Page 50 of The Third Baseman

I ignored him and pulled my bat from the bin; the one with my name on it.

I walked slowly out to home plate, soaking in the roar of the crowds. And it wasn’t just Lions fans – it was the whole stadium.

There’d been a lot of confusion when I’d left The Dodgers; confusion and anger. As far as anyone – the media, the fans, the club – knew, I was a Dodger for life, so the rumors erupted. For months, speculation on my departure fluctuated between strife in The Dodgers’ camp and Penn Shepherd’s deep pockets with offers I couldn’t refuse, to me being too arrogant and that I wasn’t as good a player as I thought (though that was mostly put out by Dodgers’ fans).

But the single reason for me leaving the Los Angeles Dodgers was sitting to the left in the stands as I walked out. I glanced over; and even though her gaze was mostly hidden by the peak of her Lions ball cap, I could see enough to lock eyes with her for a split second.

It was all I needed.

I stepped into place.

Much had been written about my rituals every time I was at bat; what I did, why I did it, what it meant, and every time I merely offered the reporter a shrug and a “just one of those things, man,” then continued with the interview.

Using the tip of my bat I drew out the letter M.

M for Marnie.

I might not have known where she was for the past fourteen years, but writing her into the sand by the plate meant I had her with me. I blew the dirt off my bat and stood tall, cracked my neck left then right, and took position.

The Pirates’ pitcher rocked on his back foot, his knee raised, his arm shot back then…

I had four attempts to hit a home run. I only needed one.

The crack reverberated through the length of my arm, and the ball soared higher, higher, higher – straight into the crowds.

Yeah, no one was catching that one.

I turned and found Marnie, my eyes locking with hers again, and winked; because I knew she’d never been able to resist it, then flipped my bat high in the air as the crowd roared. I took off for a slow jog around the bases and didn’t see her again until I passed second.

She wasn’t screaming or cheering like the rest of the crowd, but she was smiling as she stood next to a hollering Penn Shepherd. It was a smile I knew well, and one I hadn’t seen for a long, long time.

This might not be a game where she’d be throwing herself into my arms the second it finished, like she’d done when we were still at school; her hot, excited body wouldn’t be wrapping around me until I’d needed to find us a quiet space where I could continue what she’d started, not able to wait to get home so I could sink into her properly.

But the smile she shot my way the second before I ducked into the dugout was just as good.

* * *

We won, five to two.

The best score we’d had since Opening Day against the Yankees.

And in less than twenty minutes, we’d run off the field, showered and changed, then boarded our bus to take us to the plane. And there, we celebrated, with Gatorade, hot tea, water, and a bucket-load of popcorn.

I’d been separated from Marnie by the length of the plane. I’d tried to catch her eye again but it was hopeless when so many of the guys were up and down in their seats, each dissecting a different play.

Unfortunately, I hadn’t been separated from Coach who chose that moment to bring up why I’d been threatening the team with not seeing Marnie. It was a conversation that went surprisingly well, though not in the way I’d expected.

But suffice it to say that all team appointments with Doctor Matthews would be cancelled until further notice.

I ran a towel over my wet hair, then wrapped it round my waist and wiped my hand across the steamed-up bathroom mirror. I really should get my hair cut. I’d always worn it short, but it had been so long since I’d taken the clippers to it that it was starting to blend into my beard again.

Grabbing my toothbrush, I wandered back into my room and stopped by the connecting door. I’d opened up my side, so the wall was that much thinner, but I still hadn’t been able to hear whether she’d gone to bed or not.

Sliding the balcony door open, I stepped out into the balmy Miami air, and tried to peer around, but couldn’t make out anything. Our rooms were too high up, with too much privacy.

I went back to the bathroom and spat the toothpaste into the sink.

I probably shouldn’t knock to check.

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