Page 8

8

Noah’s running shoes slapped against the pavement. He was going to stay in pretty good shape if Gracie kept ordering him out of the house every morning like she had the past three mornings.

Of course, he noticed she’d waited until after he assisted her from the couch to the bathroom—Saturday bringing her a pair of scissors that he wasn’t supposed to ask any questions about—then assisted her from the bathroom back to the couch, fixed her breakfast, retrieved her laptop, and made sure it was plugged into the charger, before she ordered him out of the house because she was completely capable of taking care of herself, thank you very much .

At least she hadn’t entirely given him the boot, thanks to Mona leaving town. He never did understand what Mona’s job entailed, other than yelling at people over the phone about houses, but for some reason people thought she was good at it. Seemed like she was always traveling to conferences all over the country just to tell other Realtors how to yell at people over the phone about houses.

Dried cornstalks rustled next to the country road. Noah slowed his pace and tugged his earbuds out of his ears, not having heard a word of the podcast he’d been listening to on his smartphone. Some sort of true crime.

His fingers hovered over his phone screen, itching to check the latest baseball updates. But why torture himself? As much as he hoped his team made it all the way to the World Series, part of him couldn’t help hoping they fell flat on their face without him. Not that any of his outings lately had exactly kept them on their feet.

He reached for his left shoulder, stretching and rotating his arm against an ache that had been bugging him since the start of the season. An ache he’d spent months trying to ignore. An ache he should have let heal. Which was no doubt why he found himself kicked off the roster instead of standing on the mound.

His phone rang with a FaceTime call, and Noah welcomed the distraction. He shoved his earbuds back in place and tapped the screen. Smiled. “Keeping my dog alive?”

His neighbor’s son returned his greeting with a gap-toothed grin. “I don’t know. What do you think?” Sammy climbed onto Cory’s lap, his dark fur blocking the screen. Cory groaned and laughed. “Dude, your dog needs to go on a diet.”

He certainly would after his time with Cory. Noah knew the old adage about a dog being man’s best friend, and he would have loved to have brought Sammy with him, but he didn’t have the heart to separate Sammy and Cory for too long. Cory’s military dad had recently died overseas, and Cory had formed a strong attachment to Sammy from all the times he’d dog sat while Noah was on the road. “You’re not feeding him too many snacks, are you?”

“Hey, Noah,” Cory’s mom popped her face down long enough to wave. “Don’t think I didn’t tell Cory to stop spoiling him with all those treats.”

“Don’t even, Mom. I caught you sharing your popcorn with him last night after you thought I went to bed.” Cory shoved Sam’s rear end out of his face and peered at the screen. “She did. I saw her. And two nights ago she picked him up a doggy cone from The Moo Shack.”

“Stop sharing my secrets,” his mom scolded, hitting her son with a dish towel.

Noah cracked his back side to side, smiling. “He’s never going to want to come back to me.” He noticed neither of them argued against that. Another FaceTime call flashed on Noah’s screen. “Uh-oh. My agent’s calling.”

“Yeah, wanted to tell you he came by our house yesterday looking for you,” Cory’s mom said, crouching down again. “He rang the buzzer so long, I thought Sammy was going to bark himself silly.”

Noah had been a little afraid of that. Scotty Jones might be great at his job, but sometimes he had a hard time accepting the word no . Probably why he was so great at his job. “All right, give Sammy a pat for me. I’ll check in later. Thanks again.”

Noah switched over to his agent’s call.

“I think I’ve got the answer,” Scotty said without any greeting. “Now, you’re not going to like it. In fact, you’re going to hate it. You’re not going to even want to consider it.”

“Sounds promising.”

“Hey, where are you? Your neighbors said you left town.” Scotty leaned closer to the screen. Noah could see the windows of his office behind him, as well as every one of his nose hairs. “Is that a scarecrow? Like a Wizard of Oz scarecrow?”

Noah twisted and held his phone up to give his agent a better view of the fall decor one of the neighbors a few miles down the road had propped up near the mailbox. “And those orange things are called pumpkins.”

“I love it. This is the kind of stuff we need.”

Noah turned the phone back to his face. “For what?”

“Your memoir. We’ve got to strike now while the iron is blazing.”

Noah rolled his eyes and started walking back toward Gracie’s house. “I already told you. I’m not doing—”

“No, no, no. Hear me out. Eventually you’re going to like this. A buddy of mine in the publishing industry says memoirs are flying off the shelves right now. Especially memoirs about unsung heroes. Everyday people.”

“So?”

“ So? Your pitching career is over, right? Dead? Buried? Decomposing? Pushing up daisies?”

“Have we gotten to the part I’m supposed to like yet?”

“Don’t you hear what I’m saying?”

“Unfortunately, every word.”

“We need to get your memoir out there ASAP while you’re a nobody, so we can remind everybody that you’re a somebody. We need to remind them of that game.”

Noah scraped his knuckles over his beard. He didn’t need to ask which game his agent referred to. There was only one game when it came to Noah’s baseball career. “Why does it matter?”

“ Why? Because people love somebodies. They love heroes. They love legends. And you know what they do with those somebodies, heroes, and legends they love? They hire them to manage baseball teams.”

“Sure. At the minor league level. You know how hard I worked to get out of the minors? No way I’m going back to that life. Forget it.”

“No, no, no. Think about it. You’ve had a long run as a pitcher, longer than most. Yeah, as a whole, your career wasn’t all that amazing. Most people won’t remember it at all.”

Noah grunted. “You ever moonlight as a motivational speaker? You’re really inspiring.”

“That’s what I’m talking about.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“You. That game. Inspiration. Listen to me. You pitched one of the most amazing games anyone could ever dream of. It’s the stuff Disney movies are made of. A dying boy’s last wish. A ho-hum, no-name pitcher.”

“There you go, inflating my ego again.”

“And a perfect game. Honestly, it was a miracle when you think about it. That’s the type of story people love. The type of story that needs to get written. Because that’s the exact type of story people are gobbling up right now.”

Noah squinted up at the cloudless sky, shaking his head.

“I see you shaking your head, and I don’t think you’re following the vision here. Think about it, Noah. What else are you going to do the rest of your life? You’re what? Thirty-eight? Thirty-nine?”

“Forty.”

“Jeez Louise, I can’t believe you’re that old. But here’s the thing. You’re not that old. Get what I’m saying?”

“Please remind me why I ever let you handle my contracts.”

“Because you love me. The same way you love baseball. We’re both in your blood. Okay, I’m not. That’s weird. But baseball is. And guys like you don’t walk away from what you love.”

The sweat from his run chilled against his skin. Hadn’t Gracie said something along the same lines?

“Listen,” Scotty continued, talking a mile a minute. “I know it sounds like I’m thinking about me. And I’ll be honest, this all has a little to do with me because I like to eat expensive food off expensive tables. But really, this is about you. I’ve been in this business a long time. You’ve got longevity. Not just as a player. As a manager. Why? Because you’re likable. Who doesn’t like a likable guy?”

Must’ve been a rhetorical question. Scotty prattled on without missing a beat. “And listen, I know you don’t want to get stuck managing a team in the minors forever. Nobody does. That’s why we do this memoir. Get your story out there. Remind people how much they like you. You didn’t hear it from me, but word on the street is Dusty may not be back for another season. You could be a strong contender, Noah. You could. Your teammates already love you. We just need to get the rest of the higher-ups to realize they love you too. A memoir could do that.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Listen—”

“I have. And I can’t. What you’re saying makes sense, kind of, but I can’t do it. Not if I want to save my marriage. That game... No. I have to leave it in the past.”

Because Noah had read sports memoirs before. It was never about the one game or the one season or even the one career. It was always about the life. And there were parts of Noah’s life he wasn’t sharing with anyone. Ever. Which was why he’d built a reputation for being tight-lipped during interviews, eventually not giving any at all.

Noah sniffed, the cold air starting to make his nose run. “Hey, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but—”

“I’m not accepting no . Think it over. We’ll talk more later.” His agent ended the call before Noah could say anything. Especially no .