some famous schmuck. “Get me out of here. Give me a ride and we’ll hang out.” I don’t offer detail as to what that entails. I’ll let them assume we’re going to go wild, at least until they’ve gotten me a few drinks to soothe my aching heart.

  After I calm down I’ll catch a ride home and be able to deal with Hope and the fact that I’m probably unemployed.

  Chapter 3 />
  I stand at the exit waiting, watching as the other players vacate the stadium, all while hoping Chance will be the next face I see. He needs to come home to see his daughter’s beautiful smile. That always seems to cheer him up. More than anything, he needs some rest. Being on the road wears him out. He’s exhausted, physically and emotionally, so much that it’s causing problems with the game. His distraught sense of self is making it difficult to comfort him, especially from afar. My husband needs to be reminded that nothing is ever going to be more important than the love his family has for him.

  My watch says the game has been over for nearly an hour. The last of the players and coaches left close to fifteen minutes ago. After pulling out my cell phone, I start calling Chance, hoping he’ll pick up and tell me he’s still inside, meeting with his manager. Instead his voicemail greets me, so I hang up and try again. I start heading toward my vehicle while continuing to try to reach him. I’m shaking and nerve-stricken, my head aching and tense. When he doesn’t respond to my call, or text messages, I’m forced to assume he’s gotten a ride home. Maybe he left angry, wanting to avoid the crowds. It’s possible. I know for a fact that his friends on the team have taken those exact measures to ensure they wouldn’t be bombarded by the media.

  While driving home I continue calling his phone in hopes of being able to ensure that he’s okay. I’m worried, frantic even. It’s unlike my husband to avoid me, and I can’t shake an ill feeling that’s overcome me.

  When I pull up at the house it’s quiet, dark, and seems vacant. My father and new step-mother, which is also Chance’s sister are keeping little Faith overnight so we can have some time to catch up, without having to care for a toddler. It’s reassuring knowing they have her in this circumstance, because I fear Chance won’t be in the mood to socialize, not even with his own daughter.