the Sabers won the World Series. They’d swept it, shocking everyone. Everyone except her dad and Charley Kemp, the team’s beloved manager. That time there’d been a special section taped off for press interviews and for family and friends. It was ceremony and pomp. The players had kept their clothes on. In the world of Tumblr and Instagram, it had been no time to show skin.
She stood, staring at the clubhouse door. She certainly wouldn’t be going in there now.
She turned up the tunnel and walked toward the field. She loved the sounds of the ballpark. Except on rare occasions, it sounded like joy and enthusiasm, delight and possibility. This afternoon it sounded like batting practice. The crowd was just beginning to filter in, and she heard the boisterous laughs of the players as they tuned up their bodies and prepped for the game.
If she hadn’t done her homework and studied the roster over the past few days, she wouldn’t have known much about the team. She’d had to review last year’s video footage just to get a sense of the season—she was teaching and hadn’t had time to watch more than a few games. Maybe her dad was right; maybe she had been buried too deep in her work at the university. Now she wished she’d made the time to sit with him and watch the games, enjoying what he so dearly loved. But regret was a nasty beast and wishing wasn’t going to change anything. She had a job to do.
She stepped out into the light and saw Scotty. She knew he’d be there; the news of his trade had stunned the Bay Area. But it couldn’t have stunned anybody as much as it had her. It’d been a surprise trade, just days before her dad died. Dick Fisher, the general manager, must’ve had his reasons. And the Sabers needed another starting pitcher, a pitcher who could pitch to both sides of the plate. What team didn’t?
She’d prepared herself for this moment, running it in her mind.
Scotty stood off to one side of the batting cage, talking with a man she assumed was the hitting coach. Scotty had told her he didn’t hit well. Even if he hadn’t, one look at the face of the hitting coach would’ve told her anyway.
Scotty looked her way, and a puzzled smile curved across his face. She saw him check it, flatten it, as the awareness of her presence spread through the players and created a stir on the field. She just wanted to watch, but she should’ve known the players would want to offer their condolences. Several of them joined her and shook her hand, tipped their caps and said kind words she knew she wouldn’t remember. She couldn’t take it; it was too fresh, his death and her grief. Too close to the surface so that everything and anything touched on her loss, stirring her emotions. The memorial the previous week had been hard enough, but Chloe wasn’t prepared for the little day-to-day reminders that punched a hole in her heart.
She turned and scooted down the tunnel, the image of Scotty’s puzzled look emblazoned in her mind.
“Hey!”
She turned at the sound of his voice. She hadn’t felt comfortable speaking with him in front of all the other players, hadn’t been sure she could control her voice or face.
“Hey, yourself.”
“I was really sorry to hear about your dad.”
“Thank you.”
They stood under one of those fluorescent lights that made everybody appear like sleep-deprived zombies. Except Scotty. He was as robust and handsome—and off-limits—as ever. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t look.
“What brings you out to the ballpark today? Thought you’d be teaching.”
She came to her senses. He didn’t know, hadn’t guessed. She had to tell him. It wouldn’t be right for her to have spoken with him face to face and not have told him. It was important to her that he heard it from her and not second-hand, not read about it in the press.
She opened her mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. She pivoted toward the wall.
“Hey.” Scotty captured her arms with his strong hands and turned
She stood, staring at the clubhouse door. She certainly wouldn’t be going in there now.
She turned up the tunnel and walked toward the field. She loved the sounds of the ballpark. Except on rare occasions, it sounded like joy and enthusiasm, delight and possibility. This afternoon it sounded like batting practice. The crowd was just beginning to filter in, and she heard the boisterous laughs of the players as they tuned up their bodies and prepped for the game.
If she hadn’t done her homework and studied the roster over the past few days, she wouldn’t have known much about the team. She’d had to review last year’s video footage just to get a sense of the season—she was teaching and hadn’t had time to watch more than a few games. Maybe her dad was right; maybe she had been buried too deep in her work at the university. Now she wished she’d made the time to sit with him and watch the games, enjoying what he so dearly loved. But regret was a nasty beast and wishing wasn’t going to change anything. She had a job to do.
She stepped out into the light and saw Scotty. She knew he’d be there; the news of his trade had stunned the Bay Area. But it couldn’t have stunned anybody as much as it had her. It’d been a surprise trade, just days before her dad died. Dick Fisher, the general manager, must’ve had his reasons. And the Sabers needed another starting pitcher, a pitcher who could pitch to both sides of the plate. What team didn’t?
She’d prepared herself for this moment, running it in her mind.
Scotty stood off to one side of the batting cage, talking with a man she assumed was the hitting coach. Scotty had told her he didn’t hit well. Even if he hadn’t, one look at the face of the hitting coach would’ve told her anyway.
Scotty looked her way, and a puzzled smile curved across his face. She saw him check it, flatten it, as the awareness of her presence spread through the players and created a stir on the field. She just wanted to watch, but she should’ve known the players would want to offer their condolences. Several of them joined her and shook her hand, tipped their caps and said kind words she knew she wouldn’t remember. She couldn’t take it; it was too fresh, his death and her grief. Too close to the surface so that everything and anything touched on her loss, stirring her emotions. The memorial the previous week had been hard enough, but Chloe wasn’t prepared for the little day-to-day reminders that punched a hole in her heart.
She turned and scooted down the tunnel, the image of Scotty’s puzzled look emblazoned in her mind.
“Hey!”
She turned at the sound of his voice. She hadn’t felt comfortable speaking with him in front of all the other players, hadn’t been sure she could control her voice or face.
“Hey, yourself.”
“I was really sorry to hear about your dad.”
“Thank you.”
They stood under one of those fluorescent lights that made everybody appear like sleep-deprived zombies. Except Scotty. He was as robust and handsome—and off-limits—as ever. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t look.
“What brings you out to the ballpark today? Thought you’d be teaching.”
She came to her senses. He didn’t know, hadn’t guessed. She had to tell him. It wouldn’t be right for her to have spoken with him face to face and not have told him. It was important to her that he heard it from her and not second-hand, not read about it in the press.
She opened her mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. She pivoted toward the wall.
“Hey.” Scotty captured her arms with his strong hands and turned
Similar Books
