Double Play (20 page)

“
I’m
only looking out for you. I just—I mean, it’s marriage. Forever’s a
long time, just remember that.”

“
Believe me, I know.”

Cat hurried down
the wide sidewalk outside the ballpark, fending off sales pitches
from the vendors who had already set up their makeshift stands in
anticipation of this evening’s do-or-die game. They sold knit caps
for the under-dressed fans, unlicensed tees with funny slogans and
bags of peanuts that they promised were much cheaper than those
sold inside the stadium.

As she patiently
waited at the crosswalk, she rubbed her gloved hands together and
crossed her arms over her chest, appreciating the cold, crisp day.
Autumn was undoubtedly Cat McDaniel’s favorite season. Your average
baseball fan sprung with spring; a month of practice games in
a
beautiful climate
before begetting baseball’s official start, Opening Day. Shivering
on the street corner, she nevertheless decided the boys of spring
could have their pollen. Then there was summertime, when your
average Chicagoan heated up; sailboats on Lake Michigan,
Lollapalooza and the Taste of Chicago food extravaganza. The fallen
leaves crunched under her soles as she made her way across the
street. The Second City was first in her book, but the summer
lovers could have their hundred degree pavement. Last but not
least, wintertime, the season every Buffalonian waited for—ice
fishing, skiing and undoubtedly, football. Her new home was a
wonderland, but the snow bunnies could have their blizzards. She
flashed her press badge at the security guard and bumbled inside
the stadium, casting one last, longing look out at the fall day
before the door slammed behind her. She was a baseball fan, a
native Chicagoan and a current Buffalonian, but the seasons all
turned for this one. Besides, she’d spent two hundred bucks at
Nordstrom’s Half-Yearly Sale on a pair of suede Charles David knee
boots that had been collecting dust on her closet floor all summer
long. The sun had officially crossed the celestial equator two
weeks ago, but this morning was the first day when the air was
telltale crisp and worthy of winter boots.

She stepped into
the press room and immediately looked around. Her shoulders
s
ank
when she didn’t see
Spencer. She knew she was getting terribly dependent on his
presence, but a part of her didn’t care. She’d spent her entire
career fighting to establish herself among her colleagues and with
one stupid night, her reputation in the box had gone from
burgeoning journalist to girl who parties with the players. This
was supposed to be her year in the playoffs, too; instead she was
looking at another rebuilding year. With Spencer, though, she
didn’t have to force smiles or fake praise. It was a relief to just
be herself. She looked around for him again.

The heels of her
suede boots clicked on the tile floor as the reporters watched the
pregame rituals. The two managers met at home plate and exchanged
lineup cards. Cat peeked out to the scoreboard and checked the
time. It was only a few minutes before the umpire would shout,
“Play Ball!” The media had the game hype on full blast, as they
should. If the Buffalo Soldiers won, the team would take the series
back to their home turf for game 5. If they lost, that was it. The
season was done and the players would head back to the clubhouse,
pack up their Speed Sticks and batting gloves and head
home.

See ya at
Spring Training
.

“
Hey,
just the girl I wanted to see.” Cat looked up just as Spencer
pulled out a chair next to her. Another relief. The empty chair had
made her feel like even more of a leper in the crowded room. It
seemed her colleagues would rather stand for three hours than sit
next to her.

Bad luck is
contagious
.

“
I’m
here and ready to get this game underway.”

“
Me,
too, you wanna know why?”

His boyish grin
brought a grin to her own face, despite her pregame
anxiety.

“
Very
much so.”

“
You
know the
News Herald’s
music critic?”

“
Uh …
the guy with the mullet and sleeveless shirts?” His picture graced
the entertainment section of Spencer’s newspaper and ironically
shared the page with Missy Prissy’s fashion column.
The News
Herald’s
copyeditor had a wicked sense of humor.

“
His
name is Lance Youngblood, and to be fair he’s growing his hair out,
so it’s technically a ponytail now.”

“
Is
that what has you so happy?”

He chuckled. “No.
He came to town with me because some Buffalo garage band is the
opening act at the House of Blues for a benefit concert. He just
called and told me he was able to get a couple extra tickets if I
want them and I’m telling you because … wait for it.” He held his
finger in the air. “Wait for it.”

Cat nodded
anxiously, her eyes locked on his as they danced with anticipation.
The game, only minutes away from starting, was just a speck on her
radar.

He whipped out
two ticket stubs and waved them in her face, pulling them back when
she tried to snatch them. “Ah, ah, ah. I said ‘wait for it’ not
‘grab it.’ Just for that, I think I’ll make you wait a little
longer.”

“
Come
on, tell me!”

“
Tom
Morello is the headliner, baby!”

She smacked his
arm and squealed. “Nuh-uh!” The commotion attracted looks from the
other reporters, but by now she was used to their stares and merely
ignored them.

“
As
real as AA’s blown save last night. I know you’re a fan so I
thought I’d see if you wanted to come with me.”

She grinned and
then cocked her head. “How’d you know I’m a fan? As far as music
goes, the only thing we’ve listened to together is ‘Take Me Out to
the Ballgame
,’ ‘
The Star-Spangled Banner,’ and
‘Jump.’ ”

No nine innings
were complete without the Seventh Inning Stretch, the National
Anthem and a little pregame Van Halen.

“
I
hacked into your iPod.”

Her face fell and
he smiled reassuringly. “I’m kidding. You mentioned it earlier in
the season when we were in Chicago.”

“
I
don’t remember that.”

“
Yeah,
it was when Lollapalooza was going on. I asked if you’d ever been
and you told me that your brother took you to see Rage Against the
Machine when you were fourteen.”

Cat stared at him
in confusion. Actually, she and Quinn had snuck out, and Grams had
grounded them until school started. The adventure had been worth
the trouble and—though it had been two sizes too big then and was a
size too small now—she still had the Che Guevara t-shirt Quinn had
bought her as a souvenir.

“
Okay,
now I know I didn’t tell you that. I don’t talk about my family,
especially my half brother, to anybody.”

“
You
did to me. Of course, you’d had a couple beers.”

Inebriated or
not, she’d never even told Benji about Quinn. “I don’t—”

“
Now
that I think about it, you didn’t say your
brother
, you said
Quinn. It wasn’t until I met him the other night that I put two and
two together.”

“
Oh, I
guess that explains it.” Or did it? Spencer wasn’t half the friend
she considered Tamela to be and still, she’d kept Quinn a secret
from her Porterville pal. She’d have to be more careful in the
future, as a sleazy brother wasn’t the only skeleton in her
closet.

“
So?”

“
So
what?”

“
The
concert. Are you in or what?”

“
Yes!”

His face lit up.
“Really?”

“
Oh.”
Cat frowned. “I can’t.”

“
What?” The smile melted off his face. “Why not?”

“
I’ve
got to hitch a ride home with the team charter tonight.”

“
My
flight doesn’t leave until tomorrow morning. Why don’t I see if
there’s an empty seat?”

“
It’s
not that, I have to get home.” Upon seeing his sad face, she felt
compelled to explain. The last thing she needed was her only ally
mad at her. “That phone call I got yesterday? It was from Benji. He
called to say that the cops were searching our
apartment.”

Spencer scooted
his chair closer to hers. “Are you serious?”

“
Trust
me, I never joke about warrants.”

Ailsa McDaniel
wasn’t the strictest guardian, but she had two rules: you don’t
make light of the police or the Pope. She also wasn’t too keen on
fourteen-year-olds sneaking out to music festivals, but she
wouldn’t have been a grandma otherwise.

“
Is it
about the poker game?” he whispered.

“
The
guy leading the witch hunt is an assault detective. I think he
believes a fight broke out on the balcony and that’s why Ryan went
overboard.”

Spencer’s eyes
widened. “That’s ridiculous! Should I call him up, tell him I was
there and that everything was hunky dory between the
guys?”

“
No
way. If we said anything now, it’d just make us look the liars he
thinks we are.”

“
Which
we are.”

“
We
fudged the truth.”

The P.A.
announcer buzzed through the stadium speakers. “Ladies and
gentleman, please rise for the singing of our national
anthem.”

Everyone rose to
their feet and she and Spencer mindlessly followed. The rest of the
reporters faced the field but Spencer’s eyes were locked on hers,
his brow furrowed.

She patted his
shoulder before placing her hand on her heart. “Don’t worry. He’ll
realize he’s wasting his time and we’ll never hear from him
again.”

She turned and
faced the field flag. The Buffalo Police Department was the least
of her worries. If the Soldiers didn’t win this game, she’d need
protective custody.

A personal-sized
deep dish pizza slid across the desktop.

“
So
how many more of these would I have to bribe you with to get you to
endure one more night at the swanky five-star team hotel so that
ticket doesn’t go to waste?” Spencer handed her a fork. “You know,
I could see rushing back home if you were at the roach motel
accommodations that the
News Herald
provides, but they’d
have to pull me out of the Hotel Gillam kicking and
screaming.”

She laughed. “On
any other day, I’d love to rock out with you. But I need to get
back to Buff and deal with … everything.” She pointed out to
the field. “That is, if we don’t go into extra innings and the
flight gets held over.”

“
Well
maybe you’ll have to come with me and then I can talk you into
trading rooms. Or sharing.” He winked at her.

Sometimes she
wondered just how much Spencer was kidding. He hadn’t dated anyone
in the eleven months she’d known him and she wished she had a
female friend to fix him up with, but all her coworkers were either
in a relationship or not his type. He deserved someone as sweet and
attentive as he was. She smiled at his flirting, but her hands were
tied.

Fittingly, so was
the score of the game. Three to three and heading to the top of the
ninth. For most, it was the kind of game that made for a great
story. For her, it was the kind of game that made for a shorter
life expectancy. If the Soldiers scored and held onto the lead, it
would grant her a short reprieve from the execution she faced. On
the other hand—the swift hand of injustice—if Chicago scored in the
bottom of the inning, it would be a walkoff win, which meant the
Soldiers’ season would be over along with her career in Buffalo.
Scapegoats were as much a part of baseball as hot dogs and peanuts.
The Soldiers had been expected to go far into the postseason and if
they were knocked out in the first round, the fans would demand
someone’s head. Cat didn’t doubt it would be her red hair dancing
around a stick outside Soldiers Stadium. She took a deep breath and
tried to concentrate on the game.

Spencer pointed
out the swirling flags above the scoreboard. “Look at
that.”

The wind hadn’t
been a factor for the first eight innings of the game—a gift from
the gods. The Soldiers’ starter had been a fly ball pitcher and
everyone knew that if the wind was blowing out in Chicago, so were
the baseballs. Now that the relief pitchers were in and the
Soldiers were up, fate smiled upon her again and provided a gentle
outward breeze.

“
Thank
you, Aeolus.”

“
God
of,” Spencer snapped his fingers, “wind, right?”

“
How
else do you explain this luck?” She grinned. Things were looking
up.

Joel Faulk led
off the inning. He didn’t have much power in his bat, but the
scrappy outfielder did have a knack for getting on base, and sure
enough, he took four balls for a leadoff walk.

This was good.
Now she—
er, the team
, she reminded herself
—
just
needed someone to bring him home. There were plenty of options for
Ataru Hakui, the second batter. He could put up a sacrifice bunt
and move
Joel
over to
second or treat it as a regular at-bat and try for a
hit.