Page 34 of Leave It On The Field (Grand Slam 3)
“She’s fine. You know Mason and Butch will take care of her.”
“I know.”
“Deal with your business for the next few hours, and then you can see her after the game.”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do without you next year,” I say. “You always say the right thing.”
“I’ll only be a phone call away,” he says as he follows me into the clubhouse.
“Seb.” Our head trainer, Carl, hustles toward me. “Seems like you’re still too wired. You want to get on the bike again?”
I clip off my chest protector and throw it onto the chair at my locker. “It couldn’t hurt.”
Carl watches me from a distance for about ten minutes as I tear up the stationary bike in the training room. He finally walks over.
“Your energy level is normally high, but this is crazy.” He gets closer and whispers, “Did you take something before you got here?”
I stop pedaling and glare at him. “Are you being serious right now? What do you think, Carl?”
“I think you didn’t,” he says, taking a step back, “but I’ve never seen you like this. I guess it’s just extra World Series energy.”
Joe walks over. “You feeling better?”
“Not really.” I climb off the bike. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“I do.” He follows me back to the clubhouse. “You’re an extreme introvert. All of this extra stuff—the World Series hype, the media, the family and friends in town—is triggering you.”
“Maybe.” I collapse into my chair. “And I just feel like everyone’s coming at Sophie and me right now. All I want to do is play baseball, and then go home to my wife. That doesn’t seem to be too much to ask.”
“It’s not,” he says, looking around the clubhouse to make sure no one’s listening, “but sometimes the people in power make the stupidest decisions and they double down on the stupid when they think they’re losing power. That’s what Drew’s doing right now.”
“It’s not only Drew,” I say, wiping the sweat off my face. “My friends are being assholes too. I don’t know who to trust anymore. And I haven’t had nearly enough Sophie time. She keeps me even.”
“Hey,” Joe says, lowering his voice as he looks around the room again. “Why don’t I have Max sneak you into your office right now? I’ll get Sophie and you two can get a little alone time before the game.”
“What do you mean by ‘alone time’?” I look up at him—my eyebrows raised.
“Do I look like a fucking pimp to you? I thought maybe you could talk. Get your mind out of the gutter.”
“My bad,” I say, smiling as I think about spending even a few minutes with Sophie. “And yeah, that would actually be nice. Do you think you can get her down here without anyone seeing?”
“How are you asking me that?” He backs up toward the door. “You already know I can pull off anything. They used to call me NoJoe in the Marines because no one could see me coming.”
I roll my eyes. “No one called you that.”
“You don’t know what they called me. I was the shit in the Corp.” He points at me. “And by the way, only one of your friends is being an asshole. I hate to say it but I don’t think he’s going to stop coming after Sophie. He’s obsessed with bringing her down. It’s probably time for him to go.”
“Way past time, man,” I say, sighing. “That’s the first thing I’m dealing with when this series is over.”
* * *
