Page 102 of Diamond Ring
“Do you want me to?” Because it’s possible they’re going to resume their argument from Todd’s office.
A subtle shake of Alex’s head. “No.”
“Then I’m good here.”
Alex holds up a menu. “You want something to eat? Or we could watch a movie?”
“A movie sounds good.” Even if Jake is too wrung out to track anything.
It doesn’t matter, not when Alex sits against the headboard and lets Jake drape himself on his thigh. Not later, when Jake falls asleep with anI love youbreathed into the back of his neck, with his journal still awaiting his daily entry of the things he’s grateful for, as if he could stop with only three.
Light through the undrawn curtains wakes them the next day.
“You still Mike?” Jake asks when Alex mumbles agood morning. Alex shakes his head and settles closer. The clock says it’s relatively early, and Jake resolutely doesn’t think about the game later, his apprehension about throwing to Texas’s big bats, his worry that he won’t get the chance.
“I should’ve told you about next season some other way,” Jake says. “Dropping that in Todd’s office wasn’t exactly ideal.”
Alex stiffens and rolls away. “It wasn’t.” He picks up the room service menu from the nightstand. “I was gonna get eggs.”
“Alex...”
“It’s a thirteen-hour time difference between Japan and Rhode Island. I looked it up.”
“If you don’t want me to go, I won’t.”
Alex shakes his head. “It’s a good idea. You got the right style for the league there.”
“Meaning I can’t cut it here?”
“I meant being a finesse pitcher.” He hands Jake the menu. “If this is it, don’t make me miss you before you even leave, okay?”
Said with enough scraped-out sincerity that Jake has to kiss him and discard the menu and not worry about anything but whether they’ll make it to the ballpark on time.
Chapter Twenty-Four
October
Alex
They take the first two games of the league championship series against Texas, then fly back to Oakland only to get blown out in the third, a set of defensive plays that are no one’s fault, exactly, even if Texas’s score keeps ticking up. Their starter gets pulled early. Not wanting to waste their high-leverage relievers, Courtland summons Jake, who jogs in, clearly trying not to show his embarrassment at being relegated to mop-up.
He pitches well, though it’s unclear if that’s because of anything he’s doing or if Texas, having achieved a nine-run lead, has stopped trying.
“Looked good out there,” Alex says after the game.
“My parents flew in. Wish they didn’t have to see me like that.”
He sounds hurt, a kind of hurt Alex can’t do anything about, especially if that’s Jake’s final postseason appearance. At least he laughs when Alex supplements it with the universal baseball language of an attaboy ass-slap.
They win the next game, Charlie pitching like he personally resents the other team’s presence on his field, Alex barely having to do anything but put down signs.
Then it’s an elimination game, on their home turf, carrying them with a momentum that’s hard to ignore, even as Alex does his pregame prep, trying to wipe the exhaustion from his eyes. Guys give him a wide berth, like they might a starting pitcher.
Except for Jake, who drops down into the chair next to his in the clubhouse, wheeling it closer. “I got you something.” He cranes his neck as if checking to see if they’re being watched. “C’mon.”
Alex isn’t sure what he expects, but he follows Jake up the hallway to a video-review room. A screen dominates one end, along with a few chairs, a sagging couch, a round table scarred from years of un-coastered drinks.
Jake holds up a hand. “Two options: I can dig out the Xbox I found in storage and we can play until you feel prepped for tonight’s game. Or you can take a nap and I’ll tell anyone who comes looking I haven’t seen you.”
