Fastball by V. K. Sykes Page A

since their phone conversation, but Jake had heard
through another player that her note of apology to Dembinski had
led to a shouting match between the two in the media room. The word
in the clubhouse was that Maddie had looked pale and shaken after
the confrontation, although she apparently hadn’t backed down an
inch. Jake’s gut had twisted with guilt when he’d heard about the
ugly scene.
    It had totally pissed him off, too. He so
wanted to hunt down Dembinski and punch him out for what he’d done
to Maddie. But that would only accomplish a one-way trip back to
Allentown, and that was the last thing Jake wanted, not only for
his sake but for hers. At least if he was with the Patriots, he’d
be near Maddie while he figured out some kind of solution to what
seemed their intractable problem.
    Not that Jake could get her to talk to him.
When the team boarded the plane for the flight home, Maddie had
passed right by him on the way to her seat. She hadn’t even looked
at him, her eyes fixed to the floor as she made her way to the back
of the jet. Jake’s heart had sunk. He’d hoped the interview
incident would blow over after the apologies, and Maddie would come
to see that her concerns over the potential consequences of seeing
him again were exaggerated. But Dembinski had blown that plan out
of the water, spooking Maddie so badly she’d retreated into some
kind of shell—at least where Jake was concerned.
    By the time he got off the plane, he’d
managed to work himself into a full blue funk. Barely bothering to
wave goodbye to his team-mates, he strode quickly through the
terminal, wanting to retrieve his car and get home as soon as
possible. The last week had been tumultuous. He’d gone from minor
league ball in Allentown to an incredibly successful trip with the
Patriots to San Diego and Phoenix, in the middle of which he’d
fallen ridiculously hard for a smart and hot sportswriter.
    No wonder he was exhausted. He hit the sack a
half hour after walking through the door of his condo.
    The following afternoon he played his first
home game of the season at the Patriots’ stadium. The sun shone,
the fans cheered his return, and Jake’s mood lifted. It was great
to be home and, despite his funk over Maddie, he dug deep and
contributed two more hits in a win over the Mets. As he jogged off
the field at the end of the game, he glanced way up toward the
press area. He couldn’t see Maddie and that was killing him, but he
was glad she could see him playing in top form.
    After a quick shower, Jake was getting set to
head for home when Robbie Benton stopped by his locker, looking
like he wanted to talk.
    “Jesus, Jake,” Robbie said with a crooked
grin. “When I saw you dive for that line drive in the eighth, I
figured they’d be dragging your ass off to the hospital. You’re not
twenty-one anymore. You gotta start taking cares of those old
bones.”
    Jake studied his friend, taking in the tense
set of his shoulders and his stiff posture. He suspected Robbie
hadn’t come over just to rib him.
    Jake shrugged. “It was dumb luck the ball
ended up in my glove. All I wanted to do was block it so the damn
thing didn’t skitter all the way to the wall.”
    “You’ve always been lucky.” Robbie put his
feet up onto the bottom shelf of the opposite locker, trying to
look relaxed. It didn’t work.
    “What’s up?” Jake asked as he sat.
“Something’s on your mind, isn’t it?”
    Robbie gave him a sheepish, you caught
me grin. “Well, I was thinking you could use a little cheering
up. You’ve been moping around for the last few days and the guys
are starting to wonder what’s going on. Why don’t we grab a couple
of beers and then get some dinner?”
    Jake sighed inwardly. Robbie had clearly
gotten it into his head that it was time for a night of drinking
and man-to-man talk, which was the very last thing he wanted.
“Thanks, but I don’t think so. I’m going to take it easy
tonight.”
    Robbie punched