Chapter 49
Chapter Forty-Nine
Olivia POV
I moved toward the group just as a sea of ballplayers stepped forward. Like the whole team suddenly realized all at once—one of their own was down. Coach Schorr emerged from the dugout with Remi. She and the guy from the stands hurried toward . . . where Breslin had fallen.
A hand on my elbow pulled me to a stop. I glared at Tanner over my shoulder.
“Coach'll send everyone away. There's nothing we can do. But you can help the team be excited about the win. Instead of anxious about Coop.” Tanner's voice was deep and smooth as he breathed beside my ear.
I sucked in a breath. It burned all the way down. But what could I do? He's right, I'll be in the way. And playing 'the girlfriend' isn't what we agreed on. Just the coaches. My stomach churned. “How?”
“Interviews. I hear that's something reporters are good at.”
I fought the churning heat inside me. The way he took that hit to his jaw? And he'd still been struggling with symptoms . . . Oh God, I need to text Dotty.
“Liv?”
I sucked in a breath. I didn't want to be rational. I didn't want to be tough. I wanted to know he was OK so I could kick him in the shins and yell at his smirky face that he can't hide the fact that he's hurt . . . from people who care.
Air caught in my throat and I gasped. It's what he's been doing all along : pushing us away—because he hurts. That's why . . .
“So who is he really?” I glanced at the swarm of players. You already know the answer: the guy who wants to be out in front, leading the team—not holding them back.
Schorr emerged from the dugout, both hands in the air. “Just go on home.” The clump of players parted and slid back. Behind him, Coop rose to one knee. A hand on his forehead and bared teeth. He lifted himself to his feet. Remi stood a few feet away, arms crossed and shaking her head.
“Good game tonight. More work to do, but take the win,” Schorr said in a loud voice, addressing the team. “Monday, we start the real grind. So go.”
No one moved. Even Coop stood rooted to the ground. He looked like a human-shaped blade of grass the way he wavered on his feet. One of the guys from the stands leant him a shoulder. He matched steps with Coop, helping him walk . . . mostly under his own power.
“You ready?”
Damn you, Tanner . “Yeah.” Breslin wouldn't want them worried over him. I straightened, squared my shoulders. My heart squeezed. “Just thinking, you know, strategy.” My attempt to hold onto my game face was probably pretty pathetic. “If I start with Antonio, we could make a big enough spectacle. Get more of the team interested.”
“By all means.”
I heaved a sigh, un-rooted myself and found my unsuspecting new partner in crime. “Hey, Mr. MVP.”
Antonio turned and gave me less than his usual megawatt smile. “There's our reporter chica.”
“Helluva game, right?” I smiled probably a bit too wide as I gave him a playful nudge. “Got time for an interview?”
“Ehhh.” He rubbed the back of his neck and scrunched up one side of his face. “I dunno, I?—”
“Can't turn in much of a story without talking to the guy who drove in the winning run. I mean, such a dramatic, come-from-behind victory. Whaddya say? Just a teensy little quote?”
He glanced toward the dugout and grimaced. “But . . . I can't leave him.”
“Coach sent these guys home. If he comes back out here, and sees them basically disobeying orders, he's probably going to be pissed. And then your victory ends on the sour note of punishments you'll all be facing on Monday.” I began ticking off some of Schorr's favorites. “Ten extra laps, three minutes of burpees?—”
“But Coop?—”
“Was up and walking, has a trainer and two coaches looking him over. Someone needs to calm these guys down. Come on, help your favorite reporter chica out?”
He ducked his head and shook it. “They're not kidding. You really don't let up.” He huffed out a breath and straightened. “Ok, let's do it. Fire away.”
I clicked the 'record' button on my voice recording app and held up my phone. “For the record, what was going through your mind when you stepped inside the batter's box?”
“Hm. What was in my mind? Ah, just that we needed to get, I needed to find a way to get my guy home. You know?” He tapped the shoulder of a nearby teammate. Eddie Dereks spun around. “Right, man?”
“Huh? What's this?” Eddie looked at me, then back at Antonio.
“Reporter chica needs some quotes for her article. You can't let us fish get all the spotlight, even if we did win the game.”
“Jimenez, you always running your mouth.” Jorge Azocar gestured with both hands as he joined the growing group. The guy had the same length of hair on his head as on his square jaw, and he spoke with a Brooklyn accent. He pointed at Antonio. “Even those chicken legs of yours can't keep up with your jawin'.”
A chuckle sounded behind me. “You older guys needed a freshman reliever, too.”
“Man, the toddler group got uppity quick!” Aaron Kinsley pitched a rock at the dirt.
“You should go with the headline: 'Freshman reliever holds Arizona scoreless for seven'.” Tanner lifted his eyebrows and grinned.
“Fens and Stanton tied the game.” Aaron snagged Antonio's hat and chucked it at him. “Take that, fish.”
“And these older guys are your upperclassmen.” Jorge punctuated his words by waving two fingers in the air. “As in we've got more class.” He crossed his arms.
“All right, all right. I need more than quotes for an article. Our Instagram account's looking pretty sad. Whoever wants to be in the highlight reel, come find me out front. Coach doesn't want us hanging out here.”
“I'm gonna be on the cover. I look dashing .” Eddie slicked his hair, then pulled his ballcap back on.
“You ain't pretty,” Jorge said with a dismissive wave.
“I didn't say pretty, I said dashing .”
“You meant pretty. There's pretty guys out there.” Jorge shook his head. “You ain't one of them.”
I couldn't help but laugh. I was used to the strange way men bonded with their teammates. Their sense of togetherness was as much about playing ball as it was about the sport of insulting one another. I'd seen it, studied it from the outside as Curt's kid sister. But, as Tanner fell into step beside me, I felt a part of it for the first time. Like I had finally contributed something to the team.
“I'm sure you talk about baseball all the time at home,” Tanner said in a low voice.
“Yes, yes. But, sadly, my brother won't be home for the holiday. He talks about baseball. Furston talks about the money of baseball.”
“I'm sure when you do get a chance to chat, my performance and flexibility in the exhibition game will still be top of mind.”
I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye as we arrived at the front exit. “Will it? It's not like he and Schorr are strangers. He coached the infamous Curt Milline, as you know.”
“So you're saying little sis doesn't hold extra clout.” He nodded. “Good to know.”
“What? I mean, I intern for him in the summers, going over reports, and stats of—” I sighed. “But extra clout? No, that's not me. Mostly 'cause Dad doesn't want me to get too involved .” I rolled my eyes and pushed the bar to open door.
“Sounds like you're bothered by what he thinks. I had to stop caring a long time ago.”
We left the stadium and stopped on the oversized sidewalk. “You're not close to your dad, then, either?”
“Could say that. He showed up drunk to one of my little league games. Been downhill ever since.” His voice roughened into a growl.
“That sounds . . . sad.”
“Is this all going in your article?” Tanner frowned. “It's not something I like to?—“
“Oh, uh, no. I assumed this was all off the record kinda talk.”
He nodded and pulled the backpack from his shoulders. I turned as a breeze kicked up, letting it breathe on the back of my head.
“So how long are you going to keep pretending with all this reporter stuff?”
“Pretending? Uh, pretty sure my journalism enrollment says I'm not pretending at a grade.” I rolled my eyes. What a tool.
“You don't seem all that interested in stories. Advertising, marketing, sure. Unless all those shirtless pics were for your personal collection.” He smirked like they were all of him or something.
“I only keep the ones I post, like everyone else.” As far as you know.
“So what's your storyline for this game? Come from behind win for Victory Tech?”
“More or less.” I shrugged and stared at the exit door, willing it to open and have my interviewees appear. “Why wouldn't that be the headline?”
“There's any number of angles. But you'd have to be interested in more than the game on the field. And aside from Coop, we're just a bunch of performing monkeys to you.”
My heart thudded in my chest. I glared up at him. “That's not true.”
“They’re like animals who can only fathom their own needs.” My father's face turned a mottled reddish color. “They use people . . .”
I shook my head. I'm not like him. My stomach burned.
“We're painted as heroes when we win, chumps when we lose, and villains when we can't live up to expectations.” He crossed his arms and fixed me with his heavy-lidded gaze. “And then one day someone realizes we're not making headlines anymore, and it's all over.”
“Like Curt.” The words slipped out.
“Your brother was smart. He quit while he was ahead.”
But it cost him his dream.
Tanner checked his fitness tracker. “Give me a better angle on this story.”
“But, I—” Dammit, was he channeling his inner Mrs. P or what? Ugh! “How about the contributions from freshmen? Up and coming, future of Striker baseball kind of thing?” He should like that. Where are those guys? I mentally stamped my foot.
“Marginally better,” he said with a shrug. “What about the mental challenges of starting pitching versus a reliever?”
I rolled my eyes. “Too technical.” Not to mention self-serving. Jerk.
“You could make it interesting.” Tanner's gold-colored eyes gave me some pseudo-smoldery look. As if.
“Really get inside my head.”
“What about 'the comeback kid' and make it about Schorr and rebuilding a legacy of national championship baseball. For Founders’ Day? And the evidence is in the contributions from the freshman three.”
He tipped his head and rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Hm. Hit the Founders’ Day theme? Appeal to a broader audience. Not bad.”
“Schorr's old enough to be part of the festivities.”
He ducked his head as he chuckled.
“So, on the record, then. How has Coach Schorr impacted Tanner Meyers and his baseball career aspirations?”
“Well, I'm here in Texas mostly because of his reputation.” His deep voice drawled. “Some truly great pitchers have emerged from Schorr's program. I hear you may know one of them.”
I pointed at him. “Not putting that in.”
His lips twitched. “I haven't been here that long, but he's already challenging me. I look forward to seeing how far my teammates and I can go.” He tipped his cap. “How'd I do?”
“A pitch perfect quote. Do you like, what, think of these in advance?”
“Sometimes. My mother spent time as a media consultant. The training at home wasn't only about throwing a ball.”
Ah, that makes sense. “Intriguing.” I glanced at the exit doors. What is taking those guys so long?
“Is it? Maybe you should find out more.”
My insides squirmed as I shivered. Everything he does or says is calculated. But Coop, Breslin is— The exit door finally burst open and a half dozen players leapt, jogged, and generally emerged into the evening air.
“Whoo!”
“Reporter chica, interview me.” Eddie shouted at the sky.
“Me first!”
I didn't know whether to sigh or laugh. I turned back to Tanner. “It'll have to be another time. That is one motley crew of ball players. And I volunteered to interview them all.” Jorge stole Aaron's cap and ran toward us. Shouting and insults filled the air. Stanton put Zim in a headlock.
“Good luck,” Tanner said. He grabbed his backpack and headed off toward the parking lot.
The stolen hat was shoved over my head. Aaron came to a halt, shrugged. “Man.”
“Looks better on her.” Jorge chuckled.
“Can't be part of the team without a hat . . .”
A lightness filled my chest as the childish antics played out. I pulled the sweaty thing from my head and tossed it to its owner.
“Hey hey, it's my favorite reporter chica! The star of the game has arrived.” Antonio brought up the rear of the group. He lugged two duffle bags, one over each shoulder.
“Screw you Jimenez. It's a team sport.”
Stanton pointed at me. “She should interview Mr. Dashing, first.”
“Ha, let the rest of you try to live up to how good I look.” Eddie pretended to smooth a hand over his cap.
Antonio sent a look my way, eyebrows drawn, jaw tight. He's worried about Coop .
Something invisible grabbed my chest and squeezed my heart toward my stomach. I hope he's ok.
“I won rock paper scissors, so I go first.” Eddie leaned an elbow on my shoulder and threw an easy grin at me. “My favorite food is tacos, and I like long walks on the beach.” I dropped my arm, setting him off-balance.
“I'm sure that'll go well in your dating profile. Swipe left.”
Some chuckles and renewed jeering erupted from the group. He winced. “Way harsh.”
“I want to know about the impact Coach Schorr has had on you. As a ballplayer. As a person. Any fun or important stories you have to share about the guy?” I pressed the record button on my app.
“Coach?” Eddie stopped. He removed his cap. “Ah yeah, that's a funny story actually. See my older brother played for him back when . . .”
Antonio glanced at his watch and jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the parking lot. He mouthed “Coop” at me, picked up one of the duffel bags from the ground and waved as he took off. A car I knew idled alongside the curb. Hilda.
“. . . after our parents split up. Schorr more or less took us both under his wing for the entire four years Luke played.”
My chest warmed as I met Eddie’s gaze. Just a brief glance, but the lopsided smile and gentle expression said . . . so many things at once.
“You’re fond of him.”
“I respect him.” He pushed the cap back onto his head. “He’s earned it as far as I’m concerned. Oh yeah, so this one time, Luke got himself in real trouble . . .”
It occurred to me then, like one of those moments I'd remember years from now . . . The crisp November air, the amber-colored field lights so bright they eclipsed the moon. The electricity of the win suffusing every breath, every cell, every minute particle of the world that was Vanquer, Texas . . .
Everyone has a story .