The Shortstop (9 page)

“Sorry, us. My God, the Yankees? This is unreal!”

“I know. All the way home I kept pinching myself.”

“What took you so long?”

“After the recruiters left, Dad and I felt it was necessary to talk to my coach, who then felt it was necessary to talk to management. It became a very long, tedious apology-fest. That’s the worst part of this whole thing. The Orioles have been so good to me. I feel bad.”

“They can’t blame you, can they?”

“No, I’m sure they don’t. I mean it’s the fucking Yankees!”

I hold the sides of his face, forcing him to look into my eyes. “You’re concerned because you are a good person.” I give him a long, hard kiss and then another.

“You’re biased.”

“No, I’m smart like that.”

“You are brilliant like that.” He tweaks my nose and stands before moving around our room pulling things from drawers and making small piles on the bed. “Dad wants to leave now. I hate leaving you. Do you want to come? I’m sure you can keep busy while we are at the stadium.”

“Really?”

“I’ll probably be there all day.”

“I don’t mind. I can keep busy.” I practically squeal as I jump out of bed to pack my things. Quint derails me, pulling me into his arms and kissing me like he hasn’t seen me in days. His hand instantly slips under my tank top and molds around my breast. He pulls me into his body, and I push him away from mine.

“What?”

I look toward the door, feeling a bit uneasy. “Isn’t your dad out there?”

“Well, yeah.” Quint looks at me like I lost a screw. I guess I did. I can’t help it. I still feel like a little girl in his presence. Being behind a closed bedroom door with his son is making me uncomfortable.

Nonchalantly, I pull farther away from Quint and open the door, only for him to shut it again. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t want your dad to think we’re fooling around.”

“But we are.”

“Quint.”

He gives me another incredulous look. “You’re serious? We’ve been living together for four years. We’re getting married. Annie, I think he knows we fuck.”

“Quint!”

“What?” he asks with raised brows.

“Still. That doesn’t mean I’ll allow you to bend me over and fuck me with your dad standing a few feet away,” I whisper sarcastically.

“Sometimes I can’t even pretend to understand you,” he says with a smirk. He smacks my ass on his way out to talk to his father. “Hurry up and pack, you pain in the ass.”

Quint

Last night was awkward. Dad originally booked one room, not knowing Annie would be joining us. He changed the reservation to two when we checked in. Annie was embarrassed to the point she couldn’t make eye contact with him. I found the whole thing hilarious. I asked if she preferred we all stay in the same room. She was quick to admit that was no better, but then suggested that maybe I should stay with him.

“
Um, no,
” was my quick response.

She’s never acted this way around my father.

“
Quint, we’re engaged, so it’s even more obvious that we’re ‘together’ now
.”

She actually used finger quotes when she said
together
.

I stared at her long and hard, trying not to laugh out loud before saying she’d lost her fucking mind. “
Baby, we’ve been ‘together’ for seventeen years. Get over it
.”

Her response was, “
Just humor me, please. Can we skip sex tonight
?”

“
Um, no,”
I repeated.
“Babe, you know I need to stick to our normal routine. It’s bad luck otherwise. You don’t want me going into that Yankee contract negotiation carrying bad luck, do you
?”

“
Damn you.”
She stomped her foot, annoyed at my argument.
“Fine. I hate when you do that, by the way
.”

Amused, I asked, “
What do I do
?”

“
You guilt me by using the bad luck argument
.”

She’s right. I’m a master at distracting her as well as guilting her. I do it often, and it works to my advantage. Last night, it worked to her advantage. She had no complaints as I devoured her from head to toe. She also had no further arguments regarding our sleeping arrangement, for that matter.

I left her promising I’d call as soon as the meeting ended. In return, she promised she wouldn’t worry until I did call. Her plans are to see the sights so she won’t have a spare moment to worry or wonder about me. So she claims, but I know her worrying is inevitable.

As my dad drives us to the stadium, I catalog every detail of the ride from Manhattan to the Bronx. I’ve made this trip many times to see the Yankees play. I’ve never paid attention before. It’s important to me today to mark and remember the significance of this ride. My heart pounds relentlessly in my chest from excitement and nervousness. Annie claims nervousness isn’t in my arsenal of emotions. Of course, I get nervous—but I just hide it well.

I know Dad is also fighting nerves. It’s only when we hit the Major Deegan Expressway when he finally speaks.

“Son, I want you to know, it doesn’t matter what happens today, I am so proud of you. I can guess what your decision will be even before you hear their offer. As your dad
and
your manager, I’m here not only to protect you but also your best interests. You have options. If you need time to consider, or if anything they offer isn’t to your expectations, then it’s okay to tell them you need time. It’s also okay to say no altogether.”

“Dad, I hear you. But I guarantee if they offer, I’m accepting.”

He quickly glances my way and waits a few seconds before responding. “Listen, Quint, I probably should have had this talk with you long before now. I’ve put a lot of pressure on you when it came to baseball. I’ve also transferred my obsessions to you. Since the day you could speak, walk, even run, you loved the Yankees
.
I know they hold the highest bankroll in baseball, but you’re a rookie and they’ll spin it that way. I don’t want you to go in there today so dazzled because it’s the Yankees that it’ll cause you to settle for less than you deserve.”

“Settle? Dad, I know you’re trying to play devil’s advocate, but there isn’t a scenario that would change my mind. I want to be a Yankee.”

“That’s my concern, son. You’re a damn good ballplayer. I can’t even guess what they’ll offer. Just promise me you won’t lose yourself because of a dream.”

His request seems both outlandish and understandable. Yes, I can easily lose myself if this dream comes true. Why the hell shouldn’t I? Then again, I understand what he’s trying to say. In many ways, he’s been living his dream through me. He’s had to endure my mom’s gripes about transferring his obsession to me. Now that we’re on the threshold of our dream becoming reality, I get why he’s concerned. But it’s a bit too late. There isn’t a damn thing on earth that would veer me off course or in another direction. I have one focus…and in about fifteen minutes I hope it’ll become my reality.

Instead of arguing, I simply nod my agreement. “I won’t, Dad. I promise.”

He clasps my shoulder in a firm grip. “Good. Now try to relax and leave all the nitty-gritty to Mr. Furrows and me.”

“No argument there,” I respond with a genuine smile. He and my lawyer can handle all the boring stuff.

I only have two questions:

When do I start? What is my number?

We were at the stadium for six hours, most of the time spent in a conference room. The Yankees’
top brass, my dad, my lawyer, and I sat behind closed doors combing every line of a ten-page contract. I felt much younger than my twenty-two years as they discussed my life and my future as if I weren’t even in the room. In all fairness, I tried to pay attention, but I’d unconsciously zone out while daydreaming of playing in a Yankees uniform.

My dad’s concern of a lowball offer, or even of me settling, flew out the window shortly after they revealed the terms of my contract. They’re offering me one million a year for three years, with the option for an increase in years two and three, depending on my stats. I nearly shit my pants over their offer. My dad played it cool, but I could tell he was internally freaking out.

In exchange for my contract, they’re also offering the Orioles a starter and two minors. Players being traded or, in some cases, stolen is all part of the game. That part had me feeling sick. I’m going to have to learn how to separate the humanity from the business end of playing pro.

They left the room so we could discuss among ourselves. I thought that formality was ridiculous. There was nothing to discuss. The offer was beyond anything we expected. Most rookies start at three hundred thousand a year. The best of the best might get five to six. A million a year for the first three years is unprecedented. Sitting in an empty conference room pretending to be mulling over their offer was a joke. After a few minutes, Mr. Furrows finally agreed and called management back in to seal the deal.

I grinned like a fool as each manager, coach, and assistant filed back into the room. Why pretend that I wasn’t excited? It was clearly written all over my face anyway, as well as my dad’s.

Page by page, I flipped through, signing my name wherever the little flag indicated. I had to pause a few seconds between my first and last names to attempt to stop my hand from trembling. Once I signed the last page, I fucking hooted.

Start date would be effective immediately, after the Orioles confirm.

We discussed my number. Many options were given, but none of the choices had any meaning.

“
Can I have 77
?” I asked tentatively.

The executive assistant wordlessly flipped through a large book and, a few seconds later, nodded.

“
Not a problem. Can we know why you are choosing 77
?” the head coach asked with a smile.

I quickly glanced at my dad before responding. “
The number seven has been my number since Little League. Since I can’t have it here, I’ll double it for double the luck
.”

He reached across the table and shook my hand. “
Here’s to double the luck. Welcome to the Yankees.”

“Thank you, sir.” I shook his hand enthusiastically.

“We have high hopes for you, son. We could picture you as our next franchise player. Make us proud, Quint.”

Franchise player?

“
Holy shit
,” was all I could come up with. They laughed at my dumb-ass response. “
I’ll do my best, sir
,” I quickly added.

Not until we were standing outside the stadium did my dad pull me into a hug, clutching me to his trembling body. He cried as he held me. There were no words, just subtle sobs of joy. There was nothing he could say that I didn’t already know. I could feel everything he wanted me to each time he tightened his arms around me.

My girl is going to be over-the-moon happy. Besides Dad, she is the only person who could know what I’m feeling. When I was young, my mom once ordered those fake baseball card pictures that you can sometimes choose in Little League photo packages. The year our team was the Yankees, Mom ordered dozens of those little cards. Annie framed one of them and it goes wherever she goes. A second copy holds a place of honor in her wallet. The frayed edges clearly show the wear and tear this card has been through. If there was any way I could have had her in that room today, I would have tried. She deserved to be there.

I sent her a simple text to meet me at the hotel. She immediately responded, asking me to call her. The only reason I haven’t is because she wants details. Giving them over an iPhone is not acceptable to me. This kind of news needs to be personally delivered. I’ve gotten a dozen or so texts calling me every name in the book for leaving her hanging. The last one said
I love you
. She’ll forgive me.

My mom and Annie’s parents are on their way up to Manhattan. Dad gave Mom minimal information as well, holding back on the gist of my contract. Annie hasn’t a clue they are coming. We are all going out tonight to celebrate.

All hell will break loose tomorrow. A press conference in the morning will announce my trade. I’ll be practicing with the team immediately following and then playing the next home series in Yankees
pinstripes.

My face hurts from the ear-to-ear grin I’m sporting.

I knock hard on the door, waiting for her to open it.

“Who is it?” she asks on her side.

I move out of her line of vision in case she peeps through the peephole. “It’s me.”

The fumbling of locks hastily being opened causes me to laugh. I can just imagine her on the other side clumsily trying to open the door.

“Damn it,” she cusses. “Fuck. Don’t move. Fuck.” 

When I can’t hold my laughter, she curses me. “It’s not funny.” Finally, the click of the deadbolt resounds through the wood frame. She yanks the door open, practically hitting herself in the face as she does. Her eyes bulge when she sees me standing in the hall wearing a Yankees hat.

“I knew it! I knew it!” She catapults into my arms. “Quint! I’m so happy for you!”

Her legs form a vise around my waist. Her arms have a firm hold around my neck. I can’t get a word in edgewise between all her squeals and giggles. Laughing while carrying her into our room, I use my foot to kick the door shut behind us. She plants kiss after kiss all over my face. The last one lands on my lips. The touch of her lips against mine uncorks all my euphoria. If my father’s hug was a representation of all the emotions he was feeling, then this one kiss would be mine. When we finally stop for air, she gives me a heart-stopping smile. “Baby, every moment I sat in that room, I couldn’t believe what was happening. Even as I signed that contract, I had to pinch myself to be sure it wasn’t a dream.”