The Lucky Charm (The Portland Pioneers) (42 page)

“I’m not sure,” she said uncertainly.

Charlie sighed, his lungs not sounding nearly as wheezy as they had only a few months before. “Then I suppose you can work for Mitch while you figure it out. But I promise he’ll make your life so difficult that you’ll be racing to find something else.”

She couldn’t help but grin. “You’re the best.”

“You’re not. You suck. You make me eat horrible food, and you put that torture contraption into my living room,” he said, waving at the treadmill. “Talk about gratitude.”

“Hector wants to see you.” Jack was at the stadium an hour earlier than he’d ever been before, but still one of the clubhouse guys stopped him with the message. He loved being in the stadium, loved hanging out in the clubhouse with the guys, even sometimes sat in the dugout, staring out at the field, communing with the grass and the dirt. But when a playoff berth was at stake, when every second of every game counted, when the Pioneers were fighting to stay alive, the quiet moments he spent here seemed to matter even more. Besides, there didn’t seem to be a reason to stay home. Last time he checked, there wasn’t a beautiful woman in his bed trying to make sure he didn’t get out of it.

Leaning against his locker, Jack pulled his phone out of his pocket, and thumbed quickly to what he wanted. The movements felt automatic, almost instinctual now, kind of like when he took grounders in the infield. He’d looked at the message so many times over the last two weeks, he didn’t even need to read it anymore. The words were seemed permanently imprinted on his brain. But he looked anyway.

Charlie’s better, but he needs me here. Not sure when I’ll be in Portland again.

Had that been her goodbye? She responded in a breezy, casual tone to every third or fourth email, dodging every question he asked about their relationship and never returned any of his phone calls. If he was smart, he would just leave it alone and take what they’d had and not try to make it more, but damn it, it
had
been more. The very least he deserved was an actual goodbye.

“Hey, Jack. Glad you came by. Close the door while you’re up,” Hector said so casually that Jack would already have known something was wrong, even if the closed door and Hector’s terrible poker face didn’t give it away first.

The last time he’d been in this office with the door closed, he’d been terrified that Hector was sending him down to their triple A affiliate in Bend, but with the season on the line, that wasn’t going to happen today.

“You’ve been hitting better,” Hector said, leaning back in his big chair. “Not great, but better.”

Jack thought that was a pretty accurate assessment of his last month at the plate. He’d tried to relax, but with all the pressure, relaxation wasn’t exactly in the cards. He still remembered the icy disdain in Ismael Butler’s eyes as he’d told Jack he was moving the team if they didn’t make the playoffs.

Not hitting and not making the playoffs simply weren’t an option. First off, he still needed to bring Portland that World Series, and second off, Jack was pretty damn sure that Izzy might come down to Portland, but she sure as hell wouldn’t follow him to Las Vegas. It might be crazy to still be harboring hope that he could reconcile his career and the woman he loved, but Jack had never given up in his life, and he wasn’t about to start now. Not when there was more on the line than ever before.

“I’ve tried,” he said, and they both knew that was a massive understatement. Every single at-bat since Noah Fox had gone down injured had taken a piece of his heart and soul. Nobody had fought harder for every single run the Pioneers scored. He was pretty sure Hector knew he was trying to hold the team together with sheer guts and determination.

Hector just chuckled. “You’ve done a lot more than actually try. You’ve managed to shoulder it all. I’ll be surprised if you don’t come out and pitch a few innings one night when the bullpen’s exhausted.”

Jack glanced down at his hands. “I’m a terrible pitcher, sir.”

“But you’d do it anyway, and you’d find a way to do it better than terrible. Am I right?”

He could only nod. If it came down to that, Hector probably wasn’t too far off the mark. It was the curse of being who he was and what he had come from. He couldn’t let go for a second, relax into mediocrity for a moment. The fight was bred into his bones.

“I’ve waited for you to tell the rest of the team about Butler’s ultimatum. You haven’t.”

Jack glanced up at his manager in surprise. “Butler’s ultimatum?”

“He gave it to me, too. Also said he’d told you first. I was kind of pissed that you didn’t bring this shit to me right away, but then I figured you’re used to holding it all on your own.”

A little ashamed that he’d been caught in the half lie, Jack found that it actually felt good to know that someone else knew. It made the burden a little lighter.

“You guessed right.” His voice was unrelenting. Because if he let up now, they were all doomed.

Hector let out a deep breath and gave him a hard look. “The team needs to know.”

That sent a gust of panic right through him. This was
his
fight, damn it. He was going to win this and win it with the pressure on. The rest of the team couldn’t handle that kind of pressure. He knew they’d crumble and break apart. They’d never be able to withstand the weight.

“No,
no.
You can’t tell them. They can’t handle it.” Jack could hear the panic in his tone, could sense that he’d let some of the stress show. The concern in Hector’s face was terrible.

“You’re telling them, or I am. Personally,” Hector paused and leaned back in his chair, propping his feet on the corner of the battered desk, “I think it would go over a lot better if you did it.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think those boys know what you’re doing for the team? I have packs of them in here every damn day, telling me that they’re worried. That you’re going to literally kill yourself trying to do too much. And don’t even get me started on Fox. He’s practically haunting me.”

“Fox?”

“The boy can’t even play, can’t even get cleared, but I’ve never seen anyone more invested in the team. Or in
you
.”

The tightness in Jack’s stomach cranked up another notch. He didn’t want to talk about Foxy. That was one situation he couldn’t power his way out of, one man he couldn’t save. Noah went around the clubhouse every day, telling every damn person that he expected to be cleared soon. He expected to play in the playoffs. No big deal. But Jack had figured out Noah’s tell—the creased, pinched look in his face meant he was in the middle of one of his nasty headaches, and headaches meant one important thing. He wasn’t going to be cleared to play any time soon, not while he was still experiencing concussion symptoms.

It hit him then. Foxy shouldn’t have to hide his pain. He shouldn’t have to pretend that he was going to get better when maybe he wasn’t. They were a
team
. They should be taking care of each other. And he should be letting them.

“I’ll tell them tonight. Maybe we should do one of those big-team-dinner deals.”

“You think so?” Hector raised an eyebrow. “That wouldn’t be a bad idea. You boys work hard. You could use a little break. Do you want Pilar to call around and find a place?”

“That would be great. I’d appreciate it.”

“I’ll have her circulate the particulars after the game,” Hector said, sounding a little too pleased with himself.

“I’ve got batting practice,” Jack said, getting to his feet.

“Yeah. Get lost.” Hector smiled and waved his hand, and Jack was almost out the door before Hector spoke again. “You know that girl, the one who quit on the air? Toby’s reporter?”

Jack clenched his fists, his fingers biting into flesh. He didn’t turn around. “Yes.”

“How’s she doing?”

Hector knew
. The realization rocketed through him like jet fuel, but then he supposed he shouldn’t have been too surprised that Pilar had told her husband.

“From what I hear, she’s doing fine. And her old boss is much better. Out of the hospital.”

“She should come down and catch a game sometime. I know Pilar misses her.”

Jack cleared his throat and finally turned around. “I haven’t really talked to her, sir.”

He hated the sympathy on Hector’s face. “You should.”

When Jack finally got back to the clubhouse and his locker, he pulled his phone out and contemplated the screen. Maybe he should call again, give Izzy one last chance to answer. And if she didn’t pick up, leave one last voicemail.

He ducked into the empty dugout and dialed the number. Unsurprisingly, the call went to voicemail. It was his last chance to make it right, to convince her that he was worth taking a leap of faith—and he knew Izzy wasn’t very good at those.

“Hey, Iz. I know you haven’t called me back, and I know you’re probably doing that on purpose. I’m not too dense to understand when you’re avoiding me, but I want you to know I’m not going to give up. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.” He paused, clearing his throat. “There’s only a week left of baseball, and I’d really love to see you at a game. I’m sure Pilar would love to have some company in the wives’ section. Just don’t make this a goodbye, because it’s a really crappy goodbye.”

Pilar had found a restaurant with a private room that had no issues with staying open late or with hosting a crowd of hungry baseball players. As waiters circulated with drinks and baskets of bread, Jack stood up at the head of the table and raised his glass of iced tea.

The rumble of low-level chatter ground to a halt, twenty five or so faces suddenly gazing up at him.

“I want to say thanks for coming. And thanks for being a great team this year. We’ve been through a lot.” He paused and glanced to his right, hating the pinched look on Noah’s face. Another headache, but he was still here, still supportive. It gave him enough courage to continue, even though every molecule inside him was telling him to shut up and sit down. “It makes sense that it’s coming down to this week, these last seven games, and if it wasn’t obvious enough from the standings, there’s something else that’ll make those seven games even more important.

“Ismael Butler, our esteemed owner, came to see me before the All Star break, and informed me that he wants to move the team to Las Vegas. I know these rumors have been swirling around for months, but he set the record straight. They’re all true.”

The buzz rose again, more panicked than pleased, and Jack cleared his throat loudly. “None of us want that to happen. Portland is
our
city, even if we’re not from here. We’ve even started selling out some games. While that’s great, that’s not going to keep us here. What’s going to keep us here is the playoffs. That’s the promise Butler made to me. We make the playoffs and he’s keeping us in Portland. Indefinitely.”

A loud cheer suddenly erupted down the table, and as Jack looked at his fellow teammates, he realized the challenge was what they needed. They needed to understand exactly what was at stake during their next pitch or the next time they stepped inside the batter’s box. “I know we can do this,” and he was almost shocked to realize that he
meant
it. “A toast to us!” He raised his glass and as glasses down the table raised in response, the tension he’d carried around for so long finally began to lift.

His career was poised to take off. Whether he stayed in Portland or moved to Vegas or ended up playing for some other team, he’d be successful enough.
But Iz,
he thought,
it’s not the same without you. I wish you could have been there tonight.

She hadn’t returned his voicemail. No text messages. Jack hung his head and tried to reconcile a world where he never saw her again, and couldn’t.