Inside Heat (14 page)

Jason cursed as the next pitch went so far outside it was a wonder it stayed in the ballpark. It hit the back wall behind him and spun in the dirt until he ambled over and picked it up. He turned it over and over in his hand looking for damage before he threw it back again. “That one will get McCree out. Can you do that again? I think that’s the one.”

“Shut the fuck up and catch or I’ll shut you up myself.”

Jason slid his mask to the top of his head and faced his brother. “What the hell is wrong with you? You can’t even take a joke anymore.”

“My career is no joke.” Jason watched his mirror image go into a rage, totally at a loss as to what was going on inside Jeff’s head. “If you aren’t going to help me, then get the fuck out of here. I’ll find someone else.”

“Look, Jeff, you don’t need to do this.”

“Like hell I don’t.”

“You don’t.” Jason scanned the empty stadium. At least there wasn’t anyone else around to witness his brother’s meltdown. “Come on. Let’s go get some water bottles and cool off.” He headed toward the clubhouse, hoping Jeff would follow. Absolutely nothing good could come from Jeff’s obsession, and that’s what it was, an obsession with striking out Martin McCree. But as focused as Jeff was on that one goal, Jason had the feeling there was something else going on that Jeff wasn’t talking about. He was using the McCree situation as an excuse to ignore whatever else he had going on inside his screwed up head.

“I don’t want water. I need to pitch.”

“You’re right about one thing. What you want and what you need are two different things. You’ve just got them backasswards.” Jeff followed him. Jason tossed his glove and helmet on a nearby table and wiped his sweaty face on his shirtsleeve before he pulled two cold water bottles from the refrigerator and handed one to Jeff. “Look, Jeff. At the risk of inflating your already enormous ego, you’re one of the best relief pitchers ever to play the game. Giving up a few homers to McCree isn’t going to change that.”

“That’s what you think. The press is eating this up. Did you see the Sports Center report the other day? Hell, they ripped me to shreds over one homer. Don’t they have a clue what’s going on? It’s like going up against Godzilla with a fucking spit wad.”

Jason smiled at the apt description. Everything Jeff said was true, but it still didn’t account for his brother’s attitude. This sour, obsessed man wasn’t Jeff Holder. “You’ve had your share of success against Godzilla. You struck him out twice in the first series this year. You’ll do it again.”

“When? We only face them one more time in regular season, and if the team doesn’t start playing better, there won’t be a playoff for us.”

“All I’m saying is you’re letting this get to you. This obsession is affecting your pitching, Jeff. You blew a save the other day because you missed your spot. That was supposed to be inside and you threw it right over the plate. Served Hanson a freakin’ meatball. The only thing you could have done to make it better for him was to put red sauce on it.”

“You think you could do better? Huh? Why don’t you go stand on the mound and show me how easy it is.” Jeff’s face had gone purple and he’d closed the distance between them until Jason had to take a step back or breathe the same air as his brother.

“Whoa! I never said it was easy. All I’m saying is – you used to think pitching was fun. It was a challenge, but it wasn’t the end of the world – ”

“If I lost my edge? Is that what you were going to say?”

“No –”

“I haven’t lost my edge!” Jeff raked his hands through his hair and paced away. Jason sucked in a clean breath as Jeff left his space. “I haven’t.” Jeff dropped into one of the club chairs lining the walls. His shoulders sagged and he folded in on himself like a deflating balloon. “I haven’t.”

Shit. Jason didn’t have a clue what to do. He’d never seen Jeff like this, didn’t want to see it now. For a guy with an ego roughly the size of Texas and Alaska combined, Jeff didn’t implode – ever. The pathetic mutterings that followed his first outburst shook Jason as nothing else could. He’d seen other ball players lose confidence in their abilities, but never Jeff. From the first moment he’d put on a glove when they were all of eight years old, Jeff had known his value as a pitcher. It had taken Jason longer, years longer, to develop into a decent catcher and win a place in the batting order, but Jeff had always had enormous talent, and confidence to match it. Watching him now sent a chill down Jason’s spine. What the fuck was wrong with his brother?

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He wasn’t a shrink. So sue him.

“I don’t fucking know!” Jeff looked at him, and the blast of uncharacteristic uncertainty in his eyes hit Jason like a wild pitch to the side of the head.

“Then you damn well better figure it out.” He glared at his brother. If looks could kill, he’d be bloody on the floor by now. “Get yourself someone else to help you fuck up your arm. I quit.” Jason picked up his helmet and glove and headed toward the hallway leading to the locker room. His brother’s voice stopped him.

“I don’t need you.”

Freakin’ pathetic. “Look, Jeff. I don’t know what’s going on in your head right now, but I can tell you this. If your career goes down the tubes, it won’t be McCree’s fault. You’ll be the only one to blame.”

Chapter Fourteen

Jeff stewed in the bullpen. He’d been sitting on his ass for the better part of two weeks, watching his team lose game after game. The season had gone from bad to worse. They still had to face the Miners one more time, and Megan was in love with his brother. From his perspective, things couldn’t get much worse. Of the three worries on his mind, the only one he had any control over was the Miners, and only if the rest of the team could score enough runs to give him a chance at a save.

How the hell was he supposed to stay in form if his ass never left the bench? The team was doing their best, but lately that hadn’t been good enough. At this rate, they weren’t even going to make the playoffs. The best they could hope for was a wild-card spot, and that was looking less likely every day. He tried to keep his frustration to himself. Venting in front of the team wouldn’t help, wouldn’t change a thing. It would only make him look like an ass, looking out for his own interests. He had goals like every other player in the major leagues, but when you only played an inning or two, and only if the team was ahead by a few runs, then the window of opportunity to reach those goals was mighty slim.

Jeff glanced at the scoreboard and winced. He wouldn’t be warming up for this game – not unless a miracle happened. He wouldn’t be setting any records this season, but the one thing he could do was get the best of Martin McCree. The press would be all over that, and at least he’d salvage something from this season. Maybe Megan would take notice. It hadn’t escaped him that Jason was having a fantastic season. His stats were as good as any in the league. As a catcher, he was one of the best in the game, and his batting average was close to tying the team record. He’d never thought that sort of thing mattered to Megan, but he couldn’t dismiss the coincidence. His own star was, at the very least, stuck in limbo, while Jason’s was rising, approaching the stratosphere. He couldn’t really blame her for falling for Jason, but it still hurt like hell.

He blew two more saves before the road trip ended. His curve ball was every bit as bad as Jason said it was, and his attitude had the entire team walking out of their way to avoid him. It wasn’t any secret the manager was pushing the starting pitchers and middle relievers to go more innings, hoping he wouldn’t have to call Jeff to the mound. Management had lost confidence in his ability. In a few short weeks, he’d gone from a sure thing to a long shot.

The press was all over the story like maggots feeding on rotting flesh. They used words like
slump
, and said he’d lost it. They never bothered to define what ‘it’ was, but Jeff knew what it was. ‘It’ was everything. He’d lost his confidence, his talent, and, he’d lost Megan. Without those three things, he was nothing. Hell, maybe the first two were what had driven Megan into Jason’s arms in the first place; or maybe that’s all he was to her to begin with. She hadn’t been that close to Jason before this McCree thing.

He thought Megan was different. He thought she’d been with him because of who he was, not because he could throw a baseball. All through high school, girls had been easy conquests – mainly because of his achievements on the ball field. He was a big man on campus, and on the field. He won every award there was to win, and his photo had been in the local papers every week during the season, and he’d even made the state-wide paper a few times. College scouts, as well as major league scouts had watched Jason and him play. At the end of their junior year, they signed with the University of Texas.

Nothing changed for him at UT other than he didn’t have to sneak around anymore. He shared a dorm room, and later an apartment with Jason, and they both brought women home on a regular basis – and shared those women, more often than not. He never thought much about their sharing. He and Jason practically shared one brain sometimes, and the women didn’t seem to care which one they were with. Quite a few subscribed to the "two is better than one" theory of sexual fulfillment, which hadn’t bothered him or Jason at all. They managed to keep their sexual escapades from becoming common knowledge, and then they were drafted by the Mustangs. For years, they’d been too busy building their careers to notice the women throwing themselves at them, but in the back of their minds, they’d been looking for someone. Someone like Megan.

Jeff tried to concentrate on the novel he picked up in the airport, but all he could think about was how quickly his life had gone down the crapper. He had the whole row, and then some, to himself on the team’s charter flight. He knew the drill. Most of the team was pissed off at him for various reasons, and the ones that weren’t were afraid his slump might be contagious. He couldn’t blame them. Lately, he didn’t even like himself.

“Mind if I join you?” Jeff looked up from his book when Andy, the team’s assistant manager joined him. He closed the book and tucked it into the seat pocket as he told himself to relax.

Hell, yes!
“No.” If he needed confirmation he had loser’s plague, this was it. “Be my guest.”

He had to hand it to Andy. He was professional in the way he delivered his news, looking straight ahead as if they were talking about the weather, or the movie playing on the seat back screens. “Doyle wants to see you in his office when we get back.”

“Trading me already?” Fear gripped his stomach and twisted it into a knot.

“Just be there. He wants to have this talk before you go home today.” Andy unfolded from the cramped seat and returned to his seat in the first class section with the management team.

Jeff slid the book out of the seat pocket and flipped it open to a random page. He tried to focus on the words, but his mind was already in Doyle Walker’s office. Shit. Could they trade him? Would anyone want him if they tried? He wondered if it were possible to keep this meeting quiet, all the while knowing it couldn’t be done. Everyone on the plane knew he’d been summoned, and there’d already be as many guesses as to what would be said as there were players on the team.

Jason took the seat vacated by Andy. “Got called to the principal’s office?”

“Yeah.”

“What did Andy say?”

“Nothing. There’s a meeting this afternoon.”

“Trade?”

“How the hell would I know? I don’t think they can trade me, at least not without my permission.”

“You gonna give ‘em permission?”

God, he needed to move around, but he didn’t dare let his head drop back against the headrest. Even that small gesture would telegraph defeat to everyone looking at him, and they were all looking. He could feel their eyes on him, watching his body language. They’d form their opinions based on how he reacted in the next few minutes, hours, days. Any weakness on his part would only fuel the speculation. “No.”

“Good.” One word from his brother and an invisible weight lifted off his shoulders. He almost smiled at the relief. At least someone wanted him to stay. “Because I’d have to ask to be traded too, and I don’t want to go anywhere else.”

“No worries. Doyle probably just wants to chew my ass for a while. I can take it.”

“I’m sure you can, bro.”

Silence stretched between them. Jeff thumbed the pages of the book to keep his hands busy.

“Are we alright now?” Jason asked.

Damned if he knew, but he couldn’t say that, not when Jason was making an effort. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Jason shifted in his seat. “That’s good.”

“I’ve got to do this…thing when we get back…” Hell, he couldn’t even say it. He didn’t want to think about what he faced. Trade. They wouldn’t send him down to the Minor League. That would be a death knell to his career for sure, but they would trade him.

“I’ll let Megan know you’ll be a little late.”

Jeff nodded. For once, he was glad there wasn’t another soul in hearing distance. He didn’t want to talk about Megan at all, but stopping to call her was out of the question. “Thanks. As long as you’re there, she won’t miss me.”

Jason ducked his head and spoke low so Jeff had to lean in to hear him over the drone of the engines. “Is that what you think? If it is, your head is further up your ass than I thought it was.”

Jason was several rows away before Jeff composed himself enough to consider answering his brother. He thought about following Jason up the aisle and beating the shit out of him, but he was in enough trouble already. Adding a fistfight on top of everything else wouldn’t help. Besides, what was between Jason and him was family business, personal. It had nothing to do with the team, and right now, he needed to focus on his job. If he could get that right, maybe everything else would fall into place.

* * * *

After a week and a half, Jason didn’t have anymore of a clue what was going on in his brother’s head than he did when they’d left on the extended road trip. Phone calls to Megan told him she didn’t know anymore than he did, and her reluctance to talk about it sent his suspicions into overdrive. To make matters worse, Jeff was obsessed with Martin McCree. The Miners would be back in Dallas for the last regular season series, and Jeff was determined to get the man out.

Jeff had only been called on to close three of the eight road games, leaving him plenty of time to obsess, and to work on his pitches. Like most pitchers, Jeff had an ego only eclipsed by a full harvest moon. If McCree won the last battle, Jason couldn’t imagine how that would affect Jeff’s confidence. It had already taken a hit, and now it looked like the team management had noticed too. If they talked about a trade, Jeff would go ballistic. Then there was Jeff’s relationship with Megan. If that went any further south, heaven help them all.

* * * *

Jeff left his duffel and suitcase in his locker and headed to Doyle’s office. He’d taken his time, waiting until the other players left before he made the walk every player hated. He’d never had reason to hate it before today. Doyle had brought him up from the Minor League after just a few months and put him in the bullpen as a middle reliever. He’d taken a chance on Jeff, and Jason too, and for that Jeff would always be grateful. Over the years, the three of them had become friends, but this was business, and Doyle was in the business of winning.

Jeff knocked on the open office door and Doyle waved him in from behind his cluttered desk. As usual, everything else in the office was organized and proclaimed the winning heritage of the franchise. Photos of Doyle with every celebrity and dignitary imaginable lined the walls alongside plaques and trophies declaring one winning season after another. The only thing missing was a World Series trophy, and there wasn’t a person associated with the team who didn’t want one of those more than they wanted their next breath. Doyle would give his right arm, and divorce his wife, if that would get him one.

 “Close the door, Jeff.” Three words that more than anything else signaled this was serious business. Jeff closed the door and leaned against it, eyeing his friend across the expanse of hardwood floor and the custom-made Mustangs rug that took up most of the floor space between the door and the desk. Hell, he couldn’t even say he’d been called on the carpet.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Yeah. Come on in. You can relax, I’m not trading you.” The knot in his stomach unwound a little at the news, and he pushed away from the door. Doyle walked around his desk. “Let’s sit over here.” Jeff followed him to the casual grouping of sofas and chairs on the other side of the room, declining his offer of something to drink. Some of the tension in his shoulders eased. Doyle never did his dirty work without a massive chunk of carved wood between him and his victim. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“What’s this about?” he asked as he sank into a plush armchair and crossed one ankle over his knee. Doyle folded his lanky frame onto the opposite sofa and propped his heels on the coffee table.

“I’m worried about you. What’s going on, Jeff?”

“Nothing is going on.”

“Don’t lie to me. I’m not asking as your manager, I’m asking as your friend. We’ve known each other for a long time, Jeff. Every player is entitled to a slump now and then, but this isn’t like you. Talk to me.”

Jeff revised his previous thought. This was that bad. Worse. He might be able to lie to the press, but Doyle wasn’t going to settle for his usual B.S. He never had. Jeff didn’t know what to say, hell, he didn’t understand it himself so how was he going to explain it to someone else? Instead of talking, he studied the shoe dangling over his knee. Maybe he could get Megan to find him a new pair of dress shoes. Then he remembered Megan wasn’t his anymore and he frowned at the thought. It didn’t matter. She never would have gotten the shoes for him anyway. She could be accommodating, but she drew the line at being a doormat.

Patience wasn’t one of Doyle’s virtues. “God damn it! Tell me what the hell is going on inside that head of yours or so help me, Holder I’ll trade your sorry ass faster than you can say bite me!”

Everything that he’d lost, and stood to lose, churned in his gut and control slipped from his grasp. “You want to know what’s going on? I’ll tell you what’s going on!” Unable to sit still any longer, he jerked to his feet and took long, angry strides across the room and back again. He faced Doyle with his feet braced shoulder-width apart and his hands fisted on his hips. “My life is hell. McCree is making a laughing stock of everyone in the league. My brother is f…” He couldn’t say it, couldn’t do that to Megan. “Jason is…Megan…” Shit. “I’m in love with Megan, and she’s in love with Jason.”