“Not if you show up to the park two hours before the game, hungover. You can’t blame everyone for your mistakes. I never blamed anyone but myself, no matter what. Grow up and take responsibility.”
The words echoed in his head but not in his voice. In Stacia’s. Shit, she was getting to him.
Cody grabbed Jason by the shoulder. “I don’t like what you’re insinuating, old man.”
The bartender glanced up from cleaning a glass. A couple of the guys stood and walked over. “Having a problem, Cody?”
Jason wiped his mouth and got to his feet. He threw a few bills on the counter. “Thanks, Charlie. No, we’re not having a problem here. Just a difference of opinion.”
“The old man thinks our partying is inappropriate with our losing streak.”
The other guys stared at him and laughed. Cody grinned. “That’s what I said. The original party animal of baseball. You have no credibility.”
Jason shrugged. No skin off his back if they didn’t listen to him. He could wait. “Whatever.”
“Wait. Care to make a bet on tomorrow’s game? Nothing major. I’ll bet I’ll get Hernandez out every time I face him but you won’t get a single hit off of El Presidente, their ace.”
“What do I get when I win?” Jason felt the first hint of life entering him. God, he loved competition and a chance to take this kid to school.
“When? Yeah right. Okay, a steak dinner.”
“Had one. Don’t need another.” Jason grinned. Bring it, punk.
“Okay, what did you have in mind?”
Jason paused a moment, considering. “Okay, if I win, no parties until we win three in a row. If you win, I buy all of you a steak dinner.”
Cody and the guys cracked up. “Whatever, man. That will be one expensive steak dinner.”
“Your choice of place. Chicago has some great restaurants,” Jason replied, referring to their next city. “But they’re also a tough team, leading the AL Central Division. Going to be tough to win three against them.”
The younger man snorted. “We could easily win against them. We beat them in April.”
“Yeah, they didn’t have their top two starters. They’re tougher now. See you tomorrow, boys. Good luck!”
Jason grinned as he walked out of the restaurant. Finally, a reason to up his game.
*
He got tothe park early the next afternoon and sequestered himself in the video room with his notebook. Bill Monroe poked his head in after about thirty minutes.
“Want to go over the tape together?”
His shoulders tightened and a dull throb began to pound behind his eyes. The usual reaction to Bill Monroe. “No thanks. I can figure it out.”
Bill closed the door behind him and crowded into the small media room. “Look, I know you have something against me, who knows what. But I’m the hitting coach and you could use some help. Besides, I know your swing as well as you do.”
Jason lunged up, almost knocking his chair over in the process. “It’s been fifteen years. Fifteen years since we’ve worked together, but that’s not what you told Hammonds to get this job, was it?”
The old rage, pain, betrayal rose up inside, choking Jason with its intensity. He was done suppressing it. Done pretending it didn’t matter. Done with Monroe and the lies. He wanted to have this out? Jason was ready to oblige.
“Is that what’s bothering you? That I exaggerated slightly to get the job? Well, I’m sorry. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“Slightly? Fifteen years is not slightly. I haven’t seen you do much for these young guys and their swing except be their buddy. Looking for your next meal ticket, Monroe?”
Bill grabbed the front of Jason’s shirt and shoved him against the wall. Tapes clattered to the floor and Jason’s chair toppled over. “How dare you, Friar! I made you what you are today!”
Jason gritted his teeth. Everyone thought they made him, they owned him. No one owned him. He owed nobody. “No, I made me. You used me for a job at Texas A&M.”