Better Than Perfect

BETTER THAN PERFECT

More Than A Game, Book One

By KRISTINA MATHEWS

LYRICAL PRESS

http://lyricalpress.com/

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/

To my best friend, who long ago swept me off my feet with his green fridge and quality toilet paper.

Acknowledgements
 

First of all, I’d like to thank my family for their support and their patience with having to share me with the people who live in my head.
 

To Mrs. A, I never did get to thank you for helping me believe in myself and my writing.
 

To M.M., if you hadn’t teased your little cousin all those years ago, Johnny Scottsdale would never have earned his happily ever after.

1

“Pitchers and catchers report to spring training in thirteen days, twenty-one hours and seventeen minutes,” Hall of Fame broadcaster Kip Michaels announced, and the crowd went wild. “Kicking off today’s Fan Fest, I’d like to introduce one of our newest players. Two-time Cy Young Award winner, perennial All-Star, and the last man to pitch a perfect game. Give a warm San Francisco welcome to Johnny ‘The Monk’ Scottsdale.”

Thirty thousand people were expected at the ballpark today. A great crowd—for a baseball game. But instead of working the count, Johnny would be working the crowd. Answering questions. Signing autographs. Putting himself out there in a way he wasn’t entirely comfortable with. He was as nervous as the day he’d made his professional debut fourteen years ago. Butterflies? Try every seagull on the West Coast taking roost in his stomach.

Focus. Breathe. Let it go.

“Thank you. I’m thrilled to be here.” He’d much rather face the 1927 Yankees than sit in front of a camera and a microphone talking about his game instead of playing it. “I hope I can help the team bring home a World Series Championship.”

He tried to relax his shoulders. Tried to hide his nerves. The Goliaths could be his last team. His last shot at a ring. His final chance to prove himself and leave a legacy that went beyond the diamond.

After fielding a few questions about what he could bring to the team, and deflecting some praise about his success so far, Johnny was released to another part of the park to sign autographs. Little Leaguers approached with wide eyes and big league dreams. Tiny tots with painted faces squirmed with excitement about getting cotton candy while their parents shoved them forward to collect an autograph. A shy boy with a broken arm asked him to sign his cast. The look on his face was more than worth the discomfort of being in the spotlight for something other than his on-field performance.

Johnny had signed the big contract. The team paid him a lot of money to pitch every five games. They also paid him to interact with the fans, to be an ambassador for the game he’d loved for so long. The game that had saved him from a completely different kind of life.

He shared a table with another new player, shortstop Bryce Baxter. They were set up near the home bullpen along the third base line. Several other stations were set up around the park, giving fans a chance to get up close and personal with the players. Some tried to get a little too personal.

“So you’re the hot new pitcher.” A busty brunette leaned over the autograph table, wearing what appeared to be a toddler-sized tank top. The team logo sparkled in rhinestones and she was obviously well aware of the attention she drew. “I’d be more than happy to show you around.”

“No thanks. I’m pretty familiar with the city.” He held his pen ready, although she didn’t seem to have anything to autograph. Nothing he was willing to sign, anyway.

“I could take you places you’ve never been.” She leaned over even more.

Johnny kept his head down, trying to avoid gazing at what she had to offer. He reached for a stock photo, scrawled his signature across the bottom, and slid the picture forward, hoping she’d take the hint and leave.

“You forgot your number.” She pouted.

“Sorry. I don’t give that out.” Johnny wished he could retreat to the locker room. Get away from her and the crowd that seemed to be growing. He never understood why people would wait in line to make small talk and take his picture. He gripped the black marker, needing something to do with his hands. If he only had a baseball, he could roll it around in his palm. Feel the smoothness of the leather, the rough contrast of the raised stitches. Find comfort in the weight and the symmetry of the one thing he could always control.

His teammate inserted himself into the conversation. “Do you know who this is? The one and only Johnny ‘The Monk’ Scottsdale.”

“The Monk?” She drew her gaze over Bryce, then glanced at Johnny before settling on Bryce once more.

“He’s a god.” He flashed a grin indicating he was more than willing to play her game. “Me? I’m a mere mortal.” Bryce leaned toward her, clearly enjoying the interaction.

“You’re new, too.” She scooted over to his side of the table, dismissing Johnny’s rejection as strike one. She must think she had a better chance of scoring with Bryce.

“I am. I think I left my heart somewhere in the city. Could you help me find it?” He slid one of his photos across the table to her.

“I can help you find whatever you’re looking for.” She took the pen from him and wrote something on the inside of his forearm. Her number, most likely.

Bryce grinned as if he enjoyed having a stranger tattoo him with a permanent marker.

“Bring your friend, too. If he’s up for a challenge.”

“I’ll see what I can do, sweetheart.” Bryce tipped his cap and winked at the woman.

Johnny exhaled, realizing he’d been holding his breath during the entire conversation.

“Thanks man, I owe you one.” Johnny shook his head, as relieved as if Bryce had just snagged a line drive with two outs and the bases loaded.

“So it really isn’t an act.” Baxter eyed him carefully. “You really do walk the walk.”

“What walk?”

“The celibacy thing. It’s for real.” A lot of guys thought he was full of it. That it was just for show. A way to get attention, and women. But once they realized he was genuine, most of the other players accepted him. Some even respected him. “You really don’t mess around.”

“No. I don’t. I’m not perfect, but I try to stay out of trouble.” Johnny removed his cap and ran his fingers through his hair. Since they were both new to the team, their booth wasn’t as crowded as some of the others. They had a chance to catch their breath. He was able to finally sit back and enjoy the perfect weather. It was one of those glorious Northern California days when the sun came out to tease, dropping hints of spring and the fever that came with it.

“You looked like you were a little uncomfortable there.” Bryce, on the other hand, seemed to relish the attention.

“I know it’s part of the job, but it’s not the part I’m good at.”

“You let your game speak for itself. That’s cool.” Bryce reclined in his chair, looking as relaxed as if he was sitting in his own back yard. “Some of us have to use our charm to make up for lack of talent.”

Johnny laughed. Baxter had plenty of talent. And more than enough charm to go around.

“She was pretty fine, though.” Bryce continued to check her out as she walked away, collecting ballplayer’s numbers like kids collected baseball cards. “Exactly what I need to get me in shape for spring training.”

“Is that so?” Johnny managed to avoid the whole groupie scene. His entire career had been about control, both on and off the field. The Monk kept his cool. The Monk never got rattled. And The Monk maintained a spotless reputation. He had to, considering where he’d come from.

“There he is. Come on, Mom.” A kid, about twelve or thirteen, rushed up to the booth, practically dragging his mother by the arm.

Johnny slipped on his best fan-friendly smile.

“We’re, like, your number one fans.” The boy was practically bursting at the seams. “Right, Mom?”

The boy’s mother stepped forward, taking Johnny’s breath away.

He’d had several reasons to come to San Francisco. Eleven million obvious ones, and several others that he’d done his best to articulate to the fans. There was only one reason he should have stayed away.

“Alice.” Just saying her name sent a line drive straight to his heart. Even fourteen years later.

“Congratulations on your new contract. I know you’re going to have a great year.” She sounded like any other fan, wishing him well. She just marched right up to his table to ask for an autograph. A freaking autograph? Like he meant nothing to her.

A slight breeze blew her hair around her face. She tried to smile as she tucked a loose strand behind her ear. Blond, straight, silky—and if he remembered correctly—oh-so-soft. She wore modestly cut jeans and a soft blue sweater that on anyone else would have looked plain and proper. He didn’t need to glance at her left hand to know she was off limits. Yet, she still moved him like no other woman ever could. Made him long for what he’d had. What he’d lost. What he’d tried for years to forget.

“Wait.” The boy gaped at her. “You guys know each other? For real?”

“Yes. Johnny was…” She held Johnny’s gaze just long enough for him to catch a flicker of regret. She turned to her son, who was about an inch or two taller than her. “He was your dad’s college roommate.”

“You knew my dad?” The boy seemed more impressed by that than the fact that people waited in line for his autograph.

“Yes. I knew him.” Johnny swallowed the lump in his throat. “Before he married your mom.”

“Cool.” The kid smiled and nodded his head, like it was no big deal. “I mean, I know you played for the Wolf Pack when they went to Nevada, but I had no idea you guys were, like, friends.”

Sure. Friends.

“Zach.” She placed her hand on his shoulder, ready to steer him away. “I’m sure Mr. Scottsdale is a busy man. Let’s leave him alone.”

They’d once been as close as two people could be. But now he was Mr. Scottsdale.

The boy shrugged, dismissing her and looking up to Johnny with admiration. “It’s totally awesome to meet you.”

Johnny nodded, giving his most sincere smile, even though seeing Alice, and her kid, hit him like a 97-mile-an-hour fastball.