“I mean, we were both married and, after Shane, I’ll be honest, I wasn’t ready.”
“Not because of the working together thing?”
“That too, at the time. I was in a different place in my career. I still had so many things to learn, so many mountains to climb to prove myself. It would have been career suicide.”
“But everyone thought it.”
“Yeah, but nobodyknew. It was just a thing to say, a thing to think. If we’d been like this . . .” I trail off.
“. . . they wouldn’t have taken you seriously.”
“No, they wouldn’t have.”
“So, you’re not worried about being with me and working for the Eagles?”
“No, not anymore.”
“Then it’s just that it’s the Yankees.”
I let out a groan, my knees finally unable to support me on these heels anymore and I sink down to the dirt with him.
“It is and it’s funny, because I hated them growing up. Hated their stupid pinstripes and their dumb no facial hair rule for the players and how, no matter what you say to their fans, they’re just entirely smug that they always have a chance to win and all the money to make it happen.”
“You grew up a Dodgers fan.”
“Yeah.”
“You had the same things.”
“Twenty-seven championships,” I mutter, in a mocking tone. “As if they were alive for all of them and they personally watched Babe Ruth hit his 60thhomer at the old stadium.”
“And yet . . .” he trails off, knowing I’m not done.
“It’s theYankees. The greatest franchise in the history of modern sport, and I’d be their general manager, theirfirstfemale general manager.”
He lets out a low whistle. “That is something.”
“It is. It really is.”
“So, Frankie Sullivan, what’s it going to be?”
Epilogue
Three months later . . .
I’ve never been the kind of man to just lay around in bed. My entire life there was always been something I could be doing. A practice, a workout, a game. Even after I retired, I’d be up with the sun, for a swim or a walk on the beach before my I got my day started.
Now, though? Now I don’t mind it, not when every morning I wake up with Frankie beside me, blonde hair everywhere, spread over my chest, sometimes in my mouth, but always close, her warm curves pressed into the harder angles of my body. It’s been months now and I’m still not used to it. I’m not sure I ever will be.
As the sky starts to brighten outside, the sun rises up over the building and promises another epic sunset over the Gulf of Mexico tonight. Just like we have every day since we made our way from Brooklyn down to Florida to prepare for the upcoming season.
This morning is a little different. Instead of giving in to the urge to start the day just like we ended the last, I slide out of bed, careful not to jostle her too much and get ready as quietly as possible, letting her sleep in while I head to the field.
My favorite day of the season was always the first day of Spring Training. There’s nothing like it, everything is possible, no wins, no losses, a chance to start fresh. And that’s true forboth of us. Despite spending our entire adult lives in baseball, we’re taking on new challenges as the calendar marches on toward Opening Day.
I always like to get to the ballpark early, when there’s still a slight chill in the air, even in balmy Clearwater, Florida, when the dew hasn’t burned off the grass and the dirt still smells fresh, ready to be scraped under the cleats of the ballplayers who’ve been gone all winter.
Little Russell, the nickname for the Eagle’s training facility, is nearly deserted when I arrive and I’m so early that the clubhouse guy hasn’t even turned the lights on yet.
