Page 26 of For The Ring

His eyes light up at the prospect of catching one of the best pitchers in the world. “We got a shot at getting him?”

“If Frankie has anything to say about it, we do.”

“Then it’s in the bag.”

She does inspire that kind of confidence.

“You just focus on making the team. No guarantees. Let me and Frankie take care of the rest.”

I’m way more anonymous in the stands without a gorgeous blonde sitting next to me biting her lip as she carefully keeps score, drawing extra attention with her on-the-money insights that the dudes sitting around us don’t expect from her.

I like it that way. I can just watch the game, watch as Davis launches another homer and as Greene makes a diving catch in center before legging out a triple in the next inning.

These kids. They’re really something.

I leave before the game is over, a car picking me up just outside the ballpark, and everything about the flight home is better, that business-class seat without anyone next to me, the plane’s bathrooms nowhere near my row.

Hell, there’s even complimentary alcohol and some decent food, but, shit, if I don’t miss that crappy coach seat with Frankie pressed up against me.

And that thought alone is enough to have me redirecting the driver that meets me at the airport from Javy’s address to Russell Field instead.

She’s there, exactly where I thought she’d be, at her desk, long after she should be gone for the day already, the sun setting across the window that overlooks the field.

Her office door is open, so I knock on the frame and lean against it when she raises a finger, eyes still focused on the computer screen in front of her while she furiously types away at the keyboard.

“Just let me . . .” she trails off, before finishing up and then sitting back in her chair and turning toward me.

Clearly, I wasn’t who she expected to be standing there. Her posture immediately straightens and she reaches up to fix the clear plastic glasses she’s got perched on her nose.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

“Oh,” she says, touching them again. “Blue light glasses. For the screen glare. I was getting headaches.”

“They suit you,” I say, like I’m someone’s mother, and try not to actually cringe.

“You’re back,” she says.

“I’m back. Went to another Desert Dogs game to watch the kids. They looked good.”

“Yeah, I, uh, caught the live stream of it while I was working.”

“Of course you did.”

“What?”

“Nothing, I just . . . I think we need to clear the air.”

She looks at me intently before nodding. “I agree.”

“You do?”

Not gonna lie, I kind of thought she’d be cool with just ignoring what happened and continue pretending like nothing happened for the rest of our lives.

“Yeah, I think we might have gotten our wires crossed, when we called a truce.”

“I don’t recall any wires, but go on.”

“Charlie . . .” she trails off, a desperate note in her voice. My own name suddenly feels like a gut punch. It doesn’t sound like it did the other night in Arizona. There’s no yearning for my mouth or my fingers or my dick. She just wants me to stop.

“Sorry, you were saying – crossed wires?”

“I think, well, no, I know that there’s always been some tension between us and it hasn’t always been good, but when we decided to actually work together, I feel like maybe that tension had nowhere to go, so it found a different outlet.”

She’s making it sound like the tension had a mind of its own. Like neither one of us were there, making choices, deciding that we wanted each other. But it’s a decent enough cop out, and lets us both off the hook, so I go with it.

“That’s as good an explanation as any.”

“Right.” She nods to herself. “We just have to make sure that we direct our energy into something productive. Building this team, getting ready for next season, making sure our roster is as strong as it can be. Do you agree?”

She hasn’t left me much choice, even if she’s not completely wrong. “I do.”

“Okay, good.” And then she moves on instantly, like we weren’t just talking about how yesterday I was this close to fucking her against my bedroom wall. “The Winter Meetings are right after Thanksgiving. Rumor has it that Nakamura is going be posted around the same time.”

“I thought ownership was out on Nakamura.”

“I talked them around.”

“You did?”

“I will. I have a meeting with Hannah Vinch tomorrow morning. I’ll get her to agree that if we can get Nakamura to defer a ton of money after the end of his contract. It’ll free us up to sign more players now and give the team a better chance of winning.”

“How much money?”

“Almost all of it.”

“Do you think he’ll take it? Guys have done stuff like that before, but usually because they want to play for a specific team.”

“I’ll . . . think of something. Being in New York helps: a massive and enthusiastic Asian population, major endorsement opportunities. But we’ll be competing with the Yankees, and if they’re feeling up to it, the Mets, with those same attractions.”

“What do you need from me?”

“I think we’ll probably need you in Nashville during the Winter Meetings.”

“Then I’m there.”

“Great.”

“Separate hotel rooms this time, though.”

And, thank fuck, she laughs.

“Separate hotel rooms,” she agrees. “I’ll be in touch soon.”

“But no touching.”

“Charlie . . .” she says again, but this time it’s affectionate exasperation. “Get out of my office.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Stepping out of the stadium into the evening, I hunch my shoulders against the November chill.

The World Series ended a little more than a week ago and with it the last vestiges of summer.

I’m still dressed for Arizona, so I hunch my shoulders against the wind as I make the relatively short walk from the ballpark toward Javy’s house.

The neighborhood is bustling.

It was clearly built around the stadium, with restaurants and bars lining the streets in the immediate surrounding blocks. They’re buzzing with activity, though during the season it’s probably jam packed with fans, like it has been since back before the Eagles, when the Dodgers called it home.

It’s easy to imagine the old world underneath and propping up the new.

A working- to middle-class neighborhood on real estate that became more and more valuable as the years went along, pushing out the families that were there back in the day for the people that were pushed out of Manhattan when those rents got out of control.

But I’ll give this neighborhood one thing: they kept the charm.

The mostly original architecture once you crossover into a more residential area, the brownstones lining the streets, trees sprouting out of the sidewalks, families out and about taking an after-dinner stroll and runners with earbuds in weaving around them while the weather is still okay and there’s still some sunlight this late.

When I get back to Javy’s they saved me a plate from the absolute feast their chef made for dinner that night.

“When I move into my own place, you need to give me the woman’s name. If I don’t have someone making my meals, I’m going to end up eating out every night and I’ll become one of those guys who looks retired.”

Maria rolls her eyes as she offers me seconds. “Most women don’t like the starved scarecrow look.”

I’m definitely not skinny by anyone’s definition except hers.

Javy pats his belly, which is definitely thicker than back in our playing days. “I earned every inch of this while we were playing.”

“I bet Frankie Sullivan won’t mind a few extra pounds,” Maria adds in, still dishing more pasta with some of the spiciest fra diavolo sauce I’ve ever had onto my plate.

“Who said anything about Frankie Sullivan?” I ask, glaring at Javy.

“I didn’t say anything,” Javy insists, raising his hands in innocence.

“He didn’t have to,” Maria teases. “I remember back when you were both with the Dodgers – you complained about her almost nonstop. There’s not a man in the world that talks about a woman that much unless he’s interested.”

I can feel the color rising at the back of my neck and she pounces.

“Oh my God, did something happen in Montana? Or, wait, you went to Arizona after too! Are you two . . .”

“We’re not. We’re very much not. We work together.”

“Well, the only person I was ever worried about Javy cheating on me with was you, and you two worked together for fifteen years.”

“I would never cheat on you, and he’s not my type,” Javy insists.

“Please, your bromance was legendary. They used to do fan art of you two.”

Javy groans. “Oh God, and the writing. Do you remember? That one website with the stories?”

“Ha!” Maria laughs. “A couple of the other WAG s loved to send me links to those.”

“Aww, babe, were you really jealous?”

“I’m always jealous, mi amor ,” she says, coming up behind him to kiss his cheek, and when Javy reaches up to pull her into his lap, I push my plate away and stand.

“And that’s my cue,” I say, slapping a hand over my eyes like a traumatized child as I leave the kitchen. “Tomorrow I start looking for a place to live.”

“You’re welcome to stay here with us as long as you need,” Javy calls back, with Maria’s giggles punctuating every word.

“Nah, I want to get out of your hair. I’ll find a place up here and then I need to get a spot in Clearwater. It’s not the Pacific, but the Gulf views aren’t bad either. Good night, you two. Don’t defile that table. Your children eat there.”

There’s no response, just more giggling and the echoing sound of a plate crashing to the floor as I climb the stairs as fast as my stupid knee will let me.