Page 99 of First Love, Second Draft

Grace:His manager showed up about 20 minutes ago and told him he was back on the roster for the World Series.

Simone:WHAT?! Oh wow! Okay. Some of these texts are making a lot more sense now. Scotty’s right! This could bring a whole new level of closure to the memoir. (Definitely better than the current “and then he got old and was kicked off the team” ending we have now.)

Simone:Hey, just reading through more of Scotty’s texts. (Sometimes I regret giving that man my number.) He says if Seattle wins the World Series then the manager will probably retire. And if he retires and if Noah pitches well then Noah could be a strong contender for getting hired on as their new manager. I know that’s a lot of ifs, but... this could be a big win for both of you. Noah back to doing what he loves. You finally getting your ex-husband out of your hair. (And a great memoir for the rest of us!) Sounds like the perfect happily-ever-after to me!

Simone:Okay, I’m turning my phone off now. Scotty is driving me crazy.

61

“You’re kidding me, right?” Noah paced back and forth on the empty dance floor where just a short while ago people had been bouncing and flailing their arms to that Otis Day and the Knights song “Shout.”

Well, right now Dusty was making Noah want to shout. “A little over a month ago you told me I was too old and worn out to keep going. Now you’re telling me I’m your last hope for winning the World Series?”

Dusty sighed and sank into a chair. Propping his elbow on the table, he lifted his ball cap enough to start massaging his forehead like he was the one too old and worn out to keep going. “Listen. I get that you’re ticked.”

“I’m not ticked.” Maybe he had been a month ago, but not these past few weeks—as long as he didn’t think about it. And he’d been doing a pretty stellar job of not thinking about it until Dusty showed up here with Rooster, Noah’s former teammate and catcher, who had apparently scrounged up some of the wedding cake because he was diving into his second piece now.

Other than the three of them, the barn had cleared out.

“Look, guys, I’m sorry to tell you this, but you’re wasting your time. I’m not—”

“You want me to beg?” Dusty interrupted. “Is that it? Fine. I’ll beg.”

“I don’t want you to beg.”Not entirely. Maybe a little bit.“I just want you to understand that—”

“Aw, c’mon, Noah. Stop playing so hard to get,” Rooster mumbled around a mouthful of cake. “It’s the World Series, for crying out loud.”

Noah stopped pacing. “Exactly. The World Series. So why on earth are you guys coming to me?”

Dusty held up a hand. “Hear me out. We’ve had more extra-inning games this postseason than any other postseason in history. I’ve used and abused our bullpen to the point that their arms are darn near falling off. These guys aren’t going to make it another seven games if that’s what it comes to. We need a fresh arm to get us through a few innings at the very least. We don’t need a perfect pitcher. We just need a little relief. Some experience. We need you.”

Rooster grunted in agreement, digging into another bite. “Got that right.”

“Dusty, I haven’t been following the postseason at all. My arm might have gotten some rest, but my head—”

“Will be back in the game as soon as you step on the mound. You’ve been a pitcher longer than anybody I know. You don’t forget that kind of experience.”

Dusty tugged his ball cap back into place. “Look, I never should have dropped you out of the rotation. It was the wrong move. These young guys are struggling. They need a steady presence to keep them calm. You’ve always had a great way with keeping the nerves in the clubhouse down. It’s the World Series, Noah.The World Series.Come back. Who knows? Pitch a few innings and you might even get that record. Maybe this will even open some doors for a management position. I don’t think it’s a secret that this is probably my last season.”

Noah looked back and forth between Rooster and Dusty. Five strikeouts was going to take more than a few innings for him. It was going to take a miracle.

Is that what this was? His chance at another miracle?

He had to admit, even if they didn’t win the World Series, it would be awful nice to end his career with a record under his beltinstead of the absolutenothinghe had from his baseball career as of right now.

Noah rubbed his thumb over his fingertips. He couldn’t deny the itch to rub them over the seams of a baseball again. To stand on the mound one more time.

But those days were gone. Baseball was his past. Gracie was his future.

Hopefully. He still hadn’t convinced her.

What if he never convinced her?

Then what would he do with the rest of his life? What if baseball was the only future he had left? What if he could spend the next several years managing a team in the majors?

But Gracie...

“I’m sorry. Thing is—”

---