Page 47 of Diamond Ring
“You’re from Rhode Island,” Jake says. “Your accent gets thicker when you’re around your family. You grew up with your aunts and cousin.” That’s three things. Jake should stop there. “You used to play actual vinyl records at your apartment whenever I’d go over there. It was nice.”
He snaps his mouth shut. Because the last time he was at Alex’s apartment was the night they lost. When he showed up, stumblingly drunk, desperate, face wet, pounding on Alex’s door to let him in. And Alex did, of course—
“You both ready to talk?” Todd’s holding a bottle of water and wearing an optimistic expression that makes Jake want to escape through the nearest window.
“No,” Alex says, when Jake says, “I’m good.”
“Don’t both volunteer at once.” Todd laughs like he told a joke.
Alex doesn’t say anything. Because of course he doesn’t. A muscle jumps in his jaw.
“Fine.” Jake sighs, then reads off the bullet points he wrote. “I played for three teams last season. I like breakfast foods. I’m Jewish.”
“Thank you,” Todd says, like this really is kindergarten, before turning to Alex.
“I’m from Rhode Island. I’m a catcher. I...” Alex trails off, a defensive set to his shoulders, like that first interview they did together all those years ago—Alex private in a way other people view as hostile.
Jake could add things for him. Things they shared when they were driving around in one of Jake’s stupid trucks and drinking and maybe dancing a little too close at clubs. When the world was theirs for the taking. None of which is Todd’s—or anyone’s—business.
“I played for Seattle last year,” Alex finishes.
Todd actually lets out a measured exhale at that, like Alex has done something wrong in not sharing with a total stranger. “You all have known each other for a while. My question would be, what outcome do you want from this?”
“You mean for the season?” Jake asks.
“Sure,” Todd says, “this season, your careers, whatever you’re hoping to do.”
Theircareers, like they’re over already.
“Look,” Todd continues, “this only works if you want it to work. Whatever that means to you. Perhaps that’s something to consider for the next time we meet.”
“Next time?” Jake can’t quite keep his distaste from his voice.
“I probably should’ve explained my role a little more clearly,” Todd says. “When the club senses friction between players, my role is to resolve that.”
“So they told you to fix us so we can win baseball games,” Alex says.
“Sure.” Todd shrugs. “I don’t expect everyone to be friends. But you should be able to work with one another productively. I’ll mediate that until you can.” Said with a little more steel than he’s shown thus far, though it mostly sounds like they’re being sentenced to detention. Or couples’ therapy.
“If I apologize,” Jake says, “and Angelides accepts that, can we be done?”
“What’s the apology for?” Todd asks.
Jake resists the urge to scrub his face with his hand. “Whatever it needs to be.”
“Sure,” Todd says, “go ahead.”
“Alex, uh, whatever it is I’ve done, I’m sorry.”
Alex’s face goes even blanker. “Neat. I accept.” He levers himself up. “Can we go now?”
“Amazingly, no,” Todd says.
Alex practically groans, huffing back into the chair.
“I said I was sorry.” Jake knows it sounds juvenile, but they’re treating them like kids. Ballplayers get into scraps sometimes. It happens. Jake’s played with guys he didn’t like, not in the burning way Alex and he don’t like each other, but ones who were ignorant or just plain irritating.
All of which rise to his throat to say—except he’s here only at the team’s discretion. Whatever leeway he once had is gone, the product of a decade clinging to the game’s fringes. He wants to yell in frustration, or throw a baseball against a wall at a hundred miles an hour, or have any kind of control over this, except he can’t do any of those.Fuck.
