Page 18 of Small Town Frenzy
She doesn’t owe me anything, but I’m keenly aware she felt the need to share with me. “I appreciate the update.”
Annoyance glazes over her green eyes like I just lit the match.Fiery little thing.I turn away and look out at the signs.
The first to catch my eye is the Greene Farms logo hanging from the scoreboard. If I didn’t know better, I might suspect my sister of trying to make a point in what she considers “enemy territory.” I grin.
Cricket says, “Your family bought the largest sponsorship . . . behind mine. Please tell them thank you.”
“You can thank me instead.”
Her gaze slides down to me. “I’d rather not.” Her honesty makes me chuckle. “Also, I don’t remember you being our contact and booking it.” She sways to the side and dips at the hips to rest her arms on the railing again, basically getting as close as she can to me. “Tell me something, Twenty-two.”
“Anything.” Angling my shoulder against the wood, I reply, “I’m an open book.”
That seems to cause her to pause as she stares at me, but then she exhales, and asks, “Did you get a ticker-tape paradewhen you got back to Peachtree Pass? It’s not every day the prodigal son returns home.”
I fucking knew it. I grin while pushing off the wall to get some distance so I can see her face in the sunshine again. “So youhaveheard of me and knew who I was even after so boldly denying it to my face the other day.Tsk tskfor lying,Ms. Dover.”
A smile tries to creep onto her face, but she shuts that shit down real fast. “In my defense”—she places her hand over her heart—“I hadn’t heard of you when you played in the majors.”
“Ugh. That hurt.” I’d act like it injured me, but it was my soul that took that blow. “You really have a knack for stabbing me right in the heart.”
She laughs. “Will it make you happy if I tell you that’s an impressive accomplishment?”
“I’m quite proud of it, so yes, it will, but be sure to say it nice and slow. I want to savor every syllable.”
Trying so hard not to give in, she can’t stop from laughing even louder this time. “Why are you like this?” Waving me off, she says, “Never mind. From my experience, most pro athletes are like this.”
That “from my experience” pangs in my chest. “Is that something you have a lot of experience with? Pro athletes?” Why do I sound like a jealous fool? “Not that I care.”
Her right shoulder rises and drops suddenly. “Why would you? You wouldn’t.”
“Nope.” I swear she’s fucking with me again. Am I going to have to spell out our past for her to remember it? That doesn’t just sting. It burns.Forget that.I won’t give her the satisfaction like I did in Costa Rica. “No reason whatsoever.”
Straightening her back, she says, “Coach is calling you.”
I turn to look back toward the dugout and see Coach waving me back in. “Come on, Greene. Mind on the game.”
Her steps reverberate over the metal base of the stands, reaching my ears as if intended. She’s got my full attention, alright. When she glances over her shoulder, I catch a smile that I know she’d deny sharing, and say, “Yeah, Greene. Mind on the game.”
If I had a sec, I’d come up with some snappy comeback. But she’s got my mind twisted instead of on baseball or anything else but her. I look back once more as she crosses the far side of the field when I return to the dugout. Situating myself at the back of the other end of the bench, I cross my arms over my chest and sit back to watch as she circles around, taking photos of the signs.
As Coach talks about tomorrow’s game, I can appreciate how seriously everyone is taking this. A few of the guys from the Round Rock Express remind me a lot of myself back when I could run bases a little faster and throw a ball to take out a player sliding into home without having to ice my shoulder.
I don’t feel old, but I feel my body wants to wind down a bit more than I’m ready for. My identity has been wrapped up in the former Major Leaguer package for years, but who am I if I officially retire? Just another has-been.
Fuck.That’s depressing.
We’re dismissed, and everybody files into the locker room to find tomorrow’s game jersey hanging in each player’s locker. The practice jerseys only sported the Armadillos logo. I turn this one around on the hanger. It’s good to see my name matter again, even if it’s just for one more game.
I change out my shoes and untuck my T-shirt, but there’s no use showering when I’m heading back to the ranch. I’ll just get dirty all over again. I plan on getting some of thosetasks that never get done taken care of. It beats sitting around the house puzzling my day away.
Surely, my skills on the diamond aren’t the only thing I’m good for. If so, I need to figure out what I’m going to do with the rest of my life.
Any other man my age knows where the rest of their life is heading. Hell, it’s probably been mapped out for more than a decade. So it’s strange how money and even a taste of fame can derail one’s plans when their career abruptly ends.
I need to feel useful again.
After saying bye to the guys, I make my way out of the locker room and into the main tunnel to the parking lot. Just as I’m about to step into the sunlight, a blue BMW slams to a stop. The window rolls down, and there’s who’s becoming my favorite feisty friend. Would she call me a friend? Shit no. But that’s just because she can’t admit that she’s drawn to me in some way, or she wouldn’t keep ending up in my orbit.
