Page 21 of Out of Left Field

“We all gotta eat, man,” Alex said. “Just accept our gratitude.”

“Fine.” I threw my keys into the bowl and dropped my backpack by my bedroom door. It was my custom to rent a big house and offer the extra rooms to the minor leaguers for free. This month was their chance to prove they had the stuff to hang with the big boys. Most, if not all, of them would return to the minors, the low pay, and whatever housing was offered. Giving these guys a chance to stay somewhere a little nicer and get a taste of what life might be like when they made it, was my way of giving back.

Things were way worse when I was in the minors, but it was still important to me to help where I could. Baseball was a fickle lover, giving great fame and riches to a very small handful of players, and absolutely exploiting the dreams of hundreds more.

I got to be in the handful and I’d be damned if I didn’t acknowledge how fucking rare it was. “So what’s on the menu?”

They plopped me down at the table with a bowl of spicy-as-fuck meat and veggies with a side of some kind of rice and a beer. The best part of baseball, aside from playing and the money, was meeting guys from all over the world. They brought their cultures and cuisine into my life and I appreciated the fuck out of it. Last year I had a player from South Korea introduce me to food and drinks I never even heard of. This year my guys had a hot streak. Sometimes it was a little too hot.

At least they were generous with the beer.

I watched as they ate and replayed the game from earlier today. Recited what each coach had told them to work on. Traded ideas. They were so full of hope.

I didn’t have that anymore. That burning need to get out on the field and kick ass. If anything, I was going through the motions. Show up, warm up, hit balls, catch balls, repeat. I didn’t need to hit the most home runs. I’d already done that. I didn’t need to steal the most bases. Done that too. I didn’t even need to win a World fucking Series. I’d have that ring on my finger very soon.

When I looked across the table I saw fire.

My fire was gone.

My fire for so long was revenge. I had to prove I was better than anyone else. I had to make more money than anyone else. I needed my face on billboards and in commercials. I had to do all that because I had to prove to her what a colossal mistake she’d made.

I fucked everyone I could, trying to prove…something. Maybe that I could have anyone I wanted? Fuck if I knew. I just moved through life a ball of anger and resentment, doing whatever felt right.

Now that I stopped, I didn’t know what to do.

“Butler.” Alex waved his hand in front of my face. He was a good pitcher. Might even make the opening day roster this year.

“Yeah?”

“How’s the food?”

“Good. It’s amazing. I can’t feel my tongue, but I liked it.”

The guys laughed, looking really proud of themselves. “I know you say we don’t have to cook for you, but it makes me happy, okay?” Juan said, hand over his heart.

“Okay. But you’ll have to let me make my wings one day. It’s only fair.”

Their heads all bobbed in enthusiastic reply. They were good guys. I hoped they all made it, had their dreams come true, and made enough money to support their families.

I had everything they wanted. All of it. I had everything I wanted. Except her.

Only I didn’t really want her, did I? Once she revealed who she really was, what she really wanted, I realized she wasn’t who I thought she was at all. I didn’t want her.

I wanted who I thought she was. And in all my anger I never once stopped and tried to find it. Claudia found me. She was too good to me. And what did I do? Hurt her as much as Lori hurt me. I was an asshole. It was shit to hurt people just because you got hurt.

No more.

No more. I didn’t know who the fuck I was now. I played baseball because it’s what I did, not because I had the fire. I was alone with a bank full of money. No one liked me. I didn’t like me.

I reached for another beer.

8

Kate

Flirting with Isaac was fun. I couldn’t remember the last time I got to flirt. Flirt and play. No pressure. All my dates for the last few years were set up—either by a friend or through a dating app. And that meant going straight into the fire. Was there chemistry, where did we see this going, what did you want your life to look like? It was all so intense.

But not with Isaac. The attraction was mutual, thank god, but working together meant keeping it quiet and not jumping straight to dates and questions about relationship status. Instead we got to make eyes at each other when no one was looking. When I passed him in a hallway yesterday he asked if he could speak with me for a moment, then proceeded to tell me a silly joke, all so we could spend a minute together.