O’Donnell’s

Thursday

I look up at the stands as I walk out for my last chance to not fuck up and actually make a connection with the damn ball tonight. She’s not here, not at the game, not sitting with Chloe, Danny, CeCe, Whit, the half-dozen little kiddos, Pope’s boys, two of whom I found myself jealous of as they walked in, one on each side of her to watch last night’s game. They’re kids. Oh, and yeah, that asshole, Marks. He’s topped the list of men I want a go at.

“Strike one!”

What the fuck?I think as I look around, and yep, sure enough, I’m standing in the batter’s box.

I step back and try to focus. Then I step up, the pitch is thrown, and I swing, hitting … not a fucking thing.

“Strike two!”

“Thanks, man, I wasn’t aware,” I shoot back.

“Watch it, Locke,” he warns.

“Not sure he’s capable, Ump.” Pooch, the catcher, chuckles.

“They don’t even let you pick up a bat, shitbird,” I remind him.

He stands up and throws his mask back, and I find it fucking hilarious.

“All right, you two knuckleheads, cut the shit. We’re in the ninth!”

I nod. “You got it, boss.”

Stepping back in, I know damn well I’m fucked.

The pitch is thrown, I swing, and yeah, I miss.

“You can’t even find third, Locke!” comes from the center-fucking-field.

“Don’t even respond,” Coach barks his order at me as I’m already wagging my pinky at him.

“Jesus, Locke.” Coach shakes his head as I pass by.

Steel is on third, Vanders on first, and Harts up to bat.

I drop my bat, toss my helmet, and head to the dugout, glancing at the field. “Mavericks can suck my sweaty balls!” I yell as I step in.

“Much prettier mouths will be at O’Donnell’s after the game. They won’t give a damn that you struck out every time you were at bat tonight,” Rudy G. chirps.

There’s only one pretty mouth I give a fuck about right now.

The game ends—Jags 10, Mavericks 6.

* * *

After the shower, I head to my locker as Tereira tosses his towel in the hamper.

“O’Donnell’s?”

“We won, didn’t we?” Hart asks.

“Fuck yeah, Hart’s in!” he yells to Nour.

“I’m catching a ride with you, Hart,” I tell him as I pass behind him. I toss my towel. “That’s cool, right?”

He glances down at my dick. “Now, you owe me a beer, too.”

“You looked, didn’t you, Hart?” Rudy G. laughs.

“It’s not every day that you see a man with an earring in his dick.” Hart scowls at him.

“You’d be surprised.” Amias Steel chuckles.

“Are you trying to tell me my cock’s not special. That it’s ‘just like all the other guys?’”

Amias lifts his chin. “Something like that.”

“You bedazzled your dick, too?” Harts asks, still wholly shaken.

“What in the actual fuck kind of conversation did we walk in on?” Jase Steel’s voice booms through the room.

I chuckle as I pull on my dress slacks.

“TBH, it’s not special.”

“That’s right,” Amias pipes in. “I know men who have metal older than most of us.”

“When is your kid’s contract up?” Jase asks Zandor.

Zandor ignores him. “We just wanted to pop in and congratulate you on the win. Felt good to knock them down a peg or two. Let’s do that to the Jays tomorrow.”

* * *

I slide into the passenger seat of Hart’s ride and run my hand over the dashboard. “You keep it clean.”

“Yep,” he says, backing out of his spot.

“You bought an income property.”

“Sure did.” He throws it in drive.

“I’d tell you to stop living like it was all gonna end tomorrow, but it’s a good move.”

“Linda Hart didn’t raise a fool.”

“I have a house in every state where I’ve played for a team. No regrets there.”

“Shouldn’t ask this since I’m benefiting while you’re renting from me, but why not in Trenton?”

“I wouldn’t vacation here. Easier to rent when in season, anyway. I don’t have to worry about the responsibilities. When we have more than a minute off, I’m at the beach house, fishing or just chilling. Peaceful there.”

“You’re rarely there.”

“I don’t bring women back to the place where I hang my hat.” Until last night. “Never know if your hat will be there the next day or if it’ll be sold online with a picture, proving authenticity.”

“That happened to you?”

“Should have learned the first time.” I laugh. “Took three or four.”

“That’s fucked up, man.”

“It fucked up a lot of things,” I mumble then clear my throat. “I admire your game, kid. Smart plays on and off the field.”

“I appreciate that, but no game’s off the field. You get what you see with me.”

“Kind of envious how you came up. I knew fuck not at eighteen years old. I left my parents’ house and was handed a bunch of money. Did some good but mostly stupid shit with it until my first injury took me out for a few months, and then I realized it could all end tomorrow.”

“Exactly,” he agrees. “You’ve been playing this game a long damn time, though. I’m sure you’ve got it all figured out now, yeah?”

“Money won’t ever be an issue.” But Gwendolyn, she’s a continued one. “You into the Shaw girl?”

“Playing it day by day, but yeah, I’d like to see where it goes.”

“How’s it gonna go when you’re on the road?”

“Not sure, but I’m going to find out.”

“There’s a lot of temptation out there for a kid like you in his prime.” I look out the window. “It’s hard to give that up.”

“Did that in the minors. Wasn’t my drug of choice.”

“You’re the settling down kind,” I note as he pulls into O’Donnell’s parking lot.

“Didn’t think I’d be before this chapter was over. Something about CeCe, though.”

“Danny mentioned CeCe was from my hometown. She was younger than me, so I don’t remember her. She and Chloe have done good for themselves. She’s a vet?”

“She is.” He smiles as he turns off his truck. “Hot, smart, and takes no shit.”

“Guard your heart, kid. Those types of women will bring a man down on one knee and might just leave you there.”

“Don’t wanna get into it, but maybe it’s time that man down on one knee stands up and takes action, yeah?”

Motherfucking schooled by a rookie.

* * *

We part ways inside. He heads to his family, and I head to the bar that runs almost the entire length of the pub, dead center.

Might as well get this over with, I think as I head toward them.

Passing through the crowd, I shake a few hands, give a nod to those empathizing with a “tough game,” and tap fists with those who don’t care I struck out but are happy we won, not just the game but the series to get to the heart of the club—the Ballbreakers. When I spot Blaze standing in front of the bar, feeling sorry for the son of a bitch, I head over.

“It took you long enough to get here, Locke,” Oscar grumbles. “We’re not camels.”

“You could have pulled out your wallets and opened them up. Once the moths clear out, you may find something resembling a dollar bill.”

“Don’t piss him off; he may take a swing at you.” Statler chuckles.

I do what I do and let the old bastards do their bit.

Waldorf pipes in, “At eighty-eight years old, I’m sure I could get away. Did you see his swing tonight? I’ve seen better swings on the playground.”

The four of them crack up.

Blaze looks at me, expecting a response.

I just shake my head. “Bennett, sometimes you gotta let the old folks have their moment. Who knows if they’ll be here tomorrow?”

“What the fuck?” Blaze’s eyes nearly pop out.

I look at Archie. “You’re up, old man.”

He doesn’t say anything.

I lean over and tell Bennett, “He can’t hear shit when his hearing aids are turned down, which he does before a game and forgets to turn it back up. One of them will elbow him, and he’ll rattle off his dig. Just wait for it.”

And that’s precisely what happens. “I’ve seen scarecrows with better plate coverage.”

We all look at the stool on which old man Stockers Jags hat sits in memorial of him and make the sign of the cross. Then I elbow Blaze and tell him, “Gotta do it with them out of respect.”

“I’m not Catholic,” he states.

“Neither am I. Just roll with it.”

He does, and yes, they all take note.

Oscars up next. “ Do you need to borrow my GPS to find the ball for your next game?”

I turn to Statler. “I’ve seen scarecrows with better plate coverage.”

Blaze glances at me, obviously catching he repeated one of the things already said. I lift a shoulder.

Then Waldorf. “You need a map to find first base?”

Back to Archie, who they again have to elbow. “You’re swinging like a rusty gate.”

Now Oscar. “The ball’s got a restraining order against you, huh?”

To Stockton’s hat, where we all do the cross again.

“Pick that hat up and look at the stool, would you?” I smile.

“Why would we do that?” Staler huffs.

“Jesus, man, just do it.”

Waldorf picks up the hat, and the four of them all slide off their stools to get a good look.

“Son of a bitch,” Oscar says, shaking his head.

I raise two thumbs in the air. “Good chat, as always. Drinks are on me tonight, but remember, your bladders are old as fuck, and you piss every five minutes, so you may want to pace yourselves.”

I squeeze Blaze’s shoulder. “Come on, kid; let’s go get a drink.”

“Um, yeah, nice to meet you all.”

“You’ll see a lot of us, kid,” Oscar yells to him as we walk away.

“What the hell was that?” Blaze asks me.

“That’s what’s left of the Jersey Ballbusters. They were all part of the construction crew when the original Jersey Jags field was built. They’ve never missed a home game. The Steel family gave them lifetime season passes when they tore down the old stadium to make peace. They are a fucking trip.”

“The stool?”

“Stockton passed away the day after our season closed at home last year. When I replaced the stool that got smashed during my little fight the other night, I asked the owner if I could have a plaque made.”

“Made for the guys who just dogged your play?”

“Made for the fans who have been here since day one,” I correct.

“Not sure I would have done that.”

“They pick one or two players every few years to talk ball with—the good and the bad. You’ve been chosen, so buckle up, kid.”

“Why the hell did I come here tonight?” he grumbles.

“Believe it or not, you’re gonna grow to love them.” I laugh.

Hudson Hart sees us and yells, “Might wanna grab four instead of two. All the kids are here.”

I wink at Bennett. “You hear that? You just got claimed again.”

* * *

Hart was in a yank to get back. I guarantee it had everything to do with leaving town tomorrow and wanting to see the neighbor … or is that just me projecting? Regardless, it was fine by me.

Was fine.

Now, I would instead be sitting with the Ballbusters, letting them take whacks at my ego than on my couch, watching dots jump across the screen, waiting for a reply from Gwendolyn.

I read over my text, and then the one from last night to compare; see where I may have fucked up.

Me

Evening. Your place or mine?

Nothing wrong with that, right?

I flop back against the couch when I realize I’m seeking advice from absolutely no one.

Fuck this, I think and begin tapping back.

Me

OMW

Dots appear again and then …

Gwendolyn

I AM NOT THERE!

Me

Aggressive.

Gwendolyn

I shouldn’t have unblocked you. I’m working on a case. I’m not sure what you want—a thank you? Fine. Thank you. Now stop texting and go traumatize someone else with your bionic dick.

Me

You blocked me?! Bionic? Traumatize?

Gwendolyn

Yes. Yes. Yes. Now stop texting. I need to focus, and you need to go to sleep so you can rest up and take that thing on the road.

Me

One question: Why did you unblock me?

Gwendolyn

One answer: Because I can.

Me

Stay safe. Sleep well.

My following message goes undelivered, and I have to google what that shit means.

“Four outs tonight. Time to call it.”

I toss my phone on the couch, lean back, and scrub my hands over my face.