The Change Up (24 page)

“Hank Carlyle.” The best shortstop in the bunch, which meant they were on infielders.

Sam stood at attention while two more names were called. He looked around at the remaining faces and felt confident but anxious. He wanted a spot on that bench. Even more so now that Benny Bryant was standing amid the seats above the dugout, watching the drama unfold.

“Roy Willett.”

And then there was one spot left. The first day of tryouts, they'd been told the roster would cap at twenty-five. Twenty-four people already sat in that dugout.

“Old man,” Coach Slater said, smiling at Sam, adopting the nickname some of the younger guys used freely. “Welcome to the team.”

Sam didn't think he'd ever heard sweeter words.

He shook hands with the coaching staff, waved at Benny, who gave him a thumbs-up, and then headed into the dugout where he went down the line, smacking hands with his new teammates, feeling like he was reborn.

Baseball was officially part of Sam's life again. And while he'd made the team on his talent alone, he would've never been at tryouts if it hadn't been for Rachel. He wanted to make sure she knew that—how important that was to him. How important
she
was.

The first chance Sam got, he headed to her office, still dressed in his dusty, grass-stained practice uniform. He didn't care. Good news shouldn't wait for a shower. Besides, time was running out, and he didn't know exactly when she planned to head back to Philadelphia.

He stepped off the elevator and saw the empty reception desk, so he headed back to the room where he'd presented his exterior grounds plans all those weeks ago. A lifetime ago, really. He felt like a different person now. Not so hell-bent on protecting the past and forsaking the future. There were so many things to look forward to.

Her voice stopped him.

“What are your terms?” she asked, sounding off somehow.

Either she was on the phone, or she wasn't alone.

Sam stepped closer to the open door but remained well out of sight of the room's inhabitants.

“My clients want to see a 10-percent increase in season ticket sales before the opening game.” A man was with her. He had a deep voice with a bit too much arrogance for Sam's liking. “In your opinion, is that doable?”

There was a lengthy pause, during which Sam slowed his breathing, and then Rachel said, “Yes. We expect sales to increase substantially once the roster is announced. There should be a few local names on there that will draw people in.”

A few local names? Like his. To sell tickets. No wonder she'd been so persuasive. The grand plan. Nothing personal.

Sam felt sick.

“We also want to be guaranteed that no league residency minimum will restrict the relocation of this team should Arlington not be the viable market you expect it to be. Should my clients wish to move the team as early as next season, can that be accommodated?”

Another sucker punch. Sutter & Sons would lose the stadium contract.

“Yes,” Rachel said again, sounding like a goddamned robot.

“Excellent. And finally, the lack of parking. We perused the land survey, and it's clear you have the space to expand. Am I correct?”

Sam feared her answer. He almost walked away, but a part of him couldn't imagine her selling him out so completely.

“You are correct,” she said. “An expansion was in the original building plans.”

“Very good. Then, as far as my clients are concerned, if you can increase sales by 10 percent, provide proof the team is able to relocate as early as next season,
and
expand the parking lot to your original specifications, well, then we'll have a deal, and the Aces will be under new ownership.”

Jesus.
So this had been the bottom line? The Reeds were selling the team. Not that he couldn't see how it made sense considering Danny's health. But … it broke his heart. Seeing Benny get the chance to call the shots for a team that might only be around for a year. Had Rachel even told the guy that was a possibility? Probably not. She hadn't even had the decency to tell the man she was sleeping with.
Son of a bitch.
She'd convinced him to open himself up to baseball again, despite knowing he might be faced with a choice between staying in Arlington with his family or moving God only knew where with his team.

The bottom line,
he thought again. The only thing she cared about. Her words. Not his.

“It's been a pleasure doing business with you, Ms. Reed.”

Sam didn't hear Rachel's response, but from the definitive sound of the man's voice, he imagined a handshake had occurred somewhere in there. And he hated that Luke had really and truly been right about her.

Looking down at the glove in his hand, Sam wondered what the hell he was doing, getting wrapped up in another dead-end dream, letting his name be used as a ploy to crush the hopes of other people. These guys—and that girl—came from all over the U.S. for a shot at playing professional ball again. To think they could play their hearts out just to be told they wouldn't have a team to report to next year. They deserved to know the truth.

A lanky man with a miserable face nearly bowled Sam over as he left Rachel's office. He never even said, “Excuse me.” Which meant Sam could've left without Rachel ever knowing he'd been here. But slinking away had never been his style.

He took a seething breath and stepped into plain sight to find her seated behind the desk, her forehead in her hand and her phone pressed to her ear. She was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. But now he couldn't erase her from his brain fast enough. Too bad the deep ache in his heart told him that wouldn't happen easily.

“Rachel,” he said, gruff and unforgiving.

She looked up, startled, eyes wide, lips parted. Whoever was on the other end of the phone must've answered, because she said, “Can I call you back?”

“Don't bother,” he said, not caring one bit if he was overheard. “I just wanted you to know I heard about the plans for the team—or should I say the bottom line.” He sneered. “Thanks for nothing.”

Before she could hang up the phone and manipulate him any further, Sam walked away.

Rachel caught up with Sam in the parking lot. “Will you please wait?” she asked for the umpteenth time since she'd run after him. But his head start and his long strides had made it a losing battle until now.

He threw his gear bag into the bed of his truck with a murderous thud.

“Will you just listen to what I have to say?” she asked, stopping short, giving him plenty of distance.

“I heard everything I needed to hear while I was standing outside your office.” He bolted for the driver's-side door, and she made a mad dash for the passenger seat. She wasn't going to let him get away without hearing both sides of the story.

“Get out of my truck,” he said, seething.

Rachel didn't move. “At least tell me if you made the team.”

That seemed to piss him off even more. “Are you kidding me? After everything I heard back there you expect me to believe you didn't already know I made the team? Wasn't I your grand plan? Some local guy to make you look good … so you can sell the fucking team?”

She weathered the blow of his words, her hands folded in her lap and her gaze locked on the setting sun. “I'm glad you made the team, and despite how bad this looks, I didn't know you made the team until you told me. I thought you would make it because I saw some of the tryouts, but still. What do I know?”

Crises of confidence were rare for her, but at this moment, she questioned everything. Maybe she should've done things differently. Been up-front about the fact the team was being sold. That probably would've been a good place to start. But she knew in her gut they wouldn't be here now if she'd told him everything. And aside from this dark spot, missing out on everything else would've been a real shame.

Silence filled the cab of the truck until it almost pushed her out. “Sam, you have to believe me when I say that conversation wasn't easy, and it's not a done deal. I have a plan …”

He bristled. “I don't need any more of your goddamned plans, Rachel.”

“The deal you heard back there is not what I want. It's what my—”

“Don't finish that sentence.”

“Why?”

“Because you're forty years old. You should be thinking for yourself. Period.”

“You don't understand the position I'm in. If the tables were turned and this was your mother asking you to do something difficult, you'd do it, no questions asked.” She closed her eyes and wished she'd closed her mouth before that last bit had come out. It was a low blow after he'd told her his biggest regret in life was not coming home when his mother had asked him to. “Sam …”

He leveled a glare at her, then crossed his arms and looked away. When he spoke again, he sounded beaten instead of furious. “I may not understand the position you're in, but I think I finally understand the position I'm in. I was played.” His laugh was hollow. “Every step of the way, you played me. From the minute you walked into my father's office and made him an offer he couldn't refuse to that afternoon in my bed. It was all strategy to you, a means to an end. And then once I was locked into tryouts, you checked out.”

“That's not true.” She reached out, but when he recoiled, she returned her hand to her lap. “That's not what happened. I …” She took a painful breath and studied his angry profile. So handsome. So devastated. And she couldn't blame him. She was devastated, too. But the words stuck in her throat. “I … have genuine feelings for you.”

“Genuine feelings?” He looked at her, incredulous, shaking his head and casting shades of pity in her direction. “Don't do me any favors.”

“Sam, come on. We're way too old to be acting like this. We knew this thing had a shelf life. You live in Arlington. I live in Philadelphia. We're in two different places, literally and figuratively. You'll want a wife and kids, and I don't know if I can ever be that and give that to anyone.”

His eyes roved her face, losing their hardened edge as they went, and all the resolve in the world couldn't keep her from wanting him despite the mess they were in. “You really thought you had this all figured out, didn't you? Too bad you never thought to ask for my input, because if you had, I would've told you that I never wanted you to be or give me anything but you.”

“Sam.” She fell deeper into his wounded gaze.

“To think I let myself fall for you.” They were beautiful words, spoken with such honesty and sadness.

If she kissed him, would anything change? Would he understand she felt the same? But then what? Her father's demands would still need to be met. The team would still need to be sold. She would still be heading back to Philadelphia.

Whatever he'd been thinking in their shared moment of silence must've been as dismal as what she'd been thinking, because he looked away and said, “You might want to tell the buyers there will be one less local name on the roster, because I'm quitting.”

“Don't.”

This time when he looked at her, all she saw was contempt. “Have a nice life, Rachel. Make sure you guard that bottom line. We wouldn't want you to lose sight of it and actually have to follow your heart for once. You do have one of those, don't you?”

Shades of Helen Anne.

Rachel didn't feel like defending herself anymore—she wasn't sure she could—so she slipped off the passenger seat, but before she closed the door, she said, “Baseball makes you happy, Sam. Please, don't turn your back on that again.” When she was in Philadelphia taxed with the impossible project of closing out and liquidating her father's other assets, she wanted to think of Sam hitting home runs and rounding the bases.

Then, at least, something good would've come from all of this.

• • •

Later that night, Sam met Benny Bryant for a beer at Applebee's. Normally, he would've suggested Foley's, but he didn't want to run into Rachel on the off chance she was still in town.

“I have a feeling you didn't ask me here to celebrate,” Benny said.

Sam stared at the talking head on the television behind the bar and figured it best to cut to the chase. “Did you know the team was being sold?”

“Yes,” he said.

Sam didn't try to hide his shock. “And still you took the job?”

“Of course I took the job. I want the job.”

“Didn't you think the players deserved to know this before trying out?

“No. What the hell would that have proved?”

“What if the team gets moved next year?”

Benny took a sip of his beer and rolled his gaze toward the television. “Sutter, this is indie ball. Nobody's guaranteed a next year.”

Harsh words. Honest words. Said like that, Sam felt foolish. Then again, Benny and the rest of the team hadn't been as wrapped up in Rachel's scheme as Sam had been. “I'm not interested in playing anywhere but Arlington. My family needs me.”

“That's your prerogative.”

“I'm also not interested in getting involved with all of this again if it's only a one-year deal.” He was starting to realize he didn't handle heartbreak well.

“So what are you saying?” Benny looked at him, and Sam's resolve shook.

“I should quit,” he said. “Open up my spot for somebody else.”

After another sip of his beer, Benny said, “I can't tell you what to do now any more than I could all those years ago.”

“Yes, you can. I should've listened to you then.” God how he wished he had. “If I'd listened, things would've been different.” He wouldn't have carried around this guilt for the past ten years, that was for sure.

“Sutter, you're one hell of a ball player. Always have been. But you're not a spring chicken anymore. There's not a whole lot a thirty-five-year-old can get out of this experience other than personal satisfaction and some good, old-fashioned diamond joy. If that's not enough, move on. Life is too damn short.”