A League of Her Own (16 page)

Time to have some with Heather.

* * *

H
EATHER
TAPPED
HER
pencil on the conference table, eager for this meeting to start. Mandatory meeting, she corrected herself. Now that her mother was majority owner, she called the shots—and this conference was one of them. Just the two of them. Dread filled her. Would her mother put on a phony sober act? Or worse, would she slur her words? Babble nonsensically? If so, Heather would walk right out. She’d been okay at the coffee shop, but her mother’s behavior was as unpredictable as the weather.

The door opened and her mother walked in, the aroma of her expensive perfume preceding her. “You’re looking lovely, Heather.”

“Thank you.” Heather folded her hands in the lap of her dress, careful not to talk more than she had to. As a child, she’d never known which words would set off her mom. Especially when they were alone. At least in Cupa Java, Mrs. Mapes’s presence had made her feel safe.

Mom pulled out a fabric-backed chair and slid into it, opposite Heather. Gold hoops swung from her ears, a diamond tennis bracelet on her wrist. She’d certainly done well at the finance company she’d worked for, thought Heather.

Though she hadn’t asked, Heather wondered if some of her mother’s investment came from her wealthy family. As the sole heir of her deceased parents’ fortune, she would have money to burn. But why spend it on the Falcons?

“The parent team owners contacted me,” her mother began. “The Gowettes.”

Despite Heather’s resolve to stay silent, she broke in. “Tell them we’re not selling. We’re one game away from making it to the playoffs. Our stadium is nearly selling out every night. There’s no need to hand it to them.” Heather’s pulse zipped through her, adrenaline making her knees jitter beneath the table.

“I agree,” her mother surprised her by saying, a small smile appearing on her carefully made-up face. Heather looked away, Mom’s former snarl juxtaposing, in her memory, with the now friendly expression.

Heather twisted her sweaty hands in her lap. It was beyond uncomfortable being this close, physically. Deep down, it terrified the part of her that recalled every out-of-control moment from her childhood. At any second, her mother could rip off her nice mask, revealing her old hurtful self.

“They want to send up a Double-A third baseman, Tony Formetti.”

“But the trainers told me they’ll clear Hopson to play any day. His ankle’s nearly healed.” Heather hated taking orders from the parent team, especially when it involved her players.

“I explained that as well, but they feel Hopson’s on his last season. Since they’re not renewing him, they want Formetti to get some playing time in now.”

Heather sucked in a hard breath and coughed. Her mother hurried to the credenza, returning with bottled water and pushing it across the table at her.

“Hopson’s come a long way this season. He’s made some great plays, showed more hustle...” Heather’s hands shook slightly as she lifted the bottle and drank. Poor Hopson. All that effort and now this. The decision was business, but that didn’t make it easier.

“My hands are tied.” Her mom’s sculpted brows came together, a line forming between them. “I’m sorry. I wanted to let you know first. Ask what you’d like to do with George for the rest of the season.”

Bitterness rose in Heather’s throat, eroding what she’d intended to say. How could her mother look so composed? So unaffected? But then again, she’d never had any real investment in the players or this team. Not, Heather qualified, until recently. Her reasons for getting involved still defied understanding. Many of her mother’s actions always had.

“I want to play Hopson,” Heather said firmly. “Tomorrow, if he’s cleared.”

Her mother splayed manicured hands in front of her. “Even though the playoffs are on the line?”

“Especially because of that,” Heather insisted, certain. “If this is George’s last year, then he deserves the glory. He’s earned the spot, not some unknown player from a Double-A team. We’ll win with Hopson if he’s healthy. I have faith.”

A slow smile spread across her mother’s face. “And I trust your judgment.”

Heather sank against the back of her seat. Just like that, her mother had confidence in her. No criticism. No second-guessing. Just blind faith like in the coffee shop. It was such a strange, heady sensation.

A soft hand fell on hers. “Sweetheart, I know I haven’t been the best parent to you. Not by a stretch. But please know that I never stopped loving or believing in you.”

Suddenly the words, long held back, tumbled out of Heather before she could prevent them.

“Then why didn’t you quit taking pills? Why were drugs more important than me?” She ducked her head, her features contorting as she strove to control herself. This was a business meeting. She hadn’t planned on it dissolving into a family intervention.

Her mother hurried around the table and sat beside Heather, wrapping an arm around her. “I was sick. Plain and simple. There wasn’t anything you or Daddy could do. In fact, in lots of ways, you saved my life.”

“You nearly cost me mine.”

Her mother’s sudden quiet made Heather look up. The color had drained from her face, leaving only bright pink blush and matching lipstick behind.

“There’s no excuse for what I did that day,” her mom said, her voice a notch above a whisper. “Getting behind the wheel while under the influence, letting you in the car with me—it’s the most disgusting thing a person can do.”

Heather nodded. Turned toward her mom. Finally, an apology along with what sounded like genuine remorse. Surely her mother couldn’t be this good at faking her sincerity?

“That’s why I left when the hospital discharged me,” her mother confessed after blowing her nose.

Shock rolled through Heather like a thunderclap. “I thought you didn’t want us anymore.”

Her mother took in a shuddering breath. “Oh, honey, I wanted you so much. But I wanted you safe more. The only way to guarantee that was to stay away until I got sober. Your father and I agreed.”

“Dad knew about this?” Heather gripped the edge of the table, sure she’d slide to the floor if she didn’t.

“Yes. Once the drugs cleared from my system, we had a long talk to decide what was best for you. We still loved each other, but we knew we were better off apart.”

“That’s why he left half the team to you,” Heather breathed. “He loved you.”

“No.” Mom shook her head. A wisp of brown hair fell from her bun and curled beneath her chin. “He cared so much about both of us that he hoped it’d get us together.”

“Is that what he told you?” Heather tossed back another drink of water, heated and off balance.

“He mentioned it a lot. The last time was right after his heart attack. But I always said no. The entire team should belong to you, Heather. When it’s safely in the black, I’m signing my share of it over.”

Heather’s mouth dropped open. At last she was getting her team. But a tug of unease dampened her excitement. This wasn’t what her father wanted. Had he hoped to save not only his team but also his family by reuniting his wife and daughter? Shouldn’t Heather care about that, too?

“How often did you two speak?”

Her mother’s cell phone buzzed. Without looking away from Heather, she clicked it off. “Mostly on your birthdays and holidays. Those were the toughest times for me. He always gave me updates, told me all of the amazing things you were doing. He was so proud of you.”

“I wish he’d told me.” Despite her efforts, Heather’s sentence ended in a watery gulp.

“Oh, honey. That wasn’t his way.” Heather resisted her mother’s attempt to hug her.

“But his father was like that,” her mom continued, twisting two rings on her left index finger. With a start, Heather recognized her mom’s wedding set. “He parented you the way he was brought up. Good or bad, it’s the best he knew how. He cared so much about raising you right. Called me sometimes about that.”

Understanding took root inside Heather and sprouted.

“I’m ashamed to say,” her mom continued, “that at first, I wasn’t always sober enough to advise him. I guess he parented you the only way he knew how, by showing you what you’d done wrong so you wouldn’t do it again. He wanted to make up for you not having a mother. Hoped he’d help you be your best, despite having only him, but I suppose he went overboard. It came out of love, even if it was wrong.”

Heather’s chest expanded, making room for the knowledge flowering inside. Her father wasn’t perfect, but he had done what he could to be the best parent for her. She peered at her mother’s earnest face. Was it possible another loving parent sat beside her?

Suddenly she knew what she had to do.

In a swift move, she swept her mother into her arms, holding her close until her mom’s rigid body collapsed against her.

“I love you, Heather,” her mom whispered in her ear.

“I know,” Heather replied, meaning it.

Sometimes you had to trust others not to let you down rather than pushing them away.

And, she finally realized, perhaps that included Garrett.

CHAPTER TWELVE

G
ARRETT
FINISHED
UP
with a reporter, then headed off the field to the locker rooms. He was ready to celebrate tonight’s all-important win—preferably with Heather.

“Psssssst! Mr. Wolf. I mean, Garrett!” someone stage-whispered.

He looked up at the bleachers beside the tunnel, surprised to see Levi alone. His thin body swam inside Garrett’s present: an oversize blue-and-white Falcons jersey.

“Hey, Levi. Where’s your group?”

“Waiting for me at the bus, but Mr. Lettles is still here. He’s in the bathroom.” Levi jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Great game.”

“Thanks. It was a big one.”

“This means the Falcons are in the playoffs, right?”

Garrett nodded. He was filled with pride that he’d won this clincher. “We have more games to go,” he said, his mind on the scouts coming in a few days. “But win or lose, we’re heading to the playoffs.”

Levi held out his knuckles. They fist bumped. “The Falcons are going to be league champions! Here.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a glittery gold-and-green four-leaf clover sticker. “I had to spend two dollars to win this, but I wanted to give it to you. For good luck.”

Touched, Garrett took the sticker. Levi was a good kid, no matter the bad rap he’d gotten in the past. If Garrett moved up to the Majors, he’d make sure they stayed close. As for now, however, he needed to leave and catch Heather. Tonight, he’d convince her to count on him, on and off the field.

“Thanks, Levi. We’ll do our best. How long has Mr. Lettles been gone?”

Levi looked over his shoulder, then shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I should head back to the bus. They could have left without me.”

“I doubt that, but I wouldn’t hold them up. If Mr. Lettles looks for you here, I’ll let him know.”

Despite Garrett’s urging, Levi remained. “Or you could drive me back. Maybe we could stop for ice cream...”

Garrett’s heart sank. He hated saying no to the kid. Especially when he looked that hopeful. But he had to get to Heather. With the season slipping away and a good chance that he’d be called up to the Majors soon, he wouldn’t waste another minute.

“How about ice cream tomorrow?”

To Garrett’s surprise, Levi shook his head. His freckles stood out under the stadium’s bright lights. “Can’t tomorrow. It has to be now.”

Garrett’s eyes narrowed. “Why? What’s happening tomorrow?”

“Can we just go for ice cream?” Levi’s voice rose, wheedling. “I’ll tell you then.”

“I’m sorry, Levi. I can’t tonight. Let’s go biking the day after tomorrow. We’ll stop for treats afterwards.”

Levi looked down. Shuffled his feet. Quiet, for once.

Garrett moved closer to the railing. “Are you okay?”

“It’ll be too late then,” Levi muttered.

Concern filled Garrett. “What will be too late?”

Levi shook his head. He raced up the aisle, taking the cement steps two at a time.

Worried, Garrett pulled out his cell phone and dialed Mr. Lettles. A message announced the voice mail box was full. He swore under his breath.

“Mr. Wolf.” A man in a tailored suit, his hair gelled, stepped forward. Garrett turned. “I’m Andrew Layhee from WHCN TV. Would you have time for a quick interview?”

Garrett looked from the top of the stadium seats to the camera. Doing press was part of his job, and turning down an interview with Raleigh’s biggest news channel would label him as the rude, uncooperative player he used to be. With scouts scrutinizing him, he couldn’t afford a misstep. Mr. Lettles remained on the upper level. A bus waited out in front. Levi would be safe.

Still, guilt swamped him for not taking Levi out. They’d done it plenty of times before. But tonight he had other plans. He’d make it up to the kid. Fix whatever was bugging him then. At war with himself, Garrett extended a hand. “Sure. I can only give you a few minutes, though.”

“That’s fine.” Andrew adjusted his tie. After holding up his microphone, he faced the camera with a broad smile.

“I’m here with Garrett Wolf, standout pitcher for the Falcons. The team just made the playoffs with a dramatic turnaround, winning forty of their last fifty games, thanks in large part to your work. What was the key to your comeback?”

Garrett’s mind flashed to Heather, her lovely face as she pointed out his arm slot issue, her determination in winning over the rest of the team. “Well, we knew the talent was here. It was just a matter of it all coming together. Our new manager gets a lot of credit for that.”

“About your manager. She’s the first female manager in the Minor Leagues. How is that different for you?”

For a moment he imagined Heather in his arms. Her body soft and pliant against him. Her lips tasting of honeysuckle. Spending time with Heather was special. She’d opened him up. Changed his outlook. He couldn’t wait to find her so he could tell her. He brushed his gritty hands on his shirt, stalling. Finally, he looked up into the camera.

“We’re all professionals, and the main thing is that Ms. Gadway knows baseball and is respected for that. It makes no difference whether she’s male or female. We don’t see that on the field.”

Andrew grinned like a cartoon character. His head bobbed.

“You’re a bit of a Cinderella story yourself. Out of baseball for three years and now a serious Major League prospect. How do you explain that?”

Again, the incredible woman who’d made that possible captured his imagination. He couldn’t wait to speak his heart to her.

“I have new priorities in my life. My number one goal is staying sober. I always knew I had the ability to make it to the Majors, but my drinking got in the way. I also had some mechanical issues which, thankfully, our manager noticed and helped me to correct. I’m thankful alcohol is out of my life and Heather Gadway is in it.”

Andrew shot him a puzzled look, then quickly recovered his professional polish. “And what are your expectations for yourself and for the team going forward?”

That’s where things got murky. He knew what he wanted for the team. When he imagined leaving Heather for the Majors, his thoughts stalled. It was his lifelong dream, the way he’d ensure Manny had not died in vain. But what if his dream was changing?

Garrett forced a charming smile, adding a laugh to sound less serious than he felt. “A championship for our team and a Major League position for me would be a good start.” His smile slipped. He was ready for this interview to be over.

The sharp-eyed reporter gave his cameraman a subtle nod, then held out a hand to Garrett. “Good luck, Garrett, and thank you.” He turned back to the camera. “This is Andrew Layhee with WHCN.”

Garrett raced down the tunnel. “It’s been a pleasure—” he heard the broadcaster say behind him.

“Same,” he called over his shoulder with a wave.

Though the pleasure he had in mind had to do with a certain green-eyed beauty.

* * *

C
HAMPAGNE
CORKS
POPPED
in the Falcons locker room. The teammates sprayed one another with liquid. Their cheers echoed in the space as trainers, coaches, players and local reporters jostled for elbow room. Heather watched from a corner, taking it all in. Where was Garrett? Tonight’s win guaranteed them a spot in the playoffs. The farthest the Falcons had gone in over ten years. Pride for her players filled her. They’d worked hard, and their efforts had paid off. They deserved this frenzied celebration.

Hopson jumped onto a bench. His ankle healed, he did some kind of jig. “Woo-hooooooooo!” he called, dumping an entire bottle of champagne over Waitman’s head.

Waitman, who’d scored the final homer that’d won the game, shook off the fluid. He grabbed Hopson around the knees, lifting him in the air and twirling him. “We did it!”

“OW-OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH,” the Falcons howled when Garrett strode through the door. Heather couldn’t tear her eyes away from the gorgeous man. He’d struck out thirteen players. Had given up only one run. An incredible performance. His move to the Majors would be a big loss for the Falcons...and for her. But she intended to do something about that. Soon.

She watched as he pulled off his cap, damp blond hair falling across his forehead. His blue eyes swerved her way, catching her staring. Their eyes locked until someone grabbed his arm. Dean pulled him away. Perhaps he didn’t want Garrett around all the champagne? Funny how that hadn’t occurred to her... It proved that she was ready to trust him, just as she now had faith in her mom.

As Garrett disappeared in the crowd, a cheer broke out in the back of the room, led by Valdez.

“Let’s hear it for Skipper!” he called from atop another bench. He leaned forward, a hand cupping his ear.

“To Skipper!” roared the other young players crowded around him.

“Who?” Valdez hollered again.

“To Skipper!”

Whistles and whoops followed, making Heather glow like a lightning bug. A slim arm slipped around her waist. She started, still adjusting to her mother’s affection.

“Congratulations, sweetie. I knew you could do it. Deep down, your father knew, too.”

“Having the extra fans in the stands helped, Mom.” She held herself still, resisting the urge to pull back. Her dad wanted them to work this out. Now, she did, as well. “It really motivated the players. We couldn’t have had that great second half of the season without the momentum you built.”

Her mother’s hands slid down and grasped hers. Her mom leaned back and smiled at Heather. “Honey, showing up to practice just a week after losing Dad, that showed the players how much you wanted to win. It proved it to me, also. Let’s call it a team effort.”

“Whatever happens in the playoffs, I already feel like I won. I love you, Mom.”

Her mom grew tearful. “I don’t deserve that.”

Heather touched her mother’s cheek. “You’ve worked hard to get to where you are now. So, yes, you do.”

A blinding flash interrupted their hug. They blinked up at a man wielding a large camera.

“Jim Bosch with the
Raleigh Telegraph
.” He flashed a smile and held out a hand as his assistant took more shots. “I’d like a few comments on tonight’s win if you have a moment.” He shook Heather’s hand, then her mother’s.

Before Heather could respond, her PR-conscious mother nodded. “Of course. Shall we step outside where it’s quieter?”

The photographer snapped additional pictures of the exuberant team, then followed them into the tunnel. Above them, the whisking of brooms sounded, workers busy cleaning up the stadium. The only other noise was the occasional crash followed by raucous laughter inside the locker room.

“I’d like to begin by giving you my condolences for the loss of your father, Dave Gadway.”

The familiar ache at hearing her father’s name scoured Heather’s heart, but it was duller than it’d been in weeks. She could breathe through it.

“Thank you.”

“I understand you were hired as his general manager when he failed to offer a fair contract to your predecessor. Was that a planned move?”

Heather gasped. “My father would never force someone out of a job.”

“Not even to make way for his daughter?” The reporter’s friendly smile didn’t reach his sharp eyes.

“We were in financial trouble, so I was taken on without salary. It was the only way to keep the team afloat,” she blurted, too incensed to think before she spoke.

The reporter rocked back on his heels. His cheeks puffed out as if he’d just eaten a canary. His pencil flashed across his notepad.

Heather’s mother stepped forward, forcing the reporter back. “My daughter has attended nearly every practice, advised and motivated this team to their winning position. Paycheck or not, she is the first female manager, and doing a better job than many other managers in the league who wish they’d made the playoffs.” Her mother straightened her spine and raised her chin. “Besides, the team is now firmly in the black and, although she is also co-owner, she will be offered a contract. I’d hoped to surprise her with the news tonight rather than reveal it this way, but that’s your answer.”

Instead of looking cowed, the reporter’s expression grew pinched. It gave his narrow face a feral appearance as he looked up from his notepad. “Yes. I understand you are Mr. Gadway’s wife, Renee Gadway, or is it ex-wife? We haven’t heard much from you since your nasty car accident. Can you explain your whereabouts during the past fourteen years and how you came to own the majority share of the Falcons?”

Heather felt her mother stiffen beside her. She leaped into action.

“My mother had to travel for her job, but she was in regular contact with the family. Her dedication has been constant. As for her ownership of the Falcons, my father always had an eye for talent. He knew the right person for the job. My mother.”

Heather wrapped an arm around her trembling mother to draw her close. “Any other questions?”

The reporter backed away, shaking his head. “I think we have everything we need.” He signaled to his assistant to follow him back inside the locker room again.

“We’ll have to rethink some of the press credentials we hand out,” Heather said.

Heather’s mother snorted at her quip. Her eyes were wide as she gazed at Heather. “You didn’t have to cover up for me.”

“Mom. You
were
traveling. And your job was to get better so that you could come home and I...” Heather choked up, emotion pressing her words against the back of her throat. “I am so glad that you did. Dad was right to make you an owner. I hope you stay on for as long as you want. I’m happy working with you and managing the team.”

Her mother pulled her close. Heather buried her head in her mom’s neck, inhaling her familiar perfume, her heart full.

“Honey, I’m thrilled. How about fifty-fifty ownership? Right down the middle.”

Air expanded Heather’s lungs. Finally, she’d achieved her goals. She’d helped her hometown, saved the Falcons, and proved to her family and herself that she could lead them.

Now for her next goal: Garrett. Her life was full. But as he’d pointed out on the bus, none of that mattered if she didn’t have someone to share it with.