Going All the Way (Knights of Passion Book 1) Page 19

  “Coach, leave me in. I can get this guy.”

  “Try the cutter. Don’t kid me. You’ve been playing around with it for a while, even tested it on a couple of these guys. Throw some heat, outside, then come inside with the off-speed and cutter. You might catch him off guard, slow his bat down.”

  The catcher thought for a moment. “Ramirez is exhausted, could use the break. Friar is right. Could work. This guy has seen a steady diet of the fast stuff. You ready for a hard grounder?”

  Jason bared his teeth. “Bring it.”

  The umpire walked up to them. “Break it up. Let’s get this over with.”

  The coach nodded and jogged off the mound, doubt still in his face. Jason gestured for the ball and the catcher handed it to him. He slammed it in Cody’s glove. “Do exactly what you’re told. And make it nasty.”

  Cody glared at him, clearly not welcoming the instruction.

  “Look, don’t be stupid, Patterson. Do you want to win or not?”

  Cody narrowed his gaze and strode to the back of the mound, palming the resin bag.

  “Arrogant prick,” Jason muttered, as he jogged back to first base. Kid could be so much better if he listened. Of course, Jason could remember a time when he thought he was the shit and no one could tell him anything. Maybe if he had had someone who worked with him, things would have turned out differently.

  The first pitch was outside, almost a wild pitch, but the catcher grabbed it. He nodded at Cody, a calming gesture. The kid nodded back and got to work. Jason watched the series of off-speed after off-speed pitches – curves, cutters, sliders. The kid had a decent repertoire and was making them all work for him.

  Finally, the count was full. Here it comes—the out pitch. He hoped the kid would remember what he’d said.

  The whole bench was standing on the top of the dugout stairs, hanging on the fence, anticipation and dread etched on their faces. The players on the field were just as tense, poised on the balls of their feet, waiting for the crack of the bat, both hoping and dreading the sound. The sound of the crowd faded and he focused on the pitch.

  Relax kid. Relax. You got this.

  Cody stepped in and got into position. He delivered the pitch, a hard fastball to the inside, Hernandez’s sweet spot. The off-speed pitches had done their job. His timing was off just a bit and the ball dribbled down where Jason grabbed it and sent it home for the catcher to put out the runner from third.

  The dugout exploded and the players on the field jumped up. Third out and game over! The Knights had won!

  Hernandez’s face was almost comical in his rage, twisting and snarling at Cody, then Jason. Jason jogged to the base, keeping himself between the irate batter and Cody, protecting the kid in case Hernandez took offense. Hernandez was old school. He might consider goading the kid and it would devolve to a pushing match where someone could get hurt.

  Jason put a hand up on the man’s chest. “Let it go.”

  “He did something to the ball.”

  Jason cocked his head, body going tense and stiff. “You saying my guy cheated?”

  The words penetrated and Hernandez stopped, all his rage deflating in that moment. “Nah, he got lucky.”

  Jason grinned, the tension gone. “Next time, man.”

  He turned and jogged to his teammates, tapping fists and high fives.

  Winning never felt so sweet!

  *

  After the game, Jason was mobbed by reporters and welcomed the shaving cream pie on the field, hosted by none other than Cody Patterson. When Cody grasped him, he whispered, “Thanks for the advice, man. I owe you.”

  Jason grinned, a warm feeling spreading throughout his body that had nothing to do with the shaving cream or sweat trickling down his body, making his uniform stick. This is what he had been missing for the past year, and longer if he really wanted to admit it. This feeling of team, camaraderie, the knowledge that his teammates, his buddies had his back and would pick him up if he failed, and that it was okay to fail occasionally.

  He glanced at his phone, checking to see if Stacia had called. No message. He suppressed disappointment, wishing she were there to celebrate. He couldn’t have done this without her, without her coaching, without her nagging.

  He quickly showered and grabbed a bite to eat from the post-game spread, while waiting for the bus to the airport.

  “Friar! In my office.” Sam called him from the visiting manager’s office. He was already in his street clothes, so they were almost ready to leave. “Shut the door,” he directed when Jason walked in. Sam Monteleone was sitting in the small bench against the wall. “Good catch on McCarthy. Nice job. Great job with Cody. Heard how you coached him a little in the ninth.”

  “I faced him quite a bit last year and had very little luck. It was my pleasure to get some payback. And the kid just needs a little guidance.”

  “Yeah, nice win. And we needed it.” He sighed and sat back in the chair. “I don’t need to tell you I wasn’t happy when the front office signed you. Still not sure about you. I heard about your little side bet with Patterson.”

  Jason smiled. Competition. Athletes thrived on it. “He’s a good kid, good hands and a good eye. He just needs some seasoning.”

  “Yeah, that he does. I’m afraid he’s going down the wrong path though. Most of our pitchers are older so he’s looked to the younger position players for downtime. He doesn’t have the solid role model in the pitching staff like he’d usually have. I’d hate to see him wipe out early in his career.”

  Jason only nodded and braced himself for the expected warning. He had done everything they wanted. Now what did they want?

  Sam got up and walked around the desk, leaning on it. “I know you’ve had your rough patches and the press, God love them, spread more lies as fact than a farmer spreads shit on a field. I don’t know what’s true or not and I don’t really care. But we got a bunch of young guys here, kids who barely know how to win and certainly don’t know how to handle losing. They all need a little seasoning and guidance from a more experienced player, someone they can look up to.” He spit some sunflower seed shells into a coffee can. He cleared his throat but it was still raspy from the yelling. “Mr. Hammonds has done a nice job putting together a strong, farm team that can compete but they don’t know how to close the deal and win the whole shebang. You’ve been there. You know what it takes.”

  “Look, Skip. I’ve been there but never won it all. And, let’s be honest, no one considers me a role model for anyone, not anymore.” He struggled with the weight of responsibility. He couldn’t afford to get too close to these kids. He was only here for another month or so. “And I thought you wanted me to stay away from them, keep my nose clean. Don’t corrupt the minors.”

  “That’s the past. I don’t give a hairy rat’s ass about that, as long as you get these guys focused and on the right track. I think you know the mistakes and how to avoid them. And the guys, once you’ve earned their respect, will listen. Cody is already halfway there. The other guys will follow. I just need you to stop being a loner and start being a team player. Can you handle that?”

  Jason sighed. He hadn’t planned on sticking around that long, but hell, the season only had a month to go, two if they got into the post-season. And he kind of liked that kid, Patterson, even if he was an arrogant little shit. He didn’t want to see him make the same mistakes and there was no denying the kid was on the path. He also kind of liked working with them. Gave him a sense of teamwork, of pride to see them succeed.

  “I can’t promise much, but I’ll do what I can.”

  Sam stood and held out his hand. “That’s all I ask, son.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  What has gotten into Georgia Knights’ first baseman Jason Friar? He’s fielding like the Gold Glove first baseman he was, hitting like a batting champ, and has even stolen bases! It’s like he was never injured or on his way out!

  Stacia turned up her car radio to listen to the now familiar questions ab
out the “new and improved” Jason Friar. Hard to believe that just a few weeks ago, these same commentators were castigating the Knights for signing him and declaring him and dead and gone. Now, they all professed to have predicted his sudden and meteoric rise from the ashes like the proverbial Phoenix.

  She now understood Jason’s cynicism and disdain for the media. And she understood his suspicion of her, as an extension of the media. She listened to as much of the sports program as she could before she pulled into the stadium employees’ only parking garage. She emerged a few minutes later into the late afternoon heat and sun on the field, where the team was holding batting practice.

  Players milled about, some jogging, some stretching, others watching. Alex Hernandez, the catcher, was in the cage and she could almost feel the breeze from his swing as he missed the pitch. He cursed loudly. Stacia decided it might be best to hang back.

  Jason stepped forward into the cage after motioning the BP pitcher to hold. He spoke softly to the younger man. Several other players also leaned in around the cage to listen to the conversation. After a few moments, Jason stepped out and the pitcher threw in again. This time, the outcome was different and Alex sent the ball sailing over the right field wall. He cheered and looked immediately to Jason for approval. Jason clapped him on the back and they both laughed.

  A warm sense of satisfaction spread through her. The world was good right now. Jason was playing great baseball. The team was on its way to the playoffs. His reputation was on the mend. Not bad for a few week’s work.

  “Not bad, Stacia.” A soft voice sounded next to her and she turned to see Miranda standing there watching the team.

  “Thanks. But it was mostly Jason.”

  “Jason? Are you always so self-deprecating?”

  Stacia colored but said, “Well, I can only recommend. Only the person can change.”

  “I meant no offense. It’s refreshing in a stadium full of egos and tempers. Do you really think he’s changed? Do you think, the moment your back is turned and you’re not babysitting him that he won’t regress to his past behaviors?”

  “I hope he won’t. Besides, I haven’t exactly been with him twenty-four seven.”

  “No one can.” Miranda started to move away then stopped. “You’ve done a nice job, a miracle really. Thank you.” Then she walked over to the crowd of media around the manager.

  She felt eyes on her and she looked over. Jason’s gaze scorched her from across the infield. The heat reminded her of the night they had most recently spent, the thrill of the risk, the hope that no one would catch them, and the illusion that it was nothing more than two people enjoying each other’s company. To him, she was his babysitter, albeit an attractive consenting adult who slept with him so he wouldn’t find another woman and ruin his reputation. She wanted to believe they were more than a convenience but how could she know?

  *

  She had barely gotten back to her office when her cell phone rang. Hail to the Chief. She groaned but answered the call anyway. “Hello, Father.”

  “So, you remember who I am.” His tone fully expressed his displeasure. “You haven’t called in several weeks.”

  “Neither have you.” The words bolted out past tightened lips before she could restrain them.

  “I’ve been busy, Stacia, as you well know. I have a country to run.”

  “You and ninety-nine other senators not to mention the president. You can’t find time to call your daughter?” The age old pain rose up inside, drowning out anything else. She ruthlessly pushed it down. She needed her focus to deal with her father. Why did she even care that he never called her?

  “Are you so busy screwing that ballplayer that you can’t call your father?”

  She gritted her teeth and willed the sudden and unexpected tears in her eyes from falling. “So good to hear how you feel about me. What do you want?”

  “I told you how I felt about you working with him. I even spoke with your boss, but apparently you’re just as insubordinate to him as to me.”

  “Yes, I heard you demanded I be reassigned. Sorry to disappoint you, but you taught me something else—honor your word. And I’m honoring mine, whether you like it or not.”

  She straightened her shoulders. She’d be damned if she would be ashamed of her job. She was successful, damnit, even if he couldn’t see it past the newspaper on his desk. Honor was something her father had spouted for years. Honor. Commitment. Duty. Funny how it was only important when he was defining it in his own way. When it became inconvenient for him, it became inconsequential.

  “I taught you to honor your word when it made sense. This situation makes no sense and only makes me look weak to my colleagues, opponents, and constituents.”

  “Why can’t you just support me?” Why did it always have to be about him? Just once, could he call her and ask about her, be concerned for her? Tell her she was doing a good job?

  “Why can’t you do as you’re told?” he growled, clearly exasperated and confused by her refusal to kowtow to him like usual.

  Stacia sighed. Why bother? The old man was never going to change. “Did you call for a reason?”

  “Of course. Why else would I call you?”

  “I don’t know. To say hi, see how I’m doing, tell me you love me.”

  “Don’t be foolish. I have a political event tomorrow night and I need you to act as hostess for me. It’s a charity event for something or other. Doesn’t matter. You will accompany me.”

  “What about Mommy Dearest? Is she having more work done?” She wasn’t a child and refused to be treated like one. If this job had taught her anything, it’s that she could work in areas other than politics and be successful. And feel less dirty. She would not drop everything for her father just because her stepmother wanted more plastic surgery.

  “Don’t be rude, Stacia. Actually she is… unavailable.” He stumbled uncharacteristically in the middle of the sentence, unlike her smooth and polished father where every word was bitten off specifically for the situation.

  “Really?” Stacia leaned back in her chair. “I thought that wasn’t allowed.”

  He huffed, another uncharacteristic sound. “If you must know, she and I are divorcing.”

  Stacia shot straight up in her chair, not bothering to suppress her grin. “What happened? I thought you were both so happy.” The sarcasm slipped out but he ignored it as he did most things he didn’t like.

  “Irrelevant, but it’s damned inconvenient. The political season is heating up and I need someone by my side. The event is at the—”

  “I never said I would go, Father.” Stacia interrupted quietly. “I’m sorry about Vanessa, but I can’t go.”

  “Nonsense. Of course you’ll go. You always go.”

  “When you have no one else. You don’t care who is with you, only that someone is. Just once I’d love a call from you asking how I am instead of ordering me about. Then, when I don’t do it, you blow up and tell me how awful I am. Just once, I’d like to hear you’re proud of me and want to talk with me, actually be interested in my life.”

  “Then do something I can be proud of.”

  Her eyes burned with unshed tears and her chest choked up. “I’m sorry, but I can’t go. Find one of your political allies or better yet, Representative Glazier, to attend with you. You’d probably be happier that way anyway.”

  She closed the phone quietly before he could reply. The small sense of victory she had felt at the beginning was replaced by the realization that she would never be good enough, no matter what she did. A tear dropped onto her hand, followed by another. She stared at it, uncomprehending. It had been so long since he had made her cry. Right after her mother’s funeral, when he demanded she cry for the camera, but do it pretty. Cold bastard.

  A tissue dangled in front of her eyes and she looked up to see Jason standing next to her. Relief swamped her and a need to let go threatened to open the floodgates. He took the tissue and wiped her eyes gently, then drew her up and int
o his arms, his warmth seeping into her suddenly cold body. He rubbed his hands up and down her back, soothing and providing comfort while she cried.

  After a few minutes, she gathered herself and, sniffing occasionally, wiped her face. “How do I look?” she asked through a watery smile.

  He smiled, tilted her chin and kissed her. His lips were soft and warm, providing comfort and soothing, not asking for anything. “You look beautiful,” he whispered.

  She laughed, a shaky sound. Instead of despising the weakness, as her father would have done, she accepted the emotion for what it was. “Did you need anything?” Hoping he would need her, just her. She held her breath for his answer.

  He stepped back, putting a subtle distance between them. “Nope, just checking in. Why don’t you head home and we’ll connect tomorrow?”

  She nodded and sat back down, opening her laptop. “Let me just finish a few things.”

  He tugged her to her feet. “Call your friend Sophie. Grab some ice cream or whatever it is you girls eat or do when you’re sad and have a girls’ night. Just no strippers or porn, okay?”

  She laughed. “That’s a guys’ night.”

  “A guy could dream.” He handed her the laptop and her purse and pushed her out the door. “Now go.”

  She took the bag and walked out to her car in a daze. When was the last time anyone had done anything for her, comforted her, and didn’t ask for anything in return? It was so nice to be held in his arms, safe and free. He accepted her for who she was, allowed her to be who she was and, dare she hope, loved her?

  Shit. The realization hit her out of nowhere. She had fallen hard for her client, fallen hard for Jason.

  *

  After Stacia left, Jason sat down heavily in the office chair and caught his breath. Shit. He was getting in too deep, way too deep. When had the job turned into something more serious, more like a relationship and grown up stuff? What had started as sex, then work, had changed. She was under his skin, burrowing her way toward his heart.