by V. K. Sykes
Charley Cameron had no doubt talked to Maddie, but Jake figured he should call her anyway and warn her, just to make sure. He grabbed the phone and dialed the hotel operator, who put him through right away.
Maddie answered after the first ring. “Yes?”
Her voice sounded tired, like she’d been awake for hours. “It’s Jake. Listen, did you get a call from Charley Cameron this morning?”
Maddie inhaled sharply enough that Jake caught it. “Jesus, did I ever,” she said. “He woke me up to give me a nice, long lecture about interview rules. Pretty much at full volume, I might add.”
Though he wasn’t surprised, Jake gave a silent curse. “What exactly did he say?”
“What do you think? He said that I’m not supposed to do any player interviews unless Media Affairs sets them up, and that I should know better. I felt like telling him to do something anatomically impossible, but he’s right. We both know their rules are stupid, but it wasn’t like I wasn’t well aware of them.”
Jake couldn’t miss the tiny waver in her voice, and the knot in his stomach turned into a big lump of lead. “You sound worried.”
“Of course I’m worried,” she said. “I put up a good front with Cameron, and I’m not going to let myself get pushed around. But yes, I’m really worried now that the team might not let this go. And I need their cooperation to do my job, Jake. I can’t function if I have to fight with Charley Cameron and the front office. The paper would have to reassign me if I couldn’t be effective anymore.”
His heart sank. This was his fault, and it was up to him to make things right. “Maddie, I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I really didn’t think this was going to be such a big deal, but if Charley’s reaction is any indication, it looks like the head honchos might be jerks about it. Me, they’ll just slap on the wrist. Maybe give me a fine. But you’re right about how hard they could make it for you.”
He waited through the fraught silence, wishing he knew what she was thinking. Not only about the situation but about him—did she hate him for all the trouble he’d caused her? “I’m figuring that the best thing now,” he continued, “is for me to find Dembinski and apologize to him in person. I’ll tell him the truth—that I pressured you to do the interview that way.”
“I appreciate that,” Maddie finally said. “But please don’t tell him you pressured me. I’m a professional, and I don’t give in to pressure unless I want to. I’ve decided I’m going to apologize, too, and I’m going to do it in writing. I broke the rules, and I knew it. I have no excuses, and I’m just going to say so and hope they’ll overlook it as an isolated mistake, one that will never be repeated.”
Maddie was both smart and principled, and Jake admired the hell out of her. “Apologizing never hurts,” he said, “even when you’re not at fault.”
He paused, knowing what he was about to say was crazy. But he had to give it a shot. He wanted her too much to let her go without a fight. “Maddie, now is obviously not a great time to have this conversation, but…” He struggled to find the words. “I might as well just say it. I really want to see you again. I know that probably sounds bat-shit crazy, but what can I say? I really like you and I want to see more of you.”
Another fraught silence. He rushed in before she could respond. “I know I was moving too fast in La Jolla, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since you got into that cab. We would have to be careful, for sure, and think hard about everything we’d be doing. But we can’t just pretend nothing happened between us, Maddie. Something did, and I’m pretty sure we both know it.”
He gripped the phone, praying she wouldn’t flat out deny him. Anything but a straight no he could work with.
She sighed, obviously unhappy. “I didn’t deny that I felt something then, and I won’t deny it now. But doesn’t this morning’s mess make it obvious that we can’t see each other again like that? I told you our meeting in secret like that was dangerous, and I was right. Now I’ve got Charley Cameron telling me I should stay completely away from you if I’m smart. He didn’t exactly leave room for debate.”
Jake leapt to his feet, practically tripping over the tangled sheets and duvet. “That’s crap. He has no right to talk to you like that. You’re not his servant, for Christ’s sake. I’ll go over there and kick his fucking ass from home plate to the centerfield bleachers.”
He couldn’t believe Cameron’s arrogance. No way would he let that media hack get away with trying to intimidate Maddie.
“Hold on a minute,” Maddie shot back, her voice rising. “Forget Charley Cameron. Sure, he can be a jerk, but this time he’s just doing his job. And the problem is that he’s right. If we keep seeing each other outside the boundaries the team’s set, I can kiss this assignment goodbye. And I can’t do that, Jake. I can’t take the risk. I’ve worked too hard to get where I am to throw it all away. No matter what the temptation.”
A pleading note entered her voice, and that made him feel like a total jerk.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I really am. But we can’t be seen together again except when it’s strictly business.”
Jake sat down on the bed, deflated and exhausted. What she said didn’t surprise him, although he’d been hoping for a different answer. He’d convinced himself that when the furor over the interview business died down, she’d agree to see him again, even if it had to be kept secret. But he’d already learned enough about Maddie Leclair to know she meant what she said. Yeah, the rules that kept them apart were ridiculous, but she obviously wasn’t going to risk her career to see him. He understood that and it made perfect sense, especially since they barely knew each other. But the rejection still stung.
For some reason he couldn’t explain, he felt like something truly important was slipping away from him.
“All right,” he finally said. “I do understand. But I won’t pretend to be happy about it. You’re a special woman, and I wish we’d had the opportunity to get to know each other.” He paused, but she didn’t respond. He forced himself to finish before he made a complete ass of himself. “Take care of yourself, Maddie, and don’t let those losers in the front office get you down.”
“I’m really sorry, Jake. Goodbye.”
She hung up.
He held onto the receiver long after Maddie had disconnected. Though her rejection didn’t surprise him, how badly he felt about it did. He hadn’t been feeding her a line when he said she was special. She was more than special, and his attraction to her was both unexpected and compelling. Some instinct urged him not to give up, not to walk away. He didn’t think it was simply some macho reaction to her refusal to see him. Granted, that didn’t happen very often—well, at least not since the breakdown of his marriage—but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d zeroed in on a woman the way he had with her. Something was going on between them and he needed to get to the bottom of it. If he didn’t, it would drive him crazy.
He got up and headed for the shower, already thinking ahead. When it came to Maddie Leclair, he wasn’t ready to throw in the towel. No damn way.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Jake shoved his carry-on under the seat in front of him as the plane began its final descent into Philadelphia. Not a moment too soon, as far as he was concerned. Although he’d been ripping the cover off the ball, the last few days had sucked as far as his personal life was concerned.
His hot streak had continued in Phoenix, as the Patriots swept the three-game series with the Diamondbacks. The team rode the magic arm of Nate Carter to a 4-0 shut-out in the opener, while the final two games turned into high-scoring blowouts with Jake contributing a total of three homers and six RBI’s. He felt great about the way he was hitting the ball, and happy his performance had given a lift to the team.
But the high of his professional life was dampened by his growing frustration over Maddie and their crappy situation. Jake saw her every day, either at the stadium or in the hotel, but only from a distance. She studiously avoided him, goin
g out of her way to ensure there were no opportunities for even casual conversation.
He understood why. Both of them had been thoroughly reamed out by the general manager when they offered their apologies after Maddie’s story was published. Charley Cameron had been right about that. Team management had been steamed about the interview, and Dembinski—a pig-headed general manager if there ever was one—had been in no mood to be forgiving. The GM had snarled at Jake that if the team hadn’t been in such a tough spot because of Rodriguez’s injury, he’d have sent him packing on the first flight back to Allentown. Jake had taken that threat with a grain of salt since he was playing great, but Dembinski was a mercurial guy and he’d been known to make questionable moves just to emphasize a point.
Maddie hadn’t spoken more than a guarded hello to him since their phone conversation, but Jake had heard through another player that her note of apology to Dembinski had led to a shouting match between the two in the media room. The word in the clubhouse was that Maddie had looked pale and shaken after the confrontation, although she apparently hadn’t backed down an inch. Jake’s gut had twisted with guilt when he’d heard about the ugly scene.
It had totally pissed him off, too. He so wanted to hunt down Dembinski and punch him out for what he’d done to Maddie. But that would only accomplish a one-way trip back to Allentown, and that was the last thing Jake wanted, not only for his sake but for hers. At least if he was with the Patriots, he’d be near Maddie while he figured out some kind of solution to what seemed their intractable problem.
Not that Jake could get her to talk to him. When the team boarded the plane for the flight home, Maddie had passed right by him on the way to her seat. She hadn’t even looked at him, her eyes fixed to the floor as she made her way to the back of the jet. Jake’s heart had sunk. He’d hoped the interview incident would blow over after the apologies, and Maddie would come to see that her concerns over the potential consequences of seeing him again were exaggerated. But Dembinski had blown that plan out of the water, spooking Maddie so badly she’d retreated into some kind of shell—at least where Jake was concerned.
By the time he got off the plane, he’d managed to work himself into a full blue funk. Barely bothering to wave goodbye to his team-mates, he strode quickly through the terminal, wanting to retrieve his car and get home as soon as possible. The last week had been tumultuous. He’d gone from minor league ball in Allentown to an incredibly successful trip with the Patriots to San Diego and Phoenix, in the middle of which he’d fallen ridiculously hard for a smart and hot sportswriter.
No wonder he was exhausted. He hit the sack a half hour after walking through the door of his condo.
The following afternoon he played his first home game of the season at the Patriots’ stadium. The sun shone, the fans cheered his return, and Jake’s mood lifted. It was great to be home and, despite his funk over Maddie, he dug deep and contributed two more hits in a win over the Mets. As he jogged off the field at the end of the game, he glanced way up toward the press area. He couldn’t see Maddie and that was killing him, but he was glad she could see him playing in top form.
After a quick shower, Jake was getting set to head for home when Robbie Benton stopped by his locker, looking like he wanted to talk.
“Jesus, Jake,” Robbie said with a crooked grin. “When I saw you dive for that line drive in the eighth, I figured they’d be dragging your ass off to the hospital. You’re not twenty-one anymore. You gotta start taking cares of those old bones.”
Jake studied his friend, taking in the tense set of his shoulders and his stiff posture. He suspected Robbie hadn’t come over just to rib him.
Jake shrugged. “It was dumb luck the ball ended up in my glove. All I wanted to do was block it so the damn thing didn’t skitter all the way to the wall.”
“You’ve always been lucky.” Robbie put his feet up onto the bottom shelf of the opposite locker, trying to look relaxed. It didn’t work.
“What’s up?” Jake asked as he sat. “Something’s on your mind, isn’t it?”
Robbie gave him a sheepish, you caught me grin. “Well, I was thinking you could use a little cheering up. You’ve been moping around for the last few days and the guys are starting to wonder what’s going on. Why don’t we grab a couple of beers and then get some dinner?”
Jake sighed inwardly. Robbie had clearly gotten it into his head that it was time for a night of drinking and man-to-man talk, which was the very last thing he wanted. “Thanks, but I don’t think so. I’m going to take it easy tonight.”
Robbie punched Jake lightly in the shoulder. “Screw that. I’m telling you we’re going out and getting you loosened up. You’re going to get shit-faced and tell your old pal all about what’s going on. Besides, I could use the company, too.”
Ah, now the truth was coming out. Well, if his friend needed to talk, they’d talk. “What the hell,” Jake said. “But I’m driving. No way am I going to trust you behind the wheel. Not after that little incident last year.”
Robbie winced at the reminder of the night he’d rolled his SUV on the way back from a party outside the city. He’d always been a party guy—a man who lived hard and probably would die that way too, Jake feared.
Robbie jumped to his feet. “Whatever, man. Let’s just get out of here.”
After a debate about the merits of the various south Philly drinking establishments, they ended up at O’Rourke’s, a decent neighborhood pub where the patrons were used to ballplayers dropping in and left them alone. The bartender gave them a welcoming nod as they settled into a quiet booth in the corner, sending a waitress right over with the first round of Sam Adams.
It was starting to feel like a good decision to get a little R & R. Robbie had always been able to make Jake laugh, and he needed a good laugh right about now. Small talk about the games on the west coast trip took them through their first beers, and when the second round arrived, Robbie took a long pull of his and said, “So, my man, it looks to me like the way you’re hitting that management’s probably going to want to negotiate an extension to your contract any day now.”
Jake shook his head. “I doubt it. Hell, I just got called up a week ago. It’s too early to be thinking about the contract.”
“You’re wrong. Now is exactly when Dembinski will want to tie you up. They’ll try to sign you on the cheap before you start putting up really big numbers. Right now, nobody knows for sure if you can keep up this pace, much less get back to what you once were.”
Jake didn’t miss the note of cynicism in his friend’s voice. “You make me sound like I’ve got one foot in the grave,” he said dryly.
All traces of humor disappeared from Robbie’s boyish features. “To those bastards in the front office, you’re only as good as what you’ve done for them today. Trust me, I know.”
Jake couldn’t blame Robbie for feeling bitter. The team had forced him to take a big salary cut in the last contract, and had pretty much dared him to try his luck with another team.
“I hear you loud and clear,” he said. “But I thought you were reconciled to a utility role. As I recall, you said you were pretty happy just to get a contract at all after the last one ran out.”
“I might have said back then that I was happy enough, but I’m sure as hell not happy now. Okay, I admit I didn’t have many teams come knocking on my door at the time. A few offers, but not for even as much as the shit contract the Pats stuffed down my throat.” Robbie scowled at his beer bottle, twisting it restlessly between his hands. “What really pisses me off is that Ault and Dembinski both told me before I re-signed that if I could hit decently, the starting shortstop position would be mine and stay mine for the season.” He snorted. “Yeah, well, that lasted about two weeks, even though I didn’t hit all that bad. Ever since, I’ve been shuffled all over the infield, backing up whatever guy is hurt or needs a day off.”
Robbie was gilding the lily about his hitting at the beginning of the year. Jake had watched a lot of the g
ames on TV while in Allentown, and had checked the box scores every day. Rob’s average had barely reached .200, and Jake couldn’t blame management for giving the younger guys the starting middle infield roles and relegating Robbie to back-up.
“I didn’t sign on to be a damn utility man,” Robbie raged on, looking more pissed off by the minute. “So, sure I’m bitter. Can you blame me?”
Jake ignored the question. “Playing utility is a hell of a valuable role. You’re versatile, and you do a great job in the field. You contribute significantly to the team, and you know it. We all know it, including management.”
Robbie chugged the rest of his beer and waved impatiently at the waitress, holding up his empty bottle. “Sure. But the pay sucks and you know it. I only signed that lousy contract because I figured if I could win the starting job I’d be in position to negotiate some real money at the end of this year. But if they keep me riding the bench and filling in behind other guys, nobody’s going to want to give me a half-decent contract. I’ll be thirty-four before the season’s over, Jake. I’ve never made anything like the kind of money you have. And what I did make, I blew.”
Jake had to repress the impulse to rub his temples since a headache was starting to settle in. Life even as a second-tier ballplayer was better than working for a living, as his dad used to say. But it was frustrating for a guy like Robbie Benton, who had always been convinced he should be a bigger star than he’d ever managed to be. Now, on top of everything else, it sounded like Robbie was in financial trouble—not a good situation for an older player with waning talents.
Most of what Jake could say in reply would come off as patronizing or unsympathetic no matter how much he wanted to help out. Hell, he had helped Robbie out of jams more than once in the last few years, and it never seemed to make a difference. Robbie always managed to get into hot water at least once a season and Jake had to wonder if there was anything he could do that would change his friend’s relentlessly bad judgment.