Page 40 of Leave It On The Field (Grand Slam 3)
When I turn around, Drew’s lurking right behind me. I have to take a quick sidestep to avoid knocking him over. He follows me toward the clubhouse.
“You played great tonight, Seb,” he says, patting my back.
“Thanks,” I grumble, not turning around. I give Chick a fist bump. “What’d you think, Chick? Give me my game notes.”
“Stellar play, Seb.” Chick stretches back in his chair. “I already told Alex but you might want to watch their left fielder. His lead at first base in the sixth was insulting.”
“Yeah,” I say, leaning against the wall next to him. “We haven’t seen him yet this season. He came up from the minors after we had already played them. He was definitely trying to distract me. I think he’s a little too nervous to run, though.”
“That’s what I told Alex. The way he was jumping around, he looked like he had firecrackers in his pants. Maybe pick him off first if you get the chance. I’m not sure he could get back.”
“Chick, I’m sure Seb doesn’t need you to tell him how to play,” Drew says, trying to guide me into the clubhouse. “He has a manager and coaches for that.”
“What did you say to him?” I push Drew’s arm off me. “What Chick and I talk about is none of your business. Or do you want to try to regulate that too?”
“We’re all good, Seb.” Chick taps my leg. “No need to get upset. Leave it on the field.”
I glare at Drew for another few seconds and then give Chick a nod. “I’ll watch for the pickoff at first, Chick. Appreciate the heads-up. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Drew follows me into the clubhouse. I wait for the door to close, then whip my finger into his face.
“Never talk to Chick like that again. Do you understand me? That man has worked for this organization for forty years. Show him some respect.”
Everyone in the clubhouse turns to look at us. Drew puts his hand on my shoulder.
“Seb,” he whispers, “I think we need to do a reset. I know you’re upset about staying at the hotel, but you have to admit the isolation produced a good result tonight.”
“No, Drew,” I say, settling into the chair in front of my locker. “Manny’s three-hitter produced the good result tonight. It had nothing to do with him being isolated in a hotel room. He’s just a great fucking pitcher.”
I lean over to snap off my leg guards. Drew crouches down beside me.
“Seb.” He looks over his shoulder to make sure no one’s eavesdropping. “I heard you snuck Sophie into your office before the game. That’s not even close to being appropriate. We’ll have to take the office away if you’re using it for uh, personal reasons.”
I put my elbows on my knees so my face is just a few inches from his. “I’m only going to say this one time so pay close attention. You do whatever you want with team rules—make me stay in a hotel, take my office away, trade me, bench me, whatever—but if you comment again about what’s appropriate for my wife and me, there aren’t enough cops in this stadium to pull me off you.”
Joe tries to subtly wedge his leg between our faces. “Everyone’s watching, gentlemen.”
“And let me add,” I say, pushing Joe’s leg out of the way. Drew’s bald head is now covered with sweat. “Don’t talk to my wife again. Don’t look at her. Forget you ever knew her name. Are we clear?”
“Ray Franklin’s looking right at you.” Joe puts his hand on my shoulder. “The front-page story should be about the win and not whatever this is, don’t you think?”
“Nice game, Seb,” Drew yells as he bounces up. He looks around to make sure everyone’s watching. “Keep up the great play, man.”
Joe looks down at me after Drew walks away. “What’s wrong with you? Can you get through one day without picking a fight with someone?”
“I don’t pick fights.”
Joe collapses against my locker, grabs his gut, and lets out an exaggerated laugh. “You don’t pick fights? Seriously? Are there people who you haven’t threatened? I mean, just let me know who and I can get them over here. How about that batboy who put your bat in the wrong cubby tonight?What’s his name? Billy? I can get him over here if you want to take a swing. He’s only like thirteen but never too young to learn a lesson. Maybe don’t hit him in the face though because he has braces and that’s going to cut up his lips. Hey, Billy. Come over here. Seb wants to talk to you.”
Billy looks up from the corner of the clubhouse where he’s sitting with our other batboys, shoving in some leftover cupcakes from the pregame catering.
“Stay where you are, Billy,” I say as he starts wiping the frosting from his hand onto his jersey. “And good job tonight—all of you.”
“Okay, well Billy’s safe for now. So, uh, let’s see, how about Miss Frieda? You know the lady who caters the team’s pregame meal room. She’s the one who makes the little fried peach pies just for you. I had one tonight. I think she used too much butter. Maybe rough her up a little. She’s like Chick’s age, but if she can’t make your damn pies right, she probably deserves a good whooping.”
“Okay, Joe. You made your point.”
“Did I?” He looks down at me. “Are you sure there’s not anyone else you want to fight?”
