Page 3 of The Third Baseman

“Reeves! Reeves, get back here!” he yelled over her sobs.

I would say I’m sorry, but that would be another lie to add to my tally. I might not have been the smart one in our relationship, but I knew I was smart enough to make the only decision that was right for us – that we couldn’t be together now.

Just like I was smart enough to know that Marnie Matthews was the only girl who would ever own my heart.

I knew… because I’d left it on her porch steps.

But what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Right?

Let’s see, shall we?

1

MARNIE

Present Day

No one likes the first day of work.

They might say they do, but in reality, it’s the nerves and excitement getting in the way of the truth.

First days of work blow.

Especially first days of work in a job you don’t want and know nothing about; a job that required a relocation across the country, and came with new colleagues you’ve spent fifty percent of your life avoiding.

Yep, I’m the sucker who signed up forthatin a moment of uncharacteristic idiocy.

“Want me to show you the way back down to your office, Doctor Matthews? Or do you remember?”

“No, I’m good. I remember, thank you. And I have the map.” I tapped the folder I was carefully holding.

The guy asking was Mike, the head of facilities and security for the New York Lions. He’d handed me the folder like it contained nuclear launch codes, when really the only code I’d been given was the one to my office, along with a list of essential contact details, and a map of the eleven-acre New York Lions site.

He’d also peppered me with information, only twenty percent of which I’d retained – including, luckily, where my office was.

“Good. Make sure you always have your security pass on you. You won’t be able to get through any door without it. Dial one from the phone on your desk and it comes straight to me or my office. You have a few days to settle in; most of the staff in your department tends to travel with the team so it won’t be too busy down there this week. Not until the boys get back anyway.”

I smiled and nodded. There was no way he could know quite how reassuring that news was.

It had only been two days since I’d arrived in New York; my home for the foreseeable future. And those two days had been spent ricocheting between varying degrees of annoyance, anger, anxiety, denial, dread, and excitement; although the excitement element was negligible compared to the rest of the emotions bouncing around my brain and my belly.

It wasn’t until I remembered that the New York Lions team was on an away stretch this week, and therefore I wouldn’t be running into anyone I didn’t want to see, that I finally relaxed enough to take a full breath. Unfortunately for me that hadn’t been until this morning, while on my way to The Lions Stadium.

I knew, however, that I only had this week to acclimate myself, because I would be on the next away stretch.

And all the stretches until the end of the season.

The end couldn’t come soon enough.

I waved goodbye and took off down the corridor toward the conditioning suites where my new office was based. Mike was right about it being quiet; I hadn’t seen a single person beyond the security at the entrance and grounds-men tidying up the outside, tending to the enormous lion shaped flower beds, and power-hosing the walkways.

It was still early, but I was used to the bustle of the Johnson Space Centre where there was always someone rushing off somewhere, no matter what the time was. In fact, in the seven years I’d worked there since graduating from M.I.T., I’d never been able to get a closer parking spot than the ones in Lot M, a quarter of a mile away from the main doors.

Spying the huge Lions logo on the curved wall at the end, I turned left and took the flight of stairs down two floors, where I was now on the same level as the field. The smell of dry wall and fresh paint was stronger down here.

On the brief tour I’d had this morning, Mike had told me that since Penn Shepherd took ownership of The New York Lions, the entire stadium had been renovated, and it was looking good; clean, polished, and shiny – ‘slick as a space rocket’, my old boss would have said.

Ugh.

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