Diva In The Dugout (All Is Fair In Love And Baseball)

by Hittle, Arlene

  “That’s the one.”

  “Where’s her father?”

  “I wish I knew. Maybe he missed his flight.”

  “Or maybe he really is a deadbeat.” Her father’s mutter was followed by, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I thought he was better than that.”

  Mel sniffled. “Me too.”

  “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  “Thanks, Daddy.” She was lucky to have a father who didn’t hesitate when it came to cleaning up her messes. Except she’d thought she was done making messes. She thought Dave was the kind of man who kept his promises.

  Tara would be devastated. Hell, so was she.

  She refused to let herself dwell on Dave’s failure to show. If she acted as if it were no big deal, maybe Tara would treat it as a matter of course, too. She plastered a wide, beauty-queen smile on her face before going back into the living room. “Change in plans, sweetie. Grandpa’s going to take you to the dance instead.”

  “Grandpa?” Tara’s forehead wrinkled. “Where’s Daddy?”

  I wish I knew. Mel gritted her teeth to keep the response inside and then lied to her daughter for the second time in one day. “His flight got grounded in Vancouver. Lightning storms.”

  “No!”

  Disappointment crumpled her daughter’s face a split second before she wailed. Mel’s heart wrenched. She wrapped her arms around Tara and hugged her tight until the sobs no longer wracked her slim body. “He said to tell you he’s real sorry.”

  Tara hiccupped. “O-okay.”

  Mel doubted Tara really was okay. She held her daughter at arm’s length and examined her. “Grandpa’s thrilled to get to go to the dance with you.” She tweaked Tara’s nose. “I think he was feeling a little left out.”

  “He was?” Her hazel eyes, so like Dave’s, were now wide.

  Mel nodded. She’d say anything to make Tara feel better about Dave’s no-show. “Yep. He sure jumped at the invite fast enough.”

  She left Tara with Lu and ducked onto the porch again to text her father about the cover story she’d just concocted. He’d play along.

  Her father whisked a now-bedraggled Tara away in his big Lincoln Town Car. Mel stayed on the porch, waving energetically, until the car disappeared from sight. Then she slammed the door behind her and sagged against it.

  Luanne’s look spoke volumes. “He never called, did he?”

  She scowled at her best friend of eighteen-plus years, not sure what pissed her off more: that Lu had to ask or that Dave put her in this position to begin with. “Dave Reynolds just made me into a liar.”

  “A good one.” Lu grinned. “I almost believed you.”

  Relief swept over Mel. If she’d almost managed to fool Lu, Tara sure as hell wouldn’t figure it out. Good. Tara was much too young to realize her father was an asshole.

  A quick-burning anger soon replaced her short-lived relief. She was angry at Dave for turning out to be a liar, but she was angrier at herself for trusting him. She’d actually believed the pretty words…accepted him at his word when he said he wanted them to build a life together.

  She drove both her fists into the door behind her. “I should have known he didn’t want us. What sane man says ‘yes’ to a ready-made family?”

  ****

  Dave jerked awake when a hand landed on his shoulder. He blinked until a face came into focus. Another nurse.

  The woman’s smile was soft. “Sorry to startle you, but Stan Corning is awake and asking for you.”

  “Okay.”

  “You can’t stay long. He needs his rest.”

  He nodded, and then stretched. Matt was sprawled on a bench, snoring up a storm. Now that was a true friend, spending hours at the hospital to keep him from losing it. As he followed the nurse to Stan’s room, he made a mental note to make it up to Matt somehow.

  Experience told him what to expect when he walked through the door: a pale ghost of the man he’d seen in the stands just hours ago. Prepared for the change, he turned the doorknob.

  His jaw dropped. A hearty, ruddy-skinned man was propped up against a bunch of pillows. His kids stood on either side of the bed, and a king-sized meatball hoagie sat on the tray between them.

  Stan pointed to the sandwich. “Want some? This thing’s huge.”

  “No thanks.” Dave snapped his mouth shut as he tried to wrap his head around the picture in front of him. The guy sure didn’t look like he’d been near death. “You look good, man.”

  Stan coughed. “Not bad for someone who fell off a rail a few hours ago, eh?”

  “Not bad at all.”

  “You sure you don’t want some of this sandwich? There’s no way the kids and I can finish it on our own.” When he shook his head, the other man’s eyes shifted to fix on the floor. “The reason I wanted to talk to you is to apologize.”

  “You’re apologizing to me?”

  “Yeah.” He met Dave’s eyes now. “That was a boneheaded thing I did, standing on the railing like that. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  The youngest child chortled. “Mommy always says you’re a muttonhead.”

  “Hey, Donnie. Not now.” Stan nudged the boy’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, man. I hate that you’ve been worrying about me.”

  “You did just have surgery.”

  “That? That had nothing to do with the fall.” Stan waved. “I only fell a few feet, had the wind knocked out of me. I’ll have a few bruises, I suppose. But I’ve been on the list for hernia surgery for months now. Damn doctors decided they might as well get it done while I was here.”

  Dave’s jaw dropped again. “Nothing to do with the fall?”

  “Nope.” Stan looked surprised. “They didn’t tell you?”

  A part of him was relieved by the news. The part that had spent hours on useless worry was enraged. All this time he’d thought the poor guy was fighting for his life. He’d worried to the point that he’d forgotten his very important date in Texas. And the fan had just been undergoing surgery for a hernia.

  A hernia, for God’s sake. Dave wanted to punch something.

  Not Stan, though. It wasn’t his fault hospitals were a damn bureaucratic mess. He ground out the reply. “Not a word.”

  Stan shoved at the sandwich tray, his lip curled in disgust. “I hate hospitals.”

  “You’re not the only one.”

  “I’m sorry again.”

  Dave nodded. “Me too. You don’t know how often I wished I’d thrown that ball to someone else.”

  “Quite a few, I’d imagine.”

  A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Try hundreds.”

  “Well, stop beating yourself up. I was the muttonhead, not you.”

  For the first time since he’d watched Stan’s tumble to the turf, Dave believed it. The weight of responsibility lifted from his shoulders. He shook Stan’s hand. “Thanks, man.”

  Back in the waiting room, he stared down at the still-sleeping Matt. When he nudged his buddy’s foot with his toe, Matt rolled toward the wall. “Ten more minutes, Mom.”

  He rolled his eyes and then raised his voice. “Do I look like your mother?”

  Matt sat up and stretched before finally focusing sleep-bleared eyes. “How’s our fan?”

  “You’re not going to believe this.”

  After he finished telling Matt what Stan had just told him, Matt let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Ready for that beer now?”

  “Hell yes. But I’m buying.” No time like the present to start paying Matt back for all he’d done tonight.

  They were comfortably settled in a booth with beers in hand and a plate of nachos between them when Dave stopped floating on relief. The bubble burst and his mood thudded through the floor, beyond the sub-basement—all the way through to the earth’s molten core. Right where he belonged.

  “There’s a special place in hell for fathers who disappoint their kids.” He ought to know, having wished his own father there more than once.

  Matt’s eyes
narrowed. “You’re being too hard on yourself. Again.”

  “You don’t understand. You’re not a dad.”

  “And you’ve been one for what? Two months?” Matt picked up a chip. “I’m pretty sure there’s plenty you don’t understand yourself.”

  Dave downed the rest of his bottle and started on a second one. He shoved a cheese-and-bean-covered nacho into his mouth before taking another long pull. He ignored his buddy’s disapproving frown. Matt’d understand when he let down his kids.

  Oh wait—Matt would never disappoint his kids. He’d be a perfect family man, just like he was a perfect ballplayer. Dave, on the other hand, hadn’t talked to his sister in a year and he’d been ducking his father’s calls for weeks.

  “Hey, I almost forgot.” Matt slid something across the table. His cell phone. “I picked that up at the hospital.”

  He remembered the code blue—obviously not Stan—and that he’d been about to call Mel when it happened. “You’ve been holding my phone?”

  “Sorry.” The tips of Matt’s ears reddened.

  He wasn’t perfect, then. Somehow, that made Dave feel just a little better.

  He eyed the phone with dread. He owed Mel a phone call. He knew that without a doubt. But what could he say? Excuses, no matter how valid, wouldn’t make his broken promise hurt any less. With the many excuses his dad had handed him over the years, he oughta know.

  “I’m one big, walking screwup, just like my old man.” He set aside his beer and reached for the phone.

  Matt held up his hand. “You’re tougher on yourself than anyone else would dream of being. Try talking to yourself the way you talk to me.”

  “Spare me the psychobabble, I—” Beneath his hand, the phone vibrated. He checked the caller ID. “Mel.”

  When he’d said he didn’t want advice, Mel wasn’t on the line. Now that she was, panic choked off his air supply. “What do I do?”

  “Answer it. Waiting won’t make explaining any easier.”

  Dave nodded. Matt was right—as usual. He took a deep breath and then mumbled. “’Lo?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  On her end of the call, Mel froze. Dave sounded…off. “You okay?”

  “Not exactly.” The rest of Dave’s reply was drowned out by shouting. Was he still in the locker room? Surely not. The game ended hours ago.

  “What’s going on? Where are you?”

  As Dave blathered about someone named Stan and his hernia, music swelled in the background. Realization walloped Mel like a slap upside the head. “You’re at a bar.”

  His silence—coupled with another cheer—was all the confirmation she needed. “You’re drunk.”

  “Not yet.”

  The blunt reply shocked her. “Should I thank you for your honesty?”

  “Mel, don’t be mad.”

  Mad? Heart-pounding, gut-roiling anger ought to be the least of his worries. She gripped the phone tighter. “I’m not mad.”

  “Good.”

  The smug satisfaction in his voice was the last straw. Her patience, already worn down by managing a moody four-year-old, snapped and she started pacing the length of the living room. “I’m livid. How dare you go out drinking with your buddies when you’re supposed to be here with your daughter—and me.”

  “Li—”

  “Don’t ‘Lin’ me. You’re not getting out of this with sweet talk.” She paused to take a ragged breath. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing her cry. “You said you’d be here. You promised.”

  His breath caught. “I know. But this was beyond my control.”

  “It always is, isn’t it?” She refused to let on how much she’d depended on him. Why had she ever expected him to be who he said he was, anyway? The only man who’d never let her down was her daddy. Too bad Tara wouldn’t be able to say the same. “I don’t mind so much on my account.”

  Liar, her conscience jeered. With every step, her anger doubled. So much for all those magazine articles about walking off a bad mood. “But how could you let down your daughter?”

  His mumbled response sounded something like, “Didn’t plan to let either of you down. It just happened.”

  “You just happened to get dragged to a bar against your will? Forced to drink up?”

  “Tol’ you. Stan fell. Hospital.”

  Mel was too upset to make sense of Dave’s explanation. Besides, his reason wasn’t as important as the result: He wasn’t where he’d promised to be. “You’re lucky my father agreed to go to the dance in your place. In a few years, Tara might not even remember your failure.”

  “Yeah she will. So will you.”

  Dave’s sigh grated on her nerves. She and Tara were the injured parties, not Mr. I Promise I’ll Be Here Unless It’s Inconvenient for Me. “You bet I will. Don’t think I’ll forgive, either. Some things you don’t forgive and forget.”

  Unable to think of a single thing left to say—and unwilling to listen to Dave’s incoherent attempts to explain—she disconnected the call. Then she curled into a ball on the couch and let out her sobs.

  ****

  Dave stared at the now-dark phone in his hand. “She hung up on me.”

  “It went well, then?”

  He missed the sarcastic lift of his buddy’s eyebrow. “She didn’t hear anything I said. She was fixated on the idea that I was at a bar.”

  “You are.”

  Dave polished off the dregs of yet another beer. “Not drunk, though. Far from it.”

  “Maybe not as far as you think.” Matt took the empty bottle from his hand and set it on the edge of the table. “You’re drinking on an almost-empty stomach.”

  “I had lunch.”

  “Before the game.” Matt gave him The Look—the one that said Dave was a dumbass. “Since then, you’ve had some coffee and a couple of nachos. That’s it.”

  Uh-oh. If Matt was busting out The Look again, maybe he was drunk. And if he’d tried to explain to Mel while under the influence….

  He groaned. “Why’d you let me answer that call?”

  “Sorry, man. I didn’t realize how far gone you were.” Matt held out his hand. “I’ll call her back and explain.”

  He was tempted to hand over his phone. But it wasn’t Matt’s fault Mel was pissed. He had to man up, straighten out his own mess.

  Tomorrow. As soon as the team landed at Sky Harbor, he’d be on the first flight to Amarillo.

  ****

  Tara’s excited chatter, punctuated by her father’s deep baritone, floated up the sidewalk. Mel sniffled, then sat up and wiped away her tears. By the time the doorknob turned, she’d pasted on another smile. She wouldn’t ruin Tara’s big night by letting on she’d been crying.

  Her daughter came running into the living room, her hair no longer contained by the barrette. She jumped onto Mel’s lap and threw her arms around her neck. “That was fun!”

  Mel stroked the back of Tara’s head and blinked against a fresh attack of tears. “Good, sweetie. I’m glad you had fun with Grandpa.”

  “Grandpa was the bestest looking daddy there.”

  She met her father’s eyes, and his lips tipped up in a grin. She grinned back. “I’ve always thought so.”

  Tara jumped off Mel’s lap and ran back to her grandpa. She threw her arms around his knees. “Thanks, Grandpa.”

  “No, thank you for letting me go with you, darling. I was the one with the ‘bestest looking’ date in the dance hall.”

  Tara’s face lit with pleasure and Mel smiled. “Sweetie, Auntie Lu’s in the den, watching Monk. Why don’t you tell her about the dance?”

  When Tara bobbed her head and took off up the stairs, skirt lifted high above her knees, Mel stood to hug her father. “Thanks for standing in, Daddy.”

  “I don’t need your thanks, darling. You know I’d do anything for my granddaughter.” He pulled Tara’s barrette out of his jacket pocket. “Did you ever talk to Dave?”

  Mel nodded and took the hair clip, oh-so-tempted to t
ell her daddy everything and let him fix it. She opened her mouth to do just that…and snapped it shut again.

  What could her father do? Beat him up? Knowing Dave had a fat lip and black eye might make her feel better right now, but what good would that do in the long run?

  About all he could do was hold a grudge against Dave for the rest of his life. And wouldn’t that make for fun-filled family gatherings if she ever let Dave accompany them to another one?

  Even if she didn’t foresee that happening, that wouldn’t be fair to Dave, or to herself. She didn’t want her father constantly questioning her judgment. Having an overly critical brother was more than enough.

  “Well, what was his excuse?”

  Mel forced another smile. “Flight delay. Engine trouble.”

  If her daddy suspected a lie, he didn’t let on. “Then I guess the no-show was unavoidable.”

  “Guess so.” Mel congratulated herself on becoming quite the storyteller. As if that were a good thing.

  ****

  “A word, Reynolds.”

  What now?

  Dave followed Jerry to the front of the plane. He wished his head weren’t pounding. Flying with a hangover sucked.

  “Sit.”

  He eased himself into a seat. “Something wrong, Coach?”

  “After yesterday’s incident, management wants you to take a couple of weeks off.”

  Dave levered himself out of the plane seat. “What? Why? You said it wasn’t my fault.”

  “It wasn’t.” Jerry clamped a hand over his shoulder, easing him back into the chair. “But they still want you to take a break, talk to the organization’s counselor.”

  He bolted up again. “I don’t need a shrink!”

  “They think you might benefit.” Jerry’s forehead creased. “So do I, to be honest. Not because of the game—but you’ve had big changes this year.”

  Dave sank back into the chair as he turned that over in his mind. Some expert advice might not hurt. He sure as hell was doing a bang-up job of screwing things up on his own. “I’m on my way to Texas as soon as we land. Think our shrink could recommend someone there?”

  “I’ll get you a name.” Jerry started to walk away, but turned back around. “We’ll see you for the postseason.”