Sweet Spot (8 page)

“You’re amazing,” she whispers.

I want to kiss her again. I want to tell her she’s more than amazing and I’m falling for her. It’s stupid, it is, this whole idea of loving someone you barely know, but she’s a balm for my soul and I’m intoxicated with the whole of her.

But this is the end. Church has disbanded. Our time is over.

I slide out of her without saying a word and head to the restroom to clean up. I have to pep talk myself in the mirror to do what I have to do. For me. For her. For my career and her life.

When I come out, she’s already dressed, sitting in the desk chair with a gorgeous smile. I step into my boxers and hold out a hand that she readily takes.

“You need to know how much I care about you.”

“I know.” She nods, smiling.

“Good. Then you know this won’t be easy.”

“I’m always around. We’ll see each other plenty. This won’t be difficult with you traveling and working so much. We can do it just like we’re doing it now. It’ll be amazing.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” A frown slowly engulfs her face and I have to drop her hand to keep my shit together. “This is goodbye, Ally. We can’t do this anymore.”

She falters, I can see it from the corner of my eye. “What?”

“I know your dad tore you apart for the hickeys. He nearly killed all of us before the game today.”

“Look, I know this isn’t—“

“I can’t.” I hold out my hands and try to say it as kindly as possible. “Ally, you’re incredible. You’re everything I could ever want or dream of in a girl. But you’re untouchable. I’ve already crossed a million lines by taking you in my room.”

“Don’t I get a say in this?”

I smile sadly at her. “You do. But I know what you want, and it’s impossible. I’m supposed to be cleaning up my act. I’m supposed to focus on baseball. I was so torn up about you today I almost blew the game.”

“That’s bullshit.” This snaps my attention. I can’t recall ever hearing her swear. “The team is more than just you, Kemper.”

Instead of looking at her again, I slide back into my basketball shorts and pull on my t-shirt. “The last thing I want is something bad to happen to you. If Coach were to ever find out, we’d both be dead. I can’t live with that. I need to know you’re okay. And you’re only okay if you aren’t with me.”

“This is bullshit.” She fumes. “You can’t just walk out on me because of my dad. I’m not him.”

“You’re untouchable.”

“You’ve already touched me!”

I swallow, hard. “It was a mistake.”

“The hell it was.”

“You knew how this was going to end, Ally. I know you knew it as soon as your dad jumped on your case.”

“He doesn’t own me. I’m old enough to make my own choices.”

“Not in his eyes.”

“He doesn’t get a say in my relationships!”

“But I do.” I scratch the back of my head and move to the door, wanting to kick myself every step of the way. “Look at this as one last send off, one last moment where we could pretend everything was perfect. We can’t pretend anymore, Ally. Your dad knows and it’ll be the end of my career. More importantly, it’ll be the end of you. I’m sorry.”

She stares at me and I can feel the anger permeating through the room.

“I’ll never forgive myself for this, I know.” I open the door. “But you deserve more than sneaking around with someone as old as me.”

She stares at me, teeth grinding, chest heaving. She’s beautiful even when mad. “So you’re just going to fuck me and kick me out?”

I say nothing, because there’s nothing I can say. That’s not how I had thought of it, but when she says it like that—shit. I see her side. And I have no defense.

She says nothing either as she storms out of the room and down the hall. I close the door before I can follow her, before I can see which room is hers to run to in the middle of the night, before I can change my mind.

A promise is a promise, I tell myself.

W
e lost
the series against the White Sox, largely because I couldn’t keep my shit together. We didn’t get any more threats from Coach, but his mood was noticeably sour. Ally didn’t come around for the rest of the series, either, and she wasn’t on the bus ride home. My guess is she flew out as soon as possible so she didn’t have to look at me anymore.

The thought guts me. I try not to think about it, and instead I dwell on my bum knee and my professional losses. We’re now two games back from division lead and everyone is pissed about it. Everyone but Coach, anyway. The man is solid and good about keeping us focused—it’s still early enough in the season for us to kick ass. There’s just something about going to the Series that makes you want to perform at that level all year.

And I know it’s all my fault we aren’t.

Two days after we returned home, the text messages started. They were innocent enough, asking how I’ve been, relaying condolences over our loss, promising it wasn’t my fault. Somehow, she knows me. Really knows me.

Which makes me wonder—does she know just how susceptible I am to her? To a mere few letters on a screen, not her image or even her voice. Just a few digital lines to destroy my house of cards.

I have to ignore them just to get through. I hate it. I want to respond. I don’t want her to feel like I’m ignoring her, but I have to. I have a promise, a career, a Coach that would readily kill me in a sweep. My contract would be fucked in a heartbeat.

And there’s that whole bit about me completely fucking up on my promise to Coach. The only way to save my integrity is to never be tempted again. No more drinks, no more girls, no more anything. I have to walk the straight and narrow. Not doing so just fucks everyone over, as evidenced in Chicago.

I can’t do that to my guys anymore.

“You need a dog,” Jamie tells me as we head into batting practice. “You know, a late night companion to keep you from getting so lonely.”

“Who says I’m lonely?” I scoff at him and toss my gear into my locker. Some of the other guys are milling around, telling dick jokes and snapping towels. You’d almost forget we were a championship team sometimes. I guess that’s what happens when a bunch of dudes hang out together near 24/7.

“Everyone.” Jamie cocks an eyebrow at me. “You aren’t yourself since you made your oath. There’s more to you than booze and girls, Kemp. You just gotta find it.”

“I didn’t know you fancied yourself a life coach.” I chuck my shoe at him and he ducks it easily. “Hit up those online schools again, did you?”

“Only the best online pussy for me, brother.” He smirks and chucks his own shoe back at me. I catch it and throw it back. “I’m just looking out for you is all. You’re my best boy. If I can’t help you get laid, I gotta find another way to keep your happiness going.”

“Don’t try to suck me off, a’ight?” I crack a grin but find myself shuddering. “I’m not that desperate.”

“Palmela Handerson still working for you?”

If he only knew. If he only knew how fervently I’ve been jacking off lately, all to the sweet memory of Ally Holstead. “She never lets me down. Most loyal lay this side of the Mississippi.”

“Who’s on the other side?”

“Your mom.” He walked right into that one and for half a second I feel normal. Like I did before Ally.

“Fuck you,” he laughs. “You can eat a dick.”

“That’s what your mom said before I ate
her
.”

“Bro.” He gags and throws his other shoe my way. “That’s terrible.”

“Your mom didn’t—“

“Yeah, yeah. Got it.” He laces up his cleats and shoots me a nasty look that makes me laugh. It’s nice to laugh, feel like shit is normal for a change. “Hey, you gonna help me with my swing today?”

“Of course.” We finish changing and head out to the field. “Gotta help a brother out.”

“I don’t know what happened in Chicago, maybe it was all that goddamn pizza, but my batting average has fucking tanked, brother. I need to get on it. How do you keep your bat so hot?”

“Pussy.” I wink at him. “I used to be a shit fielder. No arm. But batting? I could always knock the sumbitch out of the park. It’s all math and projection. I figured I needed to stay on my batting game if I were to ever move into the infield.”

“You’re still a shit fielder.”

“Your mom’s a shit fielder.”

“God, she really is. We’d be worse than the Angels with her on the team.”

“No, that was an anal joke.” He’ll never learn.

“Goddamnit!”

Coaching Jamie through his swings is what I needed today. The pain in my knee has moved up to my hamstring and all I’m seeing is the disabled list looming in my future. I don’t want to go on the list, and I sure as shit don’t want to drop down to Triple A. Maybe I just need more ice. And a cortisone shot.

That’s what I’m going to keep telling myself.

I work with Jamie for twenty minutes, showing him different stances, how to watch for the ball and predict what the pitcher will be packing. It’s important to learn to read the pitchers so you know what’s coming, and how to pick up clues from the catcher, even when you can’t see him.

“It’s important to not always swing for the fences. You want to be smart about this. Not every ball is going to be a home run. Home runs are great, but what we really want are solid base hits to keep the runners moving.”

“I’m aware,
coach
.” Jamie winks, but he adjusts his stance again and gives a much more solid swing at the next ball.

“Ice cream?” A sweet voice calls out.

Every cell in my body screams for me to turn around, but I don’t. I pretend I don’t hear and keep my eyes locked on Jamie. “Drop your stance a little lower. You want your center of gravity closer to the ground so you can take off faster. Getting to first base is just as important as hitting the ball.”

“Got it.” Jamie obeys and squats a little more.

Coach catches my eye and flashes me a thumbs up. He makes his way behind me, presumably towards the ice cream and his daughter, and he thumps me on the back. “Doin’ good, Kemp.”

I pretend I’m not beaming with pride as he walks away, because I’m not a child, but I feel like maybe things aren’t so shitty after he says that. Maybe I’m doing okay after all. Besides the fact I’m ignoring his daughter and her ice cream, because the second I look at her, I know my resolve will weaken.

“I think I’m down for an ice cream break.” Jamie leans on his bat. “You?”

“Nah.” I shake my head. “I’m not really an ice cream fan.”

“You certainly were a few weeks ago.”

I force a laugh. “Yeah. And then the bomb was dropped on who she was. You saw how pissed Coach was in Chicago.”

“No fucking joke.” Jamie shakes his head. “I wonder what dumbfuck had the nerve to touch her.”

“I don’t know, but we better pray for his soul.”

“Since when does your heathen ass pray?” Jamie cocks another eyebrow at me and winks before jogging off for ice cream. I hear him talking to Coach behind me, and complimenting Ally on her hair.

I want to turn around and see, I want to look at that beautiful face, but instead I head for the trainers for some ice. The plain kind. Carlos is hanging out with ice on his elbow and he salutes me.

“Gotta stay limber and shit, right?” He gestures to his arm. “How’s the knee?”

“Great.” I grimace and sit down, grateful for the rapid attention. “How’s the elbow?”

He was hit at the plate during our last game against the Sox. Fucked him up pretty badly and he’s fighting to stay on the roster for our next series against the Angels. I absolutely cannot be in his shoes, even if it kills me.

“Fucked. Sounds like I’m being sent down soon.” He doesn’t look happy and I can’t blame him. “I’m going to get that fucker back the next series we play. Line drive right to the crotch. That’s a promise.”

We fist bump and I pretend my knee isn’t causing me to limp, and I bite back screams of agony as the trainers set me up. Coach sees and I can tell by his face I’m fucked.

I
’m benched
for the next series, but not put on the DL. “Off days.” I guess Coach has a lot of faith in me, because he’s definitely giving me the biggest free pass on the planet. Thank god. It sucks to just sit and watch your guys play, especially when they need you, but we eke out a 2-1 win against the Angels and are only a half game back from division lead. It’s a start.

I can’t shake knowing that if I were out there, playing at my prime, we would have swept the series and been back on top of our division. Instead, I’m chewing on sunflower seeds and talking shit in the dugout while wearing a Royals hoodie and cleats and doing not a single thing to help out.

Don’t get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with going on the disabled list. Those things are there for a reason and those reasons are important. But I’m not disabled. I just need rest. I belong in the field. I belong in the dirt. I belong with a glove in one hand and a bat in the other.

This is the shit I’ve lived for since I was a kid, trying to not fall the fuck over during t-ball practice.

The guys, in true form, continue to give me shit from sun up to sun down. Most of it’s good natured, though. They know how hard I’m working. They know if it were them, they’d struggle just the same.

Coach Utson, our batting coach, enlists me to help him out during practices and the game. He’s a good guy, taught me a lot, but he’s missing something I can provide. I can’t blame the guy, this is what happens when you’ve been out of the game so long your grandkids are looking at major league tryouts.

Practice today was awesome, though. Coach Utson gave me half the guys to work with and I spent a lot of time going over the mechanics of the swing. Even better, those assholes actually listened and respected me, like they acknowledged I knew what I was talking about. It was an amazing feeling. When my time is finally up in the big leagues, I’d love to be a coach. Live out the rest of my days on the field, teaching guys how to be the best they can be, letting my hair turn seagull shit gray?

That’s the best dream in the world.

After the game, I ice up and kick it at home, beer in one hand and remote in the other.

I’m dozing off on the couch, trying hard to pay attention to replayed games on ESPN to stay on top of opponent strategies, when there’s a knock at the door. My heart immediately jumps into my throat and my cock twitches and my brain tells me it’s Ally, but I push all that aside and ignore it. Of course it isn’t Ally.

I ease off the couch. I can barely walk at this point, even after all the icing and painkillers.

Whoever is outside doesn’t seem to be getting the memo that I’m not home. Probably because my blinds are modestly open and the television is blaring. Great show for the paps out tonight. Let them see injured Kemper Fife working hard on his promise. The knocking continues.

And then it hits me, whoever is at the door will likely be photographed, so I should get it. Just in case. Not that it would be Ally, but what if it was on camera that I ignored Coach? Or…something.

But life is funny. You know that? You work hard, you focus, you put in all your effort…and life still does its own thing. Maybe it’s because I had a beer, even though I never explicitly promised sobriety. Maybe it’s because I’m ignoring my injury and praying it’ll just go away. Maybe it’s because I’ve done enough terrible shit in my life that a few weeks of trying to act like a goddamn gentleman doesn’t really fucking matter in the karmic sense.

Because there is Ally.

Ally at my fucking doorbell at my fucking house. After all I did to push her away and to ignore her—she’s here. She’s at my home. I usher her inside as quickly as I can.

“What are you—”

She picks up an umbrella by the door and throws it across the living room. I’m completely dumbfounded.

“You’ve been ignoring me.” She grabs a boot and throws it, too.

“So you came to trash my house?” I don’t even know what to make of this situation. She shouldn’t be here. I mean, I don’t want her to leave, but she has to.

“I’ve sent you texts. I’ve tried to talk to you on the field. I’ve left you voicemails. Nothing, Kemp! You’ve sent back nothing!” There goes the other boot.

“I thought we talked about this—“

“No,
you
talked. You talked and kissed me and slept with me and threw me out. Now, it’s my turn to talk.”

“I didn’t mean for it to look that way, I promise you, Ally.” I dodge a picture frame. “It sucked, I didn’t want to do it, but I told you why we couldn’t be together anymore. I just wanted to make love to you one more time—“

“Make
love
?” She scowls at me. “You literally banged me and then said ‘we can’t be together,’ That hurt. A lot. I felt like a worthless, used tissue, Kemp.”

It crushes me to hear. I realized after how shitty it must seem, but I didn’t know how else to do it. I didn’t know what else to say. I didn’t know how else to end it. Go figure, I fucked it up.

“I’m so sorry, Ally.”

“That isn’t good enough.” She crosses her arms, anger radiating off of her. “It’s not good enough to give me a lame forced apology and expect it to be better. You treated me like a freaking booty call. Me! I’ve only slept with one other guy and you made me feel like a whore.”

“You are the furthest thing from a whore.”

“You certainly didn’t act that way.”

I collapse on the couch and rub my face with my hands. “I fucked up. I know. It’s not a forced apology. I’m genuinely sorry.”

She marches across the room and stares at me. “I know the situation wasn’t ideal, okay? My dad reamed my butt the next morning. I thought he was going to kill me, and he threw me on the first flight home. I tried to tell him it was some random guy I met in the lobby, but he believed me for a whole negative two seconds and went on a rampage. I get it. I get it more than you ever will. But this is still something that was important to me. So important, I came to you the next night. I wanted to say goodbye before my flight and you took me to bed like I was important—“

“You
are
important—“

“And then you crushed me, Kemp. You chewed me up and spit me out. I cried for two days.”