Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
“You’re talking about your wife.”
My wife. “Yes.”
The veteran sighed. “That’s admirable, man, but, dude, playing the game has to be for you too. You have to want to win. Guess we’re both a little lost.”
“I’m finding my way, slowly but surely.” Madden observed the pitcher in his periphery. “Do you want to win?”
“Yeah. But . . . I don’t need to win. It’s not do or die anymore. I’m too . . .” He searched for the right word. “Comfortable. I think that’s the problem.”
“You’re comfortable being a has-been.”
“Easy, Irish,” Ruiz said. “Words hurt.”
“Sorry.” Madden’s lips jumped. “Who do you think about when you’re on the mound? Who do you want to see first after a win?”
“Haven’t you heard a word I said? I’m playing for me.”
Madden shrugged. “Then go out there and imagine twenty-year-old Franklin Ruiz is watching you from behind home plate. Play for him.” He was surprised to see Ruiz set his jaw as he considered Madden’s words, the light of competition filtering back into his eyes. “Within reason, Ruiz. You’ve got a whole team to consider too.”
Someone came into the locker room and gave a two-minute warning before they took their field, prompting Ruiz to stand. “Is that your way of telling me to stop going rogue on the mound and start listening to your fucking pitch calls?”
Madden didn’t even blink. “Yes.”
They shared their first laugh.
“Fine. Let’s do it your way today, Irish.”
“It’s about goddamn time.”
* * *
Eve didn’t expect the immense pride that inchwormed its way into her chest watching Madden assume his position behind home plate. This was the big show. She’d put his ascension to MLB in the Huge Deal category. She’d known he’d reached the pinnacle of his career, but to see it in real life? To watch his face captured fleetingly on the giant screen, his hat backward—hot—that hand she knew so well clutching the catcher’s mask to pull it down over his face . . . she could barely breathe around her pride in him.
Every person in the stands was occupied, organ music pumped through the loudspeaker, interspersed with the announcer’s voice. Men sold beer in the aisles, little kids sat in the crowd with gloves on their hands. This was entertainment. The highest level of baseball. And it was so very far from Cumberland. From what Eve knew.
“I’m already bored,” announced Robbie, Skylar’s professional hockey player boyfriend, proceeding to be shoved simultaneously by Skylar and Elton. “I’m kidding!” he said, laughing. “How could I be bored with all this free food around?”
The hulking redhead wasn’t joking. Eve had already eaten a shrimp cocktail, two filet mignon steak skewers with fingerling potatoes, and a mini carrot cake. Now she stood by the giant wall of glass overlooking the field with a flute of champagne in her hand, the air-conditioning making her wish she’d brought a sweater, instead of opting for a navy-blue strapless sundress. The last thing she’d expected was to be cold on a warm spring day.
Or to be surrounded by so much wealth in the VIP suite.
Men in expensive suits and their tastefully accessorized wives were at ease in these posh surroundings, absently accepting personalized cocktails from the waiter. Taking up space. They didn’t think twice about dropping their Chanel bags on the sleek white leather sectional and striking up an animated conversation—and Eve envied that. Aspired to that kind of comfort in her own skin. As it was, she still had her own black envelope clutch wedged tightly under one arm and she’d positioned herself out of the way.
Who does she think she is?
That’s what everyone in Cumberland would say if they saw me here.
“Dude,” Veda whispered, appearing at Eve’s elbow, just in time to help her avoid a serious case of impostor syndrome. “This box is noice. A bitch could get used to this.”
“I know.” Eve glanced over her shoulder at the sterling silver buffet. “I’m trying to wait an appropriate amount of time before I have my second and third dessert.”
“Fuck that math. I’ve had four.”
Eve started to ask which of the minidesserts she should go for next, but Elton sauntered up beside Veda with a frosted pint of beer in his hand. “The shirt looks good on you,” he said to Veda, referring to his old Brown jersey that he’d brought from home. Being that Elton was taller and broader, she’d opted to tie the sides of the button-up around her stomach, showing off the embroidered waistband of her high-waisted jeans. “I can confidently say it has never been worn like that.”
Veda preened. “I add a little dazzle wherever I can.”
“You . . . yeah,” Elton muttered. Eyes glued to Veda’s face, he took a long pull of his beer. “Do you know the rules of baseball?”
She shook her head. “All I know is we want the team in pinstripes to win.”