“My mother would actually kill me if I let you sleep on the couch. She’d come back from the dead and murder me.”
“That’s not fair.”
“What?”
“Using chivalry isn’t dead and your mom’s beyond-the-grave disappointment in combination.”
“Who ever said I play fair?”
“Didn’t you win an award for it at some point?”
“The Roberto Clemente Award for the player who best exemplifies the game of baseball, sportsmanship, community involvement and the individual’s contribution to his team.”
“That’s the one.”
“I’ve got news for you about that guy.”
“Yeah, what’s that?”
“He retired.”
Chapter 11
FRANCESCA
“You say retired like you mean dead,” I say, shaking my head at him as I leave my luggage next to the couch and toeing off my sneakers. If I just make sure to fall asleep there, I’ll win without having to fight him on it more.
“Felt like it at the time,” he admits, turning into his kitchen. “I . . . there was nothing after baseball.”
Opening the fridge, there’s an extremely organized selection of beverages lined up on the glass shelves. He grabs himself a beer and then turns to me, a question in his eyes. I nod and he grabs one for me too, a Modelo, like he was drinking at the restaurant.
“So you came back, for the ring, like you said,” I continue, as he pops the tops off both of them and settles on one side of the long peninsula in the kitchen, dark quartz a contrast against the shiny white cabinets.
“Yeah, for the ring, but what you asked me, about whether that was the only reason? No, it wasn’t. This is where I’ve always belonged. Ring or not, I’m in it for the long haul.”
“You haven’t even managed one game. Maybe see how you like it first,” I caution. “It’s different. The first time I watched a game I’d analyzed and I couldn’t be out there to do it myself, it was hard.”
“Oh, I’m sure that part will drive me nuts,” he admits, takinga quick sip. “But kids like that? And a talent like Nakamura and, hell, even an ego-driven dick like Ethan Quicke. I love that shit, getting your chess pieces together and figuring out the best way to deploy them, getting the best out of them. I’m excited, for the first time in a long time.”
“About baseball?”
“About anything,” he says, with a half a shrug and a self-deprecating grin, not entirely unlike the smile Cole Davis wore today when we were singing his praises.
“That’s . . .” I trail off.
“Sad?” he finishes for me.
“No,” I insist, but when he sends me a disbelieving look, I change my mind. “Well, maybe, but I was going to say familiar.”
“Really?” he asks, in clear surprise.
“Do you know why I was, what did you call it, jacking your ride when we ran into each other at the airport?”
“No,” he says simply, waiting for me to elaborate, but it’s not that easy.
Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly, wondering if I’m really going to share this with him. I barely talked about it with Bianca and she knew the whole sordid story. Finally, I give in, just a little bit. “I’d given up my ride to a family I knew.”
“That was nice of you,” he says, though it’s clear he’s confused.
