Finding Us (18 page)

Nicely said, Jag, I thought.

Later that day,
I called my sister
and told her that she and Chad should use my reservations at the resort I’d reserved for El and me. She squealed saying that Chad’s rotation at the firehouse worked out perfectly, that he was off for the next three days and they’d take them.

Good. Took care of that. Now to get a flight out as soon as I could.

After landing
in LA that evening, I grabbed my luggage, threw it into the trunk and took off for Baxter’s.

“Hey, Jag! Come on in,” Amanda said as she answered the door
, letting me in and giving me a quick hug. “You okay?”

I knew I looked like hell. I hadn’t showered, hadn’t shaved, my hair was probably sticking out everywhere, and I knew my eyes were bloodshot because I’d been drinking the entire flight
back.

Yeah, yeah. I drove my car
to their place. I know it was dumb. I’m an idiot. Happy?

“Gordon! Jag’s here!” Amanda yelled, making me cringe at her loud voice. “Sorry. Would you, uh, like some coffee?” She rubbed a hand over my back in a motherly way.

“Sure, if it’s not too much trouble,” I replied.

“Not at all. Have a seat. Gordon’ll be right in, I’m sure. He’s been trying to fix the weed eater for two hours now.” She grinned and rolled her eyes making me snort.

“Goddamned, son of a fucking cunt bastard piece of shit!” Baxter growled as he came through the patio doors.

“Gordon!” Amanda scolded. “Watch your mouth!”

“Aw, the kids are asleep. Not like they haven’t heard any of those words before anyway.” He looked down at the weed eater he still held in his hand then turned, opened the patio door and chunked it out into the yard. “Fucking piece of cocksucking monkey shit!” He slammed the door then came over to the bar where I sat, holding out his hand for me to shake. “Hey, Jag. What’s up?” he said with a chuckle then abruptly stopped as he narrowed his eyes at me just then getting a good look.

Amanda set the cup of coffee in front of me and I thanked her then took a drink. Holy fuck. That was the nastiest cup of coffee I’d ever had. I tried not to screw up my face at the bitterness, but I couldn’t help it.

Baxter laughed. “Amanda can’t make coffee for shit.” She shot him a look. “Baby, you know it’s true.”

She chuckled. “I know. But at least I tried.” She looked at me. “Sorry, Jag. I thought maybe in your condition you
’d just get the effects of the caffeine and wouldn’t be able to taste too much of it.”

She grabbed my mug and poured it out in the sink then went to the cabinet, getting out three tumblers. Baxter walked over to the cabinet where she stood and pulled the
new bottle of bourbon off the shelf that was too high for her to reach. “Thank you, sweetheart,” she said.

He leaned down and kissed her. “No problem, babe.”

She walked over and set the glasses on the bar and Bax poured the liquor in them. Then we all downed it.

“Ah. That’s some good shit,” Bax said.
“Jim Beam Black. Jim’s been my buddy for a long time.”

Amanda laughed, hitting him on the shoulder. “You say that every time you drink this.”

“And I mean it every damned time,” he said with a grin, pouring us more. He held his glass up for a toast and Amanda and I did the same. “Here’s to good friends.” We all clinked our glasses together and Bax and I downed our liquor while Amanda sipped on this second glass. “So, what happened?”

I sighed, staring at my glass, watching as he poured me another shot. “She fucking broke up with me.”

“What? I thought things were going so well!” Amanda said, looking shocked.

I chuckled
bleakly. “I did too. But I went and fucked things up again.” I lifted my glass, looking at the contents before downing it.

Amanda pulled a barstool up and sat across from me as Bax did the same. “Now, start a
t the beginning,” she said, drinking what was left in her glass.

“Babe, gotta be careful. You know how you get hangovers in the morning,” Bax said, leaning over and kissing the side of her head.

“I know. This is my last one. It’s just nice to cut loose a little,” she said, looking up at him with a grin.

“Thatta girl.” He smiled at her as he brushed a piece of hair off her face.

God, if they didn’t stop I was going to get choked up. And I hadn’t cried in over twenty years.

Amanda looked at me again
, reaching a hand over and patting mine. “Tell us everything.”

So I did.

When I finished, they both looked at me in disbelief.

“What a fucking cunt,” Amanda said making Bax and me snort. “Alessandra, not Ellen,” she added.

Bax raised an eyebrow and I knew what he was thinking, but he didn’t say it out loud which made me snort again.

“The only thing I can think to do is have Alessandra admit to El what she did, but what’d be the point?”
I said.

They both nodded
in understanding not knowing what else to say. Then Amanda sat up straight. “You just give it some time to settle down, okay? She’ll come around and then you can set everything straight, okay?”

It was my turn to nod
, but I didn’t mean it. It was hopeless.

“
We’ve got your back, Jag. Anything you need, okay?” She smiled at me as she swayed a little on her barstool. “Oh, no. I think I’m drunk.” She looked at Baxter warily as he snorted. “Well, I’d better go sleep this off. Chloe’ll be up at six. Yuck,” she said, hopping down from her stool and almost falling. Baxter grabbed her just before her ass hit the floor.

“Whoa, there, little lady,” he said. “I’ll walk you up. Be right back,” he said
to me with a chuckle.

“’Night, Jag,” she said with a little wave and a drunken smile. “’S’all gonna work out. Trust me.”

When Bax came back down, we went out to his garage where he’d been refurbishing an old Indian motorcycle. He tinkered on it while we talked and drank what was left of the bottle.

“Think she’ll really come back?” I asked.

He looked at me from where he squatted looking at the fuel valve. “Honestly?”

Damn. I gulped
loudly, afraid of what he had to say. I nodded.

“Yeah. I do.” He stood and walked around the bike, checking out the clutch. “You’re both so young. And you’ve had a lot of shit piled on you lately. That model chick needs to go down, though. She can’t get away with what she’s done.”

I agreed then fell off the stool I’d been sitting on.

“You
’re staying here. You can’t drive in your condition,” he said with a laugh as he helped me up then we went back inside the house.

That was all right by me. I didn’t want to go back to my condo chancing running into Alessandra
in my condition because if I’d punched a hole in Tyler’s wall during a black out, no telling what I could do to her if that happened.

“Guest room’s the third door on the left
, this floor. Bathroom’s across the hall. See you in the morning.” He weaved a little as he walked up the stairs, which made me snicker only until I did the same as I tried making it to the guest room. Once inside, I flopped on the bed and was out like a light.

I squinted one eye open when I
heard a strange noise. I then saw it was Baxter’s son Spencer standing by the side of the bed looking down at me.

“Psssttt!”
He made the sound with his mouth.

I put my
right forearm over my eyes trying to keep the light out, my head pounding from the half bottle of bourbon I’d drunk the night before, and noticed a sharp pain in my shoulder when I’d lifted my arm. Just fucking great. All I needed was to be put on the DL and have to go through rehab because I’d gotten smashed then smashed a wall. I was a serious dumbass.

“Hey,
Spence. What’s up, buddy?” I mumbled.

“Hey, Jag!” he yelled making me crin
ge. “Did you and Daddy have a sweepova?”

I chuckled. “Yeah, I guess we did.”

“Yours are dif’went than mine. My fwiends and I always sweep out in the family woom on the fwoor ‘cause we been watchin’ movies all night. Is that what you and Daddy did? Watch movies?”

“Yeah, that’s what we did.”

He hopped up onto the bed, making it bounce and me want to ball up into myself so I didn’t puke. “What movies did you watch? Did you watch
‘Spicable Me
? That’s my favowite!” He bounced and wiggled on the bed until I sat up. “Wow! Are you sick? You don’t wook vewy good.”

“Yeah, I don’t feel very well, but I’ll be okay,” I assured him, which seemed to satisfy him.

“’Kay! I’ll go tell Mommy you’re awake and she can make you some eggs and bacon and pancakes! But not oatmeal. It’s all mushy and swimy but Daddy says it’s good for me. Yuck!” He ran out of the room and I heard him yelling to Amanda that his dad and I had had a sleepover and that I was coming out to eat now.

I used the bathroom and cleaned myself up as best I could then headed to the kitchen where Amanda was busy making pancakes for everyone. Baxter sat at the table by Chloe who was in a highchair, and he looked about how I felt.

“’Mornin’,” I offered coming into the dining area.

“Jag, sit down and have some breakfast,” Amanda said with a smile.

“No, it’s okay. Thank you, though. I need to get home.”

Bax stood up
with a wince. “I’ll walk you out.”

Amanda came over and hugged me. “It’s gonna be okay, Jag. Promise.” She squeezed
my neck before pulling back. “If you need anything, you know where we are.” She smiled up at me then went back to cooking.

Bax and I went outside to see that I’d done a pretty shitty job of parking the night before.

“Nice,” he murmured.

“Better than
you when you’re sober,” I muttered back making him laugh.

“Hey, man, seriously, you need
anything, we’re here for you. I mean it.”

“Thanks, Bax. I appreciate all you guys have done for me. Really. Thanks,” I said, shaking his hand before getting in my
Camaro and driving home, hoping I’d run into Alessandra when I got there so I could give her a piece of my mind. God knew that skull of hers could fit it, dumb bitch.

Chapter 18

I watched the
All-Star Game on
TV
that night cheering on Logan who’d been selected by Coach to play starting catcher. Logan had been psyched, especially since he’d flown in his new girlfriend, Rachel, the first grade teacher from Albany, to watch. That’s what he called her any time he talked about her, Rachel-the-first-grade-teacher-from-Albany, which was kind of hilarious. I sat watching, yelling out, “Thatta boy!” when he caught a popup and got the third out for his team. Good for him.

After the game, I went to bed, lying there wondering what El was doing. How she was feeling. I almost called her, but that wasn’t my move. She’d been the one to end things, so I’d have to let her come to me first. Amanda had assured me that she would
eventually; I just had to give her time.

And didn’t
time just suck balls.

Since I had the next day off,
I surfed in the morning then went to the clubhouse to have one of the trainers check out my shoulder. He stretched it out then used ultrasound and an electric muscle stimulator on it, asking me every five seconds how it felt, it seemed, then he had me lift light weights with it. I did the same the next day, and it felt pretty good, much better than it had the morning I’d woken up at Bax’s. I was confident that I hadn’t done any serious damage, thank God. After leaving the clubhouse both nights, I went home, showered, ate dinner and went to bed, exhausted.

Mom called the second night as I was eating telling me that
El’s mom had called her and told her we’d broken up. I didn’t feel like talking about it, and Mom understood, so we chatted about her garden and how many tomatoes she’d picked then she let me talk to Dad.

“Gotta new contract,” he said answering the phone.

“Yeah? What is it?”

“Now, don’t laugh. I know you’re gonna laugh. But just bear with me here,” he cautioned. God, I couldn’t imagine what kind of contract he was talking about. Was it like a contract killing for the Mafia? As secretive as he was being, I let my imagination run wild.

“Okay, bearing here.”

“Ready?”

“Dad…”

“It’s a new rap artist.”

I burst out laughing. “Nice, Dad. Is your new name gonna be Master Royce now? MC Royce? You’re not gonna start wearing your ball cap sideways, are you?”

He laughed with me, agreeing that he thought rap was ridiculous, but he said the kid had some good lyrics going for him, so he thought he’d take him under his wing. “Maybe I can convince him into do doing some metal, or at least adding it to a track,” he said still chuckling.

We talked a bit more, and he told me to keep my chin up before hanging up.

Logan ca
me in that night and called wanting me to come over and meet his girlfriend. I told him I’d stop by for a bit, not really that thrilled to hang out with the lovebirds for too long. But I sucked it up and went, and after meeting her, I actually really liked her. She was just as Logan had said, pretty sassy, which was perfect for him. She kept him on his toes, which was just what he needed.

I stayed for
a half hour before going home, and once there, sat and watched
SportCenter
for a bit then headed to bed. Ah, the life of a bachelor… fucking bites.

We got back into the swing of
things come Friday, thank God. We opened up at home with the Padres and I pitched the first game, getting the win. My shoulder had felt great, so I was really happy about that, having been worried that I’d feel some remnant of my drunken decision to wail on Tyler’s wall.

It
also was good to be back after having the four days off. Our schedule had been so hot and heavy up to that point, that it’d seemed like we’d been off for a month instead of just a few days. Of course, it could’ve had something to do with my being alone and having too much damned time on my hands, but whatever.

We lost the next two with them, which pissed us all off, then the Phillies came to visit. I was off the first two games because of our rotation and was up for Wednesday’s game.

That morning, I’d gone in and thrown some after the trainer had done his thing, and I felt good. I took the mound that night to the cheers of our fans, ready to give them a show.

Everything was
awesome until the sixth inning when I noticed a twinge of pain in my shoulder.

“Goddamn it,” I hissed
after walking the batter. I rotated my arm around, swinging it in the hopes of getting things lined back up again. I had a no-hitter going and didn’t want to leave the game now.

Baxter saw me
working my arm and called time, running out to the mound.

“You ok
ay, man?” he asked. He knew about my hitting the wall and also what the trainer had been doing for me.

“Getting stiff. Just a bit of pain. Nothing to be concerned about.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Jag. You know that’s bullshit. You know the fucking rule about a pitcher’s arm. Any amount of pain and you step off.”

“I’m in the middle of a no-hitter, Bax. Can’t walk away n
ow,” I said tersely.

“You hurt your arm and you’re gonna be walking away for a damned long time. I’m getting Coach out here.” He turned to motion for Coach.

I grabbed his arm turning him back to me. “Fuck no, Bax. I wanna finish this thing. Trust me. It feels fine now.”

He looked at me for a couple of seconds then handed me the ball. “It’s your future, dumbass,” he said and trotted back to home plate.

I knew he was right, but I was so sick and tired of not being in control of things, and this was the one thing I’d never had a problem with controlling. When I pitched, I was in my element. Nothing else mattered. The world and all its distractions was silent, and it was beautiful.

Bax flashed me the signal for a curve when the next batter stepped up to the plate. I shook my head. This guy was a lefty and my curve always went wide against right-handed batters, so if I pitched him my curve, I’d be putting it in prime territory for him to knock it out of the park.

When Bax gave me the signal once again for the curve, I knew what he was doing. It was one of the easiest pitches and I knew he was trying to save my arm. I couldn’t blame him, though. It was a pretty solid move on his part. I shook my head again, so he signaled for a fastball with a shake of his own head. All right, I could do that. I did my windup and brought the heat.

I
’d never felt so much fucking pain in my entire life. It felt as if someone had stabbed a damned butcher knife into my shoulder. And was twisting it. Nonstop. Jesus Christ. Coach and Baxter came running to the mound as I held my shoulder with my left hand trying not to let out any expletives, which wouldn’t have gone over so well on national TV.

“What the fuck?” Coach asked.

Baxter grimaced as he tried keeping his mouth shut. But then it was like a dam had burst. “I tried telling the fucker not to keep going. Had pain the last batter. But he wouldn’t listen.”

“That true?” Coach asked
, looking angrily at me.

I nod
ded somberly, lowering my head, focusing on keeping the nausea from taking over, I was in so much pain.

And I knew
I’d fucked up. Every pitcher knows you’re not supposed to pitch through the pain. But I’d chosen to ignore that one critical rule in the hopes of gaining glory for a no-hitter.

Yep. D
efinitely fucked up.

I lay on the trainer’s table in
the clubhouse as I watched the team doctor moving my arm, assessing the damage. He’d shooed off all the trainers, telling them to go back out to the field, that they couldn’t do anything for me, which was a little disheartening.

“What is it, Doc?” I asked.

“Not sure without an X-ray, but thinking it might be a labral tear.” He left me for a few minutes to get ice.

Fuck. Labral tears were
the Yoko Ono to many a pitcher’s career.

“Goddamn it!” I yelled. Why had I been so stupid? I lay there and closed my eyes knowing that if I lost baseball,
I’d be done. I’d already lost El. I couldn’t afford to be without ball. Not now.

I put my left forearm over my eyes, taking a deep breath as I lay there
trying not to think of this as being the end of my career.

Doc came back with a bag of ice, helping me sit up. “You were hurting and threw anyway?” he asked as he placed the
bag of ice against my shoulder then put plastic wrap over it, winding it across my back and under my left arm then across my chest and over the bag, doing this several times to hold it there.

“Had a no-hitter going,” I mumbled stupidly.

“Gotta listen to your body, son,” he replied unnecessarily. “Be right back.” He left me sitting there feeling as low as I possibly could feel, the prospect of losing the thing I loved most being ripped from me staring me right in the face.

I could hear my phone going off in my locker, one of Dad’s guitar riffs I’d recorded playing loudly as the ringtone.

“Hey, Doc?” I yelled.

“Yeah?” he hollered back.

“Can you get me my phone? I’m sure my parents are calling.”

I told him it was in the top of my locker and he went to retrieve it. It started rin
ging again as I reached for it with my left hand, my right shoulder now incapacitated. He left me, going back to what he’d been doing.

“Hello?” I answered, almost choking up knowing Dad would be so upset.

“Jag! Oh, God! Are you okay?” El asked.

I sat there for a few seconds, stunned that she’d called.
When I didn’t say anything, she spoke my name again, and it was at that moment that the concern in her voice succeeded in pissing me off beyond all measure, making me want to ram my fist through a wall again.

The anger
at hearing her voice came over me so fast it was like a punch to the gut, a slam to my entire system, making me see red. I gritted my teeth as the thought went through my head that if it hadn’t been for her, I’d never have punched the wall in the first place and I wouldn’t be in the situation I was now in. So I spoke before I thought.

“What the fuck d
o you care, you callous...” God, I wanted to call her every name I could think of, but made myself keep it in check. Taking a deep breath, I hissed through my teeth, “Look, I’m not your goddamned concern anymore. So do me a favor and leave me the fuck alone.”

And then I
roared out a
Fuck!
and threw my phone against the wall where I watched it shatter into a thousand tiny pieces.