by Holley Trent
Whatcha have to say now, playa?
Dean narrowed his eyes.
“Found it!” Lo said, and immediately after thump, spat, “Shit!”
“Hit your head?” Olivia asked.
Lo sighed. “Yeah.”
Gary found himself standing in sync with Dean.
And when Gary remembered that she was Dean’s wife, he sat.
He watched Dean hurry over and then kneel in the doorway.
Dean rubbed the top of Lo’s head and pressed a kiss on it when she smiled.
“Aw, thank you, sweetie. But, listen, at least I didn’t bite my tongue at the same time I hit my head like I did when I was helping you change the oil in your truck.”
“I shouldn’t have let you help.”
“Oh, whatever.” She scrambled to her feet, holding the ball. “I needed something to do. I get lonely in that house.”
“I’d only been outside for twenty minutes.”
Lo’s cringe disappeared so quickly, that Gary was convinced he was the only one who’d seen it. Dean didn’t seem to. He’d moved to the counter where he was fetching the coffee pot.
What’s the cringe about?
Lo knocked the dust off the bright pink ball, and bowed low in front of Sidney in her booster chair. “For you, princess.”
Sidney grinned wide, showing off all eight of her little white teeth.
“Ugh. Why are you so cute? Just why?” Lo took the seat beside Dean’s vacated one and leaned back as he poured coffee into her long-neglected cup.
She peeked around Dean’s arm at Gary.
Gary wriggled his brows at her. He was trying so damned hard to behave himself, but he was becoming less certain that was a possible thing. She seemed to be pulling some trigger in him that made him show his true stripes even though he’d had years of therapy and should have been able to disguise them well enough when he had to.
“So, what are you allergic to?” she asked.
“Best I can tell, pine trees. I didn’t used to be allergic to them, but I’ve been around more palm trees than pine trees in the past couple of years. My body may have forgotten I don’t mind them.”
“Where are you originally from? I know Miami was just a layover for you.”
Gary rolled his eyes and affected his best nasal, blue blood voice. “New Hampshire, like so many other trust fund-holding Morstads.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’ll never see a penny of yours?”
“Because apparently you’re smart, in addition to being beautiful.”
She fluttered her eyelashes.
Dean sat heavily into the seat next to her, glowering at Gary until Lo shoved a bit of fruit under his nose.
“Honeydew,” she said. “Your favorite.”
He opened for the sweet melon and kept his hostile gaze locked on Gary as he sucked Lo’s fingers into his mouth.
Bastard.
“What do you have to do to get the money?” Lo asked.
“Oh, you know.” Gary rocked his chair onto its back legs and crossed his arms over his chest. “The usual shit. Prove that I’m a decent human being who’s at least superficially interested in continuing the Morstad line, and so on and so forth.”
“I think you’re glossing over some important details,” Clint said.
“Which part? The wife part or the work-for-the-family-business part?”
“I’d say both.” Clint set down his paper and neatly folded it. “I think about all that money sometimes and ponder do I really want the bank to keep earning interest on mine when I can’t even touch it.”
“Well, you’ve satisfied two of the requirements,” Ken said as he entered the room. “You had a kid. You got married.”
“To a man.”
“I read the requirements. They didn’t say you had to marry a woman, although I’m sure they would have explicitly spelled that out if they’d been more forward thinking. Regarding the other requirement, you could go work for the family business for a little while if you really wanted the cash.”
“We don’t need the cash,” Clint said. “We’re doing fine.”
“Better than fine,” Gary said with renewed pep. “You’ve got all that baseball money burning a hole in your collective pockets, plus money you earn from photography, and let’s not forget both Olivia and Ken are gainfully employed.”
“Eh.” Olivia brought her nails up to eye level and squinted at them. “Been thinking about quitting.”
“What?” Lo dropped the bit of fruit she’d been holding, and Dean growled.
He’d obviously wanted that honeydew, or else another taste of her fingers.
Gary knew which he would have preferred. He groaned.
“What do you mean, quitting?” Lo asked.
Olivia shrugged. “Like Clint said, we’re doing fine, and I’d like to spend more time at home with Sidney and do stuff before we have another kid and traveling gets harder.”
Lo narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean, another kid? I don’t like your tone, lady. You sound like you’re more than thinking about having one. You sound like you’ve already made one.”
Olivia cleared her throat and flattened her short hair on the sides. “There was a reason I let you have most of the wine last night.”
Lo’s mouth fell open.
“Being pregnant and on planes all the time kinda sucks. Between the stale air and the rude travelers, I just feel gross and hate everyone. I shouldn’t do anything resembling customer service when I’m pregnant.”
“Okay, first of all?” Lo counted off on her fingers. “Congratulations. I’m happy for the three—uh, four—of you. Second of all, if you leave the airline, there’s not going to be anyone left there who I like.”
“Sounds like you shouldn’t do customer service, either,” Gary said.
“I shouldn’t, but fortunately, most people can’t tell when I’m being rude.”
“You act like you’re rude more often than you actually are.” Dean picked up a fork and got some fruit into his mouth without Lo’s assistance.
“I’m rude most of the time, baby.” She smiled, and the bastard’s ears turned pink.
Are you kidding me?
Gary pushed back from the table and took his coffee mug with him. “I’m gonna go give Wallace a call and see if he arranged for those plane tickets after all. I never got the email he said the team travel agent was supposed to send.”
“So, you’re going to go?” Olivia asked.
“Go where?” Lo asked.
Gary poured hot java into his mug and sputtered his lips. “To try out for that minor league baseball team I’ve already been kicked off of once, of course.”
“You don’t have to go back,” Clint said. “I told you, I’d find you something if you’re willing to be patient.”
“Patience isn’t one of my good things. You know that.”
“Yeah. I know. Still, the offer stands.”
“Look, I gotta try, you know? There aren’t that many gigs I’m any good at, and if I want any shot of showing my face in the majors at all, I need to go back to the one team who’d take me and prove myself again or some such shit.”
“So, you’ve thought about trying out elsewhere?”
“Yeah. But who else is gonna take me at this point in the season? And also, I’m kinda blacklisted, so there’s that small problem.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t get Clint to pull some strings for you,” Olivia said.
“Nah. You, more than anyone else, should know that some Morstads don’t put much stock in the legacy bullshit. I’m going to succeed or fail on my own worth. My Magic 8 Ball says failure is likely, but at least I can say I tried.”
“Where’s the team?” Dean asked.
Gary couldn’t be sure, but he thought that might have been the first non-hostile question the man had ever asked him.
He turned from the counter and brought his mug to his lips. He sipped, stared at the blond bruiser for a moment, and then swallowed. “Reedsv
ille. Middle-of-nowhere Florida near the Everglades. More alligators than baseball fans down there.”
“Not much trouble to get into, then,” Lorena said.
“Oh, I can find trouble anywhere.”
“That’s an understatement,” Clint muttered.
“In my blood, I guess.” Gary gave his cousin the finger as he padded toward the hallway.
The truth was, Gary was sick of trouble, and he needed some things in his life to be simple for a while. Unfortunately, for guys like him, messy was the norm. His mind was always churning a million miles per minute, but rarely mulling over the right things. His thoughts flitted from one concept to the next as if someone was holding a remote control up to his head and flipping the channels in his brain too rapidly. Making plans was hard.
Making friends was harder.
Most folks told him to grow up. He wished he could.
He shut the bedroom door, set his mug atop the coaster someone had helpfully left atop the dresser, and rooted his phone out of the pockets of the jeans he’d left wadded on the floor the previous night.
The manager of the Reedsville Roosters, Bruce Wallace, huffed onto the line, foul and gruff as always, after three rings. “Who the hell is this?”
“I won’t even pretend to be appalled by your phone demeanor,” Gary said, rubbing his eyes. “This is Morstad.”
“Oh. Morstad, how the hell are you?”
“Fine. Listen, I didn’t get an email from the travel agent.”
“Shit, I forgot to call you. Team owner wanted a contingency.”
“Uh-huh. You forgot, huh?”
“Shit happens when you get to be my age. Whaddaya gonna do about it?”
“Not a damn thing, and you know it.” Gary groaned and rubbed his sinuses through his face. Always a fucking game with these jokers. “What’s the contingency?”
“Hear me out. This may sound like one of my creative schemes to force you guys into the realm of decency, but Cassavetes actually came up with this one on his own after your pal Quinn ran off with his daughter.”
“Excuse me?”
“He was your roommate.”
“Yeah. I gave him a place to crash because we were friends from the team and we got along. What’s that have to do with anything?”
“Guilt by association, and Lord knows you already had enough things to be guilty of.”
“Oh, and Cassavetes is totally faultless, right? He couldn’t have pushed Marina harder into Quinn’s arms if he’d tried, the controlling dickhead.”
“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that. That controlling dickhead signs my paychecks and has final say over who stays and who goes. This is a business for him, not just a game.”
Gary rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose hard. If his sinuses didn’t kill him, Wallace keeping him in suspense just might do the job.
“Tell me about this contingency you were talking about. What do you want, me to promise you my firstborn? If so, you might be waiting a while. Gotta find a girl, first.” He added in a mutter, “Preferably, one who isn’t married.”
“You know, I should be used to you not making a heap of sense, but you always get me scratching my head, anyway. And, nah, nothing that serious. A couple of conditions of you rejoining the team are you signing a modified behavior contract—”
“Knew that was coming. What else?”
“And you need to be chaperoned at all times until you’re offered an official spot on the roster.”
Gary set down his phone and tugged both earlobes hard, thinking maybe he was congested and hadn’t heard the man right. He hit the speaker button. “Not sure I caught that, Wallace.”
“I think you did. Long and short of it is that some designated party needs to get you where you need to be when you need to be there.”
“Un-fucking-believable. And also give me sappy-ass pep talks reminding me to be on my best behavior, huh?”
“Well, yeah. That’s part of the deal, I imagine.”
“What about the I’m a grown-ass man part? Last I checked, I didn’t need a parent moving me around, washing my face, making sure I’m dressed, and seeing that I turn up three minutes early for anything I’m supposed to do.”
Actually, he did. His mother told him so at least three times per week and had actually insinuated that he move home so she could “handle” him. Mostly, he didn’t take her calls.
“Being on-time was never even your biggest problem. You would be there and yet still a million miles away. The fact your stats were as good as they were probably has more to do with sheer luck than skill.”
“You’re wrong about that. Just because I seem like I’m cutting up and cracking jokes doesn’t mean I’m not paying attention. I’ve got good instincts for baseball. Even Clint thinks so.”
“Well, he’d know and, okay, maybe you’re paying half attention. You ever get that ADD of yours under control?”
“Fuck you, man.”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that, either, because I’m in a good mood.”
“I sure as shit couldn’t tell.”
“Anyway, that’s the deal, Morstad. You can appoint your own chaperone, or I could try to rustle up someone for you.”
Like hell you will. Gary didn’t trust Wallace as far as he could throw him. The man might have been interested in having Gary rejoin the team, but he was pettier than two warring drag queens who showed up to an event wearing the same wig and dress.
Gary sputtered his lips. “Assuming I accept these terms, how long would I have to keep the shadow on me?”
“Until after you’ve been offered a spot on the roster.”
“Any idea how long that might be?”
“Nope,” Wallace said.
“You’d keep me on the hook all season with no sure bet.”
“What are you complaining about? You’d be getting paid.”
“That drop-in-the-bucket pittance? You gotta be kidding me. You shouldn’t be so damned surprised the guys are breaking curfew because they’re out hustling on the side trying to pay bills however they can.”
“I don’t set the pay. All I do is manage the team, and that includes recruiting players. So, whoopdie-do. What do you say? If you agree, I’ll tell the travel agent to go ahead and send you the ticket confirmation and we’d expect to see you in the office, bright and early on Tuesday.”
“Come on, man. You’ve gotta give me some time. Assuming I can even find anyone willing to fly down there with me and who could take the time off work, I still need to decide whether or not I’m even going to go along with the scheme. ’Cause honestly? I’m leaning a lot toward fuck no.”
“Shit, I know circumstances aren’t ideal, but can’t you suck it up for a little while? Maybe Cassavetes will sweeten up a little in the next couple of weeks, once the sting of Hathaway’s last insult wears off.”
“What the hell did Quinn do this time?”
“He told Cassavetes he was never going to see his granddaughter and called him some names that probably only make sense to other people from Montana. Something about cows. I don’t know. Anyway, you’ve got three hours to let me know. The travel agent is leaving the office at noon.”
“Wait. Three hours isn’t enough to—”
“Bye.” Wallace disconnected.
“Fuck!” Gary pounded the dresser, sending the contents of his coffee mug splashing.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Fuck!”
Dean, along with everyone else at the kitchen table, turned his attention to the hallway at the sound of Gary’s shouted expletive.
Then there was stomping in the back of the house, some loud but incomprehensible muttering, and then the pipes groaned and sputtered as water pressure shifted. Gary must have turned on the shower.
“Should I go check on him?” Ken asked.
“Nah,” Clint said. “If he was talking to Wallace, swearing is the usual and expected response.”
“Whenever I hear you talking about him
with Bart or Evan, you never have anything flattering to say about him,” Olivia said. “Why do guys keep playing for him?”
“Lack of choice. Wallace hasn’t been doing the greatest job retaining players in the past couple of years, so he’s more generous about getting those contracts slung around than a lot of other managers. Some teams can afford to be choosy, but Wallace is not only trying to maintain the improved record the team’s been putting up in recent seasons, but also keep the roster stable. I’m sure he’s getting a lot of flak from the team owner, but still. Wallace is an insufferable jerk, and everyone knows.”
“All the guys on the team are looking for major league attention?” Dean asked.
“Not all of them. Some are on their way to retirement, like Bart was. Some guys play for extra cash during the summer. Baseball isn’t their bread and butter and never will be.”
“And Gary?”
“I think Gary wanted to do what Clint did,” Olivia said. “Of course, I’m just speculating.”
Clint waved her on. “No, you’re right. I think if Gary had gone to college and played ball there, he’d probably be three years into a contract in Boston or New York right now. He wanted to play ball, and always told us that was what he was going to do.”
“But?” Dean asked, probably more shocked than anyone that he gave a damn. He’d got into the car repair business because a high school guidance counselor had told him he’d have a nearly recession-proof career. He wondered sometimes about how other people found their callings.
“But…Gary has a tendency to lose sight of the important stuff sometimes,” Clint said. “He’ll get distracted and sloppy sometimes, and I guess that’s to be expected. If he were on his A-game, he’d be unstoppable, but even without being on it, he’s pretty damned impressive. As much as I hate to admit this, he might even be better than I was. He’s got a crazy good throwing arm and that man can climb a wall for a ball like no one I’ve ever seen.”
“What’s distracting him?” Lo asked.
“Not my business to say. Don’t worry, though.” Clint released Sidney from her seat and stood with her. “Nothing bad. Just personal for him.”
“Where are you going?” Olivia asked.