Pinch Hit (20 page)

“Yes, I'd say that's fair. Of course you know I expect complete confidentiality about all this.”

Sara grinned like a well-fed cat. “That goes without saying.”

“Thank you,” Trevor's dad said. “Now, unless there's anything else, I'd like to have a private word with Mr. Moffit.”

The tone in Trevor's dad's voice meant there better not be anything else. Sara Grant must have known that because she left in a blink, without even a glance at Sam.

“Mr. Moffit, please, sit down.” Trevor's dad pointed to a chair beside Sam, and the muscular man took it. “I take it you haven't begun the search Trevor wanted to send you on.”

Moffit shook his head ever so slightly. “Sara has her ways, and I've learned it's best to follow her lead.”

“But you
could
find my son's biological parents?”

Sam stared at Trevor's father. The man's face hardened, and his jaw jutted out at Moffit in a challenging way.

Moffit seemed to chose his words carefully. “If … they can be found, I can find them.”

“And that means?” Trevor's father asked.

“Sometimes people can't be found. Sometimes they don't want to be found.”

“Is that more likely than not in your experience?”

“In my experience, I usually find what I'm looking for, Mr. Goldman. There have been times when that's not happened. Rare times.”

“Good,” Trevor's father said. “If my son wants to find his biological mother, I want you to do that for him. I'm going back to Australia in the morning. I don't want emails or text messages or any communication except in person. Until I get back, you'll communicate directly with Trevor. I'll see that you have access to him at the studio. I will pay you twice your normal rate and insist on complete confidentiality, including from Ms. Grant. She's the second-to-last person I'd want to know.”

“Second?” Moffit raised an eyebrow.

“The one person who must never know about this … is my wife.”

The crack of the bat on that ball was a sound and a feeling Trevor knew he'd never forget. The ball took off. Trevor ran, and as he did he seemed to float, and everything slowed down for him.

The center fielder and the right fielder both scrambled to get under the ball, but it was deep in the field and Trevor thought it might even clear the fence. Frankie rounded third. Trevor's foot slapped first and the base coach signaled him to stay. From the corner of his eye, he saw the two outfielders bump each other and stumble before one of them came up with the ball, hop-skipped, and fired it back toward the infield. The second baseman got into position for the cutoff. Frankie scored and RJ rounded third.

As Trevor bounced up and down, the second baseman made the throw to home. RJ lowered his head, arms and legs pumping. The ball smacked the catcher's mitt. RJ slid, kicking up a cloud of dust. All that mattered was the umpire's call at home plate.

Trevor clenched his hands and teeth.

The umpire reared up like a circus elephant. “Safe!”

The Blue Sox fans went wild. The team rushed from the dugout, hugging RJ and Frankie. When Trevor reached the mob at home plate, they lifted him on their shoulders. Everyone slapped him high fives—everyone except Dorian Klum and his buddy, Scotty Needum. The rest of the team finally put Trevor down, and several of them hugged him tight before they lined up to shake hands with the downtrodden team from Palos Verdes.

Even shaking the other team's hands was a thrill for Trevor, and he felt genuine sadness for their downcast faces and the occasional tear, because he knew what they were feeling. It was how he'd felt only a few minutes ago, only when he felt it, it wasn't as final as what they were feeling. They were done, out of the tournament, and he suspected that some of their players, especially the pitcher, had dreams like Sam's, of making the USC Elite Training Center.

Trevor forgot about the losers, though, as he gathered around Coach Sharp outside their dugout with the rest of the Blue Sox.

“Guys,” the coach said, his voice rough and worn down from yelling, “that was an ugly win, but a great one. They're all great, aren't they?”

Everyone cheered, until Coach Sharp held up his hand.

“But the lesson I want you all to remember was what happened to Sam today.”

All eyes turned toward Trevor, and his face burned with delight and embarrassment at the same time. Not even the evil looks Klum and Needum gave him could spoil the moment.

“And I want you guys to take that lesson with you, not just through your baseball careers, but through your lives, because there are gonna be times in your life like Sam had today. Times when nothing is going right. Times when you're not yourself, or maybe you're just unlucky. But you keep going, like he did.”

Coach Sharp nodded at Trevor. “You
keep going
and
that's
what gives you a chance to
win
. And when you win like that, when you pull it out of a disastrous start, well, Sam, you tell them. Isn't it about as sweet as anything you can ever imagine?”

Trevor beamed back at them all, not Sam's teammates anymore, not Sam's coaches, but
his
. Whether they knew who he really was or not, the Blue Sox were
his
team, and this moment belonged to Trevor Goldman. Trevor could barely swallow, his throat was so choked up with emotion. But he nodded and grinned like a maniac until his teammates burst out laughing and patted him on the back.

Trevor could have stayed there all night, but he had to accept that it was time to go. He packed up Sam's bat bag, then accepted a hug and a kiss from Sam's dad.

“You were great,” Sam's dad said.

“Not until that last hit.”

“When we needed it most.”

Trevor sighed with pleasure. As they pulled away from the park, he could only think about one thing. This couldn't be his last game. He
had
to keep going. Feeling like a pathetic loser through most of the game only made his two winning RBIs that much sweeter. It only made the whole day that much more unforgettable. The feeling of playing, and competing, and
winning
—it was like nothing else he'd ever experienced, and at that moment, for the first time in his life, he wished with all his heart that he wasn't Trevor Goldman. He wished he were Sam Palomaki.

Trevor also knew that to be awash in the thrill of another win, he would do just about anything.

Sam couldn't believe his ears.

Trevor's dad scowled at Moffit, the private investigator. “Is that understood?”

“If I couldn't keep my mouth shut, I wouldn't be the best PI in Los Angeles, and I am the best PI in Los Angeles.”

“Call my office Monday. Ask for Nora. Send me an agreement, but you can begin now. My word is all you need.”

“I know that, Mr. Goldman.”

“Do you need anything from me?” Trevor's dad asked. “Birth certificate? Adoption papers?”

Moffit smiled. “I already have all that, Mr. Goldman.”

Trevor's dad raised his eyebrows.

“I told you, I'm the best.”

“But you haven't begun the search?” Trevor's dad said.

“No, just the background information I need. The internet is a beautiful thing.” Trevor's dad stood and shook hands with Moffit before the PI left the room. Trevor's dad circled the desk and sat down next to Sam. “Are you okay?”

Sam blinked at him. “Sure.”

“Surprised?”

Sam nodded. He was surprised. Surprised and confused.

Trevor's dad seemed to read his face. “Your mother wouldn't understand, but I do. You see, Trevor, I was adopted myself. I know how it feels, and I told myself when we got you that if you ever wanted to find your biological mother … and even your biological father, I'd help. Honestly, I expected this.”

The room seemed to be spinning and tilting at the same time. Sam felt so many things: sadness, fear, confusion, even anger. Mixed into all these feelings was the fact that Sam knew he wasn't even the person Trevor's dad thought he was. It was hard to focus. It was like a crazy dream.

Trevor's dad put a hand on Sam's shoulder. “I just thought it would be later in your life, not now. You're young and you have … well, you have everything, don't you?”

Sam nodded and knew that it was true. Trevor Goldman had
everything
, and part of Sam felt bad because he knew it wasn't Trevor who wanted to find their mother; it was him. Maybe it was because Sam didn't have everything. Maybe that was why, and Sam had to ask himself if it was fair. What was Trevor getting out of the deal? He got to play in a couple baseball games. Big deal. Sam's payoff was to get a green light for his father's script, to make a dream come true for the most important person in his life. That was the deal. Wasn't
that
enough?

Sam felt horrible, because he knew it should have been enough.

His eyes filled with tears, and he wasn't even quite sure why.

“Do you want to talk about all this?” Trevor's dad asked.

Sam shook his head.

“I understand. Come on, let's get back out on the beach. Your mother will wonder where we went.”

Sam followed Trevor's dad back the way they'd come. As they walked up the beach, Sam saw that someone had set up several chairs and umbrellas in the sand behind the Goldman mansion. Trevor's mom lay back in the sun, wearing her big dark glasses and reading a magazine.

She looked up and smiled as they approached. “Where'd you go, Santa Clara?”

“Almost.” Trevor's father bent down and kissed her again before plopping down in a chair beside her.

Sam hesitated, then sat down, too. He took off his shirt, and the sun warmed his skin. Trevor's dad offered him a soda from the cooler before opening a sparkling water for himself.

Trevor's father put one hand on his wife's leg and the other on Sam's shoulder and sighed. “How lucky are we, Diana? How lucky? Trevor?”

Sam thought about the promise he'd made to Trevor, the promise not to try to contact their mother until he was Sam Palomaki again. Everything was different now. Trevor's dad was involved.
He
was the one who sent Moffit off to find her. Sam had no idea what he should do. Only one thing was for sure.

The promise he made to Trevor had been broken.

The Blue Sox all met at Pizza Hut. The players spit wads of straw wrappings at one another and hooted with delight as they slugged down pitchers of soda and stuffed-crust pizza. The parents chattered and laughed themselves at their own table in the corner. Trevor had never seen anything like it. When his parents mingled with other people, there was always a rigid formality, as if they were a king and queen who had a court of followers glad for even the smallest word of recognition. He'd never seen parents having almost as good a time as the kids themselves.

Trevor sat on the end of the table surrounded by Cole, Frankie, and RJ. It was easy for Trevor to understand why they were Sam's best friends.

“Okay, what do you think of this?” Frankie raised a leg and let one rip.

They all held their noses and laughed.

Cole turned to Frankie and, still pinching his nose, said, “I think your voice is changing, but your breath still smells the same.”

When RJ heard that, the soda he was sipping through a straw exploded out his nose, spraying Frankie's pizza. Trevor laughed so hard at the whole thing that tears streamed down his face, and he had to excuse himself to use the bathroom. He was still laughing when he walked in and found himself face-to-face with Dorian Klum.

Klum jabbed a finger in Trevor's chest and pushed his face forward until their noses nearly met. “What's so funny, tough guy?”

Trevor slapped Klum's finger away and slipped past him.

“You better run.”

“I'm not running.” Trevor turned around, his hands turning into fists, even though he knew he had to keep his cool.

“Maybe you're laughing at the way you played today. That was some joke. You actually think you're in competition with me for MVP? You think USC wants some chump that goes one for five in a
Junior League
game? Heck, what was I today? Four for five with two home runs? Oh yeah, they'll really be thinking about you. Ha!”

Klum turned and flung open the door, banging it against the wall and laughing to himself as he returned to the tables. Trevor did what he'd come for, then washed his hands. In the mirror, he studied his face. The joy of the win was suddenly fading fast.

He shook his head, refusing to let Klum ruin the day.

“You made that hit and won the game,” he said to himself in the mirror. “
You
did that, no one else. Klum. He's like a fart. He stinks bad, but just hold your breath, and before you know it, he's gone.”