Page 93 of Triple Play

Are they going to fire me in front of him? No. Something worse, possibly. My heart rate, already jumpy from caffeine, kicks into staccato.

Half of me demands to know what Blake is doing here.

The other half wants to say fuck this and hop a flight back to Boston.

I sit in the chair next to Blake. He’s hefting an equally large cup of coffee, looks like he got an equally bad night’s sleep. Yesterday, we woke up nestled against each other.

Today, he gives me a clipped, “Good morning.” Polite from anyone else. Practically an insult from Blake.

I lift my coffee cup in acknowledgement as Skip settles behind his desk. He has that look coaches get when they’re about to deliver bad news.

Do you have to do that with him here? I don’t ask.

“I’m sure neither of you is surprised to see one another this morning,” Skip begins.

Whatever speed my pulse was going doubles. “How’s that?”

“Apologies, I was under the impression that you all drove down together.” With an unstated And were speaking to one another. “As you know, the team takes issues of integrity—personal, professional—seriously, and we’re hoping to resolve this internally before the press gets wind of it.”

Fuck, the team knows that we…

But how would the team know? Did we miss a camera at the hotel pool deck? Did someone snap a picture of us dancing together? Did Blake tell them I made a pass at him in an effort to offload me? Except Blake’s fingers have gone white-knuckled on his coffee cup, his skin similarly ashen. He puts on a smile, something obviously affected.

If it comes down to the team choosing between him or me, I know who’ll they’ll pick. I think of the tiny press of his mouth against my cheek, the careful stroke of his thumb. The way he wanted to give Shira the entire world—something that’ll be simpler if I’m not around.

“It’s fine.” Two sets of eyes turn to look at me as if they’re surprised I spoke. Hell, I’m surprised I spoke. “I’ll quit,” I add. Once I say it, it’s almost a relief.

If I quit, I can go back to the farm. I won’t have to worry about forty thousand people booing me if I do something wrong. Just about a farm hovering only slightly above debt, the only thing my parents left to us that I’m going to lose.

Debt I’ll have to reckon with along with the guilt that I lied when I should’ve come clean. And the persistent question that I ask myself every time Blake looks at me. If he never found out, what could we have been to each other?

Skip’s graying eyebrows knit in confusion. He stares at me as if peering over invisible reading glasses. “I was of course talking about how we appear to be down a second baseman.”

“Uh,” I say articulately, “what?”

“Russo’s being suspended for using performance-enhancing drugs. Again. He’s out for the season.”

So…not about us. I make a half-strangled noise of acknowledgement.

Next to me, Blake is studying me with an equal amount of confusion. Quit? he mouths like he can’t believe I offered.

I shrug.

Skip sighs with the put-upon air of a man tasked with keeping sixty-plus ballplayers in check for the duration of spring training. “So, before anyone else becomes unavailable, I’d like to discuss our plans for dealing with an unexpected hole in our infield. You knew coming into this season that we had something of a logjam at first base. We’re favoring moving Forsyth to second—no offense, Paquette, but he has a bit more positional flexibility.”

I laugh agreeingly because it’s true. “Yeah, he’s a better athlete.” And a better person.

“That’ll mean more playing time for you. I know you were probably expecting to start the season in triple-A.”

Instead, he’s offering a season of major-league salary. Enough stability to not worry that every tap on my shoulder might be a demotion. Of knowing the money I’m putting away might keep the farm afloat for years.

But no Shira.

And no Blake.

“Can I, uh, think about it?” I ask.

Skip’s frown goes even more confused. This should be an instant yes. “Why don’t I step outside and leave you both to discuss this?”

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