Love Bats Last (The Heart of the Game) (34 page)

“You should get an X-ray.” She crossed her arms. The look on her face was all
Doctor
Brandon.

“Maybe later. I have a job to do today.”

She let out a resigned breath. “At least let me wrap it.”

“Later,” he said, dropping back to the bed and pulling her to him.

“Not this time, Alex Tavonesi. I won’t be part of further injury. I have my wits back about me.”

“What a pity,” he said with a grin.

She extracted herself from his hands and stood beside the bed. “Breakfast,” she said firmly. “First order of business today.”

“Now who’s forcing whom to the kitchen?” he said. But the half smile on his face disappeared when he tried to press himself out of the bed and couldn’t.

Three hours later, Alex gritted his teeth as the Giants’ trainer shot cortisone into his wrist.

“All fixed up, Tavonesi?” Walsh’s voice as he walked up to Alex wasn’t as gruff as usual.

“If I survive Dave’s needles, I will be.”

Walsh had managed enough players to know as well as Alex did that it was foolish to play on such an injury so soon. But the man also knew that a good swing of Alex’s bat would not only give the team what it needed to win, it could also lock in the Triple Crown for Alex. Duarte had struck out twice in New York the previous day, then pulled a walk and hit a double with no one on base. Molino and Hamilton, the two players on their heels for the RBI record, had both pulled ahead by one RBI in great at-bats during last night's games. If Alex hit a homer and managed to bat in two runs, he’d best Duarte, Molino and Hamilton, and the title would be his. But even for a healthy player, it was a tall order.

“Skip batting practice,” Walsh said.

“You’re all heart,” Alex grimaced. But he accepted the favor.

Walsh’s break was the only one Alex got.

Nothing went as planned. Certainly not the game.

In the bottom of the fifth, Alex struck out for the third time. To their credit, the Dodgers’ pitchers hadn’t walked him intentionally, but the heat of their starter’s fastball was escaping his bat. He, along with the rest of the guys, watched as one batter after another struck out in the sixth and seventh. With the game tied two all after the seventh and the Giants unable to even get on base, they needed more than a good swing.

In the top of the eighth, the Dodgers batted in a run. The Giants’ manager brought in Romaro, and he managed to hold them to that one run and end the inning.

In the bottom of the eighth, Felipe doubled and then Zack was up. Madden, the Dodgers’ pitcher, threw a wild pitch and Felipe stole third, jolting the crowd and the dugout into wild cheers. Then Zack drew a walk. With runners on first and third, the table was set for Alex.

The crowd, so sure of a Giants victory, roared as Alex approached the plate.

Before he stepped into the batter’s box, he paused and ran the pitch sequence in his mind. A double would do it for the team—Zack was fast enough to make it home on a double.

But as Alex closed his eyes and ran the sequence again, he knew what he wanted. To get it, he’d have to ignore the waves of nausea seeping through him at every move of his wrist. And he’d have to keep the pain out of his eyes; the Dodgers’ pitcher would exploit it. It was the guy’s job, after all. If the Dodgers lost today, they’d be hanging their jerseys up for the season. This game was their last shot at a wild card spot in the playoffs. In some ways Madden had more at stake than he did.

Alex stepped up to the plate. Madden was a first-pitch fastball pitcher. Alex saw it coming and swung, even and hard. The ball tipped foul into the stands. He doubled over with blistering pain. Walsh started out of the dugout, but Alex waved him off, nodding that he was okay. And he was. As long as the nausea stayed down.

Walsh stared at him, reading what he could, then shook his head and stepped back into the dugout.

Alex tapped the dirt from his cleats, dug his back foot in and took his stance. He stared out at the pitcher and registered the answering look in the young pitcher’s eyes—the boy thought he had him. That look was all Alex needed to see. There were times when experience trumped talent and this was one of them. He’d be throwing one over the plate.

Madden started into his stretch, then pivoted and fired the ball to first. Zack dove back to the base, barely beating the throw.

Alex called time and stepped out of the box. He ran the pitch sequence and visualization again. Satisfied, he stepped back into the box.

Madden looked to the catcher, shook him off, then nodded.

Alex locked him in his gaze.

When Madden released the ball, Alex saw it come toward him as if it moved in slow motion; he saw the seams, saw the curve. He adjusted his body and slammed into the ball with the heart of his bat. When he made contact, he wasn’t sure if the sound he heard was the ball on the wood or the splitting of his wrist. He ignored the jolt of excruciating pain, dropped the bat and jogged toward first, watching the arc of the ball as he ran. When it dropped five rows into the center field bleachers, the crowd leaped to their feet. He felt, more than heard, their roar.

It wasn’t until he rounded third base and slowed his jog toward home that he realized they were screaming “Triple Crown! Triple Crown!” He looked over his shoulder at the scoreboard, where the words were flashing, big as trucks. Five of his teammates rushed up the steps of the dugout and high-fived him. More guys poured out and mobbed him and then lifted him onto their shoulders and carried him down into the dugout. Embarrassment flooded through his elation—the game still had an inning to go.

The crowd roared and clapped, stamping their feet and calling his name. He stepped up onto the field and tipped his cap. As he did, he scanned the seats for Jackie. He found her standing near the stairs at the side of the dugout. He smiled, feeling as if all the pieces of his life were snugly joined together. She shot him an
okay
sign.

Then she pressed her fingers to her heart.

He tipped his cap at her and turned. The emotion washing through him was too powerful to show in public, too precious. He knew the cameras were zoomed in on him and did his best to pull up his game face. He stepped down into the dugout and collapsed on the bench. Walsh prodded him to head to the clubhouse but knew even before he made the effort that Alex wasn’t going to budge.

After the game, Jackie made her way through the stadium to the friends and family room where she’d agreed to wait for Alex. She showed her ID at the door and waited, feeling uncomfortable, as the guard searched his list. He gave her the nod and she slipped in. The room was packed with women making halfhearted attempts to corral excited children and clusters of men showing each other shots on their phones and talking in the animated way that people on the fringe of exciting action often did. A group of stylishly dressed younger women stood in one corner, eyeing her.

She walked over to a table spread with drinks and food. The fare was a step up from the food in the stadium, but she wasn’t interested in any of it. She’d seen the look on Alex’s face as he’d reentered the dugout.

She couldn’t stand around waiting any longer.

She walked back to the guard.

“I’d like to see Alex Tavonesi, if I may.” She used her most charming English accent; it usually smoothed the way.

“You and a thousand other people.” The guard grinned. “Sorry.” He looked at his watch. “He’s not one to dally with the press.” He looked up and a sly smile crawled across his face. “Won’t be long at all.”

A hand grabbed her waist from behind and turned her.

“Carl is on
my
side,” Alex said with a grin. “Carl, this is the esteemed Dr. Brandon. She keeps the sea lions healthy so they can have a bite or two out of your best salmon catch.”

Carl cracked a smile and then turned to stop three teenagers from crowding into the room.

“Let’s get out of here,” Alex said against her ear. He trotted her down a tunnel and out a side door. She pointed to where she’d parked her truck.

“I’m driving,” she said as she opened the passenger door for him. “I’m not risking my life on
that
.” She nodded toward his bandaged wrist.

“It’s not broken, if that’s what you’re worried about. Nothing another shot of cortisone and”—he leaned down and kissed her—“
this
won’t handle.”

He pressed his lips to hers and all the emotions she’d held in check as she’d watched him struggle at the plate, as she’d waited to hear if he was okay, as she’d struggled to keep the events of the past days at bay, poured into her kiss.

After a moment, after a lifetime, she eased back. She wanted to say it, needed to say it. He’d said he loved her. She never thought she’d believe a man again, but she believed him. And she needed to declare her love in return.

“I love you,” she said. It came out almost brusque, but from the answering look in his eyes, her tone didn’t matter.

“I know,” he said as he squeezed her hand and kissed her. “You stayed for the whole game.”

“You’re a beast,” she said, pulling away. “And I’m still not letting you drive.” She nudged him into the passenger seat and pulled the seat belt across his lap.

As she slid behind the wheel, a group of raucous fans entered the lot a few yards away. Alex shut his door and pulled his hood up over his head.

“Drive,” he said, slinking down into the seat. He grinned over at her. “Incognito.”

“I knew my battered sealmobile would impress you someday,” she said.

“I’m more interested in the wench driving than the winch in the back.”

Jackie moaned. “Did the trainers make a mistake and shoot the cortisone directly into your brain?”

He laughed.

“We English hold a high standard for humor,” she said as she honked at a car that was clearly in her way and hadn’t changed lanes properly. “So it’s a good thing you can cook.”

“No, it’s a good thing this truck has airbags,” he said, dodging her punch.

Epilogue

Sabrina had outdone herself. She’d insisted on throwing an engagement party for Alex and Jackie and had lit Trovare from one end to the other with lanterns and candles and strings of colored lights. The February rains had held off; the weather patterns had shifted once again.

Jackie’s mother, an elegant and gracious woman, had flown in from England. Even Cory had made the party—he’d stopped in on his way to the world championship finals in Australia. Scotty had driven up from the city and though Alex winced to see him and Cory laughing and talking with his cousin Alana, at least they’d been warned. Her beauty drew men in, but her heart was wild territory that even the most sophisticated man had yet to crack.

A crowd of friends and family had already gathered in the great room. What caught Alex’s eye was Emilio standing off to one side. The tuxedo he wore set off his rugged, handsome features, but he looked uncomfortable. Uniforms were useful, but they couldn’t hide when a man felt out of his element.

Emilio had been shocked by the news of Jackie’s kidnapping. He’d blamed himself for not knowing what had been going on at the neighboring vineyard. The news of the heroin smuggling had stunned him; he simply wasn’t one to consider bad things about others. When the FBI confirmed that Volkov and Bennett had smuggled in the heroin by hiding it in barrels of fertilizer, he was outraged. When they’d found out that old farmer Di Salvo hadn’t known what had been happening after he’d leased out his vineyard, it hadn’t been much consolation to any of them.

The FBI pulled in six men involved in the smuggling ring. Emilio stood by Alex and Jackie’s side during the ordeal of the investigations and trials. Alex thought Emilio had been more relieved than he was when the death of Darron Bennett had been ruled accidental and Alex and Jackie were cleared of any wrongdoing.

Volkov, however, had disappeared. He probably had the money for a south-of-the-border face-change operation and would pop up somewhere else, still plying his trade. It made Alex sleep easier knowing that the guy was too smart to try anything else in California.