Page 6 of Stealing Home

“I thought that was obvious. I need you to run the clinic.”

My foot starts tapping under my desk. A nervous habit I’ve developed over the years. “I can’t teach kids to play baseball.”

Nando’s jaw clenches. He wants to snap, but he’s aware we’re not alone here. At least he still has some sense of decorum. “The players will be teaching the kids. I need you to handle registration, and help spread word about the clinic.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “The clinic is this weekend and you haven’t advertised it yet?”

His eyes narrow. “Maybe if you weren’t distracted by playing office these things would be handled the way it’s supposed to be.”

Breathe in, I tell myself. “My job lets me pay for Leena’s school.”

Nando’s fingers squeeze the arms of the chair so hard the wood groans under the strain. “We’ll talk about this at home. Just take care of the youth clinic.”

He gets up and leaves the office. I guess my agreement isn’t necessary. He knows that I’ll do it, because otherwise I’ll have to deal with his tactics to make me fall in line.

I get home late since it’s the beginning of the term, and we’re already behind in billing. The university decided to cut costs by not upgrading our software despite the fact enrollment is up. That means it takes more man hours to keep up with the extra work and being understaffed makes it that much more challenging.

Nando is camped out in the living room watching a talk show on one of the cable sports channels. Beer cans litter the coffee table and floor. I freeze in the doorway, not wanting to deal with him when he’s been drinking, especially when he’s watching a show talking about the best coaches in college ball. A list he never makes.

“I see your reflection on the screen,” he slurs.

Fortifying myself, I exhale and step into the room. When he gets up in the morning he’s going to be upset about the mess in the living room. I grab a handful of cans and start cleaning up.

“Leave it,” he barks.

Nando gestures to the screen, sloshing beer all over himself. “Most of those guys didn’t even play professional ball. At least not as long as I did.”

It’s bullshit. He knows as well as I do that most of the coaches played in the majors, not just the minors like he did his entire career. This opportunity was a blessing and only because the university is too cheap to pay the kind of salary any of the other D1 coaches make. When he drinks he tends to look back on his life and career and count all of the ways he feels he’s been slighted.

The truth is Nando was a good ballplayer. Better than the guys he played with in high school, and college. However, good doesn’t cut it in professional sports. It certainly doesn’t move a player up from the minors. The coaches they’re talking about weren’t good, they were great. Yeah, they were lucky they didn’t get sidelined by an injury before they made the majors. That doesn’t mean they aren’t one losing season away from losing their position, the same as Nando. He might not have been the best player, but he could work hard to be the best coach.

“How is the clinic coming along?” he asks.

“The clinic you dropped in my lap in the middle of my work day? I haven’t gotten to it yet,” I say before I think about my words.

He slams his beer down on the coffee table, and I flinch. “You know, most players don’t go into their career with baggage.”

Now I’m baggage. Forget the fact he wouldn’t have made ends meet without my support during those lean years. I don’t say anything. He’s too drunk to listen to reason.

“If I’d focused on my career like my dad said, I’d still be playing now,” he continues.

Maybe he’s right. We will never know. I know there were times I didn’t make things easy on him to be on the road all the time. Back then I was stupid in love, or at least I thought I was. When he was gone I worried about all the things that could happen. I’ve heard the horror stories of players cheating while at away games.

Every year he didn’t get called up, I felt him slip further away from me. That just made me hold on tighter to him. Then my mom died, and I became Leena’s legal guardian. It didn’t matter that she only spends a couple of months a year with us. I stopped focusing all of my attention on him. Even though he never seemed to notice when my life revolved around him, he sure as hell noticed when it stopped.

“The least you could do is play your part. I can still be a great coach, if you help. I need you to care more about being my wife than busting your ass for pennies at that dead end job.”

“That dead end job helps us to maintain this empty house and pay for Leena’s school,” I mutter.

“What did you say?” He stands up, unsteadily, and stalks towards me.

I take a step back, then another until my back hits the wall. Nando doesn’t stop coming until the stench of his beer breath is all I can breathe. My heart pounds against my ribs, but not in the way it once did when he got this close.

His hand slaps against the wall next to my head and I try to stay still. Reacting just fuels his anger. “Maybe if we weren’t saddled with your brat of a sister you wouldn’t have to work your ass off.”

Nando leans into me, his hot breath washes over my cheek. “It’s time for you to remember that you’re my wife first.”

I fight a full body shudder. For most of the last year we’ve slept in separate bedrooms. Just the idea of him touching me makes me sick to my stomach. I’m not stupid, I know he’s probably cheating on me. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve suspected it, but I guess I don’t care enough anymore to try and catch him in the act.

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