But the angel reminded me,All roads lead to Rome.
Chapter Two
Rome
THEBESTWAYto start the day was mail time. I put my cup of coffee down on the bench in front of my cubby in the clubhouse and tore open a brown paper package with enough tape to secure the Ark of the Covenant in a wooden crate. A pair of black and bronze gloves tumbled onto my hand, the smell of fresh leather infusing the air. A stylized bolt was stitched on the back of each glove as I pulled them on and tested the fit. My thick fingers slipped easily inside as I interlaced my hands together as if in prayer.
Mostly a good fit, but my middle finger had always been longer than usual. The glove was a little tight at the webbing of that finger. I’d have to test them at the batting cages later.
“Yo, Romo-cop,” someone called. I didn’t need to look over my shoulder to recognize Brett, our second baseman. He came up with a new variation on my nickname at least once a month. Romo-cop had been in rotation for about three weeks.
“That one’s getting old,” I told Brett as I peeled the gloves off. “Time for a new one.”
“Whatever you say, Romo the Bozo,” Brett said.
I scoffed but smiled. “Oh, that one is perfect.”
Brett stood a head shorter than me with a stocky build,buzzed head, and thick beard. Like me, he wore a t-shirt, shorts, and slides. “New gloves?” he asked.
“Yep. Gotta test them out later.”
“Cool, cool. Lunch?”
I tossed the gloves into my cubby and picked up my coffee. “Let’s do it.”
Together we walked through the clubhouse, a massive circular room bordered by the cubbies of each Riders player. A circle of leather furniture sat at the center where four players currently lounged on their phones. I fist-bumped three of them as Brett and I walked down a short hall and into the clubhouse kitchen. A vertical flat screen monitor told us today’s menu was teriyaki chicken and baked salmon. I grabbed a plate of chicken and sat down at one of the tables with Brett.
Chatter filled the kitchen as more teammates filtered in. First pitch would be thrown in five hours and until then, we had food, training, and socializing to do. The atmosphere was light and affable, a certain confidence hanging in the air before the second and last game of our series with the Allentown Thunder. I’d be reviewing their pitchers later with one of our pitchers. We ended the last game two to one, something I considered abysmal. I should have scored another homer but their changing pitchers had me on my toes.
I’d need to dial back the cockiness, too. I recognized that and I knew Brett or Hiroshi, our catcher and captain, would say something to me soon enough. As I sat down at the table, I set my plate before me, closed my eyes, and whispered a quick meal blessing before crossing myself and digging in.
“How’d you sleep last night?” Brett asked me between mouthfuls of salmon.
“Like a rock,” I answered.
He swallowed. Took a sip of water. Then hit me with a stare. “Uh-huh. You seemed preoccupied last night. Since when do youlike to stick around on the field answering reporters’ questions? I practically had to drag you out. What gives?”
“I felt chatty,” I said. There was truth to those words, but they were a thinly veiled lie. A nugget of guilt settled in my stomach next to the few bites of teriyaki chicken I had taken. Ididfeel chatty, though not toward reporters.
“Don’t make me drag it out of you,” Brett said as he leaned into the table.
“And don’t make me lie,” I snapped back quickly, though with a lighthearted tone.
Brett leaned back and waved at the air in feigned offense. “Oh-ho, end of the world for the big guy if he has to lie.” He took another bite of salmon. “Fine. I won’t pry. I’ll just talk to Roshi later.”
“Cheater!” I said and reached across the table to smack him on the shoulder.
When we finished, I stood and dumped my empty plate into a trash can. Back in the line for food, I leaned over the glass sneeze guard and hollered. In a second, a short, rotund man came around the corner while wiping his hands on a black apron. “Reggie. Total dynamite teriyaki chicken today.”
The chef smiled. “Thanks, Romo. Your new favorite?”
“It’s getting there, brother. You need to go on a cooking show and blow those guys out of the water. Seriously, the best, man.”
“You’re too kind.”
I thanked him again and left the kitchen. Brett peeled away to head to the gym while I lumbered toward one of the treatment rooms. On my way down the hall, I passed by one of the admin offices and stopped short when I heard my name.
“Oh for sure, total crush on Romo,” came one voice I recognized as one of our media admins.
