Page 40 of Diamond Ring
Jake’s face is sharper, like the boyishness has drained out of it. He still has a pitcher’s body—tall and lanky with a good ass. Spare in a way that makes Alex want to feed him and to kick himself for that being his first impulse. Because he said goodbye to that Jake a decade ago.
Jake’s wearing an unbranded ball cap, the familiar red-brown waves of his hair spilling out, brim shadowing his face. Elephants gear always made his eyes an intense green. At least Alex is spared that.
He doesn’t smile when he sees Alex, and Alex is momentarily grateful for not having to react to a full-on Jake Fischer grin without ample time to prepare. Grateful and—some traitorous part of him says—a little disappointed.
Alex has had the past ten years to prepare something to say. A’sup man, how’ve you been?Afuck you. It’s possible that they’ll nod at each other, and Jake will climb into his truck and Alex into his own, and they’ll show up the next day at the ballpark as what they’re supposed to be:teammates.
That’s probably for the best. They’re certainly not going to hash this out in the players’ lot. Or likely, at all. It’s only one season.
So was the last time.
Alex is almost to his truck when Gordon intercepts him. Even after a flight, Gordon looks like he always does: handsome, self-possessed, in charge. Possibly like he came out to the parking lot specifically to yell at Alex. In front of a witness.
Get in your fucking truck, Fischer.
“Afternoon,” Gordon says, and Alex grunts an approximation of the same. “I heard you did a prelim interview with Toni.”
“Uh-huh,” Alex says.
“This gonna be an issue?” With it, an authoritative wrinkling of Gordon’s brow.
“No, not for me.” Alex considers. “It might be for Toni, though.” He glances over. Jake’s still there. Alex intensifies his glare. Jake doesn’t move. Great. Fantastic.
Gordon claps a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “If you want to opt out of doing this...”
And Alex isn’t that short by, like, human standards, but shadowed by Gordon, he always feels like he’s standing in a hole. “You could’ve told me,” Alex says, “instead of making me have to hear about it from Courtland.”
Gordon gives a veteran-player sigh. “Yeah, I was gonna announce it tomorrow, but I guess they got started early. Like I said, if you don’t want to, don’t.”
Except Alex is here because Gordon put in a good word for him with the front office. And when Alex left Oakland the first time, after being traded to Toronto, Gordon called him and listened to him swear and didn’t say anything when Alex started crying other than to tell him it was okay to feel how he felt. Alex knows he should do the documentary, if only because Gordon asked. “Is he doing it?” He nods toward Jake, who looks over his own shoulder like Alex could mean anyone else.
Gordon blinks, once, long-sufferingly. “Ask him yourself.”
“What was the question?” Jake smiles that guileless smile Alex has seen him aim at various reporters. Now it feels like an insult. Because Jake knows that the dopey act always bothered Alex—still bothers him, apparently. Some things haven’t changed.
Gordon glances between them. “We were just talking about the interviews with Toni. Yours go okay?”
“Interview went fine. Why, did it not go okay with”—Jake peers around, like he’s avoiding Alex, which only makes Alex feel it more—“other guys?”
“You know,” Gordon says, evenly, “some people are more comfortable in front of a camera than others.”
Another media grin. “Like I said, all good. She asked about losing the series, but that was kind of inevitable.” Said easily, like Jake’s talking about the weather.Oh, yeah, cloudy with a chance of losing a world championship on national TV.
The throbbing in Alex’s head intensifies. “What’d you say about it?”
Jake’s ability to hide what he’s thinking has gotten even better over the years. There’s no eyebrow tic, no flash of anything but a placid smile. “I told her that losing a Fall Classic sucks. Glad I only had to do it the once.”
A self-effacing statement lined with insult. Because of course, Alex lost again with Toronto five years ago. A series where nothing went right, and a lot went wrong, and the fans and management wanted Alex to get the hell out of town as soon as he hit free agency. Alex agreed, decamping to San Diego, briefly, then Seattle. One thing to know; another to hear from Jake, who last Alex checked—not that Alex was checking—was playing in some minor-league system or another at the time. Serves him right.
Alex makes a noise. Possibly a growl. Jake’s eyes narrow fractionally.
Gordon intercedes. “You know, I figured that you both had grown up in the last ten years. I guess not.”
“I definitely haven’t,” Jake says, grinning, and Gordon laughs, and Alex rolls his eyes.
Alex expects another admonishment from Gordon, to have to summon an apology he doesn’t mean. None comes.
Instead Gordon claps him on the arm. “You all play nice.” Then climbs into his truck and leaves them standing there, staring at each other across several feet of parking lot asphalt.
