Tied, two outs, and a runner on third.
“Come on guys. Let’s win this thing,” I yell, clapping my hands. They’ve got this. All they have to do is play smart.
Charlie Black heads to the batter’s box. The opposing pitcher calls time, and the catcher heads to the mound. I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding.
“Charlie!” I yell again. I give him a look and he nods, picking up what I’m putting down. Charlie takes a couple more practice swings and walks back to the box.
Time out over, Charlie settles in, gyrates his bat, then goes still. He takes a ball. Then he resets. Then takes a strike. Dammit Charlie, don’t blow this. The pitcher throws a fastball, thinking he can power it by the Charlie Black at 99 mph. But Charlie reads the pitch like a book and swings for the fences. Crack! The ball connects with the bat soaring through the outfield and over the fence. Homerun! Grabbing my hat, I whoop and holler with the guys in the dugout, along with fans. The home crowd noise is almost deafening! Home-fucking-run!
Tony runs home and tags the plate as Charlie jogs the bases, stomping his cleats on home plate. Once he’s touched base, he slaps hands and bumps chests with Tony, hollering at the stands like a mad man. We fucking won! In the clutch, baby!
“Fuck yeah, Charlie!” I shout at him, when he enters the dugout. I slap his backside, congratulating him. He grins and continues walking through the dugout, slapping hands and celebrating with his teammates.
I can’t help but smile. It always feels good to win. Especially at home.
Back in the clubhouse, the celebration continues. It’s a win, but not just any win. Tonight’s win brings us one step closer to the postseason.
“Gabe, can I get a few words?” a reporter asks. I nod, heading to the media room, where it’s a little quieter.
“Tell us about what you said to Charlie.”
“Um… yeah, I just reinforced what he probably already knew. That the pitcher was having trouble locating his slider. And to expect a fastball. Swing for the fences.”
“Well, that was quite the last play to end the game.”
I smile. “It was.” It really fucking was.
“Thanks, Gabe.”
“You’re welcome, Cindy.”
Smile still attached, I exit the media room. As I’m walking to my office, I pass several of the men on the team.
“Yo, Goldwyn, some of us are headed to Dusty’s to grab a few drinks. Wanna come?” Kyle asks, his voice bouncing off the walls right outside the clubhouse. He’s still amped from tonight’s win. They all are.
“Naw, you boys go ahead. I have a few things I need to take care of.”
He laughs. “Whatever, man. You’re missing out!”
I smile and chuckle lightly as I walk towards my office, shaking my head. Aww, to be young and foolish. I loved my time when I was young, moving up through the system, getting my start in the big leagues. Hell, before I met my ex-wife, I would’ve taken Kyle’s offer to go out and drink and live it up. But I’m older and wiser now. Don’t get me wrong, I still drink, but I do it in a different manner.
Slipping into my office chair, I bring up tonight’s game. I’ll break it down more tomorrow on the plane, as we head out on a four-day road game swing. Speaking of alcohol, I open the bottom drawer of my desk and pull out a bottle of my favorite single malt Scotch Whiskey and a glass. Pouring myself a healthy dram, I recap the bottle and stow it away, back in my desk. Taking a sip, I let the dark, smoky flavor roll over my tongue. Ready to dig into tonight’s game and analyze it, I take a few more sips of the expensive alcohol, relishing the warmth as it pools in my belly.
Several hours later, my eyes feel gritty and I’m exhausted. The alcohol has relaxed me, but its effects have long-since worn off. Stifling a yawn, I turn off my tablet and head back to my apartment. Alone. And that stings a little bit. I’d love to meet someone, but then it would get messy. Women always expect more than I can give them. I’m on the road ninety-plus days of the year. It has to be casual or nothing. There’s no in-between.
CHAPTER 2
GABE
THE NEXT DAY
I’m sitting on the plane, tablet in hand, when Adam, the pitching coach, sits down next to me.
“Gabe,” he casually greets me.
“Adam. Any updates on Jake?” I ask, concerned about one of our starting pitchers.
“He still has upper body tightness. Other than that, the doc says he’s okay. Just tight muscles.”
