Page 106 of Chasing Headlines

I shrugged. “You could try something else?”

“And lose my baseball remitandbuilt-in excuse to pester you on a daily basis? Hm. Convenient.”

“You’ll find other reasons. As for baseball, you do a pretty banger job at filing.”

She nudged me with her elbow. “You sure it’s a hug you need and not a punch to the face?”

“You could try. Kinda short though.” I spoke to the top of her head. “Maybe a punch to my knee.”

“Knee to the groin?” Her voice was syrupy sweet.

I winced. “Negatory. And violent for someone holding my arm like it’s a lifeline.”

She let go. But I almost couldn't tell the difference, the way my forearm prickled and stung. “Schorr's mad at me. I don’t think I’m filing anymore.”

“Did he say you were fired?”

“He said he was disappointed. That I knew better. I’d abused his trust in me. And I have a lot of growing up to do.”

Sounds familiar.“He’s testing you. Wants to see whether you’re the type to give up. Or pick yourself out of the dirt, admit you made a mistake and keep going.”

“Oh. So then maybe it's the same for you?”

“Me? He knows what I'm made of. I think. I dunno. How can I prove I'm a team player when from day one those guys . . .”Had it out for me like I came in with a target on my back.I shook my head. “Not even on the fuckin team, yet.”Not on the fuckin team at all. Dammit. Can't get back in if I'm not on the field.

“Mmmm, someone told me a story once. Hotshot one-of-a-kind pitcher joined a ballclub after playing for their biggest rival. Almost like Yankees—Red Sox bad.”

“Ouch.”

“He wanted to show them that he was part of the team, tried giving gifts, donating to local charities. They weren't in his face about stuff, but made it clear: he wasn't one of them.”

“Tough. Sure the paycheck helped soften the blow.” I closed my eyes. “So, what'd he do?”

“When you've got a million-dollar arm, I think the money's just there. But you're missing the point: we can't change other people. What they think, how they feel.”

“There was a point?”

She huffed. “It's not as important whathe didas whatyou can still do. I can tell you the pitcher met with these guys one on one, learned about their families, their goals, what made them tick. But there wasn't a magic cure. Some guys would always hate him because of where he came from. Others, he becamecloser to over time. Whichever path his teammates chose, he made it a point to showhe cared about them. And let the rest go.”

What, was this some kind of riddle?

“Being part of a team looks different to different people. The question is what does it look like to Breslin Cooper?”

I'm sure I was scowling. My face felt pinched and tight. She sounded like Coach Jay, that guy was always pushing me. Frustrating the shit out of me like he knew so much more. And I was just a dumb fucking kid. “Yeah, sure, whatever. Good talk,Coach.” I stood, banging my shoulder on the corner of a shelf. I seethed as I paced toward the door.

“Breslin?”

“What?”

“I hope I get to see you play. In person this time.”

I wanted to hit something, shout at her then kiss her hard on the mouth until she forgot everything and everyone but me. To break down the door on this closet, and get as far away from her as I could, but still hold on to that warm, anchoring feeling when I held her.

How could she be so damned—! A growl tore from my throat, but nothing else. My mouth opened, but couldn't find the words that seemed to come so easily for her.

I slammed the outside of my fist against the wall.

Light crashed into the room with the creak of the door—casting a long shadow along the floor. Before I could turn, I caught sight of her, huddled in a ball.

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