Reading the Signs

Chapter One

Jake Fitzgerald wasn’t even in the room when his carefully contained life was smashed right out of the park.

It rocketed over the field, his pulse zooming as he followed his manager down the stairs from the dugout in the top of the ninth.

Their footsteps echoed dully in the dank tunnel leading to the visitors’ clubhouse in Boston, cleats scratching on concrete.

Ted wouldn’t look at him. Gruff and unsmiling was Ted’s usual MO, but a different tension hunched his shoulders.

Jake had just been scratched from the lineup near the end of the game even though he wasn’t injured.

Sure, his left knee ached with every step, but that was nothing new, and he sure as hell hadn’t complained about it.

No, something was up, and as he followed Ted into the visiting manager’s office and closed the door, nausea churned his gut.

They stood there on the faded carpet by the desk, a small fridge humming with a slight rattle beside a brown couch and fluorescent lights harsh overhead. Black and white prints of baseball greats watched from behind glass frames on the beige walls.

Ted took a deep breath and blew it out, his gaze still on the floor. When he raised his head, his eyes glistened, and an electric jolt of terror seized Jake.

“What is it? My mom?” Jake’s voice came out hoarse. The office smelled faintly of lemony disinfectant, and he thought of the hospital where his father had died. Oh Jesus.

“No, no. Nothing like that.” Ted shook his head and took off his cap, scrubbing a hand over his buzzed black hair, his wrinkled face even more creased. “Hell, Fitz. You’re traded. I can’t believe it’s going down like this, but here we are.”

A bark of laughter scraped Jake’s dry throat as the relief that his mom was okay butted up against incredulity.

“But Norwalk said he’d give me a heads up if there were talks with other teams. We had an agreement.

” Verbal, but still. “He knew I wanted to finish out my career here. He promised if anything changed, he’d warn me. We shook on it.”

Ted grimaced and looked like he wanted to spit. “I’m sorry, Fitz. I guess business is business and money is money, and a man’s word don’t mean shit anymore.”

Traded. The word raked through Jake’s mind, all sharp edges. He managed to get out, “Where?”

Trying to smile, Ted said, “Well, do you have your passport?”

An iron band constricted Jake’s lungs. “Toronto?”

The memory of an easy smile and twinkling eyes burst into his mind.

Brandon. Lost to Jake years ago. Only stony silence and avoidance existed between them now—if they had to play together again it would be a disaster.

Jake had ruined everything, and Brandon would never forgive him. Should never forgive him.

“Ottawa.”

Blinking, Jake’s mind spun as he tried to remember everything he knew about the new Ottawa team, which wasn’t a heck of a lot. The Capitals had been renamed and built from the ashes of a failed Florida franchise and were in their second year.

They’d visited San Fran the previous year, and Jake’s team had gone up to Ottawa for two games, but hadn’t met yet for interdivision play this season. The Ottawa crowds had been enthusiastic, and the Caps’ new dome was state of the art.

“Ottawa,” Jake repeated. He took off his cap, staring at the gray and green. He’d have new colors now. New uniform, new home, new life.

He didn’t want any of it.

“They’re not doing bad,” Ted said. “Could actually nab the wild card this year or even the division title. You’ve got a better chance of making the playoffs with them.”

Jake bit back the urge to scoff. That was a pipe dream for a team in only its second season.

And God, he hated to even think it, but he didn’t care about making the playoffs.

He’d established a comfortable routine in San Fran over the last eight years.

He had everything under control. Just the way he liked it. Now that control had been ripped away.

It was like a ball to the throat behind the plate, bouncing up and hammering the one spot his pads didn’t quite cover. Unable to breathe, feeling like he might actually die right there.

Inevitably, the panic receded, and he would shakily gasp for air, waiting for the next pitch.

Jake inhaled now, rolling his knotted shoulders. “I only have two years left on my contract. I’ll be thirty-six then, and I’m going to retire. Be lucky if my knees last that long. Why would they want me?”

Ted frowned. “They want you because you’re a hell of a ball player.

One of the best damn catchers I’ve ever coached.

When you came to us I thought, ‘Fuck me sideways, what am I going to do with a giant behind the plate?’ You’re not done yet.

So don’t give me that shit.” His eyes blazed, gruff voice filling the room as he got fired up.

“You know why they want you? Because they need a leader to set the tone. A vet with a cool head to inspire that new team. And damn it, you’ll do it.

I know you’re blindsided right now, but this is gonna be a great change.

Even if we’ll miss the hell out of you. Got it? ”

Jake nodded, his throat tight and eyes burning.

Ted slapped Jake’s arm. “Okay then. Norwalk’s waiting on the phone.”

His throat closed up for a different reason. Nails digging into his palm, he snarled, “I don’t have anything to say. Not anything he wants to hear, at least.”

“I know, but you’ve got to talk to him anyway, so let’s get it done.” Ted turned to the phone on the desk and jabbed a few buttons. The speaker crackled to life, and he said, “I’ve got Fitz here with me. I’ve informed him of the trade.”

Henry Norwalk’s oily voice slithered from the speaker. “Hi, Fitz. We’ve got heavy hearts here in the office, but tough choices had to be made.”

Rolling his eyes, Jake only said, “Uh-huh.”

“I hope you know how much you’ve meant to this ball club and—”

“Not enough for you to be honest with me,” he bit out. “You gave me your word that you’d warn me of trade negotiations.”

Voices filled the hallway, a rumble of footsteps going by as the team headed to the clubhouse. Boston had been up by three runs, and Jake’s team had apparently failed to tie it in the top of the ninth. He heard Sanchez’s distinctive peal of laughter and someone’s reply, probably Owen or Manheim.

Jake realized with a pang that they weren’t his teammates anymore.

This was how it went in baseball—players were traded around the league fairly regularly, part of a team one week and then facing them in different colors the next.

His teammates were already in his rearview mirror, and he wasn’t even behind the wheel.

Norwalk droned on, but Jake could only focus on the sick, clammy powerlessness of knowing he’d taken his last at-bat with his team.

That he’d caught his last pitch with them and hadn’t known it.

He hadn’t even been able to mark the moment.

After eight long years with the same team it was over, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

“—paying you the rest of your contract and you get that million-dollar trade bonus,” Norwalk continued. “It’s an excellent deal for you, Fitz.”

Jake managed to speak evenly. “It’s not about money. It’s about my life.”

Ted kept quiet in the corner while Norwalk said, “Well, I know it’s a tough part of baseball. But at least you don’t have a family to uproot. Heck, maybe you’ll find Miss Right up there.” He laughed awkwardly.

Jake had zero desire to find Mr. Right, let alone Miss.

He’d already found the man he wanted to spend his life with, and it would never happen.

Even if Brandon was gay or bi, which he wasn’t, Jake had destroyed their friendship.

He’d let himself fall in love, and he would never, ever make that mistake again.

A memory of the hospital surfaced, squeaky shoes on linoleum in the hush of night, disinfectant and death in the air. Jake’s parents had been visiting him in San Francisco when his father had collapsed. They’d find out later the cancer was already in his bones.

Brandon had sat shoulder to shoulder with Jake in the hall outside his father’s room all night, even though the first pitch was at 12:07 the next day. Murmuring the stupidest jokes he could think of…

“Hey, J—why’d the girl smear peanut butter all over the road? To go with the traffic jam.”

Jake had to smile, a little piece of his heart lightening amid the sorrow.

“Why do bananas have to put on sunscreen before they go to the beach? Because they might peel.”

In the silence, Norwalk added, “You’re Canadian—this’ll be a homecoming for you. The fans will be thrilled.”

Jake shrugged even though Norwalk couldn’t see him. Sure, but he’d prefer to keep his life exactly the way it was.

Ted cleared his throat. “Okay, Henry. Can you patch us through to Ottawa now?”

“Will do. Fitz, I hope you understand. Tough business decisions have to be made sometimes. None of us enjoy it. But I have to do what’s right for the team.”

“Then don’t shake my hand and make promises you won’t keep.” Jake slumped on the couch, stretching out his long legs. Reddish dirt marred the green of his jersey where he’d slid into second in the fourth inning on a blooper from Moreno. He rubbed at it uselessly.

It was true trades were part of the game, and it was up to team owners to wheel and deal, no matter what the players wanted. It still sucked. He wondered what Norwalk had gotten in return from Ottawa. Probably pitching prospects, but it didn’t really matter. Either way, Jake was traded.

Traded.

He tuned out until another voice came down the line, this one belonging to Martin Tyson, Ottawa’s general manager and leader in the front office. From what Jake vaguely recalled, Tyson had been GM in San Diego before making the move north.

“Hey there, Jake. You’re probably a bit thrown right now, but I want you to know how thrilled we are to have you on the team.”