Clutch Hit, Faith O'Shea [read along books TXT] 📗

there was the weekly operations meeting in Dan’s office. As she made her way into his office, he glanced up and smiled.

“Good morning. You look chipper.”

“It’s the sun. It’s amazing what a little Vitamin D can do for your mood.”

“I think it’s more than that, but we can go with if it works for you.”

She gave him an evil eye, but a smile broke through. It seemed everyone here knew about her and Mateo and most were pleased with the results.

Lyra walked in, her clipboard in her hand. “Good morning, boss.”

Nodding to the checklist, Allie asked, “Can I see where we are?”

Lyra handed it over. “I didn’t get a lot done yesterday. I ended up keeping Buzz company.”

“He’s rooming with Verdi, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but the catcher had a date. He called and asked if I’d hang out until he got back.”

“Late?”

“No. Either it didn’t go well or he wanted to get back to relieve me. Those two have become pretty close, a regular bromance developing there, I think.”

“That’s good. Buzz isn’t—”

“Nope. We sat around, drank decaf, and talked the few hours Verducci was out. From what Buzz told me, coffee is now the drink of choice. And he drinks lots of it.”

“You could have called me, you know.”

“I like him, and I didn’t mind in the least. Now if it was Nap, I would have passed.”

“He still feeling cheated?”

“You’re the one dealing with him, so you tell me.”

“I didn’t hear from him all weekend. I’d hoped putting him with Ritter would be the salve he needed for his wounded pride.”

Ritter was a hard worker who knew his role and did it without complaint or the need for a pat on the back for doing his job.

DeLorenzo asked, “Should I be looking to trade, or are we sending him down?”

Allie shook her head in sympathy for the guy’s unmet expectations.

“He’s too old to be sent down, and I’m not sure he’d attract another team, not unless we were willing to give someone of value away with him as an add-on, and no way am I willing to do that. I think I’ll take a wait-and-see approach. He might turn himself around.”

Lyra said, “He had to know he was only a filler.”

“I think Farina made him think he was an integral part of the team. Which he is, just not in a starting position.”

Dan asked, “Is he holding you responsible?”

“I’m the one who made the find. But if it wasn’t Rique, it would have been someone else. We need an anchor there, and Nap doesn’t have the arm strength or the moves.”

They discussed a couple of minor league players who might make the jump before the beginning of the season and came up with a list who they’d bring up as needed. They’d spend the next six weeks assessing skills, talents, and maturity. Making the move was an overwhelming proposition and bringing someone up too soon could wreak havoc on his future. Only the men who they thought could handle it would be given the opportunity.

By the time the meeting was over, the team was on the field. They were going through their warm-up exercises, some throwing catch in the outfield, some jogging around the bases trying to limber up, some over by the area where the fans were corralled, talking, signing autographs, and taking selfies. She canned the crowd for Mateo, and when she’d found him, her stomach dropped to her feet. His head was thrown back, a wide grin on his face, and there were two women on either side of him. They were each taking selfies, and his arm was thrown carelessly around their shoulders, pulling them in so they’d fit the frame.

Every nerve in her body went on alert. Her fear came rushing back at her like Jack Lambert, a ferocious middle linebacker who played for the Pittsburgh Steelers, knocking the air out of her lungs.

She stepped back away from the window, her legs shaking, her heart beating like a jackhammer.

Was this the beginning of the end? He looked so happy out there, among the crowd. Was it just his Cuban nature, or had she bumped into that brick wall she’d been expecting? Rique had been with him, his smile as wide, but not as hands-on.

When Lyra came over to show her the roster, it was in Sanskrit or some language her mind couldn’t decipher. As she steadied herself, the words began to make sense—at least names were visible. Rique led off, followed by Reyes, Mateo in the three-hole, Ovitz, Layden, Heredia, Bellasario, Motts, and Jackson. Their ace wouldn’t stay in long, maybe a couple of innings before they put one of their newbies in. Her eyes dropped to the bottom of the sheet to see Sutherland and Scherger penciled in.

When Casey tapped her on the shoulder, she almost jumped out of her skin.

“Hey, you’re pale. What’s the matter?”

Here was a friend she could tell, one who wouldn’t stand in the bleachers cheering her on but would step right into he arena with her, making sure her back was covered.

Her voice was coated with insecurity.

“I can’t do this.”

“Can’t do what, hon?”

“Trust this. He was… Women were… They love him… and it seems he loves them back.”

“Allie, you’re wrong. Not about loving women. He loves everyone. He’s developed such close relationships with the guys, he’s helping everyone, you know this. You get the reports.”

She had. And she’d seen it for herself. He’d gotten Rique to wait for the right pitch, and to adjust his swing to connect with the ball being pitched. He’d hung with Buzzley when he thought he could use some support. He’d discussed strategy with Ovitz, and the two of them were becoming the one-two punch she’d hoped they’d be. He’d taken Seb under his wing, keeping confidences on both sides of the fence. And he was helping Heredia with his English. The Venezuelan still spoke very little and she’d overheard Mateo translating for him during one of their meetings. In the last few days, he