Payoff Pitch (Philadelphia Patriots) (37 page)

Hurt a bit? More like a solid kick in the balls
. “You don’t really expect me to have an answer to that one now, either, do you?”

Charlie shook his head. “It’s just part of the package, right? You don’t have to answer any of these questions right now. You just have to keep rolling them around in your head until things start to get less fuzzy.”

“Yeah, I get it.” He sat up straight, his relaxation rapidly evaporating.

Charlie took off his shades and put them down on the little table between him and Noah. “Question number three. Can you handle the cut in salary you’d have to take next year if you’re still pitching in middle relief? I figure you’d be looking at maybe earning a quarter to half of what the Patriots are paying you as a starter. I know you don’t need the money—I’m just talking about perception again. What other people think. What
you
think.”

Noah could answer that one confidently. “I don’t give a damn about the money.”

“That’s what I figured. Most guys would, though. That kind of salary cut would be brutal. Hell, their wives would string them up,” Charlie said, shaking his head.

“I’ve got more money than I’ll ever need, and no wife, no kids.” Maybe someday, though. He’d always thought he’d get married and have kids someday, most likely when he was done or nearly done with baseball.

Which could be sooner rather than later.

Charlie nodded. “Got it. So, number four. How bad do you want a ring?”

Noah knew Charlie meant a World Series Championship ring. Just like in the previous year, the Patriots had a legitimate shot at winning it all. Unfortunately, injuries, including his, had derailed the team at the end of last season. “As bad as anybody could. It’s the most important thing in baseball.”

“Right. Last question, then. This one is a little tough to answer, but it might be the most important one of all.”

“Swell,” he said sarcastically. “I can hardly wait.”

“I know, kid. Anyway, this one assumes you decide to retire now. If so, think about this. Think about whether or not every time you watch a baseball game from now until you die, you might be wondering whether you made the wrong choice by quitting too soon.” Charlie settled his hands on his big belly, his gaze sharp and fixed on Noah.

Shit.
Noah could fully imagine doing exactly that, and his body flushed with sudden heat. He picked up his coffee and took a swallow, more because he didn’t know how the hell to answer the question than out of any desire to drink it.

Charlie was right—that question really went to the heart of it. Was he going to spend the rest of his life second-guessing himself if he walked away now? Noah had always hoped he’d
know
when it was time to put down his baseball glove and focus on his golf clubs. Hoped he’d be
sure
. Absolutely sure. Lots of guys had spouted platitudes to him over the years, like “you’ll know when it’s time”. But would he? Was it better to check out early and maybe regret the decision forever, or to hang on until the bitter end and face a possible decline into irrelevance and a humiliating release from the team?

Time and again, he’d felt the pain of watching games from the bench or on TV when he was going through stints on the disabled list. It was always hard as hell because you felt useless to the team. When he visualized sitting at home, retired, watching his buddies losing—or even winning—his brain rejected the idea. As much as he knew he’d have to come to grips with it—and sooner than he’d wanted—his wrenching physical reaction to the question made him want to shove it into a dark corner until he was eventually ready to deal with it.

“You said I didn’t have to answer, right?” Noah said, forcing a joking tone.

“Not now,” his mentor said in a voice full of kind understanding. “And not to me.”

“I get it.” He made himself stretch his legs out and try to relax. It was a beautiful sunny day, he was young—relatively speaking—and healthy and rich, and he was going to be having dinner tonight with a woman he really wanted to be with. He couldn’t let himself forget how fortunate he was despite the crappy career hand he’d been dealt.

“Maybe it
is
an ego thing,” he finally said. “I don’t like to think so, but you know what it’s like on a pro team, Charlie. There’s an order to things. I was the number one starter in Baltimore. And when I signed with Philly, I was okay to be number two behind Carter. Who wouldn’t be okay to be number two behind a guy who’s going to have a plaque on the wall in that building over there on Main Street?”

Charlie grinned. “Carter’s already earned it, that’s for sure. I figure he’ll be a first ballot choice someday, especially if he can keep going a couple more years.”

Noah nodded in agreement. Only ten players in the last century had been voted into the Hall on the first ballot, and Nate Carter would likely join that supremely elite group. God willing, Noah would be back here in Cooperstown for the induction ceremony, cheering his ass off for his buddy.

“Charlie, going from being the number two starter to a sore-armed middle reliever—that’s damn tough, man. Nate and the rest of the guys keep telling me that I’ll still be valuable to the team no matter what role I’m in—a veteran presence and all that shit. But it just feels to me like I’d be erased from the picture.”

Noah didn’t even like to talk about it, but he knew Charlie was the one person he could open up to about his deepest baseball fears.

“Nah, that’s not the right way to look at it,” his mentor countered. “I know, because I went through something like that myself back when baseball pants were still baggy. You wouldn’t be erased at all—you just wouldn’t be quite the center of the shot anymore.” He gave a little shrug. “You know we can’t always be in the center of the picture, Noah. Sometimes it’s enough to still be in it at all, even standing near the edges. To still be surrounded by the guys you’ve lived and died with on the field, playing the role the team needs you to play. There’s real use and meaning in that scenario, too.”

Noah pondered that in silence for a few moments. Charlie rocked gently in his chair, giving him time to work it through. To anyone who passed by the spacious, whitewashed porch, they’d see two friends enjoying the view and the afternoon breeze. But the calm setting was the opposite of what Noah had going on inside his head.

“So, I think you’re saying that I should forget the surgery, forget retirement, and help the team in whatever way I still can,” he finally said.

Charlie gave something like a mildly amused snort. “I’m just asking questions and dispensing a few platitudes, Noah, not pushing you toward any particular decision. In fact, I could make a decent case for any of your three options.”

“So do it. I’ve got all afternoon.” Though he’d told Teddy he’d only be a couple of hours at most, Noah needed to make the most of this time with Charlie.

His mentor wasn’t biting, though. “Nah, you’ll think all that stuff through in your own time and make the right choice. All I’ll say is that I know you can contribute and find happiness no matter what you decide. If you do have the surgery, you’ve got it in you to make a solid comeback, God willing, and pitch a few more years. And if you just rest the shoulder and hope for the best, there’s still a decent chance you’ll be fine next year.”

“And what if I retire?”

“Well, there’s retirement, and then there’s retirement,” Charlie said, waving his hand. “When I retired from playing, I scouted, coached, and managed for almost forty years before I headed out to pasture. You could do that too, Noah, if you wanted to. Or you could become a front office guy, maybe even a general manager. You’re smart and you’ve always been a good leader and a good mentor to younger guys. And you know there’s a lot more to baseball than the twenty-five young bucks sitting on the dugout bench.”

“Yeah, I do,” he acknowledged, if somewhat reluctantly. Still, the executive offices of the Patriots or any other baseball team sounded a lot better to him than the executive offices of Baron Energy.

“And you don’t have to be a player to get one of these.” Charlie held out his fist toward Noah, showing him his World Series championship ring from the 2010 Giants—a white gold beauty with so many small diamonds that Noah couldn’t even guess at the number. That glory season had been Charlie’s last—the culmination of a truly distinguished baseball career. “Though it took me a while to get it, didn’t it?”

Noah remembered getting pretty emotional when his old friend and mentor finally got his slice of World Championship glory. “Better late than never,” he said with a smile.

Charlie gave him a little fist bump and then settled back in his chair. “Noah, I know this is a rough time, and you’ve got some hard decisions in front of you. But, at least from this old guy’s seat in the house, there’s not a doubt in my mind that whatever you decide to do, you’ll do it damn well. Because that’s just how you’re made. Whether you start or relieve for the Patriots, you’ll make a difference. If you decide to coach or manage someday, you’ll make a difference there, too. Hell, even if you pack it in and go to work for your daddy’s oil company, I’m sure you’ll be a big success at that.”

Noah chuckled softly. “Nice. Now my ego’s really going to be out of control.”

“Damn, you’re right. I take that all back.”

“Too late now,” Noah said. He reached across to offer Charlie his hand. “Thanks, my friend. I mean for everything—not just today.”

“You’re welcome.” Charlie’s eyes gleamed. “Now, let’s get down to the really important stuff. When am I going to get to meet your new lady friend?”

Noah extended his hand toward the bronze plaque but didn’t quite touch it. To Teddy, his careful gesture was almost reverent. When Noah turned to look at her, she thought his eyes contained a complicated mix of emotions including pride and sadness.

She wondered why he’d headed straight for this section of the huge Hall of Fame gallery. “Barry Louis Larkin, Cincinnati, N.L.,” she read out from the raised letters on the plaque. After noting that the player—of whom she’d vaguely heard—had retired in 2004, she said, “Did you know him? You played in Cincinnati for a while, didn’t you?”

Noah stared at the plaque that Teddy could see was obviously one of the newest of the three hundred or so that lined the high oak walls. He’d insisted on taking her here first rather than to any of the other exhibits in the three-story National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum. According to Noah, the exclusive gallery said everything about what it meant to be a professional baseball player. You could be the most talented player in the game at any given time, he’d maintained, and be widely acknowledged as such, but none of that really mattered unless you had longevity. Baseball immortality was ultimately about statistics, and there were certain plateaus that a player had to reach before the members of the baseball writers’ association would vote him into the Hall. And the only way a player could achieve those statistical levels was to be durable and play a long time.

“When I went to the Reds from the Rangers system, Barry was near the end of his career,” he said. “But even then, at close to forty, he was still a terrific shortstop and one of the greatest team men to ever play the game.”

“Forty is pretty ancient for a player, isn’t it?” Teddy asked, half-turning to him. She was trying to focus on the baseball shrine for Noah’s sake, but it was hard. All she could think about was him, and she suspected he was feeling an equally strong pull toward her. Even when she’d toured the art museum today, she’d barely noticed the exhibits, her mind constantly shifting to Noah and what might or might not happen between them for the rest of the weekend.

Everything was so unsettled, but the electricity building between them was beginning to feel like a storm front about to break and break hard.

“Pretty much,” Noah said. “Especially for a shortstop. Some hitters can DH well into their forties, but not many guys can play tough infield positions at that age. Ozzie Smith was another shortstop who excelled as an older player. We’ll see his plaque in a few minutes.”

Noah had seemed a little troubled when he met her back at the Otesaga after seeing his friend. But as soon as they walked in the door of the Hall of Fame, he’d run into a handful of former teammates, all now retired, who’d come up for the induction ceremony. Shooting the breeze with those guys had perked him up. Noah had seemed pretty happy about introducing her to his friends, too, keeping a casual arm around her waist as they chatted. Teddy had to admit she’d been thrilled by his quietly possessive demeanor in front of his old buddies.

Now, as they meandered through the stunning gallery, Noah had become even more animated, obviously excited to be sharing his love of the game with her. For the first time, Teddy thought she was now truly getting what baseball meant to him. It made her feel all sappy and silly inside that he cared enough to let her into this part of his life.

Of course, her melty feeling might also come from the fact that he looked so delectable. Despite the warmth of the day, Noah wore a beautifully cut linen sports jacket in an ivory shade along with dark slacks, a white shirt and a yellow foulard tie. He was almost unbearably gorgeous and imposing, and so sexy that when Teddy saw him waiting for her in the lobby of the hotel, she’d wanted to run back upstairs to change into the only dress she’d brought with her. But Noah had decisively put an end to that thought when he told her she looked perfect in her crisp white sleeveless shirt, pale blue capris, and white sandals.

Her nerves jumping, Teddy had held onto that word
perfect
on the short drive from the hotel to the Hall. If that term applied to anyone’s looks, it was to Noah’s, not hers, and she couldn’t help feeling a little like a frumpy farm girl beside him. After all, Noah’s clothes sure hadn’t come from Target, like hers had.

Enough of that, you.

She was spending the weekend with the sexiest, nicest man she’d ever met, and he was treating like a princess. What could there possibly be to complain about in any of that?

“Larkin must be very special to you since you brought me straight here,” Teddy said, pointing at the plaque. “Was he another of your mentors, like Charlie Clancy?”