The Setup and the Substitute by Jiffy Kate

Chapter 23

Owen

“I’d liketo thank you all for making my job easy last week when we were in Florida,” Christy, our public relations manager, says from her spot in the middle of the locker room. “Everyone was on their best behavior. The media also got some great candid shots of some of you. The fans love to see you living your lives and we love it too, as long as it’s not dancing on bar tops.”

Pausing, she looks straight at Kenny, one of our outfielders.

The entire locker room erupts in laughs and jeers.

“Thatcher,” she calls out, getting my and everyone else’s attention. “You’ll find some cute pics of you and your kids. Nothing with their faces showing, I already checked.”

I smile and nod. Normally, I never go to media sites. Early on, I learned it was a breeding ground for gossip and misleading information. When Lisa and I were together, she scoured them constantly. Any time a photo of her or the kids popped up, she’d forward it to me. It bothered her. She hated it and used it as an excuse to not go anywhere with me, not even to games.

“Thanks,” I tell her, going back to putting new laces in my cleats. One of my superstitions is shoes. Everyone has something and that’s mine. I’ll wear them as long as I can before getting new ones, especially ones I’m wearing during a winning streak. Since we’ve been on one lately, there’s no way I’m switching them out, but my shoestring got caught up and broke, so new laces it is.

After Christy leaves, the guys go back to their normal pre-game shenanigans. A few are meditating. Some are listening to music. Mack is over in a corner with Val and Luis playing MLB RBI. The idiots think the outcome predicts whether we win or lose.

“Your hot nanny also made it into the photos,” Freeman says from behind me. Turning, I see he’s looking at his phone with a raised eyebrow. “Damn, son. Syd told me y’all aren’t fucking, which makes me think you need your head checked, because that’s a fine piece of ass. I bet a couple of the guys would like to hit that.”

Red.

That’s the color I’m seeing and it washes over me faster than I’ve ever felt it before. Normally, I’m a calm dude. I don’t get worked up. Never been in a fight in the clubhouse. My go-to emotion is shutting down, but right now, I want to punch Jason Freeman in his fucking mouth and make him eat his words.

No one talks about Sophie like that.

Ever.

Before I know it, I’m off the bench and in his face. “Mind your own fucking business and don’t ever let me hear you talk about Sophie like that again.”

“Whoa,” Ross says from somewhere behind me, gripping my bicep and pulling me back. “Let’s take it down a notch.”

Still seething, I lock eyes with Jason so he knows I’m serious. “Do you understand me?”

“It’s cool man,” Mack says from my other side.

It’s then I realize we have the attention of everyone in the room. Jason gives me a wry smirk, hands up in surrender as he backs away. “I was merely commenting on the hotness of his nanny. No harm, no foul.”

“Don’t worry about him,” Ross mutters. “He just loves to stir shit.”

My shoulders start to relax and I let the tension go from my clenched fists.

“I shouldn’t have reacted like that,” I tell him, my eyes on Jason’s back as he rejoins a group of guys on the other side of the locker room. “Won’t happen again.”

“I’d have done the same thing if he’d talked about Casey in that way,” Ross says, giving my back a swift pat.

I shrug, trying not to think too much about my reaction. “She’s a good person and she doesn’t deserve someone making comments like that about her. I’m sure she understands the risks of being out in public with me, but I don’t want it to adversely affect her. I also don’t want people like him making assumptions about her.”

“I get it,” Ross says. “But don’t let him rattle you. We’ve got a game to win tonight.”

He’s right, so instead of dwelling on Freeman’s words or the photos of Sophie floating around, I refocus my attention on the task at hand.

Once I’m out on the field, throwing balls, I finally feel the last of the tension go.

By the time the game starts, I’m zeroed in.

And when it’s my time to take the mound, I don’t look in the stands or at the other players, I just take my position and repeat my mantra: one strike at a time.

Going in for the setup, I breathe deeply and then exhale, letting all the negative energy out as I release the ball.

The first two pitches are low and away. After taking a moment to refocus, I lock eyes with Mack as he signals for another curveball. Glove up, I shake my head. That didn’t work for my first pitch and I’m not willing to take a walk on my first batter.

His next signal is for an inside fastball.

I nod, already feeling the sweat beading on my forehead.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Release.

The batter makes contact and I watch as it soars to the outfield.

Ramirez goes up for the catch but it’s over his head. Scrambling for the ball, he launches it back into the infield and Johnson catches it, holding the batter at second.

Wiping the sweat from my brow, I turn back to the plate and ready myself for the next batter.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Release.

I do that over and over until the bases are loaded with one out.

Fuck.

Knowing the runner on third will be running for home the first chance he gets, I center myself and control my breathing. The only thing I allow to enter my mind at this moment is my ongoing mantra: one strike at a time.

Nodding at Mack’s signal, I start my windup.

On my first pitch, the batter swings and makes contact. It’s a line drive down the third baseline and Bo makes a dive for it, catching it and quickly turning to first, making the double play.

The adrenaline I’ve suppressed for the inning comes to the surface and I wipe my brow with the crook of my elbow, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Good job, Thatch.” Our manager, Buddy, swats at my back on my way down the stairs and I nod his direction before disappearing into the tunnel that leads to the locker room.

Since I’m not a starting pitcher, when my job on the mound is over, I don’t stick around. A lot of times, I don’t even know the score of the game when I walk out of the bullpen. All I know is I’m there to close the inning with the least amount of runs possible.

And that’s what I did.

That’s all I can do.

The rest is up to our closer.

The second I enter the locker room, one of the trainers comes over and starts stretching me out. Even though I don’t throw as many pitches as a starting pitcher, I still have to go through a post-pitching cool down. When I sit down in a chair across from the big screen mounted on the wall, I see we’re down by one run.

As the trainer stretches my arm and then ices it down, I zone out to the television.

One thing we never do is talk win or lose.

That shit is saved for after the game.

So we all watch in silence as the Revelers go three-up-three-down at the bottom of the eighth.

Our closer, Andrew Salito, takes the mound at the top of the ninth and strikes out the first two batters. The third guy up to bat nails one into the outfield, but Freeman makes the catch and the inning is over.

Unfortunately, we’re still unable to get a run in the ninth, ending our eleven-game winning streak.

“What a fucking game,” Bo says, frustration clear in his tone. He hates losing. I mean, we all hate losing, but Bo Bennett takes it a little more personal than most.

Mack slams his locker, muttering under his breath.

I decide to just stay silent, even though I’m feeling every emotion they’re feeling plus some. Now that the game is over, my thoughts are back on those pictures of Sophie. Later, when I’m home, I’ll pull them up and see how scandalous they look and then I’ll talk to her about it.

Knowing Sophie, she’ll take it in stride just like she does everything else.

But that doesn’t keep me from still being pissed off about Freeman’s words from earlier.

God, what a fucking dick.

Last week in Florida, I kind of felt sorry for him because his girlfriend put off serious gold digger vibes—not to mention she was a bitch to Sophie—but now I can see they deserve each other.

“You know what we need?” Mack says, letting out a deep exhale like he’s trying to bring some Zen to his life.

“Tequila?” Ross suggests.

“A barbeque,” Mack replies. “And tequila. But definitely some good ol’ fashioned backyard baseball. We haven’t done that since last season and I think we could use some team bonding.”

Ross and Bo look at each other, nodding as their wheels start turning.

“We have an off day coming up,” Ross says.

“Lola wouldn’t mind if everyone came over to the house,” Bo offers.

Mack stands between them, clapping them both on the shoulder. “Great, it’s settled then. And I’m going to need Casey to make that mean potato salad she brought last time.”

Ross smiles and nods. “I’m sure we can make that happen.”

“You’ll bring Sophie and the kids,” Mack instructs, not leaving any room for argument.

“Absolutely,” I agree, surprising even myself.

When we first moved here, it was a struggle to get me to any type of extracurricular activity that wasn’t mandatory. I didn’t mingle much and I certainly didn’t join in backyard baseball. But I don’t feel the walls I used to have up. Somehow, in the last few months, they’ve started coming down.

I don’t even have to guess what—or who—the reason is for that.

Sophie is changing me. I can feel it. She’s making me more open, not just to people and situations, but to things I thought had long passed me by.

Even my mom commented on it when I talked to her on the phone yesterday. She said I sound happier.

I feel happier too.

That could be chalked up to having less stress because my children are well taken care of. And I’m throwing some of the best stuff of my career. Not to mention having great sex.

But it’s more than that. I know it and I think Sophie knows it too, but neither of us have put it out there. We talk a lot—about everything—except what happens in October.

* * *

“She’s sogreat with the kids,” Ross says as he hands me a beer and looks across the lawn to where Sophie is holding his son Samuel.

Ever since Sophie helped Casey with him while she was sick, they’ve been thick as thieves. And my kids won’t stop talking about him. Molly even asked me a week or so ago if she could have another brother.

I didn’t know what to say about that, so I faked a yawn and closed the book we were reading, putting off that conversation for another day.

“She is,” I finally say, trying to pull my eyes away from her but failing. I’ve never met anyone as beautiful as Sophie, but it’s not just her physical attributes that set her apart. It’s the way she is with people—so caring and considerate. She’s young, only twenty-four, but wise. I love the way she’s able to adapt to any situation. Like, tonight, in Lola Carradine and Bo Bennett’s backyard, two well-known people, and she’s totally at ease.

On our way over here, the only thing she was nervous about was whether or not her chocolate sheet cake was good enough to eat. From the way the guys destroyed it, I’d say she had nothing to worry about. It was fucking amazing.

Just like her.

“Casey can’t stop talking about how much fun they had in Florida,” Ross continues. “She wants to charter another flight for everyone when we head back to the west coast.”

That will be at the end of July, right before the kids go back to school.

“I’m sure we could swing that. My kids have been wanting to see the Mouse again and I know they’d love Disneyland.” And Sophie’s never been. I’m sure of that. After she told me she and her family rarely took traditional family vacations, I’ve wanted to take her everywhere, giving her all the experiences she missed out on as a kid.

When we went to Disney World while in Florida, I couldn’t decide who I loved watching most—her or the kids. She was just as in awe as they were and it made my heart swell.

“Who’s ready to play ball?” Mack calls out. Everyone cheers and gathers around him. For people who spend the majority of their lives at a ballpark, we sure are excited about a game of backyard baseball.

“Lola and Bo are team captains,” Mack begins explaining. “Lola will pick first. Skip volunteered to be our ump. All rules apply. Any ball hit to the fence is considered a home run. Any questions?”

Lola’s hand shoots up. “What do the winners get?”

“Besides bragging rights?” Mack smirks but tilts his head as he thinks. “How about the losers are the clean-up crew?”

Lola nods her head. “Sounds fair.”

“You’re up first,” he says, pointing to her and stepping back.

She picks Ross, which is a smart move. Even though he’s our ace pitcher, the man can play any position and he’s good with a bat.

Bo calls out my name as his first pick and it catches me by surprise. I assumed he’d go with Mack or someone else who’s more versatile.

“I need someone who can throw the ball,” he says as I take my place beside him.

My eyes drift to Sophie who seems to be a little nervous for the first time tonight and I wish I could do something to take that away. I’m sure she’s way out of her element, but she agreed to play to make things even.

Thankfully, a few picks later and Lola snags her for her team. The bright smile on her face makes my chest feel tight. God, she’s beautiful.

After the last player is selected, our team spreads out on the modified backyard field and I take the mound. It’s not standard distances between the bases or from the mound to home plate, but after a few practice throws to Mack, who ended up on our team, I get the hang of it.

Giving my shoulder a few stretches, I go into my throwing position, only to look up and see Sophie at the plate. For a second, I’m frozen. Something about her standing there takes my breath away. But then she smiles and twirls the bat like she’s an old pro.

I laugh and shake my head as I start my windup.

“Don’t go easy on her,” Mack yells. “We can’t be giving them an advantage on the first batter!”

Tuning him out, I focus on the ball. Then Sophie. I know she wouldn’t want me to give her any slack, so I throw her a decent fast ball.

She swings and misses, but comes right back into position, ready for more.

Switching it up, I go for a curveball, but she doesn’t bite.

On the third pitch, Sophie catches a piece of it, but Buddy calls it foul. She laughs it off and gets some encouragement from her team, along with a head nod from me.

You can do this.

Focus.

Part of me wishes I could call her up to the mound and give her some pointers, or that we would’ve practiced before today. With that comes images of me behind Sophie with my arms wrapped around her, and that’s when I realize I’m on a path headed for destruction.

My dick is at attention.

And my mind is in the gutter.

When I release the next pitch, I hear the crack of the bat and instead of feeling that unyielding sense of dread, I’m inwardly fist pumping.

I watch as she hauls ass to first base, my eyes on her body as it moves. She’ll tell you herself she’s not an athlete, but it doesn’t mean she doesn’t look good doing athletic things. When she makes it to first base, she throws her head back and laughs in pure enjoyment. Tucking a few curls behind her ear, our eyes meet and the way hers shine makes me want to run over there and kiss her.

But I can’t.

We don’t do things like that.

But fuck if I don’t want to.

Lola’s team ends up winning by one run. It was a hard-fought battle and my arm is a little sore when we’re finished. I haven’t thrown that many pitches since Spring Training, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. A little ice when I get home and I’ll be good as new when we hit the road tomorrow.

“Great game,” Sophie says, sidling up beside me.

“You too,” I tell her, my attention drifting to her mouth. The urge to kiss her has only increased over the last two hours. Looking around, I see we’re alone.

Ross is out throwing pitches to the kids while everyone else either watches or is back to eating and drinking.

Pulling Sophie into an alcove on the side of the yard, I push her up against the side of the house and do what I’ve wanted all day. I kiss the shit out of her.

Hands in her hair.

Body pressed to hers.

A moan of satisfaction rattling my chest.

When Sophie’s hands come up to grip my t-shirt, I deepen the kiss, tilting my head to take her mouth like I’d like to take her body—passionate, deep, and demanding.

Her leg hitches around my waist and I grind against her, almost losing my mind and fucking her right here.

Someone cheers loudly, causing us to break apart and realize where we are.

“What was that?” Sophie asks, chuckling as she slowly releases me. Her cheeks are tinged pink and her lips are swollen from our kiss. “And when can we do it again?”

Leaning in, I place another kiss, this time much more chaste, on her lips and then her forehead, breathing her in. “Soon,” I promise. “I just needed to have a small taste to tide me over until I can have you all to myself later.”

Forever, I think. The word echoing in my mind.

I want you all to myself forever.