A League of Her Own (19 page)

Their pitching coach waved from his spot on one of the steps. “I’d get up, but my hip is bothering me again. This time next year, boys, I’ll be in dry Arizona. No more arthritis flare-ups.”

“You’re retiring?” Valdez looked the older man up and down as if only now noticing his lined face and white hair.

“This is Garrett’s time. No more talking about this old geezer.” Smythe raised a sports drink, and Dean handed Garrett one as well. “To our comeback kid. You made it off the farm, Wolf, but remember, you’ll always be a Falcon.”

“To Garrett!” their voices rang out before they lifted their bottles. Garrett noticed that they all had his favorite, lemon-lime. Touched, he took a long swallow. The citrus flavor stung the insides of his cheeks, the fresh smell reminding him of Heather.

Looking around the excited, chattering crew, he realized she wasn’t the only person he’d miss. He had fit in here, too. These guys had become like brothers. Some annoyed the crap out of him—like Hopson. Others, like Dean, he considered friends. Would it be the same in the Majors? Without realizing it, this small team had turned into family. The thing he’d looked for all his life.

And now he had to leave it and Heather. But not before he saw Levi. Made sure the boy knew he wasn’t mad at him. Most of all, he wanted to clear his name before he left. With the truth out, Mr. Lettles would keep the boys enrolled and give Heather’s camp another chance. She’d worked hard. Didn’t deserve to see it ruined. Plus, the group home kids thrived here, despite Levi’s setback. Garrett would miss the kids and wanted to ensure this good work continued—without him, he thought with a pang.

He threw back another long swallow. Funny how he’d forgotten the first rule of being a foster kid. Never grow too attached to locations or people. The minute you let down your guard, it all fell apart.

But he was an adult now. He could make things right.

“Gotta go, fellas. I’ll stop by before flying out.”

A chorus of protests followed him as he raced to the parking lot.

Minutes later, he pulled up to the group home. He still hated this place, but he’d go in for Levi, for himself and for Heather.

“I’m afraid Mr. Lettles is in a meeting,” said the receptionist after she’d kept him waiting for over twenty minutes, making hushed phone calls with her back turned.

“Then tell him Levi has a visitor,” he growled, out of patience, and stalked to the elevator. The foster director wouldn’t put him off any longer.

When he got off on Levi’s floor, a security guard and Mr. Lettles waited for him. Boys stopped playing and gaped at the adults.

“I’m afraid you’ll need to leave, Mr. Wolf.”

“That’s not an option. I’m flying to Pittsburgh tonight and plan to see Levi before I go. I’m not leaving without saying goodbye.”

To his surprise, Heather hurried out of the other elevator. “I heard from your receptionist that Mr. Wolf was on premises.”

Garrett ground his teeth. At least he knew one of the people the receptionist had called while she’d kept him waiting.

Mr. Lettles pointed at Garrett. “I was about to have him escorted out. Perhaps you can persuade him to leave on his own?”

Garrett eyed the beefy security guard. He had the guy by a few inches. He could take him, but he wouldn’t fight in front of children. He eyed the boys, and one of them, a friend of Levi’s, hurried away down the hall.

“Garrett, Levi doesn’t want to see you,” Heather sighed, her soft brown waves loose around her sweet face.

“How do you know? Have you asked him?”

Mr. Lettles straightened his tie. “He’s been on quite a bit of pain medicine since last night. He’s fairly groggy.”

“But lucid enough to accuse me of giving him alcohol?” Garrett asked evenly, keeping his frustration in check. Barely.

Mr. Lettles’s concave chest rose and fell. “We will certainly question him again when he’s more alert.”

Levi’s friend raced their way, skidding on stocking feet across the tiles. “Levi’s awake and wants to see Garrett.”

Garrett arched a brow. “Any objections?”

Heather and Mr. Lettles exchanged a look. At last, the director nodded. “But only for a few supervised minutes.”

Together, they entered Levi’s room, the security guard shuffling to a back corner. The boy was alarmingly pale and looked small, despite his height, as he reclined on a mound of pillows, his arm in a sling.

“I’m sorry, Garrett,” he croaked.

Garrett grabbed a cup of water from the nightstand and held it to Levi’s mouth. After Levi took a quick drink, Garrett set it down.

“It’s okay, Levi. Just tell us what happened.”

The boy’s eyes welled. “I had a custody hearing the day after your game. It always freaks me out to see my mother. I wanted to talk to you about it, but you were too busy.” His voice turned bitter, and Garrett felt a deep pang of guilt. He’d let down Levi as he had Manny.

“I’m sorry. I had interviews and other things going on, but I should have put you first.” He peered at Heather. Her red cheeks told him she recalled their night in the dugout together. Would it make a difference? Get her to soften toward him a little?

Levi sniffled. “When we went on that bike trip, I saw the bottles in the back of your trunk. My mom drinks, and sometimes she sleeps for days. Says she’s sick. I thought if I got sick, I wouldn’t have to go to court. On my way to the bus, I stopped by your car and got in your trunk with your spare keys. The bottles fit into my backpack so no one noticed.”

His words rushed faster and faster, ending in a full-on wail that had Heather pulling tissues from a nearby box to dry his cheeks.

“Well,” Mr. Lettles exclaimed. “That sheds a different light on things. My apologies, Mr. Wolf.”

“Accepted.” Garrett shot him a brief look before he sat on Levi’s bed. He gripped the kid’s good hand. “Look. You made a mistake. One I hope you learned from. But the earth didn’t crack. The moon didn’t fall. Last time I checked, the sun still rose. Life goes on, and after things like this happen, we become better people.”

“I love you, Garrett,” the boy whispered, then fell back against the pillows.

“I feel the same way, buddy. That’s never going to change. I’m leaving for the big leagues tonight. But I’ll be calling and visiting. You and I are family now. Got it?”

Levi smiled, his braces flashing. “I knew you could do it, Garrett.” His eyelids began to droop. “I’ll be watching you on TV.” His voice lowered, his words starting to blur together. “And it’s okay if you get busy and forget about me. I understand.”

“Not a chance. When I do this,” Garrett tapped his nose with his right index finger, “that’s me saying hello to you.”

“Cool,” Levi breathed, and his eyes drifted closed. “Cool,” he whispered again before his mouth dropped open, his chest rising and falling evenly.

“I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions, Mr. Wolf.” Mr. Lettles held out a hand, and Garrett shook it. The man was protecting his charges, no more or less than Garrett would have done. He respected that.

“No harm done,” he said, though that wasn’t completely true. “I hope this means the group home will continue attending the Falcons baseball camp...”

Mr. Lettles nodded vigorously, and Heather’s face softened.

“Of course. We’d be glad to,” Mr. Lettles said.

Garrett took off his cap and rested it on the pillow beside a snoozing Levi. “Guess I’d better get going.” He glanced at Heather. She looked impossibly beautiful as she clutched her purse against her stomach, her eyes somber. “I’ve got some packing to do.”

“Let me walk you out.” Mr. Lettles put a hand on Garrett’s back, friendly now.

Garrett stepped away. “No need. I’d like a word with Skipper if you don’t mind.”

After waving goodbye to Mr. Lettles, he and Heather shared a tense, silent elevator ride. Out in the parking lot, they paused by his car.

With people strolling on the nearby sidewalk, he didn’t dare reach for her. It took every bit of his willpower to keep his arms by his sides.

“Please say you forgive me, too, Heather.”

“I’m grateful that you came here and cleared this up. And I don’t blame you for what happened with Levi. I believed you from the start.” Despite her words, her tone was off. Not forgiving. Not loving. Her sneaker slid through the gravel, her downcast eyes tracking it. “I can forgive you for keeping alcohol without telling anyone—even me. But I can’t trust you again. Won’t take that chance.” Her chin trembled slightly. “The most painful years of my life were spent watching and worrying that someone I cared about would relapse. Looking for the warning signs, uncovering hiding spots.” She sighed and glanced up, her eyes full of regret. “You may be right. You may never have opened those whiskey bottles. But I don’t have it in me to have faith in you again, as much as I wish I could.” She touched him lightly on the arm. “I’m sorry, Garrett.”

He grabbed on to the car door behind him, reeling. Despite their incredible week together, her promise to believe in him, she was still letting old insecurities get in the way.

Still, he hadn’t told her about the alcohol. This was his fault. His screwup. Big time. The hugest mistake of his life. She’d never believe in him again and he didn’t blame her.

“How do I fix this?” he asked, unwilling to accept defeat. Not when it came to Heather. He loved her too much. There had to be a way.

“You can’t,” she said quietly. “Without faith in each other, what do we have? We both need to move on. You’re going to the big leagues. A much better place for you. Take care, Garrett.”

She slid into her car and drove away. He watched the corner where her car had turned long after it’d disappeared.

Leaving her behind meant the next place could never be better.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

T
HREE
WEEKS
LATER
, Garrett warmed up in the Buccaneers’ bullpen.

“That angle’s off again, Wolf,” warned the pitching coach. He snatched off his hat and scratched his balding head. “Get that arm closer to three quarters. Remember. We’ve got to get more movement. Pitches can’t be straight here. They’ll get hit.”

Only it wasn’t working. What he’d gained in ball movement, he’d lost in control. His original problem. He was a far better straight overhand pitcher. Heather had seen it. Helped make his pitch even stronger. Yet this guy tinkered with him like all new coaches did, making changes the way a dog marked its territory. And this was the Major Leagues. What Garrett wanted didn’t count. He had to do what he was told.

Garrett wound up, his arm feeling unnatural as the ball flew from his fingertips.

The practice catcher shook his head. “Ball.”

Garrett stepped forward to the mound’s edge, caught the return throw and strode back into position. He brought his glove to his chest just as the distinctive crack of a smash hit sounded from the playing field.

All of the men looked up, watching a streak of white bullet across the park and into the distant stands. The Hawks fans erupted in thunderous cheers while the Buccaneers coach groaned.

“Looks like you’re going in, Wolf. That was a three-run homer. We’re down nine-nothing.”

Garrett nodded. With this blowout, the Hawks would sweep the Buccaneers in their three-game series. As a mop-up reliever, he went in only when games like this got out of hand. Since it was the bottom of the eighth, he’d be just marking an inning. No one expected him to win. Just finish out the game so that the top relievers wouldn’t be used.

The lack of pressure would have been welcome when he’d made his comeback. Now it frustrated him. He could do more than clean up starting pitchers’ messes. Heather knew that. Smythe too. But here in the Majors, he was just another arm. One that saw play for only a few innings a week. If he was lucky.

He didn’t feel lucky.

Missing Heather was a constant ache, a tear in his heart he couldn’t heal. Thinking of her ripped him open every time. He had to get over her, but without alcohol to numb his thoughts, she was a constant presence, haunting him with what might have been. Had she moved on?

At the manager’s wave, the pitching coach opened the door and ushered Garrett onto the field.

Boos and catcalls rang out as he jogged to the hill. Buccaneers fans dressed in gold and black streamed up the aisles, getting off this sinking ship. He wished he could join them. Pitching an unwinnable game was the last thing he wanted to do. But maybe it was fitting. He was living an unwinnable life—one in which he’d never get the girl or have a professional career he could be proud of. Even worse, it wasn’t honoring Manny the way he’d hoped.

He snatched the ball that Greg, the catcher, winged to him. They rarely spoke. He hardly knew the guy. It wasn’t how it’d been with Dean. He and the Falcons catcher had spoken the same language, could anticipate each other’s thoughts on the field. Now, he simply followed the catcher’s calls or caught heck for it later.

Most new pitchers started at the bottom like this. But with a stacked bullpen and an outstanding starting rotation, it seemed unlikely he’d become a Buccaneers starter any time soon.

Keeping his arm at three quarters, he let loose a fastball that ended up in the dirt. Two pitches later, his count was three balls, no strikes. He gritted his teeth when the crowd leaped to its feet. Cheering.

Screw the arm angle. It wasn’t working.

He pictured Heather and came straight over the top. Serious heat whizzed by the batter. The next two pitches, right on the corners, got swings and misses.

Strikeout!

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the pitching coach’s glare but ignored it. He was through doing things their way. He had a point to prove.

The next two batters flailed at Garrett’s pinpoint throws. Mowed down, they each took their seats back on the pine.

Inning over.

He ambled off the field. Happy with himself for having struck out the side, all three batters whiffed.

His pitching coach loomed at the bottom of the dugout steps, his face red. He grabbed Garrett’s arm and pulled him aside. His teammates craned their necks, and he could feel their expectant stares. The new kid was about to get schooled—good fodder for dugout drama.

“So what happened out there? Looks like you lost your arm angle.” His coach’s mild words belied his tense face, a vein popping in his forehead.

Garrett hesitated. Should he be the good soldier and apologize for something he didn’t regret at all? Or would he take a stand? Say what he really felt? He thought of Heather. She’d never raised her voice, but she always got her point across.

He folded his arms and looked directly into his coach’s eyes. “Well, Coach. What happened was I just blew away three batters. And my arm angle was just fine. Thanks.”

Garrett held the coach’s eye, watching as the man gaped, dumbfounded. Garrett wheeled around, and his new teammates quickly lowered their heads as he took a seat on the bench. Another Buccaneer returned from the field, out on a pop fly. Only one more out and the game was over.

In a moment of blinding clarity, Garrett realized he was, too.

His dream of becoming a Major Leaguer was nowhere close to reality. Personal results didn’t matter to coaches who just wanted to implement their own techniques. The way the Majors worked, he could potentially have a new coach every few years who’d want to change things with him again. He would never find the camaraderie he’d had in the Minors. His Major League teammates were settled, had families and were wealthy, more concerned with making money than friends.

The travel was also more grueling in the Major Leagues. As a former foster kid, he should have been used to pulling up stakes a lot. But after his time with the Falcons, he’d learned to appreciate a more permanent home base. He wanted it back badly. More importantly, he wanted Heather.

The Hawks celebrated on field as the last out was made at first. The batter ducked inside the dugout, and the rest of the guys grabbed their gear and headed for the locker room. Where was the outrage? The Falcons would have been embarrassed and mad at themselves for being bombed like that, but the Buccaneers took it in stride. Emotionless.

He followed them into the showers, lost in thought as he washed up.

Should he let go of a lifelong dream to have the life he wanted? At twenty-seven, this late start meant he wouldn’t improve much athletically. Not fast enough to become an ace or even a starting pitcher. He’d thought he’d honor Manny’s death by proving that he could make it in the big leagues. But now that he’d arrived, he realized that he was only letting himself down. Manny wouldn’t have wanted that.

Water jetted across his head as he rinsed off, then headed for his things. When he pulled on his sweatshirt, a four-leaf clover sticker fluttered out of its pocket.

Levi. The boy had given it to him the night they’d clinched the playoffs, thinking he’d need it for luck.

But he didn’t need luck. He needed this reminder. Despite what had happened with Levi, he could be a positive role model. Would honor Manny much more that way than with fame or money. Plus, he’d be happier. Especially if Heather would take him back.

He slung his pack over his shoulder and headed for the manager’s office. She’d said she’d never trust him, and it’d stung. He’d heard that plenty in life. And this time, he’d definitely deserved it. Despite her childhood, she’d given him more chances than anyone else and he’d let her down. Now he needed to show her that he wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Losing her was the biggest mistake he’d ever made. He’d fought hard to overcome his addiction. He’d fight a hundred times harder to win back the love of his life. She was worth far more than the half-million-dollar contract he was about to throw away.

At Garrett’s knock, the manager opened his office door, beef jerky dangling from his mouth. He yanked it out and gestured for Garrett to come inside. “How can I help you, son?”

“I’ve given this some thought and made up my mind. I want off the team.”

The older man stopped chewing and swallowed, his eyes wide. “That caught me off guard. I assumed you wanted to increase your role on the team. What’s your reason?”

“Personal.” Garrett nearly smiled as he thought of the bragging Hopson and posturing Waitman. “Family business.”

“O...kay.” The man dragged out the word, sounding confused. “You’ve shown promise, Wolf. The Buccaneers see a future for you.”

But Garrett didn’t. The only future he envisioned was with Heather. And Levi. And the Falcons.

“I appreciate that,” Garrett said. “Most people would kill to be in the Major Leagues, but it’s not in the cards for me anymore. I know I can’t request being sent back down to the Minors—”

The manager tugged on an oversized ear. “You’d be the first one who’s ever asked.” He shrugged. “It’s a one-way ticket up here.”

“Then I’ll be resigning effective tonight.”

The meat stick thunked to the desk. “You’re only twenty-seven. Plenty of years left for a solid career.”

“My priorities have changed. But thank you.” Garrett stood and extended a hand. “I wish the Buccaneers luck.”

“I hope the same for you, Wolf. It’s been a pleasure.” They shook hands. “Please stop by the main office on your way out to complete the paperwork.”

Back in the hall, Garrett’s face broke into a grin, a weight off his shoulders. By getting rid of his old dreams, he’d made room for new possibilities.

And they all included the woman he loved.

* * *

H
EATHER
STOOD
ON
the locker room bench, waiting for the disappointed grumbling to die down. She nudged aside a pair of socks and planted her feet wider, her hands linked behind her back.

“Hey!” Valdez put his fingers to his mouth and whistled. “Skipper’s got something to say.”

She nodded at him, grateful. It’d been a long, contentious battle for the league championship. Losing in extra innings in game five hurt. But there was a lot to be proud of. She searched the crowd for a familiar pair of blue eyes. When would she stop looking for Garrett?
Maybe when your heart does
, a voice inside whispered...

Shoving the persistent thought aside, she forced a smile and looked down at her grim-faced players.

“First of all, congratulations on making it to the finals. I’m disappointed we didn’t win, too, but I’m proud of how far we’ve come, and I know my father would be, as well. Since midseason, you’ve turned things around, giving us the best Minor League record in the second half.”

A few of the Falcons lost their angry expressions, and others eyed her speculatively. She pushed back her bangs. “Obviously we owe Garrett Wolf some of the credit for jump-starting our turnaround.”

Hopson looked at Waitman and shrugged. “He pitched a great game. Helped us get the shutout to kick off our winning streak.”

Heather’s eyes moved from one nodding team member to another. “I also heard that he called a players-only meeting that day and motivated you with a pep talk.”

Rob swatted the air. “I worked hard for you, Skip. We all did.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd, and Heather’s heart squeezed. So she hadn’t needed Garrett’s help. She’d gotten through to the team on her own.

The thought was swiftly followed by another. Hadn’t Garrett said that she’d motivated the guys? Not him. Her old insecurities had drowned him out. What else had he said that she’d missed? Or chosen not to hear?

“Me too!” shouted Valdez. “You came to practice a week after your Dad passed. That took guts.”

“Dedication,” added Waitman. “You put us to shame.”

Hopson took off his hat, and a number of the guys followed suit. “Skipper, we couldn’t have had this season without you. Wolf knows it, too. His speech was all about you, anyway. His belief in your abilities as a manager. How you were the only one who’d ever helped his pitching. He said he trusted your coaching ability and so should we.”

Heather’s lungs seized. Garrett had called the meeting to reinforce her authority. Not take charge. He’d believed in her. What was more, the guys had faith in her leadership, too. She’d blamed her father for not trusting her abilities, but she hadn’t trusted herself, either. Garrett’s meeting shouldn’t have shaken her confidence. She should have known that she was getting through to the players—no matter what he might have added to the conversation. Light filled her, and everything swam into focus.

“You were great out there,” she said, speaking over the thoughts whirling through her brain. “I hate to see the season end. It’s been a good one. We came together, and next year, we’ll be unstoppable.”

“You said it!”

“Yes!”

“Falcons are number one!”

Heather smiled at the enthusiastic responses erupting around her. Now that’s what she loved to hear.

“To Skipper,” shouted Valdez.

A number of the guys whirled hand towels over their heads. “To Skipper!” they roared back.

“Thank you. That means a lot to me.” She wagged a finger and smiled. “Remember this feeling when I hand out your season critiques and lay out your individual off-season expectations. The schedule for tonight’s meetings is posted outside my office. See you in a few minutes.” She stepped off the bench and put a hand on Hopson’s arm. “May I have a word?”

Hopson followed her out into the tunnel, his jovial expression vanishing. He shoved his hat further off his forehead and peered down at her.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he said. “I know my contract ends this year, and I haven’t had the best season. I’m not coming back in February for spring training, am I?”

“Let’s speak in my office.”

Inside the lit space, she faced him across her desk. “In the first half of the season, as you know, I had concerns with effort issues. That can affect the entire team. During the second half, I noticed a big improvement, and you played to your potential. I expect that next year you’re going to start the season the same way you finished this one.”